by Shelly Pratt
‘What did you give me,’ I slur.
‘I told you, something to make you relax. I like my subjects compliant, you know.’
‘Uh-huh.’
He unstraps now, and I look out the window, surprised to see clouds floating past the windows. Stavros reaches for one of the buttons on the wall console and presses it. I stare hard, but can’t make out the writing on it.
‘Whassat?’ More drivel coming from my mouth.
‘It’s a do not disturb button.’ He unfastens his seat belt and stands out of the chair. The table is gone, folded down at a time I don’t know when. How the hell did that happen?
Stavros starts to unbuckle his pants. Oh fuck no.
‘You fucked up, Alex. Evie was supposed to be my new plaything, but I guess now you’ll have to do. Quite an interesting turn of events, wouldn’t you say? I hate to admit how excited I am, but I have to say, the thought of this is even more exciting than dominating your wife.’ A salacious grin spreads across his face as the top button of his pants comes undone.
‘S’not gonna ‘appen,’ I insist. I sound much better in my head. More confident.
‘Oh yes, it is,’ he insists. ‘It’s time to start paying, and you can start by giving me the best blow-job of my life,’ he says, rubbing his cock with his left hand. Stavros sways from side to side, although I’m sure it’s just the drugs. I have no idea how he got his clothes off, but he’s standing butt-naked in front of me, pressing his erection to my lips. He lifts my chin with his finger so I focus on his eyes.
‘See this?’ I swivel my eyes to his right hand, there’s a flogger in it, poised, waiting for my attention. He brings it down hard against the side of my ear, making me howl loudly in pain.
‘Please…’ I beg.
‘No teeth, am I clear?’ He presses his cock against my lips again. Stubbornly I keep them closed. Again the sharp sting of the flogger against my ear. Same spot, same sharp lick of leather that’s making my ear welt up to twice its size.
In my confused state, there is still some clarity.
I fucked up. I’m his—his to torture mercilessly until he’s ready to discard me like a rotten rag-doll that’s past its use-by date. I was right. Hindsight is a bitch. I think being Stavros’s puppet is a fate worse than drowning. At least the pain would have been over quicker if I had drowned.
As I submit and open my lips to take him in my mouth, I realise that Evie, in a way, just fucked me over worse than I ever did her.
Well played, Mrs Stratford, well played.
Thirty-Two
GRAYSON
Disconnected. That’s how I got through it, by being disconnected. Every single nice manner I ever learnt was cut off; severed so that I simply didn’t feel any sympathy for the guy. Sure, he was drowning, but not all’s fair in love and war, now is it?
There are some things people never come back from. I’m just glad that I didn’t get to the point of murdering Alex or I’m sure there would have been some kind of psychological repercussions later on. I’ve told you before, I’m a lover not a… killer.
However, if that’s what was needed to be done to make Evie safe, you can bet your arse I would have. I miss her. It’s not that I’m lonely, because I’ve always been quite happy with my own company. It’s different. It’s like the glass is half empty all the time, you know? Kind of like when you’re starving hungry but all you’ve got in the pantry are a couple of stale crackers that you can never remember buying in the first place. You come away wanting. That’s how I feel about her being gone. I’m left wanting.
Letting Alex go was hard. A lot of trust on my part went into making that decision, but I know it was the right one. The guy was a mess. I don’t think he would forget our days of torture in a hurry. The tapes he provided were somewhat of a consolation as well. There have been many nights since then that I’ve sat in my room, wondering if I should actually watch them. Not for my voyeuristic pleasure, but to make sure what I have in my possession is legit. They are. No, I could not stand to watch much, but I saw enough to know that Alex is one sick bastard. Believe me when I say, I couldn’t be happier that I’ve helped Evie to escape from his clutches. She and all the girls in the tapes deserve better.
