The Spring Library

But to even think Ransom would be understanding of your situation, that he would respect your decision was something you never should have expected. Especially now as he takes you shamelessly in his car, parked just outside your daughter’s apartment, rethinking the affection he’s shown for you. 

“What makes you think you can leave me just like that?” He snarls and you gasp as he rams his cock deep into your core. “No one leaves Ransom Drysdale. Especially not some old woman like you.” His words pierce deep into your heart, making you cry but more so from the brutal pace he sets as he thrusts relentlessly into your cunt. 

“Ransom—! Stop!” You beg, but he refuses to listen. Anger rises in you that you try to push back but he simply pushes a hand against your head, burying it against the leather seat of his car. “I hate—” But the words never leave your lips as he grabs you by your neck and yanks you back, making you face him. 

“Next slide.” Pete says, making you stutter in surprise but simply doing as you’re told and leaning down on your laptop to tap the key. The audible groan that emits from him has you edge as you do.

“Our product not only surpasses the ones like it but it’s tested and proven to do more.” You say with the remaining enthusiasm left in your system. “If you can see from the studies we’ve conducted, Jan—”

“Yawn.” Pete utters while actually doing so, leaning against the seat and resting his elbow atop the table, his cheek leaning on his fist. “Is there any version of this where we end up fucking?”

That stops you. Your brows furrowed in confusion with the words that just rolled out of his mouth. 

“Excuse me?” You say, disgust and shock curling in your voice.

He chuckles and stands from his seat, exaggeratingly stretching his arms before walking over to you at the end of the long table, fingers grazing over the wooden surface.

“You heard me. That presentation of yours? I’ve seen so many just like it from so many people who, just like you, are desperate for me to say yes.” You hear your heart beat frantically against your chest as he comes closer, your feet taking a step back but no more further as you’re suddenly frozen in place. 

“But just like them, I’m going to say no. You know why?” 

You don’t know if he’s asking a serious question or simply playing with you, trying to intimidate you with the unknown power he holds over your head. 

You don’t respond.

“Let me tell you why. Because it’s boring.” His words are like a vice to your chest. “I’m sure you’ve spent all night perfecting this powerpoint and practicing that speech, but, it just ain’t selling. Nothing about it interests me. Nothing about it makes me want to throw my money at it. And nothing about it makes me say ‘Wow!’”

His large hands trace the edge of your laptop before shutting it close, the room going dim, except for the light coming from the projector as your presentation vanishes.

“Nothing about them draws me in. Except you—” The way he says it makes your skin crawl and you take another step back when you see his eyes run up and down your figure, trapping his tongue between his teeth in the process. “There’s a fire in you. Like you would do anything to prove yourself.” He teases. Stopping just in front of you and framing his hip with his hand, in a way that has you seeing the bulge that has formed in his pants, while his other hand taps against the table, waiting, anticipating your next move. 

“So either, you walk out of this room with nothing—a loser like the rest of those chumps waiting outside to talk to me, or you go back to your boss with a big fat sale you can rub onto the one you took this project from.” 

Your hand visibly shakes with the tension that’s swirling around you. Is this what you want? To allow this man to order you around and do as he pleases for the sake of your career? What face would you show Daniel if he says no? Pete is one of the biggest clients he’s been chasing and you’ve been stupid enough to try and show off. 

Letting out a quivering sigh, you bite your lip and place your notes to the side, looking up at Pete’s face before clenching your fists and looking down at your feet. 

“A thousand pieces.” You argue. If you’re losing your dignity, you may as well get something bigger out of it. 

“You bend over this table and show me that ass and I’ll think about giving you seven hundred.” He bargains, a playful smirk forming on his lips—a sign of his victory and your defeat. 

It’s less yet still more than your initial ask. 

Nodding and once more releasing a breath, you lift up your pencil skirt to reveal your backside and lean against the table just like he’s asked. You bite your tongue to stop the yelp that wants to push from your lips when he slaps your ass and whimper in fear and hatred for this man when he grabs you by the waist and presses his clothed erection against you. 

“Make it worth my while, Sweetheart. My time ain’t cheap.”

“There’s our superstar!” Daniel says in oblivious excitement when you walk back into your department, Janice and the rest of your co-workers looking at you with expectation in their eyes. “Well?” Daniel prompts. “How many did he get?”

“Fifteen hundred with a possible order next month.” You say in resignation and present him the order slip signed by Pete with a note requesting for another meeting next week. Shock fills his eyes as he stares down at the paper before he punches the air in obvious celebration.

“No fucking way!” Janice says in disbelief, yet the others surround you, bidding their congratulations. 

“What did you tell him?” One of your co-workers asks.

“What did you do?” Another.

“She did her fucking best, that’s what.” Daniel says in excitement before hugging you tight. “I never doubted you one second, champ. I’m glad I gave you this account.”

But it was a long shot, and you knew that. Though at least you tried…right?

You envy your classmates who carry bouquets while they present their artwork to their families and strangers alike. You were lucky enough to have a few come by your cubicle, delighted to explain the medium and process of your work. Some seemed genuinely intrigued while others, you can tell, only came by and endured your talk for the free stickers you offered at the end of your spiels.

Another hour passes by and you look up front when you hear an announcement being made by your instructor; a class photo. You’re reluctant to join, seeing no value in such a thing to be done as it’s obvious that once the day ends, they will be strangers once again. But another adamant call from your instructor has you heading to the front, a frown forming on your face when you’re pushed at the back, towered by your classmates—unseen once more. 

As parents and several others grab the opportunity to take a photo, your eyes suddenly divert back to your cubicle when you see someone looking over at your main art piece. You can’t put a pin on his face but you know you’ve seen him before. 

Once the group photo has ended, you immediately head back to your spot, catching the familiar stranger taking one of your stickers as well as a business card that sits beside it. It’s when you finally recognize him—and you’re in utter shock that he would be looking at your work. He finally notices you, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. 

“Hi.” He begins, “I’m—”

“You’re Steve Kemp.” You finish for him, the confidence you suddenly displayed startling the both of you. But you push on when you see a smile of amusement on his face, taking his hand to shake. “You’re the famous art collector.” You wouldn’t have known it was him with how dressed down he looked with the corduroy jacket and navy jeans, but you’ve seen his face several times in art articles that you wouldn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous.” He humbles himself but he lacks the conviction to make it believable. “I think I’m just skilled in finding pretty things—like this one.” He gestures towards your charcoal painting, the look of interest evident on his face. “What compelled you to incorporate a whale and an astronaut? What’s the story behind it?”

His question makes you smile. Maybe he is interested, you think to yourself and look towards your artwork before diving deep into your answer. 

“The artwork was inspired by the 52 Hertz Whale.” You begin. “Just to give you a little background; out of all the whale species, it’s the only one that makes a call with such a distinct pitch. Researchers had guessed that it could be a hybrid of two whale species but any attempts to search for the creature for further study have failed. Though some have been saying that it’s not a whale but an entirely different animal.

“Loneliness was the main theme of the piece—just like the whale, if it truly exists, it is alone in the vast sea; with no family to call its own and with it being different from the others, no one would listen or understand their cries. Akin to the lonely astronaut floating in the endless void of space. Though the flowers and the seagull represent hope and freedom—that one day, everything they thought to be true would change, that someone is there to listen and welcome them in their arms.”

You feel yourself shiver and your heart race as you end your interpretation. How the art piece truly mirrors your life and your cry for recognition from the people who truly matter. You try your best not to shed the tears that well in your eyes, presenting the collector with a smile and hoping he sees it as passion and confidence. 

But the look on his face startles you; there’s no judgment but you see a hint of amusement in his sapphire eyes. You think he’s about to say something, to comment on what you said, instead, he looks back at the artwork, seemingly appraising it. 

“How much?” The question stuns you. Did you hear correctly?

“I’m sorry?” 

“I want to buy your art piece.” He expounds. “How much are you selling it for?”

That’s the last thing you expected to be asked in a college grad show. Was he seriously wanting to purchase it? You try to answer, to tell him that you’re not really looking for buyers nor expecting to sell any of your work but no words come out of your mouth, still taken aback by his surprising inquiry.

“I don’t—” You stutter. “I’m not really—”

The chuckle he makes has you pulling on the cuffs of your oversized flannel, feeling slightly anxious at the thought that he’s making fun of your state of shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says with a smile, one that you mimic if only to ease the tension building within you. “But I am serious. I do want to buy it.”

Still, you don’t know what to say. Do you just give him an amount and call it a day?

“Why don’t you sit on it? Let’s say two days and I can give you a call for your price.” He holds up your business card between two fingers, the smile on his face turning into a playful smirk. “What do you say?”

Under-dressed.

Not that it was a concern you realistically should have but the patrons of the bar made you feel as such with the men clad in suit jackets and the women, either in dresses or whatever you call the style of attire that was classier than your hoodie-jeans-sneakers combo. At least you brought a coat—that’s fancy enough, right?

