🕯Hello Lovie🕯

You’re warm, too warm. The walk has left your skin tacky with sweat, the rum, tequila, and beer in your stomach coming up and sweating through your pores, clothes sticking wherever they touch. The desire to strip down and crawl between those expensive sheets is so enormous. 

The dim, more irritating responsible side of you suggests water first. Which is how you end up down to your shorts in the kitchen, barefoot on the tile, chugging water straight from the pitcher like a child, two hands and leaking from the corners of your mouth. It dribbles down your chin and soaks the front of your shirt, reminding you that you’re still half-dressed. You peel that off, too.

When you’ve had your fill, you leave it out on the counter to refill in the morning, and stumble for the bedroom. Patches of moonlight come through the tall windows in big, silver rectangles, bright enough to pick your way. The house is familiar enough by now that you don’t bother reaching for a switch.

Then, a floorboard creaks behind you.

You turn your fuzzy head. For a second, nothing makes much sense. The hallway has been bisected behind you somehow, several of those squares of light suddenly gone, erased by something your addled brain can’t account for. The gears turn and catch, and you realize that a closet door has opened, and, obviously, you hear yourself mumble, tongue thick and stupid, it couldn’t have been open before. You would’ve smacked right into it.

Then something moves in that blackness, a great shadow taking shape, and it lurches toward you.

- has to be more. nobody goes through life without a trace like that. we must have missed something. was she using a false name when we met her? no, that's can't be right, we found her jury summons. her name was on it, so why can't we find any other bloody record of her?

maybe she is a spy, his own mind counters. you have to talk to her again, it's the only way we'll know for sure.

carefully, you creep closer to the window, careful to stay behind the sheer curtains as you watch kyle pout at your building, brows creased as your building's on-duty security guard spots him and starts to make his way out the front door towards him.

a fantasy plays out in your mind- a sharpened screwdriver jammed into a soft neck- and your breath catches in your chest- but releases in a bursting sigh as kyle simply slips into his car and pulls away, leaving the guard out on the sidewalk, shouting a useless "oi!" and taking note of the license number as kyle speeds off, his thoughts growing fainter and fainter.

well that's bloody suspicious. better let the lads know to keep an eye out, the security guard thinks to himself as he chucks a message to his work group chat and slips back inside.

on one hand, you're annoyed it took this long for him to notice kyle's constant lurking, but on the other- better late than never. he'll be on the alert now, and seems determined to let everyone know to keep an eye out for the black car and the man inside of it. in hindsight, you should've said something to him a week ago- made up some story about a stalker ex who's too tight with the police for you to file a report- but what's done is done. you can't change the past, all you can do is be grateful kyle got caught and hope big d doesn't leave you hanging as you wait for your new life to begin far, far away from here.

the next day is unnervingly silent. your neighbors all seem to be at work, and there's no kyle anywhere around you- which only makes you more nervous. it's hard to say if the run-in with the security guard actually scared him off, but out of an abundance of caution you still don't dare go outside for fear he'll show up and catch you unaware. instead, you spend the day checking and re-checking your bags, jumpy and paranoid, nervous enough to venture near the windows to peek outside again, wondering if you're going to see kyle out there wearing a tinfoil hat or something. (that wouldn't actually work, would it? no way. right?)

for the whole day your attention is torn between keeping an 'ear' out for kyle and obsessively checking your phone, willing yourself not to pester big d for an update. if he's just scammed you out of three grand you'll be fucking livid. you're determined that if he's tricked you, you'll do something drastic and petty- like maybe reaching out and give his crazy ex his new address. fair's fair, after all.

when the phone finally rings on day three you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of it.

"pack your shit. be ready for pickup at 3am, sharpish. leave y'phone and take a piss before you go- once we 'it the road, we ain't stoppin' f'nothin'. 'eard?"

"heard." you echo, breathless and almost delirious with joy. it's happening. it's actually happening. you're going to leave this place, and kyle is nowhere around. maybe he got deployed again- god, wouldn't that just be the best luck possible? a real, actual clean break this time? it makes you giddy just to think about it.

"don't be late." the line disconnects, and the ecstatic giggle fit that follows lasts for a good half hour before you get to work packing and re-packing your bags for the final time.

at 2:55am, you open your soon-to-be-abandoned laptop, log into spotify, and in a petty act of defiance, delete your entire account before grabbing your bags and heading out of your apartment for the very last time.

"good evenin', miss." the security guard says when you step into the lobby. his name tag gleams in the bright lights of the entryway, but the name 'rob' is still clearly visible under the shine. he's the same one who caught kyle creeping around the other day, and you can't help but feel a little bit of fondness towards him for that- even if he is just a wannabe cop.

"good evening." you respond politely as he eyes your bags.

"off on a vacation?"

"mhm." you nod noncommittally, giving him a tired looking smile. "these early flights always get to me. i just hope i don't wander to the wrong gate. again."

he chuckles and nods.

"i hope you're able to get some rest on the plane. have a nice time, miss." he says with a small wave.

