by Lily White
About to ask her what she meant, I was stopped when Ensley leaned forward to press her lips to mine, a tentative kiss that reminded me of our first time.
She was testing the waters, trying to love me the only way she knew how. Or at least love the boy she remembered.
Lifting a hand, I gripped her hip when she rocked her body over my lap. Ensley needed to hold still. Needed to understand that I wouldn’t always be a place where she could bury her violence.
“I won’t hurt you again,” I whispered against her lips. “Not unless you need it.”
Grey eyes held mine, the tips of our noses brushing each other for how close we were.
“You like hurting me.”
“I don’t.”
My hand gripped her hip harder, fingers sinking against the soft flesh.
“They did.”
The thought forced my eyes closed, set my jaw so tight, I could hear the enamel grinding.
“I’m not them.”
Another hesitant kiss, just the brush of her lips over mine ,and I reached up to grip her face in my hand between my fingers and thumb, her mouth pressing against my palm.
“We do this my way or none at all.”
A mumble against my hand. “What’s your way?”
We laughed, and her body shook over my lap, not helping my control at all with the painful erection I had.
Moving my hand so that I was still holding her face, but had also freed her mouth to talk, I answered, “Let me show you.”
She nodded, and I slid my hand to cup the back of her head and pull her to me. Parting her lips with mine, I held her in a kiss that was so slow and deep it was mind-bending. Little mewls escaped the back of her throat, her body trying to rock again over my lap before I clamped my hand even tighter to her hip to hold her still.
We would do this my way, and my way was to love her for who she was. Not use her as a means to get off.
Ensley would learn the difference eventually.
Fingers gripping her hair, I tilted her head back. My lips dragged a trail down her neck, biting softly at the junction of her shoulder, dipping down further to flick my tongue over the taut peak of her breast before taking it fully in my mouth to taste her.
A full body shiver took hold of her, small noises of complaint climbing up her throat because I wasn’t letting her direct the speed of this encounter. But I didn’t listen, didn’t lose my control all because she couldn’t wait to ride me.
“Noah,” she whispered, “I can’t-“
“You can,” I promised her, placing small kisses over the shape of one breast before moving on to the other.
“I need-“
“You don’t.”
She didn’t have to finish her thought, I already knew what she was going to say. Ensley believed she needed pain to get off. She believed a man had to use her. But that wasn’t true.
Still, we didn’t have as much time as I would have preferred, and I couldn’t spend several hours exploring every inch of her body. The sun was rising higher, the day was moving on, and we had to get moving with it. Staying for too long in one spot was asking for trouble.
With my hand over her hip, I directed her to push up on her knees so I could shove my sweatpants down. She tried to drop and take control of this moment, but I stopped her and held her in place, releasing her head to explore between her legs with my fingers.
“Watch me, Ens. Watch us.”
See us was what I was really thinking.
She blinked her eyes and looked down, watching me love her.
Mouth parted on soft breath, Ensley shuddered with whatever was fracturing inside her, whatever needed to fracture so that she could free herself from the perilous self-destruction of her life.
If I died because I was caught after leaving prison, I would do so with the knowledge that I taught this woman how to be loved, but more importantly, how to love herself.
Her gaze flicked up to my eyes, her head tilting to the side because she needed more than what my hand was giving her.
Gripping my cock, I positioned her body over it and allowed her to sink down.
Ensley’s head fell back with every inch, a moan rolling out of her mouth that I wished I could record and listen to forever.
It was too damn bad we didn’t have more time.
“Take what you need, beautiful. Take everything I have to give you.”
She looked at me with wide shocked eyes, but then did as I’d asked. Her hips rocked as she gripped my shoulders and moved over my lap. Within a few minutes, I was ready to come. I had to grit my teeth and inwardly curse at the years I’d spent in prison. My stamina and ability to hold off was nowhere near what it should be.
Ensley eventually climaxed with such a violent release that her fingernails dug into my shoulder and I had to hold her still while she finished.
I hated having to lift her up before I met her on the precipice, but we didn’t have a condom and there was no way I’d take that chance. I made a mental note to stop at a store on the way to Colorado.
It didn’t matter, though.
That morning, I witnessed something so beautiful that the mess we made and the future that awaited us were a mere distraction and nothing else.
For the first time since the worst of her life had happened, Ensley reached an orgasm with having to hurt herself in the process.
If that wasn’t a thing of beauty, I didn’t know what was.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ensley
Present
On the Road Again…
The damn song blasted from the speakers as we sped down another interstate heading southwest to a location I wasn’t completely sure of. Noah tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of us while miles and miles of flatland sped past us, a herd of cows popping up here and there, some crops, big industrial looking areas every so often, but otherwise not much to look at.
I’d tried to wrestle control of the radio away from Noah, but he’d smack my hand away muttering something about how I should appreciate the classics.