You nurse your Bellini cocktail and thumb through your phone while waiting for Steve, popping your conversation thread with him every second or two just to assure yourself that he confirmed, or rather, planned the night of drinks to discuss your “Lonely Whale” piece as he coined it. It seemed odd at first but his determination was what compelled you to agree to meet him. 

The hiss of the straw fills your ears as you suck the last dregs of your drink. You shouldn’t have come early, you tell yourself, then you wouldn’t need to order another glass to accompany you on your wait. 

“Need a top-up?” A familiar voice from behind startles you and you look up to see Steve, decorated in a maroon wool sweater and that tantalizing smile he seems to always have. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad coming here to this part of town.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the booth. 

You scoot over to give him room, surprised that he didn’t take the one across from you. “Please, don’t be sorry. I wasn’t waiting long.” You assure him with a soft smile, tapping a finger on the rim of your glass. “The drink kept me company.”

“Are they any good?” He asks but he’s already called the attention of a server before you can even reply. He orders a Bloody Mary—quite peculiar, you think, but you’re not one to judge someone's preference. “And the lady will have another, please.” 

Silence envelops the both of you as you wait for the drinks to arrive, feeling shy and anxious when he rests his arm against the back of the booth and turns in his seat to face you. You’re not used to being seen yet here’s this man, well-known in the field you didn’t think to excel in giving you such unwarranted attention. 

“Uhmm, so I asked my instructor about the painting,” you begin as you try to break the ice, “and he said that—” but stop when he shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. 

You think he’s playing at your lack of knowledge of these types of transactions that it makes you second-guess your words. Maybe you should have come off more confident and prevented showing him an inkling of your cluelessness. But the smile he sends your way speaks of something different. There is no presence of ill-intent yet you still keep your guard up. 

“We can talk business later. I’d like to get to know the artist more first.” He says and for some reason, it could be how comfortable he seems to be around you, that you nod at his request, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Giggling. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done it but you guess after 4 glasses of the Bellini and a sip of his Bloody Mary, anyone would be in a lighter and more carefree mood. Just like how you are. 

The anxiety that filled you when you first walked into the bar seems non-existent with how well Steve carries a conversation. He listened to you complain and laughed at your sarcastic comments, throwing back another to keep the exchange alive. There was no dull moment to be recorded, only understanding when you shared the struggle of an art student living in a fast-paced environment. He’s probably the first person in your life who knows almost everything there is to know about you and even if he is a total stranger, he feels more familiar than any other. 

The night rolls by quicker than you’d hoped and the next thing you know you’re in his car, the alcohol messing with you as you begin belting out garbled lyrics to an Adele song. You’ve never felt so free and relaxed, and who would have thought you’d find it in someone who simply wants to buy your art project? 

You arrive shortly at your apartment building, a curious thought passing through your head as you don’t recall typing in your address in the GPS. But it goes just as quickly as it came when the passenger door is opened and Steve holds out a hand to help you out. 

He says your name, the syllables rolling like honey on his tongue and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way the moon shines against his face, but you truly notice how his sapphire eyes glow brighter with how close he stands to you, his cologne permeating your senses and his warmth mixing with yours, keeping away the cold autumn breeze of the night that surrounds the both of you. 

“I had a lovely evening.” He breathes, allowing him to take your hand in his. “And I don’t want it to end just yet.”

And it doesn’t. 

You invite Steve into your apartment for coffee, something to help completely sober him up and drive home safe. But as soon as you close the door and toe off your shoes, his hands are on your face and his lips capture yours, a soft grunt escaping you when he presses you against the door. You’re too stunned to process that he’s kissing you, only finally realizing it when he breaks the kiss and looks at you with his eyes so blue. 

You think he’s about to speak, to apologize for his forwardness, but instead he smiles while his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. You don’t understand what he sees in you to warrant such soft affection, or to even consider you as someone to kiss. 

He leans closer once more, this time you sense the apprehension in his movements and with the way his eyes linger on your face. You shut your brain off completely, not wanting reason and rationality to stop whatever force that was pulling you together. So you meet him halfway, hands resting against his chest when you press your lips against his, a moan escaping you as when you feel him pull you further into the kiss. 

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement with the way his wet muscle caressed your own and how his lips wrestle you into a passionate exchange. He chuckles when he bumps against a side table while walking backwards, blindly into the living room, hands pawing at each other, groping, touching, and you lift up his sweater as the desire to feel his skin blooms in your head. 

But he doesn’t give you that chance as you drop back onto your loveseat couch, Steve’s hands pushing up your hoodie to expose the tank top hidden within. His fingers tickle your skin, teasing, taunting, and in one swift move he pulls down the cups of your bra having your tits spill out from them. 

Mewls and moans are the only sounds that leave your lips, coherent words nonexistent with how his lips wrap around a mound, sucking, licking, and dampening the fabric to expose your stiff nipples which he gives his undivided attention to. You try to reach for him, to at least make sure that this is all real and not a dream, but his hands take yours, preventing you from even running your finger through his dark hair, the act only heightening your senses further. 

But his venture to your breasts eventually stops and you look down at him when he trails butterfly kisses against your stomach, hands releasing yours only to undo the button and fly of your jeans. The garment flies but your panties stay, and you swear you could almost combust just from the way he looks at you—his eyes swirling with hunger, eagerness, and desperation for a taste. 

Slowly, he trails kisses against your inner thighs, lips, and teeth meeting skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to feel. The nervousness swirls around you like twine, making your heart beat loudly against your chest as everything feels too new, too alien, despite this no longer being your first. But you’ve never encountered anyone as captivating as Steve and you feel as if he would run away once he sees you completely. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers into the air, his warm breath grazing against your heated core. 

It’s only then you comprehend what he’s done, your panties pushed to the side to expose you completely before him and all at once you feel your body burn when he laves his tongue against your pussy lips, gentle at first, testing the waters which shift to intent as he pushes them apart with his fingers, your sacred bud caressed by his expert tongue. 

You whisper his name as he begins delving into your pussy, strong hands keeping your thighs apart and pushing them down against the couch with his groans of pleasure filling your ears and fueling your desire for him. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair which you end up grabbing as a gasp is pulled from your lungs when he begins to suck your clit. 

The room feels like it's spinning with the ecstasy that climbs higher within your body, your senses no longer feeling like your own as Steve pushes on with his pursuit, his mouth dancing beautifully against your clit, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. But he stops, and a small wave of panic arises in your chest. Though it washes away like footprints on the sand when he ventures lower, his thumb taking purchase of your clit, rolling and adding pressure while his mouth ventures lower, teasing your slit at first before slowly pushing inside. 

Oh, how your body sings. Your back arches from the coach and you call out his name, louder this time, turning into a moaning mess as his regard to your cunt never wavers. You then feel the dam filling up at the pit of your stomach and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, encouraging—no—pushing him to pull you over the edge. 

“Steve—” It’s all you manage to say, your breath catching in your throat. 

His actions then become erratic, as if he can feel you teetering towards your peak, pulling you more to his mouth and devouring you whole. Sloppy, wet sounds of his mouth echo from below your waist, Steve letting out a low and guttural growl which only sets you ablaze. His thumb pushes more onto your clit, the pressure digging into your pelvis and finally having the dam at the pit of your abdomen burst.

Your body shakes and you grab onto Steve as your pussy walls flutter from your release, choking a sob as your sweet essence flows out of you. His awaiting mouth then laps each and every drop you offer, the sensation making you shiver yet at the same time cocoons you in euphoric bliss. 

The alcohol in your system then appears, mixing with the pleasure that continues to loom around you, and your eyes begin to droop, a smile forming on your lips. Your limbs ache deliciously, cunt buzzing from the orgasm that has taken over. You feel tired all of a sudden but happy at the same time and you forget all, even Steve, as you’re ready to end the night with such a good note. 

But a tap on your thigh pulls you from the serene moment, startling slightly to see Steve looking down at you with a grin painted on his face. “Stay awake, Baby.” He says, his hand running up your side and grabbing the hem of your hoodie. “I’m not yet done with you.”

Nervous.

It’s all you feel as you stand outside of Steve’s home—if you could even call it that. With the modern exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows of the one-story home, you’d think you’re about to enter a museum. But it’s only reasonable for him to have such a lavish abode; he is an art collector after all. 

“You okay?” You turn your head to the side to face him when he stands beside you, his warmth brushing against your skin as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“A bit—but more excited really.” You tell him, the giddiness of seeing his private collection dominating the restlessness you felt earlier. 

“Only the people who matter have seen it.” The smile he gives you is so contagious that you give one back and follow him inside his home.

After the night spent at your apartment, your life slowly revolved around Steve. Mornings begin and nights end with him and his attentiveness—one that you found more endearing than suffocating, as what some people you assume would say if they knew of your relationship. 

