Liarholic

by Kingsley Ash

‘It hasn't been that long.’

  I choke down my tears. He’s watching me in a predatory way, his gaze on my neck. He leans forward and licks at the salty sweat I can feel trickling down to my shoulder.

  ‘Let me tell you,’ he says between licks. ‘The last sixteen days and a half have been really fucking long.’

  ‘Didn’t you call your friend?’ I say it in the heat of the moment. I’m hurt and confused, and my words come out like tumbling gravel. I don’t know why I say it. I didn’t mean to say it.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? I told you, Amy, every other girl in the world means fuck all to me. I only want you,’ he rasps.

  He stops licking me and eases back to look into my eyes. For a moment his eyes soften and he says, ‘I promise this time, it'll be better. I'll be better. I was a bastard for lying, okay. I lied because it was the only way I could pull those broken strings of yours and force you to fix yourself right —’

  ‘Shepherd, you broke my heart when I was fourteen, okay. I thought I would die. I actually wanted to die so that it would go away . . .’

  My shallow breaths hurt in my chest. Years of pain, years of feeling like I did something wrong, that I wasn’t good enough, and never knowing the reason why he buried me six feet under without him dropping a single tear for me.

  ‘Amy, I don’t know what I can say to make what I did right. There is nothing I can say.’

  Pain throbs in my heart, tugging me back to the past, back to a time where Shepherd left me to rot alone in Greystone.

  ‘Everybody in this town settles like dust,’ I murmur. ‘You got out of this town. But I was like everyone else. I was never going to go anywhere. I didn’t get to leave. I’m — I’m stuck.’

  ‘Baby, look at me. Look at me,’ he rasps. ‘I never moved on or got out. You know why?’

  I rattle my head. Something broken.

  ‘Because I couldn’t leave you behind. I kept coming back, watching you in the shadows when you weren’t looking. The anonymous donations to your sister — that was me. I never left you, Amy. Not completely. There are bits of me in the dust.’

  He’s still holding me down, his confession breaking me.

  ‘Why’d you think it’s your fault Elizabeth got brain damage?’

  A single tear drops down my face. He strokes it with his thumb. ‘I . . . She told me to keep quiet. If I just . . .’ I look into his eyes, a black pool of concern. ‘There is a hell inside my head that I cannot escape. I hate myself, Shepherd. I really hate myself from the bottom of my heart.’

  ‘Amy, baby, you need to quit hating yourself. Don’t let the past drag you to Hell. Try and move on.’

  ‘If I move on, if I fix the hurt, then it’ll mean I’ve forgotten. The pain is a daily reminder it happened. It tore my world apart and I have no idea what to do with the pieces. I know the old Elizabeth is gone but I can’t believe it. Does that make any sense?’

  He nods, stroking my hand with his thumb.

  ‘They say when you have a limb amputated you can still feel it,’ I continue. ‘Even though it’s not there you can’t . . . shake the sensation that it is. And the worst thing is that it . . . it itches. It itches and it burns and it hurts and . . . you can’t do a thing about it.’

  I pause. ‘It’s your brain apparently. It’s wired to think that your arm or your leg is still there, and it can’t accept that it isn’t. It’s like the world doesn’t make sense without it. There’s no way out . . . I don’t deserve to escape oblivion.’

  I pop inside, like a balloon meeting a pin. A shrivelled-up sensation of hope being lost.

  ‘Amy, I’m sorry your sister is damaged but it wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘It was, it is. All of it. Everything bad that’s happened — it’s because of me.’

  ‘The hell it is. Don’t ever think you done bad. Christ, Amy, life is messy. It’s messy. And it’s painful and it’s fucked up. It doesn’t make any sense, okay. Whatever you’re blaming yourself for, you have to remember you weren’t the one to put her in a coma. She wouldn’t blame you.’

  ‘How do you know? How do you know what it’s like to blame yourself? To be torn apart this way —’

  ‘Of course I fucking do —’

  ‘Or done something so wrong!’ I shout.

  ‘I do!’ he roars. ‘I pulled a gun on an old lady. I scared her, Amy.’