Giving up on that, I thought back to what Sadie told me and how I hadn’t been surprised to learn the kids weren’t my father’s. Although they looked just like my mother, their eye color never made sense to me, not after I learned the basics of genetics in high school. Grey, like my father, and blue, like my mother, should not have made brown. Yet, all three sets of their eyes had been a beautiful amber.
My heart hurt at the thought of their sweet faces, the smiles they would flash me when they believed everything was okay. They never did catch my mother and the things she did to me. I thanked the universe for that every time I thought of them. The only night their lives hadn’t been at least somewhat innocent was the night they died.
Glancing over at Noah, I studied the way his dark hair blew in the wind, the stubble over cheeks that hid the dimples I always loved, and I was beginning to doubt what I’d believed about him.
Could Noah kill someone?
I had no doubt he could. He’d almost killed that prison guard in his escape. He’d stood over the bodies of my dead family, his shoes soaked in their blood, his skin splashed with deep crimson. But would he hurt children?
No. It was hard to imagine he would.
After seeing him that night, after being in such a state of horror and shock, it had been a certainty in my head that he did.
Back then it was.
But now? Now I wasn’t so sure.
In my therapy sessions, Peter had allowed the first few weeks to focus on what I saw and how my mind could process it. It was mostly for my testimony at trial, sessions spent putting the pieces together enough that what I said would convince the jury I was credible. But as soon as that trial was over, Peter believed it was healthier for me to move on, for me to fill my time with something other than death, and that’s how my hobby of watching the time had become an obsession.
I had to fill every minute, know what would happen every n
ext two hour block, had to keep pushing myself forward because there was nothing left for me in the past.
Was it healthy? That schedule never gave me a minute to reflect, to think, to remember what my life had been before the worst of it happened. It never gave me a minute to breathe.
And I’d known through all these years that there were patches of my life that I’d forgotten, that there was something buried in that dark place inside of me I needed to remember. I just couldn’t stand to stay still long enough.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know now, but Noah was determined to show me.
Turning to stare out the window, I saw a field of wildflowers racing past, the rainbow of blooms bowing with the light wind that blew, dancing across that field in different heights and shapes, reminding me of the small garden Noah had planted between our houses.
A quiet laugh shook my shoulders.
The poor guy had tried and failed so many times to make those flowers grow. I remembered watching him from the kitchen window in my house when I was doing dishes or making dinner or breakfast for the kids.
The first few times, he’d tossed seeds out there that never took. Probably because it was the wrong time of the year and there was no rain. But he kept trying. Eventually, he dragged a hose out, wrestling it like it was some massive serpent he had to conquer, to water the ground real well and sow those seeds again.
I always thought the secret I’d buried had poisoned the ground somehow, that the truth of my life was far too toxic, but Noah was determined and wouldn’t give up, eventually coaxing a patch of yellow wildflowers to grow right over the grave of that mean cat.
He’d jumped around and pumped his hand in the air when those first flowers bloomed, and I just sat back and laughed at his enthusiasm. I was always careful where I stepped when I snuck over to his room at night, afraid I might snap a stem and kill the things he grew.
Over the years, he kept his promise. No matter what happened, he’d make me write those notes, bury them in the ground, and then he’d grow flowers over them. It didn’t matter how much he hated me at the time, or how angry I was at him, I was out there scrawling toxic confessions he would wrap with his, like our pain was meant to go together.
Noah and I named it a few years later. He said we reminded him of some book where the character hated his life and that’s where he got the idea.
The garden of discontent.
It’s where our misfortune is buried.
We’d made it through Illinois and were halfway through Missouri by the time it was mid afternoon.
“You hungry?” Noah nudged my elbow with his.
We hadn’t eaten anything since the breakfast Sadie rushed us out the door with this morning.
“Yes. And I need to pee.”
He laughed. “You always need to pee.”
“Small bladder,” I reminded him.
We’ve been having this discussion since we were kids. I couldn’t lie in bed too long because of my small bladder. I couldn’t make it through a full movie without pausing it twice because of my small bladder. I couldn’t go on long hikes with him in the woods without running off to pee behind a bush because - yes - my small bladder.
Noah may have loved me, but he hated my bladder. Already we had to stop three times on this trip because of my small bladder. He should have thought about that before abducting me.
Noah pulled off the interstate and turned down a long, flat road that had cornfields on either side. Every so often, a dirt road would cut through those fields, but other than that, the place looked empty for miles.
But there had been a sign promising gas at the exit we took, so we kept going until we found a creepy looking gas station that looked like something out of the 1950s. It was eerily quiet and dust blew over the cracked concrete like a warning for us to keep driving.
The building itself was dirty and small, a few large windows in front with hand written signs far different from the flashy neon I was used to. Even the gas pumps were oddly shaped, more rounded than boxy, as if the world had moved into the new millennium but had somehow forgotten this place.
If you’ve ever seen a horror movie, you knew better than to stop at this place, but Noah turned right to pull up to those gas pumps, and I jumped out, happy to stretch my legs.