"thank you, take care." you say as you breeze past him towards the front door, pushing it with a little more gusto than is strictly necessary. so sue you, but tired as you are, you're still excited to leave.

the early morning air is cool on your face, feeling crisper and fresher than it has in months. this is it. you're finally going to do it, you're finally going to escape this nightmare and leave it all behind. wherever d's contact takes you, you'll be able to start your new life. just the idea that one day you'll wake up without worrying about where kyle fucking garrick is lurking is an exciting one, and it makes you smile broadly as you stand under the glow of the street light, watching a white car pull up to the curb.

the body behind the drivers seat is cloaked in shadow, only visible when they lean over to open the passenger side door, dome light illuminating a familiar face.

"wh- d?"

"get in." he instructs, and you scramble to throw your bags in the backseat. d watches with a smirk as you play luggage tetris, shoving at your bags to squeeze them in as tightly as you can before you finally slide into the passenger's seat.

"i thought you were gonna find someone else to take me." you tell him as you shove the seat belt into the buckle, one hand holding back the plush jut of your hip to make the connection easier. fucking compacts.

"fewer people know about this, the easier it is t'keep a secret, innit?" he flashes you a crooked grin. "b'sides, gives me a chance t'say my goodbyes."

can't scarper off with the rest of my money if i know where you are.

"uh huh. you just want to know where the rest of your money is gonna be."

"mm. that too." he says, entirely unrepentant as he pulls away from the curb.

"please tell me you're not actually taking me to hull." you tell him as he merges into traffic. you watch the light posts slide by your window as he chuckles.

"i don't know that the likes o'you deserves much better than 'ull, considerin' 'ow much o'my money you've run off with these past few years." the lights on the dash illuminate his face, throwing shadows and highlighting the pock marks on his cheeks and the wrinkles of his scrunched nose. in another life, one where you don't know about his clown fetish, overdue child support, or his gambling habits, you can almost see yourself finding him attractive.

"you scrunch your nose when you're bluffing." you offer, and he throws you a sideways glance with one thick eyebrow cocked. "just so you know."

he shakes his head, lips curled in a begrudging smirk.

"noted."

~

as the stream of oncoming headlights starts to peter out, the lanes of the road slim from three to two, and eventually, just one. he won't say as much out loud, but big d's taking you out to tollerton, where his seventy seven year old great-aunt jane lives. his plan at the moment is to threaten to double what you owe him unless you agree to be her housemate-slash-caregiver - although he doesn't plan on telling you any of that until he finally cuts the car's engine in front of the little red-brick house with dahlia's lining the garden.

as it is, you can't even bring yourself to be annoyed about it. all his memories of her are sweet; flour dusted on her apron as she patiently taught him to bake pies as a child, being whisked away by her for a 'surprise holiday' up north whenever his mum went to jail for extended periods, and how the only present he could ever reliably count on for his birthday was from great-aunt jane. if d thought that your need to run could be somehow manipulated into a better living situation for the only blood relative to ever give a damn about him, well. you can't say you blame him for trying.

"are we there yet?" you ask, just to be annoying.

"are we stopped?" he counters.

"no."

"then there you 'ave it." he tells you, all too pleased with himself.

"it's been three hours- oh, god. wait. you're not actually taking me to hull, are you?" you glance faux-nervously out the window just to make him laugh. "i was kidding, d. come on, now. you wouldn't do that to me, surely?"

he chuckles, low and long, throwing you a smirking sideways glance.

"fucks sake, i don't 'ate you, bird. not like that."

"so where are you taking me?" you ask, just to see what he says.

"it's a surprise, innit?"

gonna miss 'er at the tables. olways been a sucker for a pretty face that don't take my shit. maybe this'll get me up north more often, see 'er, see aunt jane. could be nice.

"a good surprise, i hope."

"just wait an' see. 'nother hour or so left, i reckon."

the soft morning light is just starting to leak into the world, sky a muted violet through the black silhouettes of the passing trees. there's a beautiful stillness to the world at this time of the morning, and you find yourself grateful that d hasn't turned on the radio. it's just you and him, hurtling through this sleeping world in silence, rocketing at an obnoxious speed on the back roads headed north.

d yawns, loud and long, breaking the reverie as he silently debates how much shit you'd give him for breaking his 'no stops' rule and swinging by someplace for a cuppa.

too much, he decides with a fondness you don't know what to do with. you debate asking for a tea break or a stretch of your legs just to give him a reason to stop when there's a sudden flash of a memory- but it isn't yours or d's. your heart pounds in your chest and starts climbing it's way up into your throat with acid claws as it gets brighter, louder, and clearer.

camera footage being played back over and over- in front of a restaurant, a hotel, a laundromat, an electronics shop. your face, being zoomed in on as you enter and exit the illegal poker game being held there. screenshots are taken of everyone who leaves and enters and hour before and after you, photos compiled into folders. one face stands out as someone who's always there when you are, always arriving before you and leaving after you- a tall man, with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, thick brows and hazel eyes resting on a face that's currently sitting in the driver's seat of your car. a quick search through multiple databases fetches a name: david "big d" powers.