  ‘Wh-what? You . . . you had a gun?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t like that . . . When I was fifteen I got in too deep. I’d lost all perspective on reality. The only thing I cared about was becoming the toughest and most respected kid in town. I was in a full-blown fuck-the-world mentality. I was in a hate state-of-mind. With the gun in my hand, I didn’t need money. I could walk into anywhere and take what I wanted. If the world hated me, then I hated the world back.’

  ‘Where did you get a gun from?’

  ‘The gun wasn’t real. It was a lighter shaped like a handgun. It was just a replica. When you pulled the trigger, instead of a bullet, a flame came out of the end of the barrel. But it looked so real. If you didn’t know it was a lighter, you wouldn’t take your chances with anyone who waved it in your face.’

  He looks away, ashamed.

  ‘The old lady didn’t know that. I scared her, for what? A few quid? Thing is, I bottled it. Didn’t take the money in the end. I ran out of the corner shop but some kid from school spotted me. I was a lowlife. I deserved to be locked up. But being locked up, it does things to you. There’s no light inside. And the dark? It just got darker and darker.

  ‘So I’m telling you right now, Amy. Don’t waste away until you die. Don’t let the monsters kill you. The fault wasn’t yours. You are not broken — not ever. ‘Cos the bad, the broken and the ugly — those labels are for men like me. You don’t come anywhere close.’

  He trails butterfly kisses up my neck, sending hot shivers through my body. ‘Amy. Don’t ever hate yourself — and quit fighting us.’

  When he slides farther down me and presses his face against my breasts, he rubs his cheek and his chin and his nose and then his lips against one nipple, and then the other. He does it so slowly and tenderly that I arch my whole body.

  He’s in a trance of pleasure, his mouth a little open, his eyes half-closed, hazy silver, as he makes lazy, erratic circles against my breasts. The stubble on his face prickles my skin, contrasting against the softness of his full lips. He breathes slowly, heavily, with one of his hands tangled in my hair and the other stroking along the side of my breast.

  His hand tightens in my hair and he whispers against my skin, ‘Baby, you can hate me right now but I can smell you getting wet again.’

  The hand that had been stroking my breast feathers between my thighs. He pushes his fingers into my wetness. It makes me moan out loud. It feels better than when I try to do it to myself.

  I hate both of us — for what he's done, the nasty, hurtful lies. And for what I let him do, despite his sadistic, manipulative ways.

  Years ago, he broke my heart. And now I’m picking up the pieces and putting them right back into the palm of his hands, just so he can do it all over again.

  I grasp his shoulders, shove at him. Try to push him away and when that doesn’t work, try to push him lower.

  He looks up with a smirk and says, ‘You pretend you don't like it, but you want me to eat your pussy, don't you?’

  ‘Yes . . . ’

  I push at him again, until he goes down on his knees and pulls me to the edge of the bed. There, he rubs his face against my belly, my thighs, my pubic hair. For the first time, I’m not afraid to come.

  I want the desire in him that is animal, not polluted by what kind of man he is.

  The Liar.

  The Monster.

  The Hulk.

  I open my legs wider, put my hand to the back of his head, tug him to me, and tighten my thighs on him.

  He goes at me in earnest, as though he means to devour me. I push toward him, pull at him, trying to get him closer when he is
already as close as he can get. When I rub my hand against the grain of stubble on the back of his head, he growls but doesn’t stop.

  Without realising it, I dig my fingernails into him. ‘Slow down,’ I gasp.

  He obeys. Faster or slower, harder or softer. I dig my heels into his back, and lift my hips off the bed to get at what I want. I don’t say his nickname. He doesn’t deserve it. My orgasm is wordless. A euphoria of ecstasy exploding in every cell of my body.

  I lie gasping and undone. He rises up triumphant, wearing a feral smile, and pulls off his T-shirt. Wadding it up, he wipes his dripping face with it. He takes off his boots and trousers, returns my gaze with an unhinged look. Not just hungry but lacking, wanting my soul.

  Then I’m back to being afraid. Because it’s set in stone. I can’t breathe without him. And that scares me to death.

  The lies, the secrets . . . I’m scared it’ll be me who destroys his heart.