Looking over the roof of the car at me, he motioned to a bathroom on the right side of the store with a nudge of his chin.
“Go pee. I’ll get gas and meet you inside to grab food.”
Off I went, my nose scrunching at the smell of the bathroom, but there was nothing that could be done about it. After relieving myself and making sure to wash my hands several times, I was afraid to touch anything again and used a paper towel to open the side door that led into the store.
A kindly, older man smiled at me from behind the counter, waved once, then went back to watching the small television he had tucked out of view.
I scanned the aisles, walking up one and down the other, grabbing whatever looked good. Eventually we’d have to find something to eat that was better than salty chips and sugary pastries.
Opening a door to the wall refrigerator, I grabbed two Cokes and tried to balance it all in my arms on the way up to the counter. A bag slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor, but before I could figure out how I would bend down to grab it, a hand landed on my hip and Noah reached around me to help.
We approached the counter together, Noah pulling money out of his pocket to pay, but he froze while waiting for the cashier to ring us up.
Glancing right, I saw a police car pulling into the parking lot, stopping near the restrooms a little out of sight. Our car was on the other side, partially hidden by the gas pumps, but there was no way we could reach it without the cop seeing us walk by.
If that wasn’t bad enough, it was as if fate itself were conspiring against us. Whatever show the cashier had been watching was interrupted by a breaking news brief about a woman believed abducted in Florida by a man who’d escaped prison.
My breath caught in my lungs to realize that Peter had reported me missing. The authorities must have connected the dots between Noah’s escape and my failure to show up for my appointments with my shrink.
We were screwed. That’s all I could think as the reporter’s voice kept droning on, photos of both Noah and me flashing on the screen.
Time stood still at that moment, only the dust blowing over the cement outside. I looked up at Noah’s face to see he was stuck in place, indecision obvious behind his bright, blue eyes.
The cashier just kept ringing up our food, seemingly oblivious to the situation right in front of him, at least until he turned to peek at the TV before lifting his eyes to me.
His recognition was instantaneous.
“Wait,” he said, brown eyes drifting Noah’s direction. “Aren’t you-“
Noah jumped over the counter and wrapped an arm around the cashier’s neck.
“What are you doing?” I asked, terrified he would kill again.
Noah held onto that poor man until he passed out. Slowly lowering him to the floor, Noah reached in his pocket and tossed me the car keys.
“Do you remember that dirt road we passed about two miles down from here?”
I nodded and pushed up on my toes to see if the cashier was dead, but Noah’s urgent tone of voice dragged my attention back to him.
“He’s fine, Ens. I only knocked him out. Do you remember that road?”
“Yes,” I answered, not knowing why it mattered.
“Take the car and drive to that road. Wait for me. If I’m not there within an hour, drive away and go home. Walk calmly past that cop and don’t draw any attention to yourself.”
What the hell was he talking about? There was no way I would leave him behind.
“Noah-“
“Just do as I say, Ens. I have to take care of this problem.”
“He could kill you. You’re an escaped-“
“I know that,” he snapped. “Just go.”
&nbs
p; I shook my head to refuse, but one look at Noah’s face and I knew better than to argue. His normally bright eyes had darkened, the pupils dilated where they stared out at the police car, every muscle in his shoulders as rigid as his jaw. He moved slowly to come around the counter, and I noticed his hands were fisting and stretching out again, every step he took slow and careful.
“Ensley,” he whispered when he’d reached my side, his hand lightly touching my back. “Go.”
Nodding my head, I walked away from him, forcing one foot in front of the other.
Outside the store, it was too quiet, no cars passing by or animals to make noise. I turned to walk to the gas pumps, praying that the cop wouldn’t look up from whatever he was doing to see me moving past.
With one step, I worried I’d hear the creaking hinges of a car door. With another, I worried I would hear the static blast of a radio warning that we were near. With the next, I worried I would hear that cop call out Stop! Aren’t you the woman we’re looking for? And with the next I feared I’d hear the blast of a gun.
That was the worst step. The gun. The bullets that would destroy Noah where he stood, dropping him to the ground.
By the time I reached our car to climb inside, I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stick the key in the ignition. It took me three attempts before I could start the engine and pull away.
Pulling out onto the road, I glanced in the rear view mirror worried I would never see Noah again.
What was he going to do? Kill a cop? Had he been lying to me and he’d actually killed that poor cashier? Was I driving away to be an accomplice to murder if Noah actually reached the car?
I didn’t know, but I drove to that road anyway and pulled down about fifty feet. Making a tight three point turn, I positioned the car to be heading out to the main road, thinking it would be better if we had to speed away real quick.
What was I doing? Why was I involved in this? What time was it? What time had I left the store?
My eyes shot to the digital radio to seek out a habitual comfort. If I knew the time, I was in control. If I knew the time, there would be something to do. If I knew the time, I could rest easy because I knew what came before and what would come after.