The Lonely (24 page)

I
hear his zipper pulled rough. My underwear is ripped down. It scrapes the front
of my thighs and calves.

He's
between my thighs again. I feel his erection seeking out the moisture. He rubs
it up and down my slit and then thrusts into me with a grunt. I cry out as he
pulls my hips back.

I'm
almost off the ground. He rocks into me several times hard and fast. His body
pounds mine. I'm building up again from the pause in the spankings. He orgasms
before I can.

He
grunts and finishes using me. He pulls back. I'm holding the bed, spent but
frustrated. I am close to tears. I don’t even know why.

My
ass cheeks are on fire, they match my cheeks. My jaw trembles. He leaves the
room before I can even comprehend what's happened.

His
semen is dripping down my thigh again. I feel dirty but it's soothed by a
sickening, depraved happiness. The pain in my heart is making me happy on a
level I never want to explore.

My
arms and legs are weak. I feel like I've done one of my harder runs. I stand up
and fight my legs from buckling. I look around for my underwear but they're
gone, again. I pull on my jeans and shirt. A tear slips from my eye as I get my
boots on. I wipe it away and grab my coat. When I get to the doorway my hand
almost refuses to grab the handle.

I
look back at the room. It isn’t how I imagined the night panning out. In a
place in my heart, larger than I want to admit to, I imagined he couldn’t get
enough of me. I imagined those ten texts were him reaching out. Not him
checking to make sure I was alive, so he could use me for a few minutes.

His
mixed signals are epic and worthy of a girl's. My heart breaks when I think
about leaving Sebastian for this. I know he would never treat me this way. He is
the right choice. He is the normal I want.

This,
this room is a darkness and a sickness and an underworld that I want no part
of. The excitement is there and the forbidden desires but they are chased down
with a bitter feeling that I can't forgive him for. A feeling he has made me
want.

I
pull my phone out and text Sebastian with trembling fingers.

'Meet
me tomorrow at my dorm. I won't have this number anymore.'

'You
sure?'
His response is instant. Like
he was waiting for me.

'I
need you too help me become the girl I want to be. 8pm my dorm. Goodnight.'

He
doesn’t respond. I put the phone on the bed and walk to the elevator. I can
hear the water in the kitchen. I press the button. I'm frozen. It isn’t the
lonely. It's so much worse. It's emptiness but it's also like a world war
inside of me. I want to run to him. I want to kiss him and attack him and slap
him. I want him to hold me.

Thankfully,
I have just an ounce of self-respect left. I don’t want to force him to do it.
I want him to want to do it. It doesn’t feel like too much to expect. Too much
to ask for.

"Don't
leave." He speaks softly behind me. The elevator opens. I don’t move. I
can't.

I
also can't face him. My ass is on fire. My jeans are making my cheeks sting.

I
begged him to humiliate me.

I
can't look at him when I say it, "I don’t want your money anymore. Or
anything. I'll make it work on my own." I step in as the door is closing.
I hear him leap and press the button but I press the M and collapse against the
wall. I'm a sobbing wreck when the elevator moves.

It
dings and I miss it somehow. The door closes. I don’t push any buttons. I curl
into a ball in the corner. It opens again. Feet step in. Matte leather shoes
with squared tips and dark-grey dress pants. I hear him push a button. I want
to kick his feet out from under him but I'm frozen in terror. Not of him, but
of me. Me and the dark places I will allow myself to be taken.

He
bends down and picks me up off the floor. He holds me to his chest and kisses
the top of my head. He walks into the apartment when the doors open again. It's
dark and warm but I've never been in a colder room.

He
carries me to a room. He flicks on a light. It's a huge master bathroom. He
turns on the shower. I flinch. He pulls my coat out of my hands and lifts my arms
in the air. He pulls my shirt off and my bandeau.

"No.
Please don’t." I whisper. He undoes my jeans and pulls them down. He
kneels and removes my boots and jeans. He kisses the front of my thigh once.

He
stands.

His
eyes look dead. Like how mine used to look, before he beat the ever-loving hell
out of me and woke me up.

He
looks at me expectantly. I reach up and undo the buttons of his dress shirt.
What's underneath is so different from what's on the outside. He's always
dressed like he's attending meetings all day.

Underneath
he has a huge cross tattoo done in almost Celtic looking artwork. The banding
is thick and winding. The top of the cross is just under his left pec. The t of
the cross spans the bottom of his entire left rib cage. The bottom of the cross
goes from the t on his pec to his hipbone. A name is delicately sketched onto
the cross in the very middle. I trace it with my fingertips. The name doesn’t
belong to me and it doesn’t feel like it's mine. For the first time in my life,
the name of the dead doesn’t belong to me.

I
pull his shirt off and notice the scars along his bicep. They run thick and
deep. When I touch them they slow my stroke like a speed bump would. I undo his
zipper slowly and gently. I slide his pants past his groin and knees. I drop to
my knee and lift his feet to remove his shoes and socks. There is huge scar on
his left thigh. It's massive. I can see the staple marks. Like Frankenstein
would have. His body is hard but not chiseled or sculpted the way Sebastian's
is. It's meaty though.

"Where
did you get these scars?"

"I
was hard on myself as a kid."

I
leave it at that and run my finger along it, but he stops my hand and lifts me
off the ground. The bathroom is humid and filled with steam from the shower.

He
steps in and pulls me to him. He presses my head against his cross. Her cross.
Our cross.

The
shower was steamy and relaxing. I felt like he let me in by letting me see his scars
and tattoos. He has seven tattoos. They're not all huge like the cross but
they're bigger than I would have imagined. His back ribcage has a quote. I peel
back the covers of the blankets he has wrapped us both in and look at it.

