Undone

by Kristina Lloyd

  Behind me, footsteps grew louder and quicker. I knew it was him but I wasn’t going to slow or turn around. I didn’t acknowledge him until he was by my shoulder, when I had no choice.

  He grabbed my arm, swinging me to face him.

  ‘Stop touching me,’ I yelled.

  ‘Hey, hey!’ His eyes were wide, his face flushed, his hair hectic. In his hand, he carried both our hats, my beret stuffed inside his cap. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  I continued walking. ‘Getting away from you. What’s it look like?’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Christ, Sol! Stop being such a dick. He was no one. Some guy. What’s the big deal?’

  ‘The big deal?’ He reached for my arm. I lashed out, fending him off. ‘You’re meant to be with me,’ he said, voice raised. ‘That’s the big fucking deal. I put a collar on you. You’re mine till I take it off. Mine, Lana!’

  I whirled around to him. ‘No, Sol! That’s a game, an act. It’s fake!’

  ‘No, it isn’t! You know it isn’t!’

  We glowered at each other, his words hanging in the air, their meaning refusing to unfurl.

  ‘And anyway, what?’ He opened his arms, glancing left and right as if being sarcastic to a crowd. ‘You think you can just stop playing when it suits you?’

  ‘You stopped!’ I yelled. ‘You stopped looking after me. Left me alone with no money, no phone. Nothing! Our deal wasn’t unconditional, Sol. You’ve got to play your part too. I’m not … not subbing if you’re not domming. And by domming, I don’t mean acting like a selfish, arrogant twat who thinks he can do whatever he wants.’

  I gathered my skirt and stalked off.

  ‘I met someone who knew Misha,’ he called.

  ‘Whoopee fucking doo.’

  ‘You’re a smart woman,’ he continued. ‘I assumed you’d be able to work out what I was doing. Maybe have a degree of faith in me? I couldn’t just leave. He’s the reason we’re here in the first place, remember?’

  He strode after me. I spun around to him, my skirt hissing and swinging. ‘Misha, Misha, Misha! Why are you so obsessed with his death? Who is he to you?’

  He glared at me, jaw set tight, chest pumping. Lamplight lent his dark hair a fuzz of gold, and his face glowed warmly while his eyes were sunk in shadow. Flecks of my purple glitter sparkled on one cheekbone.

  I stared at him, trying to read his face. Why so obsessed, Sol? Why?

  Is it, I thought, because you killed him? Is that the reason the damp towel was in my room at Dravendene? Did you murder him in the pool and then sneak back into my bed? Or was his death, and that rumoured head injury, a result of an accident you were involved in? And now are you desperate to trace his friends to check no one’s suspicious? Is that why we’re here? Or are you trying to ensure my silence by encouraging me to collude in some ham-fisted sleuthing?

  Sol shook his head as if to dislodge his thoughts.

  ‘Tell me,’ I snapped.

  Frowning, he slotted his cap under his arm and clasped both my wrists, pushing them apart, forcing my arms straight, and making my jacket gape. The night air was cool on my stomach. I recalled how he’d caught my wrist across the bar several days ago back at my place. At the time, even though his grip had excited me, I’d wondered if he had the knowledge to kill me with pressure points.

  ‘Be mine again,’ he said, his voice much gentler.

  I wriggled, trying to withdraw from his grip. ‘Sol! Don’t try and change the subject. Talk to me.’

  He grinned. ‘Show me your tits.’

  I scoffed. ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Come on, Cha Cha. Don’t be mean.’

  ‘Two minutes ago you wanted me to cover them up.’

  ‘Because I want them for me,’ he said. ‘No one else. For my eyes only.’

  ‘They’re my tits, Sol. Not yours.’

  I tried to yank my hand free but he gripped harder, edging me towards the pavement. He was stronger than me and wearing polished black boots. My Pompadour heels stuttered as I was forced backwards between his sturdy footsteps, my stiff skirt rustling against his legs.

  ‘Sol, no.’ I grabbed the back of his jacket as we shuffled over an exposed patch of old cobbles. ‘Careful!’

  ‘Come on, Lana,’ he breathed. ‘I’m getting hard for you again.’