You don’t even know if you both have a relationship as neither of you discussed anything about labels, simply enjoying each other’s company. But you know that Steve has rooted himself deep in you, and you know that no matter how hard you try if anything comes that would sever you both, you’d have a hard time letting him go. Steve is the only one who has truly seen you and accepted you as you are.

A chill brushes your skin when you pass through the threshold of his home which has you pulling your knitted jacket more around your frame for warmth, and the first thing you see are the gallery lights mounted on the wall, with each one shining down on art pieces of different forms. The ones that stand by the door are wax figures of a woman’s pair of legs, one on each side. You look at it closely, the craftsmanship so intricate that you’d think it was real. The ones that come after it are different sets of arms and hands of women, again, each one posed differently and elegantly, as if welcoming you further down the hall.

It gives you pause with how unusual of a collection it is—women’s body parts—but you suppose that the world of art is filled with oddities. There was even one you heard who collects glass eyeballs, not caring if it was worn or not.

What greets you next are several paintings—if you can even call it as such—that litter the wall just the same, though you’ve never seen anything like it; one is of a canvas that houses different strands of hair that form into waves. You’re in awe with how they mimic the raging seas and how detailed and time consuming it must have been to complete. There’s even an image of a boat topped over it, as you inspect closely, you assume is made of leather. 

There’s another like it, though this seemed more like a showcase of all types of tresses, spaced out perfectly in rows of five. Each one portrayed a distinct person, with colors ranging from blonde to black and textures from curly to the straightest you’ve seen.

There’s another like it, though this one seemed more like a collage of all types of tresses. The urge to touch it grows strong, wanting to check if they’re real or not.

“They’re real,” Steve answers your unspoken question, and you turn back to face him, feeling shy all of a sudden when you see him staring at you. “I call it live art.”

“You made this?”

“Oh, no.” He smiles as he nears the artwork, Steve’s hands tucked inside his pockets while he looks up at it. “I had it made. Though I did provide the materials—volunteers donated the hair.” His explanation has you thinking; you never knew people would donate something so personal for art. “I’m hoping to add more to the collection—a prized one that can be my center of attention.” He says and you catch him looking at you from your periphery. 

“What kind of prized piece?” You ask, curiosity nipping at the back of your head. 

“Something I could never get tired of looking at.” The smile he gives you sends a chill up your spine but your mind flows out into a daze when he steps forward and takes your face between his hands, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. “Like you.” He whispers and you can’t help but feel your face heat up with how beautiful he makes you feel. 

“Come on. There’s more in the living room and I wanted to show you where I would place your painting.” He says, giving you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading further inside. But you don’t miss the piece that sits just at the end of the hall; a torso of a woman, the composition almost similar to Alexndros’ Venus de Milo, except this one was missing its head. 

The living room is a sunken living room and it’s just as exquisite as the front of the house with paintings and figurines scattered in an organized fashion. Two couches sit on either side of a low table with a small cart that holds an array of spirits. You look around, mesmerized at the beauty he keeps within but stop when you notice a small greek style column sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the unusual fixture. 

“That’s just a chair a friend of mine made.” He responds while pouring the both of you some drinks. “It’s pretty cozy even if it’s made out of stone. Why don’t you try it out? Pretend you’re an art piece.” He urges and the giddiness you feel allows you to humor him. 

Soft jazz music then begins to play as you run your hand against the top, having a feel of the material before you take a seat, grabbing onto the sides to properly set yourself on top of it. The smile you catch on Steve’s face is wide as he approaches you and hands you your drink, his hand reaching up to caress your face. 

“You look perfect on it.” He sips on his drink and so do you. 

You can’t help but look at his eyes, how soft they look yet full of amidst the muted lighting that surrounds the both of you. You feel his hands continue to linger on your skin, resting gently on your shoulder with his thumb caressing the expanse of your neck. 

“Dance with me.” 

It’s all he says and you don’t have time to respond when he takes the glass from your grasp, setting both of them on the shelf that stands nearby and he reaches for you, his hands taking yours and placing them over his shoulders while his own finds purchase around your waist.

It feels like you’re walking on clouds with how he sways the both of you, his movements in sync with the music that fills the air. He holds you close, feeling his fingers drumming lightly on your back and how your feet follow him aimlessly, blindly with each step he makes. You’re suddenly aware of the intimacy that slowly winds the both of you, much different from the times he’s slept on your bed, and you feel shy, eyes casting down to stare at the edge of his navy turtleneck.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” He breathes softly, tilting your head back when he pinches your chin and feeling the warmth of his breath ghost against your lips. “I want to see you.”

Giddy.

It’s the only feeling you describe as soon as you wake up, your body sore but in a good way and the sheets atop the mattress warm, not just because of you but from the man that sleeps soundly at your side. You turn to face Steve and examine his face, his beautiful pointed nose and his dark hair askew from the pillow underneath his head. 

You couldn’t believe your luck that someone like him would find interest in someone like you. You must have done something good in your previous life to feel such happiness that the neglect and disapproval you once received from the people you expected to love you is being provided by someone you’ve barely known for a week. 

Good things come to an end, you hear the pessimist in you say but you push it down, deep down where you cannot hear its cry. You’re going to enjoy this, whatever this is, and if time comes that it should indeed come to a stop—well, you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 

You move to cuddle closer to Steve, wanting to feel more of his warmth but it’s interrupted by your need for relief that you settle on placing a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the bed and find the restroom.

Washing your hands when you finish, you find a robe hanging at the back of the door and boldly take it, putting it around you to shield you from the cold that continues to circulate within the house and venture back to his room—back to Steve’s arms. Except the lone light that shines in the darkness catches your eyes and you glance towards the bedroom. You don’t want to be caught snooping but the call of the void is too strong for you to ignore. 

Silently, you pad down the hall and find yourself face to face with a staircase that leads to a closed door. Must be the basement, you think to yourself, taking one step at a time, you descend to your destination. You hesitate to hold the knob, not wanting to spoil your welcome but you soldier on, pushing through the barrier. 

A row of yellow muted light illuminates the entryway, and you see nothing but several black barrels neatly pushed against the wall and a few scrubs hanging from mounted hooks. You thought you would see more artwork but are left disappointed, deciding to turn back but the white light at the end of the room stops you, curiosity once more taking over your senses.

Fear then grips you tight when you step into the light, hands flying to your mouth and a gasp unwillingly escaping you when you see a woman laid down on a metal table with her lower half missing and her head free of her scalp. What hangs on the wall makes your stomach turn even further, body parts—arms, legs and a severed head coated in something you can only assume to be wax.

You run. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you make it back again to the door and close it as quietly as you can, not wanting to awaken your host—a monster you never thought him to be. Carefully, though quickly, you climb the steps and the only thing you could think of is to leave and run as far as you can where he cannot find you. 

Relief slowly washes over you when you get to the last step. Now all you have to do is go—call the authorities and—your thoughts take a dive when you feel someone grab you by the waist, trapping your arms along with it and a hand covering over your mouth as well as your nose.

“Where were you, Baby?” Steve’s calm voice forms from behind and your panic only rises further. You struggle against his hold, flailing as much as you can for him to let you go but he’s too strong and you feel the tears spill from your eyes as you think that this is the end. He’s caught you. You’re going to die. 

“You never should have seen that.” He simply says and you grunt when a stabbing pain forms on your neck, a cool sensation flowing through your veins. 

It’s then that he lets you go, your hand flying to where you felt the sting before turning to look at him. What did he do to you? You notice the syringe in his hand. Is it poison? Your vision almost instantly goes blurry, your limbs heavy and you drop to the floor, eyes cast to the ceiling as you try to make out your current state. The last thing you see is Steve, a sinister smile on his face and incoherent words coming from his lips before everything goes dark. 

You’re dead.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you come to. Everything slowly comes into clarity; the room you’re in is somewhere you’ve not been and the cool metal you feel around your ankle only solidifies the fact that he’s successfully trapped you in the hell he dwells in.

A door opens and closes and you curl up small on the bed you lay in to hide yourself from him. You’re crying once again a multitude of emotions surge from within—is it fear? Hopelessness? Anger? Towards him for lying to you or to yourself for believing him. 

“I never wanted you to find out this way.” He sighs. “I never wanted you to find out at all.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You can’t help but ask, even though you know what the answer is.

“Not yet.” His calm in his voice brings a chill to your spine. “Despite what you believe, I meant what I said; you matter to—”

“Stop lying to me!” You shout and sit up from the bed, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it at him. “Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this?! Why me?!” You shout, the anger that was settling in your bones turns into a raging fire. You go to lunge for him, wanting to rip his skin with your bare hands but the cuff on your foot stops you, making you fall to the ground in front of him. 