'If you prick us do we not bleed?

If you tickle us do we not laugh?

If you poison us do we not die?

And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? '

It's
Shakespeare. I remember it from Lit. I brush my hands across the words and
wonder if he will ever find peace. His hand moves like a snake and snatches
mine. He pulls it up and turns his face and kisses the back of it. "Go to
sleep."

I
shake my head, "I can't. Someone got me all worked up and now I'm kind of
buzzing."

A
grin plays upon his lips.

"You
came. In case you forgot."

I
laugh, "I forgot. I think you should remind me how it felt, jog my
memory."

He
shakes his head, "I think I like you how you are now." He opens his
eyes and looks at me, "Do you want me?"

I
fight the pathetic face I know I'm wearing. I nod.

"What
do you say?" He's being cocky. He wants me to beg.

My
natural instinct is to fight against him when he's being that way. Acting
submissive is not a natural state for me. It's there from the torture. I don’t
fear him anymore and have a harder time submitting to his attitude. I rip my
arm from him and climb from the bed.

I
smirk and walk to his closet. I pull a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt from
the shelves of the huge walk in. I walk out and pull my long hair into a bun
and tuck the ends in to make it stay. It won't but it gives me something to do
with my hands, beyond scratch his eyes out.

"Where
are you going? In my clothes?"

"You
won't miss them. You don’t wear anything but Armani. I'm pretty sure these are
from Old Navy. You probably didn’t even know you had them."

He
snorts, "Get back here." His tone is the one from the chair. I smirk
and shake my head. My legs break into a run. I grab my jacket and boots and
bolt for the stairs. I unlock the door to the stairs and pull it open fast. I
can see him running in his boxers. I fly down the stairs barefoot and out into
the lobby. I can hear the elevator. I've played this game before. I tug on my
boots and run out the front door as the valet opens it. My boots slip a bit in
the snow. I tug on my coat and let the fresh air wash me clean of the shame I'm
battling.

"Sarah."
He shouts, barefoot from the awning.

I
look back and wave, "Goodbye Eli. It was nice seeing you again." I
shout into the blizzard.

"Wait
for me. Give me one minute. Please." He yells back and then he's gone. He
sounds angry and demanding but he said please and he never says it. It makes
butterflies in my tummy. I pull my hood up and tug on my mitts. His jogging
pants are warmer than my jeans but I still don’t wait long. I turn and start to
walk. I hear him come jogging up beside me. I glance at him and sigh. He looks
sexy in his hoodie and sweats.

I
grin, "I like casual Eli. I mean don’t get me wrong, I like the suits and
dress pants and groomed thing you have going on, but this is nice too."

"What
are you doing?" He asks looking intimidating.

I
shrug, "I want pancakes."

"I'll
make you pancakes."

I
laugh and turn around to walk backwards, "I don’t want your pancakes. I
want normal pancakes. Not head game pancakes. Not maybe I'll make you happy or maybe
I'll scare the shit out of you. You know?"

He
squints, "You're awfully playful and free suddenly. Where is the girl from
the elevator?" His voice is mocking my pain and embarrassment.

I
jam my mitts into my pockets and shrug, "She's in here. I think there are
a few of us in here. Besides, I'm on to you. I see your ploy."

He
laughs, "Ha. You think you do." He does something I don’t expect.
"When I was a kid I used to do this all the time. My dad would take us to
our cabin in Aspen and I would do anything to not be with them. When Emalyn was
gone they canceled their divorce. They stayed together, hating each other and
drinking. I would stand out on the deck and catch snow flakes till I was nearly
frozen solid." He tilts his head back and lets the snow fall on his
tongue.

I
watch him for a moment and wonder if we're both friggen bipolar.

I
don’t last long watching him, before I grab his coat and plant my lips on his.
I suck his tongue and kiss him with everything I have. I slide against him,
tugging my mitts off and climbing him like a tree. His hands wrap around me and
carry me to the wall of the building we are beside. He thumps my back into the
bricks. We make out like there is no need for air or food. Just as he puts me
down and starts dragging me back to his place, I dig my heels in.

"No."

He
looks back at me, "You want this."

"No
I don’t."

He
grins, "I can make you."

I
laugh nervously and jerk my hand free, "I want the you that tilts his head
back and eats the snow. I want the you that holds me and snuggles into me. I
want him but you hardly ever show him to me. I see a glimpse of him and then
it's you that’s back." I point disappointedly. "I want the sweet guy
who puts his hand out for me."

His
eyes fight something. His lips tighten, "He's in here too. I think they're
a few of us." He lets go of my hand and walks away. I hate him as much as
I'm addicted to him. How do I always end up as the bad guy? My sexual
frustration overwhelms me.

I
snarl and turn to walk home. I make it a few blocks when an exhausted-looking
Stuart pulls up.

"Get
in, you pain in the ass."

I
glance at him and roll my eyes, "It's like a few blocks." I point.

"If
you get raped in one block, I'm a dead man."

I
mutter rebuttals but climb in the front seat next to him.

"I
heard that." He mutters and drives.

"I
hate him."

His
lips wriggle back and forth, "I know. I also know you all can't live
without each other. You saved each other when you were kids and it isn’t any
different now. You just gotta find a way to save each other again."

I
look straight ahead and let my filter turn down all my arguments.

I
stumble up the steps and feel lost in too many ways to process. I'm exhausted.

When
I hit the sheets I sleep instantly.

I
wake to Michelle humming. I glance at the clock and grimace. She frowns at me,
"Dude, when did you get home?"