  When I stumbled on the low kerb, he was quick to grab me around the waist and pull me close. His instinctive protection touched and thrilled me. I felt myself yielding to him, forgiving him like a weak-willed idiot. His swollen cock bumped against my silks, making arousal flutter low in my body. Still with his cap tucked under his arm, he manhandled me towards the wall of an abandoned truckers’ cafe, its window boarded up alongside a sign featuring colour-leached photographs of bacon and eggs. I writhed, squealing in protest even while a dark excitement rose inside me. Had he fought with Misha by the poolside? Was he dangerous? How aggressive could he get? How aggressive did I want him to be?

  He shoved me against the wall, grappling with my jacket. ‘Show me,’ he urged. He batted away my hands and flung open my jacket, baring my breasts. His cap fell to the floor. ‘Get off me!’ I snapped, tugging my jacket together.

  ‘Someone might see.’

  ‘Hey, come on, Cha Cha.’

  Grinning, he tried to wriggle his hands onto my naked skin. I squirmed and slapped as he rummaged and groped. All he did was laugh softly at my efforts, mocking me. Before long, I began to laugh too, still fighting him but with decreasing energy. I felt light-headed and reckless, drunk with emotion, not to mention alcohol.

  ‘What is it?’ He glanced over his shoulder at the deserted, poorly lit road. ‘You want an audience, Cha Cha? Is that the problem?’

  He massaged one bared breast. I rocked my head against the wall.

  ‘You’re the fucking problem,’ I said mildly.

  ‘You telling me you don’t want this?’ He ground against me, dabbing kisses over my neck. The rigid collar jabbed me, the barrel of its combination lock pressing in the hollow of my throat. Sol’s kisses moved higher, growing stronger and sliding over my skin. His stubble grated and he smelled of fresh cigarette smoke. I pushed feebly against his chest as my groin began to pulse with hammering urgency. Then his voice was by my ear, a low, tender taunt. ‘Come on, Lana. Don’t lie to me. We both know the score here.’

  I bit back a moan of longing. He took my wrists and spread my arms wide, pinning them to the wall. I was trapped between him and the forgotten cafe, my jacket parted to reveal a stripe of flesh. Lust plunged to my cunt so fast and fierce that I groaned, a deep gravelly sound of capitulation. Sol gazed down at my face, lips twisting in victory. Specks of purple and green glitter shone where he’d rubbed against my make-up. I thought of the ways in which we become each other’s bodies, how a punch becomes a bruise, how fluids mingle in kisses and how I take him inside me, the boundaries of our selves no longer sealed and whole.

  ‘Is that a no?’ he asked. ‘Because it sure doesn’t sound like one.’

  Between my thighs, my lips thickened and throbbed. I turned my head aside, wincing at my body’s treachery. I was so easy and pliant, so horny for him.

  ‘Much better,’ he murmured. ‘No point fighting it, is there, Cha Cha?’

  He released my wrists and I let my arms drop to my side. He slipped his warm hands into my jacket and caressed my naked breasts with a greedy, commanding touch. My nipples shrivelled and his dark eyes scrutinised me all the while. When I whimpered, he smiled and murmured, ‘That’s my girl.’

  I wanted to sink to the ground, annihilated by lust. I love his tender condescension with all its abusive implications. It’s such a crafty means of making me feel powerless, a victim of sly manipulation.

  ‘Sol,’ I breathed. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel.’

  He looked over his shoulder, grinning. ‘But I want you now. C’mere. This way.’

  ‘What are we doing?’

  ‘Being us,’ he said. ‘Doing it our way. No games
, no show. Just us. Hot for each other. Needing to fuck. Hard, rough, messy. You’ve no idea what you do to me, Cha Cha. I want to fuck you all the time.’

  Damn, but he knew how to push my buttons. So sleazy and romantic. That was a combination to demolish me, if ever there was one. He retrieved his cap and I allowed him to guide me into a small recess between irregular back-ends of buildings. Redbrick, Victorian blocks with window grilles and zig-zag fire escapes rose like tatty tenements around us. At street level, a short flight of concrete steps, bordered by spiky black railings, led to a featureless rear door. Grass and weeds sprung up between cracks in the uneven ground. It was classic murder-victim territory. But this was central Brighton near a nightclub, adjacent to an old, wide road, and I told myself Sol wasn’t that kind of guy. If something had happened between him and Misha, it belonged in another realm. Violence and lies had nothing to do with me, Sol, and this situation now. We were fine. I was safe in the sphere of his protection.