He tuts and you see his leather shoes in front of you. A groan then leaves your tongue when he grabs you by your face, your hand taking hold of his wrist as you try to pull away from him. But he only pinches tighter, making you shout in pain that fades all too quickly when he shakes you and makes you face him dead in the eyes.

“The more you fight, the harder it’ll be.” He snips. “I enjoy you a lot—don’t make me kill you so soon.”

“Just fucking do it!” You spit. “Do it! Kill me now!”

The laugh he gives you is menacing. He shakes his head, his other hand moving to run his finger on the side of your face. You see the darkness swirling around the sapphires of his eyes and you question yourself why, for the many times he’s stared at you, you’ve never seen it before. 

It’s been days since Lloyd came home, days since he almost killed you.

Since returning from his work trip, your relationship with Lloyd has changed drastically. No longer does he look at you with love in his eyes, instead, his stares are intimidating, and menacing, making you walk on eggshells around him for fear that if you make a wrong move he would once again try to attack you. 

And his touches, gone are times he would hold you as if you were a delicate flower. Now, he paws at you greedily and when you would object, he would get rough, leaving bruises on your skin with the harsh way he would grab you.  

You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, why he’s treating you as nothing more but a toy to play with. At nights, after he’s finished taking you, you’d rack your brain trying to think of reasons he would suddenly make you feel as if you meant nothing to him. 

You’ve never cheated on him, never lied to him, he knew all your secrets despite you knowing so little about him. You trusted him with your life and most of all, loved him with all your heart. You thought he felt the same, he showed you he did—made you feel like he did, but now, you don’t know. 

So you made your decision and packed your bags, a letter left on the side of his bed. He’s not the Lloyd you fell in love with, you’re not even sure if he would ever come back but one thing you’re certain of is that this is not the life you envision yourself having, not the life you wish to die in. 

It’s already midnight and he still hasn’t come back from when he left that morning, a sign you take as a relief but also one that breaks your heart. Grabbing your bag, you tiptoe down the hall, still cautious not to make a sound; the living room is still dark after you’ve cleaned up the house. 

You double-check your phone, rereading Riley’s last message. She’s still at your old apartment and your old bedroom still vacant. She’s more than happy to have you back and without you even realizing it, you missed her terribly. Maybe she could help you understand why Lloyd has been acting in such a way, maybe she can help you move on. 

Slowly, you make your way to the front door, ready to say goodbye to the life you’ve learned to love but before you could even take hold of the knob, a lamp flickers on and you stand in shock to see Lloyd sitting on the armchair, a bloody gash decorating his cheek and his hair disheveled. 

Your first instinct is to go to him, to ask what happened but you stop when he asks, “Just where do you think you’re going?” There’s ice in his voice, anger boiling deep within, and immediately, the concern you felt earlier recoils and is now replaced with fear.

You take a step back when he stands from his seat, your hand slackening and dropping your bag with a thud on the marble floor. You try to speak, to tell him that you’re done enduring the pain he continues to bring you but you don’t get the chance when he lunges at you, his hand grabbing your arms and pinning you against the door, the back of your head hitting the wooden surface. 

“You think you can leave me?” He snarls, eyes dark and unloving. “As soon as you step out that door, you have nothing. Nothing but me.” 

“I’d rather have nothing than be with you!” You shout, eyes brimming with tears as you struggle against his hold.

But his reaction takes you off guard, the rage in his eyes dwindling down and his lips twitching to a frown. His hold on you softens, completely releasing you but keeping his hands pressed against the door. 

“What?” He asks, voice soft and uncertain. “You’d rather not have me?”

“I’m just confused, Lloyd!” You cry, covering your face with your hands as you do. “Since you came back, it feels like you changed. You keep hurting me and you always look at me like I’ve done something wrong.” You sniff, unable to compose yourself any longer with how your emotions continue spilling out of you. “As much as it hurts me to leave you, I cannot take this anymore! You’re not the man I fell in love with.” 

You did it. You let your heart out and you only pray that Lloyd would truly release you from your misery. But his hands move and press gently against your face, thumbs wiping away the tears that spill non-stop. He frowns and breathes out heavily before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight against him. 

The confusion takes you back but it dies out almost instantly. You clutch him tight and sob against his shirt, keeping him close as your heart blooms upon feeling that gentle touch once more. 

“Little Doll—I’m so sorry.” He mutters against your hair, his hand caressing your back and then cradling the back of your head. 

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” You mumble against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. 

But the peace that cocoons you is disrupted by a laugh, sickening and taunting, and you pull away only to look up at Lloyd who gives you a playful smirk, wincing when the hand around the back of your neck tightens. 

“What made you think I did?”

“Wha—” You’re once again pushed against the door, harder this time and the fear only floods back tenfold when you see the devilish smile on his face. “Lloyd—I don’t understand.”

“Oh come on.” He groans. “Did you really think someone would fall in love with you?” He looks you up and down, disgust etched on his face. “You’re holes are the only thing good about you—maybe your cooking too but that's it. I never loved you. I was bored so I played the role of the perfect boyfriend to see if I can fool some floozy and it worked.” He laughs once more but you can’t hear it against the deafening shatter of your heart. 

He fooled you. He used you. And you were stupid enough to fall for it. 

“But I got bored of that too and now, I’m back to doing things how it should be.” He snickers and gives your head a pet, moving your face away when he tries to place a kiss on your forehead. 

You feel nothing but anger and pain, your vein seering in rage as you stare up at the man who you once thought was the love you’ve been searching for. You try to pull away from him, intent on pushing on with your plan of leaving. Yet such an attempt is fruitless when he slaps you across the face, shocking you once more and you gasp and claw at his arm when he grabs you by the neck, your head getting heavy when he squeezes. 

“But I’m not done with you yet—in fact, I might keep you for a while. Play with you a little longer.” He then gropes your tit through your shirt, giving it a hard squeeze before his hand trails down your stomach and to your dress, lifting the skirt up your waist.

“And guess what time it is little doll.” Another gasp is pulled from your throat when he rips the fabric of your skirt, the sound of his zipper filling your ears. “It’s time to play.”

It’s your third time this year in participating. Selling your baked goods amongst the other veterans and to your surprise, the line is much longer than the last, a craving instilled into your customers for your signature ube and coconut cupcakes. Such a treat has been in your family for years; passed on from your great-grandmother and down the line to you. And it fills your heart with joy to see the faces of your clients when they take that first bite.

You’re even lucky to have your stall set at the end of the row. Not as crowded as the ones found at the center and with enough space to accommodate the queue that’s slowly growing.

You grab another container from your cooler and set them neatly into rows in the display case atop your table. It’s not yet noon and you’re already down to your last two batches, ready to set the next ones. But Wanda is running late and you look at your watch to check the time, grunting in frustration yet keeping up the positive facade.

The little girl standing next in line calls your attention and you give her the brightest smile when you notice her face paint and the blue princess dress she dons. She orders a box of six cupcakes along with a bag of ube crinkles. The cuteness she displays when she counts her change on your table tugs at your heartstrings that you couldn’t help but give her a freebie; one of your heart-shaped cookies.

“Should you really be giving out free samples?” 

“Should you really be running late?” You quip after waving goodbye to the little girl, turning around and crossing your arms over your chest when you face Wanda who stands with the cooler in her hands.

She gives you an awkward yet apologetic smile and you huff out a breath before pointing at the spot where she should place the plastic container.

“What took you so long?” You ask, showing her your obvious annoyance. “You were just supposed to pick up the cupcakes.”

“Why don’t you try loading that heavy thing in the car by yourself? It wasn’t easy.” She gives you a pout before focusing her attention on the next customer.

“I have. Countless times.”

“Well, it’s my first time.” She says while waving goodbye to the woman. “At least be gentle with me.”

You give her a pat on the back before tugging playfully at the end of her hair. “I am being gentle.” You say with a laugh. 

Another customer comes by, ordering two boxes this time, and you busy in packing up their purchase while Wanda takes their payment. For the remainder of the morning, that’s all you both do—entertaining your clientele, packing up orders, and seeing them off with a bright smile on your face. But it soon fades as noon arrives, beads of sweat forming on the nape of your neck and dripping down your shirt as the temperature rises along with the sun. 

Wanda asks to leave for lunch, asking you if you wanted anything from the neighboring stalls. You think twice about the decision, your appetite being non-existent as exhaustion completely takes over your body. But the aroma is not one you can ignore, the savory and fried wafting heavenly in the stolid heat. 

Eventually, you cave; asking Wanda to grab you anything to eat but specifically request for a blue lemonade slushie from Rico’s stand. 

Once the last of your goods are sold, you put out your ‘Be Right Back’ sign and drop down onto the folding chair with a heavy sigh. You grab your water bottle from inside one of the coolers and take a large sip, tempted to drench yourself in the cool liquid instead to stave away the heat. The work is tiring, you have to admit, but it definitely pays off. 