Things with Jean have been a little shaky since I got back. I know she felt hurt that I would just pick up and leave without first discussing things with her, but she also knows that I’m a grown man and have to make my own decisions. I know I let her down by not turning up to work, but I know Evie’s life is more important than hurt feelings. I feel especially bad about work since Jean gave me a job at a time I was struggling to make a living selling my artwork. I will never forget the selfless way she saved me and gave me the gift of learning just how precious life is, but it’s time to find Evie. For most of us, second chances are what life is all about. There were a lot of tears when we sat down to talk. She gets it, though, so I’m happy I have her blessing to up and leave my life to go and find the girl of my dreams.
It’s been too long since I’ve gazed upon her face. After a while, you start to doubt yourself. You start to think that what you had wasn’t as real as you remember it. I’d wanted to stick around town for a while, just to keep an eye on Alex and whatnot, but I haven’t seen more than the back of him since we dumped him on the pavement outside the hospital despite keeping tabs on him. I guess you could say I’m satisfied somewhat that he took our warning seriously.
Mildly content, and knowing that Alex won’t be a threat to Evie’s parents or her, I know it is time to pack up my box of tricks and find my woman. I don’t say that in a ‘You Jane, me Tarzan’, macho-man kind of way. I say it in a ‘I’m-so-fucking-in-love-with-her’ she’s my woman, kind of way. It’s time for this man to find his happily ever after.
There’s not much I can say to my parents. I mean, come on, it’s not like we’ve had the best of relationships in the previous years. So I lie one last time. This time, it’s not about drugs or a girl. I tell them I’m pursuing my artistic career overseas and will send them a postcard when I get settled. Okay, it’s a half-truth I’m more than happy to leave them with.
So where does that leave me?
Blank. I have no idea where she is. Alright, not blank. I have a place I can start.
The airport is a busy and bustling place at the best of times. I’m not stupid enough to go at peak departure or arrival times because I know that the customer service officers at the sales counters won’t even give me the time of day.
So I ambush the poor ladies on the a.m. shift in the hopes that they’ll take pity on me and cut me some slack. At the first counter the attendant informs me that they have never had flights that depart internationally before five a.m.
The second counter is no better. Their last flight leaves just after midnight and doesn’t resume international carriage until well past nine in the morning.
As I look down the long line of counters, I realise that this could be a very long-winded process. Luck would have it, number three is a charm. Segway Airlines have just started a cheap flight service that runs just after four in the morning.
‘Are you sure that is the only flight out of here, ma’am?’
‘Yes, dear. I’ve been working this desk for the last fifteen years and not much has changed. You can bet your bottom dollar that we were just as surprised as the rest of the staff when they started running flights out of here that early.’
‘I don’t mean to keep you, but since you seem to know the ins and outs around here, do you know of any other carriers that would operate flights around that same time in the morning?’
‘Well, you have Air New Zealand leaving an hour later, and Virgin offers the Red-Eye to America not fifteen minutes after the our own flight. Does that help you, dear?’ The kindly old lady looks expectantly at me over her spectacles.
‘Yes, thank you very much, it does.’
‘Do you need a ticket? I can help you with that you know.’
‘It’s okay. I’m going to slee
p on it.’
‘Very wise of you, dear.’
I thank her again and then head home to pack. My last night in Brisbane is spent having dinner with Jean. She’s happy to store the paintings I’ve done which I don’t want to give away to charity. Rob and Lucas are already fighting over the remainder of my worldly possessions by the time I get home to finish gathering the last of my stuff.
In true bachelor style, they’ve organised a going away party. As much as I love my mates, I have no desire to get tanked with them. I still need to book my flight and get some shut-eye. While drunk hooligans drink our booze and pass out on the couch, I book my flight over the phone. Unnoticed, I lock myself in my room to grab a few hours’ sleep before the taxi arrives.