"oh my god." the realization feels like a punch to the gut, and for a beat you can't say or do anything, mind and body completely frozen in fear and despair.

google map searches for travel routes that avoid the tolls. cctv footage of big d stealing the car you're sat in, camera zoomed in on the license. secretly recorded phone calls playing over and over again, as if the listener is looking for something.

"comin' up t'see ya in a few days, auntie jane. bringin' a friend with. you'll like 'er. just needs t'clear the london smog from 'er lungs." d's voice rumbles.

"i'll make up the guest bed. 'ow long will you be stayin' david? the gutters need cleaned and i don't trust m'self on the ladder anymore..." an older woman says into the receiver.

"you just make your list o'chores and i'll 'andle it oll."

"such a good lad. dunno wot i'd do without ya."

"olright there, bird?" concern spikes in big d's mind- he's never heard you like this. normally you're very put together, poker face firmly affixed at all times. this little slip has his full attention.

just a little further... a little more... come on, arsehole...

oh fuck, that's kyle. those are kyle's thoughts. how the fuck did he find you? where is he? oh, shit, you're so fucked. oh, god.

"pack your shit. be ready for pickup at 3am, sharpish. leave y'phone and take a piss before you go- once we 'it the road, we ain't stoppin' f'nothin'. 'eard?" d's voice sounds grainy on the recording, and kyle has to play it back a few times, eyes closed in concentration.

"d. d we have to turn around." panic nearly chokes you, but you force the words through your dry throat, smacking at d's shoulder to emphasize your seriousness.

"don' tell me you're gettin' cold feet oll of a s-"

"no, we're gonna be ambushed, you have to turn around. right fucking now." he throws you an incredulous look, the furrow of his brow and crinkle of his nose illuminated by the soft orange light of the dash-

he nods his head somewhere behind you and you turn, seeing john stalking close, having seen the asshole who’s back to bother you.

“i mean,” said bother starts, so utterly submerged in his wrong assumption. “it’s sweet that you’re spending time with him and everything but don’t you wanna hang out with someone from your generation? what, was mommy too busy for your step-dad?” he laughs at his own joke. at least he’s entertaining himself, you suppose.

john finally gets close, his arm curling over your hip to splay his palm on your stomach. you uncross your arms, hand finding his to hook your fingers.

“what’s goin’ on here?” john asks and impatience coats his words.

the man turns to you, eyebrow cocked like you’re about to take him up on his offer, like the fact that you’ve yet to reject him means that you’re considering him as an option but that’s not the dilemma that you’re going through right now. because explaining to the asshole that john is certainly not your dad would be easier, but a sudden fever has taken root in the pit of your stomach. it’s slowly steeping, making its way to your core, lighting you up.

“sweetheart?” john asks again, this time softly.

you gulp down the spit that pooled underneath your tongue and turn just enough to catch john’s eyes.

“he wants me to ditch you for him, dad,” you say, pursing your lips in your fake distress. john’s reaction isn’t obvious, but you feel his palm spasm on your stomach, as well as the way his chest rattles in his next breath.

his gaze darkens and he pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, making it jut out—and oh he looks so delicious like this when his desires slam into him unexpectedly—before he pulls you behind him to tower over the man propositioning you with a boring time.

“i told you to beat it, didn’t i, son?” john’s voice is deep, intimidating. the man buckles at hearing john like he’s just realizing how much dangerous the man before him is.

“i just—”

“stop bothering my little bird and leave.” john isn’t yelling but his command is resolute; it’s unthinkable for anyone to disobey him. the man looks at you then back at john before turning around and running away to disappear amidst the throngs of people.

you smother a giggle behind your palm and turn to thank john but john’s leaning far too close, his breath hitting the bows of your lips.

“john?”

he tuts. “s’not what you called me, sweet’art.”

your eyes widen, the hunger coming back angrier. you part your lips, trying to—

what? deny him, deny yourself, what it is that’s bubbling in your core? john’s looking at you with a question, his need palpable, hot to the touch, and its balm is simple. all you need to do is be good.

“…dad?” you try, voice a fragile hum. your body locks, cunt dampening, making your panties stick to your skin uncomfortably.

“there she is,” john coos, and he sounds so, so proud before he cups your jaw with his big, warm hands. “now why won’t you be a good girl and show your ol’ man a good time, huh?”

“okay,” you puff out, docile.

you croak out a sleepy groan, unknowingly squirming your legs in a way that squeezes the thick of him just right. the man whines a pitiful sound, hips grinding until he's pushing up against your ass. an arm wraps around your front to yank you even closer.

“s-saw this on a video once,” he tells you. “didn’t think it would feel good as’is.”

"mm, si... wha–"

simon's only responses are quiet whines, balls sagging against his own thigh as he keeps fucking himself closer to his edge between yours.

you're much too warm for him to last much longer, and he doesn't–seeping out the first ropes of a thick load, only to use the mess to keep fucking himself brainless until he can't anymore.

there aren't any complaints from you when he rolls you over nice and soft, still pulsing as he kisses down your back, past your ass. gentle licks of a tongue along your inner thighs and big hands palming your ass lull your eyes back shut. simon, only after lapping you as clean as he can, dozes off with his face pressed into your right ass cheek.