“Oh, what time are you opening again?” A woman asks as she steps in front of your stand, eyes perusing the menu written on the small chalkboard. You immediately sit up and look down at your watch to give her the time. 

“You can come back at around 1 PM. We’re just taking a quick lunch break.” You tell her to which she acknowledges with a nod and grabbing one of your shop flyers before walking off. 

You slouch once again, pressing the cool bottle against your face while you rest. But your respite is once more interrupted when you notice in your periphery another figure standing by your stall. 

“We’re just taking a quick break,” you begin to explain. “But we’ll be back at around—” but your words die on your lips when you see who your visitor is. “What are you doing here?!” You snarl and quickly stand from your seat, hissing when you accidentally hit your knee against the table.

It’s him! Your stalker! 

You take a cautious step back, your fight or flight response coming to life.

“Be careful, cupcake.” A grin forms on his lips as he tucks a hand into his pocket. You see your face reflecting from the aviators perched on his eyes, covering them for anyone to see. But you know full well that he’s watching you intently like he shamelessly always does. “You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

“How many times have I told you to leave me alone, you creep?!” Your voice raises an octave, feeling your heart race from anger and fear.

“I just stopped by to say hi. Is that so bad?” He says while tilting his head to the side, chuckling in amusement. “Besides, I wanted to see how you’re stall is doing.” He runs a finger against the surface of the empty display case then stops at the center, tapping on it with a fingernail, the sound taunting you. 

“Can’t you see we’re sold out?” You openly express your displeasure of his presence, too riled up to even care if anyone is watching your exchange.

“That’s too bad—I would have bought a box for myself.” He hums then a chill runs up your spine when he sends you a smirk. “But then again, there’s only one kind of cupcake I’ve been wanting to taste and I believe that one is available.”

Your vision goes red at the vulgar comment he made and you don’t think twice about getting close and lifting your hand to finally give him a piece of your mind. But he catches on to you quickly and grabs your wrist, taking the other one when you raise it all the same. He pulls you closer, your face only inches from his,  and you groan in as you struggle to pull away from his grasp. 

“Do you really want to cause a scene here, cupcake?” He slithers. “Where so many can see how violent you are?”

“Let me go, you fucker!”

“Such a dirty mouth.” He tuts and moves to pull you further over the table, trapping your arms to your sides when he wraps an arm tightly around you. You move your face away when he reaches up and caresses your face, your eyes widening as he keeps you in place, his thumb rubbing circles on the apple of your cheek. “We’ll have to fix that soon or you can show me just how filthy that mouth of yours can really be.”

The edge of the table digs into your hips when he pulls you closer, inhaling sharply when he presses his nose against your temple and takes a sniff of your hair. The hand on your face moves once more, his thumb pressing against your lips. Quickly, you part your lips wide and try to catch it between your teeth. But he’s fast, pushing you away effortlessly and you stagger back, losing your balance and toppling over the metal chair that hits the back of your thighs.

“Tsk tsk. You’re so clumsy, cupcake.” he laughs.

“I’ve got our food!!” Wanda’s excited voice suddenly comes and you turn to face her, immediately running to her side as panic settles in your nerves once again.

“Wanda! Quick! Call the cops!” You say in a rush, clutching onto her tight. “Hurry!”

“Hey! Be careful!” She scolds and pries her arm away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You almost had me drop an amazing burrito!” 

“He’s—” You point to where the man once stood and take a step back in shock when you see him gone.

You look around frantically, scanning through the sea of people, and try to spot the light blue button-up shirt you noticed him wearing, even being cautious of any man that had their hair tied up in a bun.

But you don’t see him. Like he somehow vanished into thin air. Yet even with his sudden absence, you can still feel his palpable presence. You may not see him but you definitely know he’s watching you, like a predator would its prey, waiting for the right opportunity to attack.

“Who’s what?” Wanda asks as she sets the containers of food and drinks atop the lid of the cooler. “Why do you want me to call the cops?”

You look into her eyes, your own wide with fear. “He’s here, Wanda! He— He’s—” Your chest begins to constrict, feeling the air around you grow thin that you grab onto the neck of your shirt and yank on it hard in order for you to breathe.

He got closer this time. Touched you even. He’s never done that before in the years of him following you around, only stayed in his lane, and left as soon as you told him off. But now, it’s different—he looked more bold and more confident, your apprehension growing bigger and stronger that he would finally do something that would end up with you getting hurt. 

“Whoa, babe.” Wanda coos as she places both of her hands on your shoulders. “Breathe with me, okay? Slowly.” She instructs and you obey, following her lead as she slowly breathes in and out, keeping your eyes locked in her green ones.

Your anxiety eventually dies down and your chest feels somewhat looser from the exercise. Yet the memory remains at the forefront of your mind, his touch lingering on your skin. She guides you to sit, Wanda kneeling in front of you and you flinch when she places a cold plastic cup between your hands, making you look down at the yellow slush that’s already starting to melt.

“Now. Tell me what happened.” She prompts. “What got you all worked up?”

You swallow thickly, unsure if you should say anything to her at all. As terrifying as the situation is, you’ve kept it all to yourself, especially after the local police department turned you away, telling you that they can only do something if threats of physical harm have been made. But you couldn’t produce anything, not even a photo nor a name for them to search—ultimately deeming your situation a nuisance.

But the sincerity you see in Wanda’s eyes as you rethinking your decision of bottling it all up again. You may have only known her for a short period but you feel the bond you have forged with her to be strong. If there’s anyone you can trust, it would be her.

With shaky hands, you set down the now melted slushie on top of the cooler and hold onto her hands tight, Wanda doing just the same with her attention solely on you. Her grip is strong, firm, and you feel the tension coiled around you slowly seep away. 

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “I have a stalker.”

The information seems to take her off guard, shock evident on her face. But she immediately schools her features and you take the gentle squeeze she gives your hands as a sign to continue. 

“He’s been following me for years now but he hasn’t done anything drastic.” A lump forms at the base of your throat as you’re transported back to the event earlier—how he grabbed and touched you, coming closer than you ever expected. “Until now.”

“What do you mean?” She asks. “Have you told the cops?”

“I did, but they refused to look into it further. I provide them any of what they were asking.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t have a picture of this man?” 

You shake your head.

“How come? If what you say is true and he’s been stalking you for a while now, shouldn’t you have already grabbed some evidence at this point?”

Her question comes off as accusing, making you think that maybe telling her wasn’t such a good idea. Still, you push on and refuse to be blamed for the stranger's inexcusable actions.

“You don’t understand, Wanda. When I see him, or when I know he’s watching me, I panic—I don’t think about taking my phone and snapping pictures.” You explain, hoping she would understand your reason. “All I could think of at that moment is to run away and hide.” Tears begin welling in your eyes and you release her hands, gripping down on your own to try and stop your emotions from boiling over.

“Okay—okay,” Her voice is soft as if she’s talking to a wounded animal while her hand caresses your arm. “Uhh, if you don’t mind telling me, what else has he done? Just watching and following?”

“Just?” You ask in disbelief.

“No, no—” She sighs and shuts her eyes tight as if trying to grasp the right words to say. “What I meant was, has he ever tried following you to your place? Like to your door or something? Any break-ins that happened?”

You shake your head. 

Wanda hums in thought and you startle when a wide smile forms on her lips, her hands taking yours once again. 

“I think I can help you.” She says with much enthusiasm.

“Huh? How?”

You watch as the blond man—Steve, if you remember his name correctly—installs the security camera by your bedroom window and a couple more in the living room, your kitchen, and by your bedroom door. When Wanda first proposed the idea, you found it a little too intense but after another incident the same night you came home from the festival, you immediately called her up and agreed to her proposal.

He showed up once again, this time, standing in wait at your parking spot. He was still wearing the same outfit as the one you saw him in earlier that day—a light blue button-up and white tank top hidden underneath. His brown hair was worn in a bun and the facial hair was partially trimmed, another characteristic you took note of as well as the gold chain hanging around his neck.

He looks very much well off, like a respectable business owner of some sort and it joggles your mind, thinking, that if he is what you suspect him to be, as to why he’s posing such a creepy disposition. But then again, one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover and for all you know, this could simply be a facade, a character he’s made of himself to throw you off.

He never said or did anything to further add to the tension that was once more building in your veins. He only stood there for a whole minute and while you sat frozen in your driver’s seat. You could never forget the smirk he had on his face then, as if he was taunting you, challenging you to get out of your car. But he soon waved his hand, amusement heavy on his face before walking away. 

You waited a little bit more before getting out of your car, even leaving the empty coolers in your trunk as you ran in haste towards the elevator, afraid that he would show up once more. But it’s only when you got into your apartment and latched all the locks in place that you realized you forgot to take his picture to give to the authorities. Another missed opportunity, another loss on your part, and victory on his. 

That’s when you called Wanda and told her of what happened, agreeing in an instant to her proposal for security. 