  He led me towards the steps, half holding me, the two of us becoming conspiratorial in a spirit of giddy rebellion. Lamplight edged the recess, gilding the black, scabby railings and glinting on shards of glass near the opposite wall. A hard shadow divided the area into triangles of dark and less dark, the dividing line demarcated on the ground. Sol guided me past the foot of the steps until we were leaning against their staggered, concrete side below the highest railings. He posted his cap through two railings and placed it on a step behind me. He pulled the speed-cuffs from his pocket, his lively, dark eyes flicking up and down. I could practically hear his brain whirring as he assessed our location, working how to take advantage of such a secluded, no-go area.

  ‘Sol, we’ll get arrested.’

  He covered my body with his, rubbing his erection against me with firm, deliberate strokes. He glanced towards the dead road. ‘You see any cops around here?’

  I laughed lightly, pressing my hand against his chest. ‘CCTV.’

  He clawed around my knees, lifting my vast skirt in clumsy stages. I stalled him, fingers circling his wrist.

  ‘What?’ he asked, looking up and about.

  ‘CCTV! There’s always CCTV.’

  ‘No there isn’t.’ He forced my skirt higher, and, again, I half-heartedly pushed back. ‘Not in places like this,’ he continued. ‘C’mon, relax, Cha Cha. I bet you’re wet, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’re not.’

  ‘Yeah, but if we went back to the hotel we could—’

  ‘We’ve got all night at the hotel,’ he breathed. ‘And a late check out. So…’ He delved into a deep pocket, whipped out the speedcuffs and grabbed one wrist. I yelped and struggled as he flicked one cuff and then the other on to my wrists. Before I knew what was happening I was restrained, the inflexible stem keeping my hands fixed apart.

  ‘Gotcha,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘You fucker,’ I replied, smiling. I was enjoying these cuffs, their rigidity and ugliness making them harsher than those I’d worn in the past. They felt less like cuffs for kink, and more like serious players, the real deal. Which they were, of course.

  Sol locked the cuffs in place with the slim point of the key and popped it in his top pocket. He took a step back, looking up, down and around. Then he unthreaded the blue buckle-belt from his woollen RAF jacket. My desire pulsed, memories returning of him stripping his leather belt from his jeans in the forest at Dravendene. It’s one of the finest sights, a man with menace in his eyes removing his belt.

  He looped the belt around the broad black stem of the cuffs, tightening the buckle, and then raised the length of fabric, forcing my arms upwards. His hands worked above my head and I wriggled for a show of protest. I caught the scent of his sweat on the cool night air and I longed for him. Distant traffic and occasional voices were the only sounds around us. When he withdrew, I was tethered to the railings, my hands above my head. I kicked the concrete wall of the steps and tugged at the belt; then I thought I shouldn’t do that in case I made the knots too tight to loosen.

  ‘You bastard,’ I said, smiling. ‘If anyone walks past—’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’m outta here like a shot. Because it doesn’t look good.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  Smiling, he opened my jacket and tucked it behind me. He stepped back and observed my body, his gaze lingering on my bared breasts. The streetlight tinted him with amber-gold, bringing out the rust undertones of his scruffy, cocoa-brown hair.

  ‘Don’t go away now,’ he said, turning.

  ‘Hey! Sol!’

  He walked towards the opposite wall, in the darkness of our concrete recess, and unfastened his flies. He angled himself at the corner, adopting a wide-legged stance, and began to urinate. I had to stay there in the light, exposed, uncomfortable and powerless while he relieved himself in the shadows, hidden, comfortable and powerful. I watched him, admiring the broad muscularity of his upper body and the strength implicit in his hips. I listened to his stream fade to a trickle, saw him shake. Then, with a hitch of his shoulders, he tucked himself away. As he stepped back from the gloomy corner, he ducked down to retrieve an object from the ground. He sprang up and swung around, grinning like a maniac. To my horror, he was brandishing a sliver of thick, green glass, curved and narrowing to a ragged tip. He swayed towards me, his gait slinky with threat. Hazy light from the adjacent street caught the glass, glinting on its chipped, crystalline edge. It was probably a piece of broken bottle. But I saw a vicious, emerald dagger.

  ‘If you scream, Cha Cha…’

  I screamed.

