by Kira Hawke
AILS
Stay With Me by Kira Hawke
This eBook may be distributed freely in its entirety. This eBook may not be sold, manipulated or reproduced in any format without the express written permission of Kira Hawke.
This book is a work of fiction and such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
Copyright 2014 by Kira Hawke
Edited by Krystal Roy
Cover designed by Stephanie Kilbank
Image Shutterstock #199414679 by Antonio Guillem
Brush Brusheezy by nadaimages
STAY WITH ME
A slur of sirens echoed somewhere in the distance… and this was the first time they ran for me. Possibly the last, too. I’d be that passing thought people sometimes get when they catch wind of the sound; when they can afford to spend a curious moment on what could have happened to set them off.
It was almost white noise for me too. Almost. I wish I could have drowned it out like everyone else; but it held too much power over me. It meant I was broken.
Really broken.
It meant that this was real. That I wasn’t about to wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding.
It also meant someone was coming.
Someone was actually coming and I was still alive and that was exactly what I’d prayed for when he pulled me out of his trunk; so I don’t know why I couldn’t even out my breath or stop shivering even though this could all be over soon.
…But how exactly would it end?
What would the papers say about me and my murderer if the ambulance didn’t reach me in time? …if they couldn’t drive to the hospital fast enough …if the doctors couldn’t put me back together once I arrived...?
Would either of us have a name in the report, or would my memory be reduced to a trophy clipping stapled to his wall?
I wasn’t ready to die.
Not like this.
Would death be anything like that empty state before we’re born? We all knew what it was like to not exist.
I wasn’t ready to be nothing.
I started the morning wondering trivial things like what it meant about someone’s sanity if they spoke to their cat and questioning if I’d ever gather the courage to utter more than my order to the cute guy at the coffee shop. Completely oblivious that this was likely my last day.
I’d never been kissed. I never even came out of the closet—not that people couldn’t figure it out on their own. I simply hid everything away. Including myself.
None of that mattered anymore.
At least it wouldn’t, soon enough.
“Hold on just a little longer,” said a voice, calm and soothing like running a wound under cool water. “Can you hear that? Help is on its way.”
But he wasn’t real. No one would’ve wandered to that sketchy area beneath the bridge where I’d been dragged. Not this late at night. It was the kind of place you’d expect to get mugged or to find broken bottles and used needles.
Or a body.
Something did scare off my attacker, though. The only reason he didn’t stick around to witness my life snuff out was because of footsteps. His footsteps.
“One second,” the young man mumbled, and I was scared that he’d leave just as fast as he arrived. The zip-tie suddenly snapped free from my wrists and the duct tape peeled off my mouth instead. “There. That’s better.”
“Thank you,” I breathed—maybe whimpered. I don't know how it came out. The air felt so cold in my throat and lungs. A chill crept through my torn hoodie and clung to the damp fabric. Maybe I’d freeze to death before bleeding out.
As if reading my mind, he tugged off his jacket and draped it over me. Wasn’t he worried I’d ruin it? But I couldn’t argue; the warmth smelled so nice with a faint musk. It could only be described as home. Not my home …but somewhere very pleasant. Somewhere I could curl up and rest.
“Who did this to you?”
I recognized that he asked me something but couldn’t grasp the words, like when you repeat them over and over until they turn to gibberish. It was another language.
My life wasn’t the only one that would change dramatically, all because one person couldn’t deny his sick impulses. This poor stranger was about to watch someone die—too kind to let me pass away alone. I knew this from the way he squeezed my hand. He wasn’t going anywhere.
No. I had to live so he didn’t have to see it. So my image wouldn’t haunt him. I didn’t want to play a role in a story saved for psychologists.
“Hey, listen. What’s your name?”
“Hm?”
“What’s your name?”
“L-Logan Woods,” I barely managed to get out. God, it hurt to talk. Speaking required more air then I was willing to take in—as if holding absolutely still could somehow dull the pain. But even the shallowest of breaths ignited a searing like I’d never experienced before.