The sound of the electric drill fills the silence of your apartment. As the last screw is set in its place, with Steve admiring his handiwork and then tucking away his tools, you slowly feel the sense of relief drape over you. 

You turn to face Wanda, wanting to thank her for the effort she’s putting into keeping you safe. But the look on her face has you reeling back, noticing how her eyes are focused intently on the main camera that faces your bedroom.

“Wanda?” She blinks and looks at you when you call her name. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah—why?”

“Nothing.” You shrug and walk towards her, giving her arm a gentle poke. “You looked pretty serious for a while. Is something on your mind?”

“Indeed. Is something wrong, Wanda?” Steve echoes your sentiment and you’re slightly taken aback by the questioning, somewhat castigating, look on his face.

She seems to remember herself and the seriousness that once took over her fades almost in an instant, a wide smile pushing the corners of her lips upward. “Oh, it’s nothing.” She laughs and laces her arms around one of yours. “Just hoping that this would help ease your situation, babe.”

“It definitely will,” Steve interjects, his voice strong and certain. “These are high-quality equipment that will be able to track and capture every moment inside the apartment and outside your window. And it was created by my very good friend, Vision. So, I am certain there would be no flaws.” The grin on Steve’s face is wide when he says the name, and you look at Wanda when she gasps, her hold on you tightening. 

“Vision?” You repeat in question. “You know him?” You ask your friend.

“Uhh, yeah—just some guy Steve introduced before.” Her voice quivers and she releases you, taking a step forward towards the tall blond. “How is he? Is he doing okay?”

“He also said to not forget about installing the app on her phone so she can check in on the cameras from time to time,” Steve adds, ignoring Wanda’s query altogether, and walks towards your front door. “If there is nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

“Thank you—uhh, Steve, for all your help.” You trail after him and see him out the door. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

“Just install the app.” He demands as he looks at you with a raised eyebrow, before looking in Wanda’s direction who straightens at his attention. “We’re counting on you, Wanda.” He adds before walking out of your apartment. 

You make a face as you shut the door, heading over to the couch where Wanda sits and taking the space beside her. 

“What’s up with that dude?” You groan, shaking your head to ease off the weird encounter. “Is he always that bossy? Where did you even meet him? And who’s we? Who’s counting on you?”

“Oh, Steve’s just really a no-bullshit kind of guy.” She explains then rummages through her bag when a ping sounds from within. “He’s always been like that—where’s your phone?” 

The sudden switch in the conversation has you frowning, looking down at Wanda’s hand when she holds it out to you. You notice how her cheerful demeanor was almost nonexistent as soon as Steve walked into the apartment. She was quiet and pensive and you wouldn’t have noticed the strain in her if she didn’t squeeze your arm when he mentioned that stranger’s name.

“Babe, phone?” She asks again, quite eager this time and you relent, taking the device from your back pocket and handing it to her. 

She quickly takes it and then hands it back, shaking the phone as she silently asks you to unlock it. Once you enter the code, she grabs it back and stalks away from you, holding her own device in her hands and typing on yours vigorously. As soon as she finishes, she lets out a relieved sigh, the smile back on her face, and stalks back to where you sit. 

“There. Now be sure to keep your phone on at all times or the cameras won’t work.” She instructs, taking the seat beside yours and leaning back against it. “From what Steve told me, the power of the security system relies solely on the app. So, if you want to catch your stalker, you gotta keep that baby on and with you at all times.”

It’s the first time you’ve heard of such technology. Aren’t security cameras powered by electricity? Why would they stop working if your phone died? You should have asked for more details from Steve before he left but that brusque front he was showing already made you feel like you were intruding—even if he was the one who entered your home. 

So you ask Wanda. 

“Why would my phone power the cameras?”

She simply shrugs and grabs the remote of the television, turning it on and flicking to select your streaming service. “I don’t know. It's just what they told me—what do you want to watch?”

There it is again. We. They. Who are these people that Wanda refuses to tell you of?

“Who’s they?” You ask.

“Bucky and—” She pauses and sits up, as if aware of what she said. “I mean, the guys selling it. This is still a prototype, you see, and I offered them your place as a testing ground.”

“Eh? Testing?” You frown and look up at the cameras. “But what if it doesn’t work?”

“Trust me, it will. We’re friends, right?” She says confidently, flicking through the options once more on the television. “Would I ever lie to you?”

Weeks have passed since your last encounter with your stalker—which, as weird as it sounds, you find very unusual. After being so used to his intruding presence, you’d expect him to show up in the places you expect him to be; outside your apartment building or even across the street from your bakeshop, waiting for you to close up. 

But so far, he’s been missing and you can’t help but feel a slight sense of relief. Still, you continue to keep your guard up. Still looking over your shoulder and cautiously scanning your surroundings when you drive or walk back home. He could simply be toying with you, making it seem like he’s vanished then surprise you one day in the most horrific way. 

Even so, you’re thankful for the peace and cling to the hope that he’s finally given up. You even check the camera feed religiously, just to be certain of his absence. And what you see, or rather, what you don’t see has you smiling and encourages you to go on with your daily activities with ease. 

The bell of the bakeshop chimes and you smile from behind the counter when you see Wanda strutting in, a popsicle in her hand. You’re about to greet her when she tosses one towards you, grabbing it with clumsy hands and frowning at her unexpected yet tasty surprise. 

“Couldn’t you have just given it to me properly?” You chide. “Like a normal human being?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She laughs and leans her hip against the counter from the other side, looking around lazily. “Dead time?”

“Pretty much.” You unwrap the popsicle from the foil and give it a tentative lick, a smile gracing your lips at the taste. Mango. “Lunchtime just finished. Besides, I think the heat is making people stay in their homes.”

“Why don’t you close up early today then? My friend is throwing a party at their place and you should come! We can drink to celebrate!”

“Party? Celebrate?” You ask while giving her a confused look. “What will we be celebrating?”

“Your freedom, of course! Your stalker hasn’t shown up in a while, right? Isn’t that worth celebrating?”

“I guess—but what if he shows up while we’re outside?” Worry slowly starts trickling in. It’s different when you’re doing mundane things, you’re more vigilant, more aware. But with the presence of alcohol? You’re sure to be in a more vulnerable state. “I don’t think it’s a good ide—”

“Relax. It’s perfectly safe.” The smile on her face is wide, her lips tainted pink from the popsicle she licks. 

“I don’t know.” You frown, feeling uneasy with the invitation. “Can’t we just celebrate at my place? Just the two of us? I’m not really comfortable going somewhere until I’m sure that man is gone.”

She sighs, disappointment evident on her face though you see her think as if considering your counteroffer. So you try to latch onto that hope and add another enticing detail that you know she wouldn’t be able to resist. 

“If you say yes, I’ll give you a box of my cupcakes every time you ask for some.” You say with much conviction. “Free of charge.”

Her eyes sparkle then and you believe she’s caught your bait. When she rolls her eyes and gives you a nod, you give her a wide smile, licking on the popsicle that’s already started to melt in your hand. 

“Alright, fine.” She agrees. “But I’m choosing the drinks for tonight and you can’t say no to that.”

You laugh. “Deal.”

You laugh as Wanda dances along to the music playing in the background, walking over to the kitchen to pour both of you a glass of the vintage she brought. The pop of the cork surprises you even as you expect it and a smile forms on your lips when the bouquet of the wine kisses your nose. Fancy stuff.

Wanda was right about relaxing for it has been a while since you’ve had the time to really let loose. With the stress of running your business along with the fear that your stalker brought, your life has been in such a knot that truly, you’ve forgotten how to live. 

You hand Wanda her glass and she grins widely when she accepts it. You lift your own glass to your lips and take a tentative sip, your eyes widening in surprise when Wanda tips the glass upward, almost choking as you drink the entire glass. 

You gasp for air when she pulls away, giggling when you glare at her and she looks back at you, feigning innocence. 

“What was that for?” You whine. “I almost choked!”

“But you didn’t.” She grins and sets her glass down by the pizza boxes. “I’m just helping you let loose.”

“Why aren’t you drinking yours?” 

“I’ll have mine after I have food. And besides, you need it more than I do.” She laughs and takes a seat on the couch, sitting down beside her with a pout when she pats the space next to her.

You lean forward to grab a slice from the box then stop when your head begins to spin, feeling it grow heavy that you clutch on it, confused as to what is happening. You groan at the discomfort that slowly envelopes you and you feel a sense of panic when your vision blurs, making you blink hard twice to try and push it away; but it’s no use.

You groan when you hear Wanda say your name, looking over to face her but not seeing her. You try to speak, to call out for help, but no words come from your throat. Helplessness and confusion plague you as you feel your body slump over the chaise.

What did Wanda do? 

“Sorry..” You face the direction from where you heard the voice but your eyesight has already failed, only seeing a jumbled blend of colors. 