  I screamed because I saw a murderer approaching. I saw a man with a weight of guilt who wanted to secure my silence to save his skin. I saw a stranger in a drunk, dishevelled uniform, gold chevrons on his sleeve, chest exposed.

  I saw a timeless zone of a coastal town, and I was in it, trapped, about to meet my doom. So what if that zone contained modern materials, electric light and a nightclub just minutes away? It was timeless because it was neglected, a hole in society where events went unrecorded. I could lie there, bleeding to death, and the world would be oblivious. And here was a man I barely knew, looming in with a nasty, evil weapon, leering in sadistic pleasure. He wore a uniform to inspire trust, and delude people into thinking he was decent and good. He’d get away with his crime.

  I kept on screaming.

  ‘Woah, Cha Cha!’

  He flung the glass to the ground as he hurtled towards me. He clamped a hand to my mouth, slammed his body into mine. My head hit the concrete wall. ‘Shut up! It’s fine! Shut up! Easy now, hush!’

  His hand was hot, his eyes wide and fearful.

  My screams wouldn’t stop. His panic worsened mine, which in turn worsened his. He pressed harder on my mouth, glancing wildly towards the road. I tried to shriek and shout. Pain bloomed inside my skull where I’d bumped it against the wall. My breath was trapped in a pocket of humidity. My inhalations sucked on damp skin. I kicked and jerked, the cuffs slicing into my wrists. My teeth bit into my crushed lips, his weight compressed my ribs.

  Had Misha died like this, running out of breath?

  ‘Shut up, Lana!’ He shoved my head against the wall. The edge of his hand squashed my nostrils. My frantic movements wrenched my shoulders, made me pant for breath. I could find only thin streams of air to draw on. My nose and mouth were blocked. Was this how drowning felt, as oxygen faded? Screaming made it worse but I had to scream to make him stop and he wouldn’t stop because I was screaming. He wouldn’t stop because he was a callous, pitiless killer able to maintain control until the life in his hands petered to a stop.

  We locked eyes as we fought, our hair awry, sweat and breath thick between us. A fleck of black paint from the railings lay on one of his cheekbones along with the glitter from my face. His eyes were lit with terror and no doubt mine were too. What else had he seen in his years so far? What twisted memories were lodged behind those eyes? What sort of memories was he laying down for his future self as my lungs shrivelled within my ribcage?


  Then, for a sudden instant, I could breathe. Air overwhelmed me. Clarity pierced my stuffy senses. I inhaled a night sky of stars and it was immense, too big for my body. My breathing function froze. So did my voice. I gaped at the dark, my lungs refusing to operate, my throat making tiny, desperate croaks. Then starlight shattered inside my head as pain exploded across my face.

  Sol had slapped me.

  I panted, a stunned relief rushing through me.

  ‘Easy now,’ he said, shoulders pumping. ‘That’s right.’ He swept a lock of curled hair from my face and hooked it behind one ear. ‘You were hysterical. Breathe easy. Good girl.’

  I calmed, drawing in streams of free-flowing air, heat stinging my cheek. Our dingy surroundings were as flat and lifeless as a stage set.

  ‘You’re OK,’ continued Sol. ‘I’m here for you. I’m not going to hurt you. It was a stupid joke, that’s all, and I’m sorry. You OK?’

  I shook my head, tears stinging. ‘Hold me. I don’t know what happened.’

  He stepped close and wrapped his arms around my waist, his clasp firm and reassuring. He rested a hand high on my back, an embrace signifying safety rather than passion. And yet, unmistakeably, digging into my belly, was the blunt, rock-solid bar of his erection. That he could be hard after such a battle astounded me yet he made no attempt to conceal his boner. Had the fight turned him on? Did he get a kick out of terrifying women?

  ‘Hush,’ he cooed, rubbing my back. ‘All OK now.’

  ‘You’re hard,’ I said in an accusatory breath.

  ‘Yeah, sorry,’ he murmured. ‘My dick can’t distinguish between fantasy and reality.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ I recoiled from his embrace, trying to thrust him away, hampered by having raised, cuffed arms.

  ‘Hey, but my brain can.’ His voice carried a resentful note. ‘And that’s what I think with, Lana. Stiff dick doesn’t mean I don’t care. Doesn’t short-circuit my critical faculties.’

  I pushed again with my arched torso and shoved at his shin with one foot. ‘Go away. Leave me alone. And get these cuffs off me.’