“Okay, Logan, it will be hard, but you have to resist…”
How many times did that blade drive into my chest? I felt defenceless and smothered as a child with that cruel sibling who refuses to listen when they beg for the tickling to stop. There was no mercy. No escape. No air.
My body couldn’t handle all the foreign objects he’d forced on me. His touch lingered like fresh burns, and all that was left of me were the slow dying embers.
I always imagined I’d burn out old and in the comfort of my bed. Preferably with a lover by my side; during sleep so I’d never see it coming. I wouldn’t know to be scared.
Turns out I got a field of broken concrete surrounded by a mural of graffiti.
“Did you catch that?”
…And this compassionate stranger.
For a moment I wanted to pretend that he meant something to me. That we’d met somewhere else and memorized every detail about one another—like how he was colour-blind and ambidextrous. How he hated coffee but drank it anyways for the caffeine kick. How he preferred romantic comedies over action, and how he was crap at drawing but borderline genius when it came to numbers. …How he wouldn’t be ashamed to hold my hand in public or place a kiss on my cheek. How he’d have a thing for those old photo booths and saved every last print, even if they turned out horribly. He’d write bad poetry and slip it into my pocket when I wasn’t looking and we’d stay on the phone all night until we both fell asleep. I craved to burry myself in the crook of his neck and take in that tranquil scent straight from its host.
This was foolish. And more than a little desperate. Pathetic even.
He didn’t have a name and I never got a good look at him.
But I could just tell he was attractive.
Everything about him was.
I willed the energy to open my eyes and focus on him until the image stopped swimming.
…I was right.
He was gorgeous.
“Good! You’re doing good. Logan, listen, this is really important. You have to stay awake, all right?”
He made it sound easy. The lure of sleep was as strong as that extra nine minutes after the morning alarm goes off.
I nearly drifted off then and quickly nodded so he wouldn’t catch it.
I had to stay focused.
I had to stay awake.
“You are doing great, Logan. Don’t give up,” he repeated while fixing my bangs, somehow able to tell I needed the encouragement.
I still slipped in-and-out in spite of it; and the difference between past and present became foggier and foggier. How long had it been since I was taken? What time was it anyways?
The apartment had been unlocked when I returned. It was stupid to wave that detail off and assume I’d been forgetful, though I truly believed a robbery was the worst thing that could have happened.
&nbs
p; Yet my instincts told me something was wrong. And it was. A light was on in my room, the desk slightly rearranged, some dresser drawers open. It wasn’t much; but I distinctly remembered keeping things in order before heading out.
Still, I doubted myself.
Like many children, I used to be scared of a monster that lived in my closet. It would keep me up all night without doing a single thing. It never showed itself –never made a sound– yet I still firmly believed in it and all its malice.
But then I started to believe that if monsters did exist… why would one live in my room of all places? Why my closet? Why would it care about me at all? There were so many people in the world and I was just one small kid among millions. Just one small existence. No one would notice me.
I simply wasn’t that special.
And so I got over that fear.
That got me over fear in general.
They say fear is what keeps you alive …so maybe that’s why I was dying.
Needless to say, I fell for his diversion. The last thing I remembered was the feeling of arms snatching me from behind and a rush of something sweet and chemical filling my nose and mouth.
I should’ve held my breath the second I felt him and the cloth; but I panicked, and that sealed my fate. It all happened so fast.
As I came-to, my wrists were being sealed tightly together –to what felt like down to the bone– and the trunk slammed shut, echoing in the empty parking garage. Once the engine started, it occurred to me that I wasn’t going to make it out of this alive.
Things only got worse from there.
I never would have predicted I’d lose my virginity to my next door neighbour, Clarke Harris. There wasn’t an ounce of attraction towards him; not that he was particularly hard on the eyes –he was