APPETITE

by Kathyrn, Lorraine

  "I'm trying, Damien."

  They walked at an easy pace, the gentle swaying of the horse translating to their bodies, keeping them in constant contact. The day was warm and quiet, and Damien guided Charlie through the ranch, showing her his favorite places on the grounds. Eventually, he let her decide their direction and relaxed against her.

  "Tell me about growing up here, Damien."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "What was it like to grow up with so much space?"

  "It was wonderful," he sighed. Charlie smiled at the happiness so evident in his voice. "We all ran and rode to our hearts' content. Swimming in the creeks. Fishing. Hunting. Sleeping outside."

  "Sounds like a very Twain childhood."

  "Twain?"

  "Yeah. Very Huck Finn or Tom Sawyer. Adventurous."

  "It was. It was charmed."

  "What happened to your parents?"

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing. After Darlene mat- uh, married Grant Copley, they kind of retired and moved to Italy."

  "Oh? They're still alive?"

  "Very much so." He wrapped his arms around her waist. "I wish they were closer. I would love for you to meet them."

  "So they left the ranch to you and your brother?" His wish for her to meet his parents made her feel apprehensive at the same time it made her heart swell, and she was hard pressed to decide which it did more, so she changed the subject.

  "Yes. Well, Darlene has a small stake in it, too. As do all our family members and hands."

  "All of them?"

  "Yep. The ranch is more a communal concern than capitalist."

  "Ah. Veddy goot, comrade," Charlie laughed softly, doing her best Soviet imitation.

  "Nothing that Marxist, I assure you," Damien said, laughing with her. "We just all share in the success -- and failure -- and that makes it stronger." He sighed slightly; again, he wasn't lying to her, but he was glossing over a lot. "It's always been this way, ever since my grandfather moved the family here."

  "One big extended family?"

  "Somewhat."

  "You're right. Your life is charmed." She sighed and leaned back against him.

  "More so now that you're in it," he whispered in her ear, tightening his arms around her waist slightly.

  They wandered in silence for bit after that, moving into the woods of the foothills to escape the sun. Damien had his chin on her shoulder, just breathing her in. She seemed so relaxed with him, he decided to try and get her talking.

  "What are the scars on your stomach, Charlie?" Damien asked as they meandered along a creek. Charlie just shut her eyes and shook her head. She knew she had to tell Damien, but she didn't want to yet. It was totally selfish, she knew it was, to keep getting them both riled up and then running away, but she still wasn't ready to tell him, she wanted to keep the fantasy alive for a little while longer. "Tell me." She shook her head again. "Are you not going to talk to me at all anymore?" She smiled and shrugged at his teasing. Damien tightened his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her left shoulder. "Well, then I'll just have to find a way to make you talk." Charlie smiled and shook her head. "That seems like a challenge to me. I accept."

  Damien moved her hair to lay over her right shoulder and began kissing her neck. He subtly scooted forward in the saddle, pushing her forward so her crotch was pressed against the rise in front of the pommel and rubbed with each sway of the horse. He sucked at her earlobe and smiled as he felt her shiver. He could smell her getting aroused, and moved his hands to gently cup her breasts, squeezing one then the other, making her gasp. He moved his mouth back to her neck, sucking and biting at her skin.

  "Damien," Charlie moaned, tilting her head.

  "Hmmm?"

  "You have to stop," she whimpered.

  "Don't I make you feel good?" he whispered, squeezing her breasts more firmly. He pressed himself against her, letting his cock rub on her as he pushed her pussy more firmly against the saddle. "Doesn't this feel good?"

  "Yes." Charlie arched her back, pressing her breasts more firmly against his hands.

  "I want you, Charlotte. And you want me."

  "Damien." Another whimper.

  "You don't want me to stop, do you dolcezza?"

  "Please..."

  "Please?"

  "Please stop," she said, dropping the reins and grabbing his wrists.

  "Let me make you feel good."

  "Please. Please stop." She took a deep breath and pulled at his wrists, lifting her head off his shoulder.

  "Why?"

  "It's a long story."

  "I'm not going anywhere." He reached in front of her and took the reins, stopping the horse. "Let's sit for a while." He got down and helped Charlie off the horse, taking her hand with one of his and the reins with his other. He led them towards the creek, loosely tying Hamlet to a low branch close enough for him to drink. He moved himself and Charlie towards a tree, seating them both in its shade so they faced each other.

  "Talk."

  She looked at him for a moment and then looked away. "I don't know what to tell you."

  "Why are you fighting this?"

  "Does it matter? I'm leaving in a few days, anyway."

  Damien's wolf bristled at her statement, but he forced himself to answer rationally. "You're going to Oregon, Charlie. Not another country."

  "Long distance doesn't work."

  "It's a few hours' drive. Hardly long distance." He cupped her cheek, lifting her face until she was looking at him. "I'd be willing to try, doclezza. I'd be willing to make that drive every weekend."