I was hoping for peaceful, uninterrupted rest, and yet all I do is dream about a huge clock, its hands speeding around its face, never stopping in one place. The more I try to figure out where I am, the further away the clock moves from me. In the distance I can see Evie. I reach for her but she vanishes. Every time the big hand passes the twelve a cacophony of chimes squeal loudly from the clock. I’m woken up by the banging on my door. The house is dark and silent, making me suddenly aware of the hum of an engine outside my bedroom window.
With all the grace of a person whose head is befuddled by sleep, I jump out of bed to unlock the door. Rob’s there, grinning at me.
‘Rise and shine, your taxi’s here.’
‘Already?’
‘Yes party-pooper, already.’
‘Tell him I’m coming, will you?’
‘Already have bro.’
There’s no time to brush my teeth. I just throw my clothes on and grab my bag, careful to triple check I’ve got my passport and wallet. Lucas is passed out on the couch, but Rob gives me a big man-hug at the door.
‘Good luck,’ he offers.
‘I’m gonna need it,’ I say, slapping his back for good measure.
Without a backwards glance I slide inside the taxi cab. We drive towards the airport in silence, he no more than I wanting the small talk. I pay his fare and then proceed to the Air New Zealand check-in counter.
My flight is on time. Every time I fly I’m still amazed that airlines manage to run such a tight ship when so many external factors could quite easily derail their schedule. But wheels lift up and I’m soon on my way to Christchurch.
All things considered, the flight is a short one. The only problem is, the minute I step off the plane, I know I’m in the wrong place. There is no way for me to know I’m right, but my intuition has never let me down before. Every single thing seems wrong. The weather is too cold, not at all like Brisbane. I’m underdressed and jacket-less. There is none of the warmth that Evie possesses here. I know it sounds stupid, but I can feel she’s not here.
I fucked up. I made the wrong choice. I’ve wasted more time, delaying finding her. I’m left with two choices. Vanuatu or Denver? The latter would seem more appropriate, because it would put the most distance between herself and Alex. But logic doesn’t work completely in Denver’s favour. It’s a bigger town in a bigger country, which is just more landmass for me to scour. It has cold weather, too. And, let’s be smart, there is no way she could have organised the ESTA – the Electronic System for Travel Authorisation, in time.
Vanuatu it is. Of course, there are no flights out until later that day. Refusing to budge from the airport, I spend a very restless five hours waiting for the next plane out of the god forsaken place. By the time my flight touches down in Port Vila in a balmy thirty-one degrees, I start to think that this is something more like it.
It’s late and I need a place to rest my head. I hitch a ride with other tourists to a local hotel, too wired to really think I’ll be able to sleep. The manager at reception processes my credit card for the room. On a whim I take out a picture of Evie. It’s her wedding photo but I’ve conveniently cut Alex out of the shot.
‘Excuse me, but you haven’t seen this woman in the last couple of months, have you?’
‘No, sir, I haven’t,’ he replies with a thick accent. He continues to click away at his keyboard. ‘How many nights will you be with us, Mr Glines?’
‘I’m not sure… does it matter right now?’
‘We should be able to accommodate you. It is the low season after all.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’
He hands me a plastic swipe card for the hotel room. I take it, eager to get settled for the evening. After a quick meal from room service I crash on the bed, the day finally catching up with me. That night, I only dream of the clock again. It frustrates me no end, because I just want the hands on the clock to stop spinning, but I struggle to wake. By the time I finally open my eyes, the rotation of the hands has made me feel dizzy. Too queasy to face breakfast, I get moving on bad instant coffee.
By the time I make it to the main village I’m buzzing. It’s hot and alive with people, venturing from one market stall to the next. I feel it in my bones. This is the place. She’s here somewhere. Now all I have to do is find her. Should be easy, right? Wrong.
It’s hard to fathom in a low populous place that it could actually take so long to find a person, but damn, I’m no Sherlock. The funny thing is, the clue that has been staring me in the face all week was right there all along. In the town square is a huge clock. It’s a lime rendered structure with the clock displaying Roman numerals on its white face. I’m a dumbass, because I should have caught on. It’s not the same as the clock on my wrist but it’s a symbol. It’s our symbol; my way of finding her.