  48

  ME

  Don’t want to hurt you, Amy. Wish I could turn you into a princess and hell, magic you happiness.

  It seems a cruel realisation. It seems stupid. It seems impossible. How am I supposed to make Amy happy when I don’t understand the meaning of the word?

  I’m sure there’s more to it, but the closest I’ve felt to happy is being inside Amy or on top of her or fuck, just next to her, with my arms around her, with her lullaby echoing in my ears.

  I don’t know how to say it, don’t know how to explain this epiphany I’ve got — and . . . I just want something, to give her something. The pain in her voice, I understand. It’s the same pain I feel when she’s gone, the same pain I feel when I realise how woefully inadequate a fucking human being I am and how Amy deserves better. But goddamn it, all I want is to make her happy. But I don’t know how. I just don’t know how.

  I look at my princess. She’s a scared little rabbit. Hell, she needs to get that I’ll always protect her. She never has to be afraid of me.

  Fuck, don’t doubt me, Amylocks.

  I’ll make sure Amy knows with the certainty that the moon will orbit the fucking Earth, that I’d put a bullet in my own head just to save her, wrangle her from the grip of the Devil, and beat the fuck out of myself for having left her in the woods to fend for herself.

  When she lifts herself up from the bed, she gets dressed quickly and then tries to leave my bedroom.

  I’m losing her . . .

  Why did I have to fucking lie to her?!

  Amy is always running. Always hiding. But fuck if there’s anywhere I can’t follow her.

  I grip her wrist, tug her into me, and wrap my other arm around her.

  ‘Amy, baby, don’t hate me — not now. It’s what I wanted, but hell, it’s the last thing I want.’

  I want to possess every inch of you.

  ‘The truth is,’ I say, ‘the truth is I feel too much when I’m with you.’

  Looking at her sets a feeling on fire inside me against the darkness. I kiss her for it.

  ‘Did you lie about loving me, once upon a time?’ My voice is guttural, raw. ‘Was it a lie, Amy? Because I need you to love me again.’

  I smell lemon drops.

  The smell is everything I breathe.

  ‘It wasn’t a lie,’ Amy says breathless.

  ‘I will never hurt you,’ I whisper against the swell of her cheek.

  I kiss her hard, her tits flat against my chest. I try to wrap her body around mine and hold onto her, forever.

  ‘I want you so badly, Amy, it fucking hurts,’ I say against her lips. I gasp, taking my mouth from hers long enough to unbutton her dress all the way down. I bend my head to kiss her tits, letting my body crash against hers. We both hit the wall with a thud as I jam the hard shape of my cock into the softness of her belly with a primal groan.

  I feel her shuddering against me as my hand slips between us in a rush to undo my belt and fly. I don’t bother to take off my trousers or my boots. My heart is pounding as hard and fast as hers is. This will happen fast, and I want it fast.

  I’m impatient, crazed with the need for another fix. My fingers grind against the cotton of her panties as my tongue invades her mouth, my other hand pinching her nipple through the lace of her bra. My entire body is stiff with want. Every muscle tight as our mouths twist against each other’s. Biting kisses between grunts and groans, until finally I crook a finger between her legs and yank the crotch of her panties to one side.

  Amy moans my name when she feels the rounded head of my cock slide up through her wet slit, over her plump clit, and my body jolts as the sparks fly inside me.

  Amy squirms between my body and the wall, unable to keep still, her body begging mine to make her whole.

  Just knowing how she tastes and feels under my tongue makes the head of my cock weep with pre-cum, and I feel my balls tighten.

  I can’t wait any longer. I grip my cock and move it down towards her slick pussy, pausing abruptly. I take her under the chin with my other hand, lifting her head and making her open her heated eyes and look at me.

  ‘Don’t hate me, baby girl.’ I am so out of breath, it’s a whisper. Every nerve ending in me crying out for gratification and cursing myself for delaying it to demand such a stupid thing.

  She looks at me. ‘I can’t ever hate you, Shepherd.’

  ‘I love you, Amy,’ I whisper, as my mouth crashes over hers again, kissing her fiercely as I plunge the head of my cock into her with a sudden and vicious drive I know she’s wet enough to take.