  The certainty of his words pierced her heart. She somehow knew he was sincere, and he would, in fact, be willing to travel much farther for her. Charlie knew she needed to be honest with him, to open up wholly about her past before he staked any further feelings on her. She felt drawn to him, like he soothed a chronic physical ache she didn't know she had. When she looked inside herself she realized she couldn't bear to hurt him, and no matter how badly she wanted to wrap herself up in his comfort, he deserved to know why it wouldn't, couldn't happen between them. It scared her and broke her heart to have to tell him, but she knew she had no choice. She took his hand and kissed his palm, giving him a small, sad smile. "Hear me out, okay? Completely. Before you make such reckless promises."

  "Okay."

  She let go of his hand and took another deep breath, letting it out with a shaky sigh. Giving him a small smile, she began talking. "I suppose I should start at the beginning. That's usually the best place:

  "There was a young woman named Joan. She was quite pretty. Petite. Fair skin and dark brown hair. She had two very striking features: her eyes -- which were a deep golden color -- and her voice. She had a wonderful singing voice. She had quite a successful career. Not fame, but steady studio and jingle work, as well as a regular gig singing in a very popular nightclub.

  "One night, a tall, dark stranger came in to the nightclub and fell in love with Joan. David was suave. He was handsome. He swept Joan off her feet. Bought her a diamond necklace. Bought her a diamond bracelet. Promised her the moon and stars, and a life away from the smoky night club. Promised her a home. A family. Vowed his eternal love for her. Seduced her. Got her pregnant.

  "And went back to his wife.

  "Joan decided, after much soul searching, not to get an abortion. She could have, you know, this was after Roe V Wade had been decided. She talked to her mother and they decided together they would give that baby the greatest family in the world." She smiled at Damien. "And they did.

  "When Charlotte Emily Miller was born, she was born into a family that loved her. That wanted her. That would do whatever they could for her happiness. It was a small family -- herself, her mother and her grandma -- but it was enough. She grew up with only happy memories. Her grandma taught her how to cook, and her mom taught her how to sing. They had a warm home, filled with love and laughter.

  "One day, when Charlotte was 13,
she came home from school to find her mother and grandma in the living room. She could tell they had been crying. They sat her down and had a long talk with her. Her mother was dying -- pancreatic cancer, totally inoperable -- and they weren't sure how long she had." She sighed, hands idly plucking at the grass between her crossed legs, looking off towards the mountains behind Damien.

  His heart was aching. He wanted to hold her, to pull her in to his lap and soothe her. He hated listening to her talk about herself in the third person, her voice so dispassionate.

  "Turns out it was about two years. She died the summer before Charlotte's sophomore year. At the end, it really was a mercy when she died. And she still had her grandma. So life, though quite sad for a while, went on. They both eventually learned to live again.

  "Charlotte met a boy in her sophomore year of high school, just after the Christmas break. His family had just moved to Los Angeles from Chicago. His name was Keith. He was dreamy to her, a cross between Bono and David Bowie." Damien chuckled at that and Charlie smiled at him. "I know.

  "He was a year ahead of her, and she didn't think he even knew her name. But one day after school, he waited for her and walked her home. They started dating. He was in a band, a guitarist and singer, and she used to go watch them play. She never told him she could sing. Not because she wanted to hide it from him, but she just didn't think of it. After her mother died, she just stopped thinking of singing as anything special.

  "One day he came over unexpectedly, and heard her in the backyard singing Patsy Cline while she weeded. He got upset at first, demanding she explain why she never told him she could sing. She did, and he immediately felt bad. He held her while she cried, kneeling with her in the dirt of her grandma's vegetable garden. She fell in love with him that day."

  Charlie stopped and shifted, putting her legs out in front of her and wincing at the imprint of the grasses and dirt in her flesh. She stretched and cracked her back before continuing.

  "Keith convinced Charlotte to sing with the band. At first just at practice. Then slowly at gigs. It was fun. She loved being up on stage with Keith. They were a cover band, but they were a good cover band. And just before she started her senior year, Keith took her virginity." She paused again, wrinkling her nose. "Although that sounds so...off, doesn't it. It wasn't taken from her. She gave it to him. Maybe that doesn't matter. The important thing is that I may have lost my virginity but I still have the box it came in." Damien barked a laugh at the old joke, even as his wolf seethed at the thought of anyone else -- even 20 years ago -- having touched her.

  "Anyway. They became lovers. And a couple months after she graduated high school, to the happiness of all that knew them, they became husband and wife. They were best friends as well as lovers. He was her rock. When her grandma died, she leaned on him with the security of someone who knew what it meant to be loved.

  "And they still sang together. They had regular jobs, too. She worked as a cook and he was a mechanic for CalTrans, but 'The Be-Sides', their cover band, had steady bookings of weddings, bar mitzvahs, corporate events. They enjoyed performing together and were loathe to give it up. It wasn't easy, but he was determined to give his wife a slice of heaven. In Whittier of all places." She chuckled at that, shaking her head. "Whittier.