A hand on your arm has you flinching and you moan when you feel another caress your cheek. You squint to attempt once more to see what Wanda is doing but what comes into your view has you freezing in terror. For it’s not Wanda holding you in their arms but the man you’ve been fearing for years. 

He’s finally got you and you have no way of escaping.

A rocking sensation stirs you awake and a moan trickles from your lips. Your head still feels heavy and your body aches as you slowly resurface from the void that has taken over you. Confusion runs wild, and rightly so, for you don’t recognize where you are; the concrete walls are completely alien, darkness shrouding the rest of the unknown space except for the muted lamp that shines at your side. 

The rocking continues, back and forth you move against a soft surface. You’re still disoriented but that soon all fades when his face comes into view, the last face you saw before going unconscious, with a wide grin on his face and his blue eyes blown wide with lust and desire.

It was no dream! It truly is him! 

A garbled moan escapes you once more when he jerks his hips, having you realize the state that you’re in—naked and bound on a bed that isn’t yours, in a place you don’t know—and what this man is doing. He doesn’t stop, his movements only going faster and harder, your pussy walls pulsing around his cock that continues to slide in and out, again and again, taking more and more of what you refuse to give.

“S…stop—” you try to protest, you try to scream, but your throat is dry and tight, and no words form despite your efforts. 

You try to kick your legs to fend him off and pull yourself away but you can’t feel them. You’re limp and at his mercy, tears spilling from your eyes as he pushes on with his sinful deed and you begging continuously for him to stop, to release you. But they only fall on deaf ears.

“It’s okay, cupcake.” He groans low, leaning down to have his face closer to yours as he rests his elbows on either side of your head. “You don’t have to be afraid.” He says before thrusting deep inside of you, making you groan as your pelvis aches from his strength. “It’s just me.”

You pull your face away when he bows his head, his lips pressing against your temple when he locks himself in place. He cradles you with his body and you bite your tongue to stop the string of moans from leaving your lips but only fail miserably when he quickens his pace. Once, twice, thrice, and more, he takes you further. The tingling sensation stirring in the pit of your stomach has you hating yourself.

“P—please, let me go.” You beg, crying when he moves a hand to grab on your tit. Squeezing, kneading, rolling his thumb against the nipple that stiffens at his attention and you gasp upon feeling the unwanted pleasure cocoon you in spite of your reluctance. 

“I can’t do that, cupcake.” He says in a strained voice, the sound of skin slapping against each other filling your ears and you grab tight unto your restraints when he pounds roughly into you. Your walls clench, aching at his continued intrusion. And you grit your teeth when you reach that high, ecstasy completely taking over you that you suddenly come hard around him. 

He follows soon after, spilling deep into your core with his moans of pleasure bouncing through the walls. You think he’s done, that he’ll finally let you go as he already took what he wanted. But he doesn’t pull away, instead nestling himself completely between your thighs and you mewl when he gives another thrust, his hips moving as he fucks his come into you. 

“Now that I have you,” he’s breathless as he speaks, hands moving to caress your face before pinching your chin and forcing you to face him; your monster. He places a soft kiss against your lips, eyes wandering over your face, like a man obsessing over his prize. “Why would I let you go?”

That was days ago, probably weeks when he finally captured you. 

The man, Bucky or James—you don’t care, as you found out his name is, keeping you prisoner, caged like an animal in the room underneath his home. Naked and afraid, with the darkness and the cold surrounding you and only being blessed with the light when he would visit once in the morning and another at night. 

The torment was too much to bare at times but you kept fighting, clinging to the sliver of hope that you would one day escape his clutches and run away from everything and begin a new life. But as the days went by, your resolve started to dwindle. You realized that there was no use trying to fight him for each time you would, he would only fight back stronger, harder, and leave you battered, bruised, and used only for him to do it all over again.

Until one day, he came with a trade-off.

“Peace.” He said and you watched him intently, weakly, as he sat on the stool in front of you, setting down a paper bag he brought with him.

You listened to him. “Freedom,” he whispered and your eyes grew wide as the seven-letter word bore deep into your soul. Freedom from the hell he’s kept you in. Freedom from the agony that slowly peeled away your sanity. A life—one you knew before, to be able to do the things you once loved.

But in exchange, your hand. To spend eternity with the man that stalked you and forced you to live in fear. To vow to love him and serve him, to be the wife he always wanted you to be. 

Is it truly freedom he offered? Or simply another cell to keep you in? You already knew the answer to that and you knew very well that your life was in the palm of his hand. He made sure of that, planned everything to the tee for he’s done everything to keep you alive, with only him as the judge of when you’d meet your demise. 

You wince when your hands throb as you mix the cupcake batter in the bowl. The marks on your wrists are still visible, though slightly healed. You focus on the task at hand to drown away the demons of the past, burying them deep down where no one, not even you, could see it and keep yourself afloat in the present.

It’s not the life you wanted, but one you expected. Bucky did uphold his end of the bargain—a roof over your head and food in your belly, a mansion for you to go as you pleased, and the gold band sitting snugly on your finger; a constant reminder of his power and what you’ve now become. 

You hear the front door open, chatter filling the silence of the big house. You know it’s Bucky—he’s home after several days of being away for work. Though it’s not his voice that has you on edge, but Wanda’s. 

And her presence is confirmed when you look up and see her standing by the doorway to the kitchen. A tall, blond man stands beside her, one you haven’t seen before, almost leaning against her as she looks at you with shock painted on her face. 

She did this. She betrayed you. A monster in sheep’s clothing that didn’t think twice about throwing you to the wolves. She was your safety net. Your confidant through trying times. But you were stupid and nothing more than a bargaining chip—a deal brokered by the two; you in exchange for her lover’s life.

“Why don’t you and Vision wait in my study? Steve’s already in there.” You hear Bucky tell her and you resume finishing the cupcakes you were preparing for your husband’s return. “I will just greet my wife.”

The sound of footsteps clack against the marble floors and you sense Bucky coming closer while pouring the batter into their molds and turning to the over to stow them inside. You begin clearing up your mess, putting away the equipment you’ve used when you suddenly gasp upon feeling two strong arms wrap around your waist.

You force a smile and put on the facade of a happy wife, placing your hand over Bucky’s and giving his knuckles a gentle caress, feeling the hard surface of his ring against your fingertips.

“I missed you, Mrs. Barnes,” He breathes, moving to press his face on the crook of your neck, your skin rippling in disgust when he plants a kiss on it. “I hope you missed me too.”

“Of course, I did, Mr. Barnes.” You respond automatically. “I even baked you your favorite for your return.”

“My wife is so sweet.” He chuckles, your breath hitching when his hands begin roaming across your middle. “You’re always so good to me, cupcake. You were made to be mine.” He sways you both from side to side, dancing despite the absence of music but the feel of his erection digging against the curve of your behind as you move forward, to which he stops by pulling you back against him. 

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” You begin initiating conversation, hoping for it to be a distraction. “But you arrived a little too early. I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me? Never.” He coos. “I’m the one who should be apologizing for ruining your surprise.” He presses another kiss on your neck. “But I have something better in mind that could be my welcome home treat.” Your heart beats hard against your chest when his hand snakes down your yellow sundress, only for him to pull on the skirt and bunch them over your waist. 

He growls when you stop his hand, moving once more to turn and face him instead. But he traps you against the edge of the counter, with his hand cupping your clothed cunt and his fingers exploring, rubbing against your clit.

You try to suppress the moans that force their way out of your lips but fail, his persistence crowding over you and you grip the marble surface when he pulls your panties to the side and press his thumb against your swollen bud. 

“Don’t you have a meeting with Steve and the others?” You ask, hoping he would stop and give you a reprieve. Even when he was gone for days, you’re not yet ready to have him back. 

“They can wait.” He snarls and you gasp, your back arching against his chest when he slips a finger past your folds, his touch sending ripples of dread through your skin. “But I can’t.”

Tears stream down your face as you cower on your kitchen floor. You’re paralyzed, shock and fear cocooning your body and your senses as you bear witness to Tommy pinning down his brother on the ground, his fists raining down on Joel’s face. 

Tommy snarls as Joel tries to fight back, pushing to get the upper hand from the younger Miller. But Tommy is nothing but determined, anger and pain flaring in his eyes and his mouth almost foaming as he snarls and continues with his assault.

“She wanted it, Tommy!” Joel grunts when he successfully grabs a hold of Tommy by the neck of his shirt, blood sputtering from his mouth and dripping from his nose as he speaks. “She begged me to do it!”

“You shut the fuck up, Joel!” The younger Miller snarls before throwing another blow to his brother.

Just when you think Tommy would start beating Joel once again, he stops, grabbing Joel by the collar of his flannel, and growls like a vicious animal before letting him go and pushing himself off his brother.