Even after scouring all the local villages for her, and then finally realising where I should be waiting—still no Evie. Day in, day out I wait at the clock. I grow impatient as each day, each hour passes. At times I think I’ve made another mistake. Perhaps she managed to swing the Denver flight after all? Finally the gods favour me and I have an epiphany. I’m just staring at the clock on my wrist when things click. The time is set for noon. Of course, how could I be so blind?
The next day I watch from a nearby coffee shop. I’m drinking espresso that tastes mildly better than the crap in my hotel room. And then there she is. She’s an arresting vision, that’s for sure. Hammering heart and suddenly dry mouth, it’s her who does this to me. She still looks just as lovely as I remember her, but is that sadness I see in her face?
I want to take it away and make her smile in the way she did when she felt carefree and relaxed with me. I need her to look at me in that way if I ever want to be whole again. Forgetting the coffee, I get up, barely able to contain the wobble in my legs, and make my way towards her.
She has a light summer dress on, the sheer, cotton material flowing in the light breeze, allowing the sunlight to stream through behind it, showing off the shape of her legs. Forget schoolboy fantasies, this man has a bigger crush. It’s interesting to watch her while she’s unaware of my stares. She’s shy, self-conscious, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear while she leans against the brick wall of the clock. Her hair is much shorter, but it suits her so much. She looks hopeful, but pretends not to be while she takes in the throng of people around her.
Never in my life have I wanted to run so badly. Never in my life have I wanted to feel another human being’s touch as much as I do hers. With as much calm as I can muster, I close the void between us.
Two months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours and one minute have passed since I last saw Evie. As she tilts her head and her eyes finally connect with mine, it feels like I’ve finally come home.
Thirty-Three
EVIE
And there he is. The longing, the fear, tension, heartbreak—it all just dissipates. He’s here; he came for me, just like he promised. Time stops, because now that my eyes finally meet with his, nothing else matters.
His unruly, brown hair is a lot shorter which allows me to see more of his face. Steely, determined jawline and confident, muddy-brown eyes tell me he means business. There’s longing there, too. My heart sings so l
oudly in my chest I feel it may just pop out. There is not only a visceral reaction to him but an organic one, too.
With all the people about the marketplace it makes his path to me a slow one. He hurries, without being rude to those around him, which only tells me that this man has manners and care for others, because I can tell from the look on his face he’d rather be running full pelt between them, pushing them out of his way so that he can get to me faster.
The emotions that pass through me are the ones I should have felt when I married Alex. Instead of fear and apprehension gripping me as I waited at the end of the isle for Alex, I should have felt love and joy at my impending nuptials. I never did.
When Grayson looks at me, I feel like I’m the only person on this earth for him. The faith and conviction with which I place my heart in his hands is testament to the strength and loyalty he’s willing to offer me. As he draws nearer to me, every single person in the marketplace just vanishes. It’s him and me, and nothing more.
Two steps, one step, and then his searing hot hands find my cheeks, cupping them as he draws me close to his pounding chest. In his arms I relax, my eyes closing in relief as his lips find mine autonomously.
I wrap my arms around his waist, desperate to feel him as much as he does me. He kisses me deeply, lost lovers reuniting our spark with just the smallest amount of flint.
His tongue finds mine, caressing, teasing and full of promise for more things to come. I’m so addicted to the way he makes me feel that the relief that he’s finally here just rolls of me in waves. I kiss him hungrily, knowing that there is no need to be anxious any more. He’s here to stay and nothing or no one will ever be able to take him away from me again.
Reluctantly, he pulls apart from me, desperately making furtive glances over my face.
‘I found you,’ he says huskily.
‘You did,’ I breathe back.
‘You’re here.’