  I’m too wide for her tight pussy, but I always make her fit me. Her body takes to my shape and size so well, it’s like she’s custom made for me, and only me.

  I fuck her there, against the bedroom wall. She keeps moaning and shuddering, so when each inch of my length slides inside her, it all unravels something in me that I can’t name. But I live for it. Live off it.

  I’d die for it.

  Her legs wrap around my waist, her arms around my neck. She’s velvet locked around my cock, shooting spasms up it that rattle clear up to my brain. I growl deep in my chest, and let myself go, fucking her as hard and as fast as I can.

  Her body is fucking beautiful, the way it looks and feels. Her body against mine feels like being poured over with hot, silky milk. Her body giving all to mine and taking all from me, moving with every jar and jab and drive I give out, as hungry for release as I am.

  But this fuck is poles apart from anything I’ve ever felt in my soulless life.

  I feel it in my bones. The connection of emotion and carnal pleasure that I’ll never admit I feel, but only feel with Amy.

  These strange, potent feelings only intensify each time I drive inside her pussy. What it is in me, that won’t let myself walk away from Amy, I’ll never understand. I’m not the type to fall in love. And yet, here I am, fucking Amy and feeling so much more than just her luscious, sweet taint.

  I become more frenzied against her, my drives jerkier and deeper, like I’m trying to find some place inside her that won’t let me in. I fuck her like I’m trying to open her up wide and plunder whatever is inside her, leaving her filled with all that I am in my wake.

  I’m getting close, dissolving into the same sweet torture that’s pulling all the strings within her, tight enough to snap.

  Her spine immediately arches into me. I drive my cock way deeper, all the way in, as far as I can go, the head of my cock flush against her, making Amy flinch with the pleasure of being touched to her deepest centre. Every muscle in my body jolts, and I find a new gear, thrashing at her with unrestrained fire.

  All Amy can do is hook her arms around me and hold on, move where I need her to and let me have what I want. I feel her body thrum with a rolling tension that’s quickly consuming her, each drive of my cock bringing her closer, feeding her need, turning her into a slave to something primal.

  My lips are at her neck, kissing, sucking, biting, lost to everything in the world but the feeling of my cock bulging to the bursting point deep in
side Amy’s body.

  The sensations of orgasm are tearing me apart, cock and balls are on fire, so intense, I sometimes confuse it with pain.

  I’m more afraid of Amy than I am of myself. She sees me as her annihilating saviour, but it's only for her. My destruction, my whole universe, my heart, my soul, so much shit and nothing.

  Nothing to live for — just Amy.

  ‘I love you, Shepherd,’ she murmurs in a groan.

  I watch her eyes, watch as emotions I can only hazard to guess swirl through them, and I see what I want to see. And maybe hearing those totally unexpected words straight from Amy’s lips makes me stupid, makes me more optimistic than I’ve got any right to be. But making love to Amy, I realise these confused mass of jumbled feelings is just a reflection of everything inside of me. And when Amy comes, I feel her orgasm crash over me and wash through me and leave me clean. Real. At peace with myself for one tiny, little, fleeting moment and so the truth is easy to speak.

  For once, I feel I have the right to love her because this thing I feel is pure and untainted.

  There’s nothing sick about what we are . . . I’d burn in hell for you, Amy. I’m not giving you up. No matter what the world tells me is wrong.

  I slam into her deep and my body freezes, stealing away my breath, and all goes black for a second. Feels like a hurricane swirls over me, the only moment of purity I’ve come to truly know in my whole goddamn fuck-worthy life.

  Her soul is burned into mine, now. Like the way the sun burns rings in the back of your eyes if you look at it. There'd been a moment when I carried her with me, carried her soul in mine.

  We’re both still now, slumped against the wall and each other, trying to catch our breath.

  Amy looks into my eyes. She’s all there, no frosty distance, no thousand-yard stare. It’s Amy looking at me, looking into me and she’s still holding that part of me.

  Whatever piece of me she stole, I want her to keep it.

  I straighten, take my weight on my feet. Amy instantly wraps her limp arms and legs around me, stopping me.

  ‘No,’ she gasps, sounds like I’m about to step back into fire.