  "The only thing was, the long hours of commuting and working and practicing and gigging were starting to take their toll on her husband. She grew quite worried about Keith. He seemed to walk around zombie-like much of the time, and she was concerned for his health -- both physical and mental. She was going to talk to him about quitting the band and having more time together, when all of a sudden, he seemed to bounce back, better than before.

  "Unbeknownst to Charlotte, he had gotten started down a very dark path. A couple of his coworkers introduced him to something called crystal meth. And he quickly went from a casual user to an addict. He became erratic, paranoid, started picking fights -- never with his wife -- but she was always there to clean it up. She didn't know what was going on, why her sweet and gentle husband was behaving oddly.

  "One day Greg, the drummer of 'The Be-Sides', came in to the diner where Charlotte worked and sat her down. He talked to her about crystal meth, about Keith, and about addiction, but she didn't listen." Charlie paused and shook her head. "She refused to listen. Instead she went home that night and told Keith what had happened, effectively ending the band.

  "A couple weeks later, he was fired after failing a urinalysis. But she still didn't want to believe anything was wrong. Even after their money started disappearing. Even after their car was repossessed. Even after their home was foreclosed. Even after Charlotte discovered he had sold her mother's diamond necklace and bracelet from her father as well as her grandma's bridal jewelry.

  "Had basically sold her past."

  Charlie shifted again, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Damien watched her closely, fighting the increasing urge to wrap her up in himself. He could sense her pain, smell her anger and fear in her sweat, and it was making his wolf insane with wanting to hold and soothe her.

  "One day, Charlotte came home from work to find Keith sitting at their little dinner table, his head in his hands. There were three rather large Hispanic men in the apartment with him, two sitting on their couch and one standing by the door. They made her nervous. The one standing by the door -- he must have been their leader, because he was the only one that ever talked -- closed the door behind Charlotte and locked it.

  "He looked her over, rather lasciviously, and told Keith that he had a deal. Charlotte turned to her husband and asked what was going on. He took her hands and explained to her that the men had agreed to give him a large supply of drugs in exchange for sex with her. She didn't want to believe it. Her husband wouldn't do that to her. She cried, she screamed at him, called him names, told him to get out; but he grabbed her and held her through it, begging her, promising her that as soon as it was done he was going to get help and get clean. She relented.

  "For her husband."

  "Charlie...you don't...you can stop. You don't have to tell me..." Damien's words trailed off. He didn't want to hear anymore. He didn't think he could stand to hear anymore. He knew what was coming, and he couldn't bear the thought of it. He didn't think he could hear about her rape and keep his wolf at bay; already he was howling and pacing, demanding to be let out as Charlie's story lanced both their souls. Charlie suddenly stood up, shaking her head and wrapping her arms around herself. She refused to look at Damien.

  "I do, though," she said sadly. She gave a sudden cruel laugh.

  "You know, I thought that if I told this in the third person, I could pretend it happened to someone else. And it should make it easier." She turned her face to Damien and he saw the tears running down her cheeks. "But it doesn't. I can't pretend it wasn't me." He stood and moved to put his arms around her but she stopped him. "Don't, please. I need to finish," she said, holding up her hand. He leaned against the tree, arms at his sides and nodded.

  She took a few deep breaths and nodded to herself before continuing. "I can remember -- so clearly -- the look of gratitude on Keith's face as he thanked me, told me how amazing I was and how much he appreciated it. But he didn't tell me he loved me.

  "Still, I agreed.

  "I was made to strip in front of them, right there in the living room. I remember thinking that I would just shut down, you know? I was 24. 24! I honestly believed that I could refuse, that I could stop my responses, just go through the motions but not give them anything. Let them take turns fucking a corpse. But that wasn't the plan. They weren't taking turns, oh no. Not at all." She gave a snort of derisive laughter, shaking her head.

  "They made me sit on the couch and held me down, one man sucking on each breast and one man licking my cunt. I kept looking over at my husband, trying not to moan, not to pant, thinking that if I focused on him it would help me stop -- it would keep me from...from...." She gave another snort and wiped at the tears falling freely. "
He was watching, enrapt.

  "I couldn't fight it. I wanted to, but I couldn't." She looked at Damien, her eyes wide, her voice desperate. "Do you believe me?"

  "I do." His voice was muted, as if he was talking through a mouth full of sand. He could feel the tears on his own cheeks.

  "They fucked me for hours. They put these little leather bands on the base of their penises and were able to just fuck and fuck and fuck. I had no idea what they were. I was so stupid." She took another shaky breath. "For hours.

  "They made me moan, and scream. And...and come. A lot. And...and with every moan, every gasp, every fucking orgasm I died. I died a thousand deaths that day. How could I not? I was a willing participant in my own prostitution."

  "Charlie...please," Damien said quietly, his wolf howling at her pain. He moved towards her, desperate to put his arms around her, but she evaded him.