He leans against the cabinet under the sink, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. Anger curls around him like fire, low groans of frustration emitting from his lips and all you want to do is reach out to him and soothe him from the pain he’s feeling. But as soon as you try to move to touch his shoulder, he turns his head and his eyes meet yours. 

Despite the deafening silence that fills the entire house, you hear your heart shatter when you see no love nor concern in his hazel orbs—only rage. And he has every right to be. You could have screamed and stopped Joel from his perversion but you didn’t and allowed him to do to you what he desired. So now, you take the consequences as painful as it is. 

He grunts as he pushes himself off the ground and yanks his brother along with him. 

“Get the fuck out of my house, you bastard, and don’t you ever come back!” Tommy yells and doesn’t wait for Joel to regain coherence before pushing him out of the kitchen.

Even when out of your sight the image of them continues to penetrate your mind as you hear both men struggling once more in the front room. A grunt echoes through the house then a cough and you push yourself to peek from behind the counter, wanting to make sure that Tommy is safe, that Tommy succeeds in making Joel leave.

“You’d choose that—that whore over your own flesh and blood?!” Joel spits, blood smearing on his arm as he wipes it off his face. “Open your goddamn eyes, Tommy! She’s just using you!”

“If I ever catch you near my property, I swear to God, Joel, I’ll fucking kill you!” Tommy threatens.

Silence surrounds the entire house once more, your heart pounding heavily against your chest as you wait for Joel to respond. But the slam of the door comes instead, making you flinch at the intensity before huffing out a breath of relief when you hear a car door open and close and tires rolling against the pavement. 

That’s when you slump from where you’re hiding, eyes trained on the blood staining the tiles of your kitchen. Fear remains in your chest as the scene of Tommy beating up his brother replays over and over in your head. You know Tommy to be fierce but also very loving in his own sweet way, but never in your mind did it cross how violent he can be and you sit there, praying, hoping that he’d see reason and believe you. 

You visibly start when he calls your name, hands shaking as you clutch on the edge of the counter and make to stand from your hiding place. Tommy’s anger seemed to have dissipated but with the way his chest heaves and his fist winds tight, you’re certain it’s still boiling within him.

“Tommy—” you start. “I—I didn’t ask for it, I swear.” The worry suddenly comes rushing in and you can’t help but cry once more, the tears streaming uncontrollably down your face. “Please, Tommy—please,” you beg, your voice cracking as you force yourself to speak, to voice your side and to let him know your feelings. “Please believe me, Tommy. You’re all I want—you’re the one I love and I would never—”

“You mean that?” His question catches you off guard and you stare at him, seriousness and sadness painting your face. “You really love me?” he asks.

“I do, Tommy,” you rush to him and immediately wrap your arms around his middle, his eyes focused on your face as you look up at him, fingers clutching on his shirt from the back. “I love you—only you.”

He doesn’t speak but from the way he looks at you, you know he’s thinking. A small smile then forms on your lips when he presses his hand against your cheek. You lean against his touch, reaching for his hand, all the same, to keep a hold of him, to keep him near. 

“Then prove it.” He utters, the words making you blink in confusion. “Bend over.”

“Huh?”

“If you mean what you said, that I’m the only one you love, prove it to me by bending over.”

“But—”

“Then Joel was right. You are just using me.” His eyes flash a different shade, turning darker by the second. 

“Tommy, no!” You cry once more, clutching his hand when he pulls it away from your face. “Please, Tommy! I love you, I really do.” 

“If you mean that, you know what to do.” 

His tone scares you, cold and callous, concern all gone as if the Tommy you knew and fell in love with flew out the window. Your hands shake once more, fidgeting as you think of his words. Slowly, you turn around, swallowing thickly as you face the countertop and do as he says, leaning forward and exposing your behind to him. 

Your lips quiver when he closes the distance, his crotch pressing against your ass, a whimper escaping your throat when his hand moves to caress the cheek, his foot kicking yours apart and your spine going rigid when he cups your clothed cunt. 

“Who owns this pussy?” He snarls against your ear when he bends over, his chest pressing against your back. “Who. Fucking. Owns. this?” 

But before you can respond his fingers flick through the fabric of his boxers that you’re wearing, pushing it aside only to caress your pussy lips and pushing in a finger while his thumb presses threateningly against the tight ring of muscle.

“Y—you.” you mumble and everything you once knew seems to fade right in front of you when he slips another digit within, fucking you the same way his brother did. 

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“What are you doing, darling?”

Your back goes rigid and your fingers tighten around the vape device just before you can slip the tip between your lips.

You have no idea how he found you. You made sure to hide before you went back home—no, this place is not your home, this place is your prison. And he isn’t your husband, one he believes himself to be, he is but your warden, your captor, and your death sentence. 

Vision stands before you, his human disguise masking his true identity yet his eyes ever the true blue, with danger laced around them. He wraps his hand around yours and takes the blue device from your grasp. He examines it, deft fingers tracing the metallic surface and you gasp in shock when he suddenly crushes it in his hand, the liquid dripping from his fingers. 

“I told you to stop that.” He scolds.

“Vis—” you stop when you hear him growl, blinking and swallowing thickly, correcting yourself. “I’m sorry, sir. I—I was just stressed at work and I needed to blow off some steam.”

The seriousness in his eyes suddenly vanishes and you startle when he chuckles at your words. Though you know, deep down, that he is far from amused. And you know well not to trust his actions for they mean something else than what he shows. 

“You should have told me, darling.” he hums as he takes a step forward, and you fight not to push him away when he reaches over to cup your face, making you look up at him. “I could have helped you. All you need to do is ask.”

You shut your eyes when he leans forward, your fingers curling into a fist when he presses a kiss on your forehead. 

“Do you still feel stressed?” he asks but before you can even respond, his hand shifts, resting both on your shoulders and you look up at him with wide eyes, fear surrounding you when he forces you on your knees.

“Sir—what—”

“Shhh. I’m helping you blow off steam,” he remarks with a devious smirk, oceanic eyes glinting with darkness when he fumbles with the zip of his pants. “Maybe sticking your mouth somewhere else than that horrid device would help.”

“Bu—but—” you quiver, eyes looking around for fear that you both would get caught. “Sir—” the word comes out as a choke you struggle against his hold when he grabs your hand and presses it against his growing erection. “Someone might see. Why not we go home?” 

“You weren’t scared when you were huffing out here, showing our neighbors what a bad girl you are.” he tuts, snapping his finger against your cheek when you try to look away from his crotch. “This way, people will truly see how bad you are. And maybe that would teach you a lesson. Understand?”

Unshed tears brim at your eyes and you nod at his words, helpless against his strength as he keeps a hand on you, preventing you from escaping. 

The sun shines through the window, its rays kissing your skin as the morning comes and greets the world. The birds chirp happily, their song being carried by the wind, soothing and peaceful, unlike your soul that continues to be plagued by the darkness and the formidable force that is Joel.

Your sleep was restless as the events of the evening kept playing in your head, giving you no serenity, no escape, only dread. Disbelief shrouds you, still finding it surreal that the man you knew for years and was trusted by your family would attack you and betray you in such a way. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

His snores echo through your bedroom. His naked chest pressed against your back. But the worst one of all, his cock remains inside of you, your inner thighs stained and sticky from his come, evidence of his depravity, a psychotic demonstration of his power and perverse desires for you. Your cunt aches, sore from his assault that you allowed helplessly, powerless to his strength and intent. 

You force yourself not to cry, to not make a sound as the severity of your situation sinks in your bones. The last thing you want to do is wake him up and face the morning with his suffocating attention. To hear his words of faux concern that he knows what you need. And his fucked up head, he thinks—no, he believes that what you need is him. 

So, you close your eyes and wish for sleep to visit you. You hope that he’s gone when you wake up and that everything that had happened would have all been a nightmare, one you can forget and push to the back of your head and never think of again. 

But just as your eyes get heavy and your body reaches a point of calm, he stirs from behind you and you’re wide awake once more. His arm around you tightens, pulling you flush against his chest and you struggle to keep the reluctant moan from leaving your lips when you feel his cock throb against your pussy walls, his hips rolling against your own. 

“Good morning, baby,” he says in a sleepy drawl, your body shivering when he presses a kiss on your bare shoulder, his beard bristling against your skin. 

You don’t respond, hoping he would think you’re asleep and that he would leave you alone. But his hand begins to wander, your skin tingling when he grazes his fingertips against it before trapping a nipple between his fingers and giving it a rough pinch. 

“I know you’re awake,” he groans.

His hips begin to move, slowly pulling back and then pushing in, his length rubbing against your sore cunt. And all at once, he traps you in his arms, a gasp pulled from your throat when he turns your head to have you face him when he looks down at you, his hand caging your jaw before he leans down to press a sloppy kiss against your lips.

His tempo then picks up, swallowing your moans when you feel him plunge his cock deeper. The hand previously on your breast travels south, caressing your stomach and you let out a yelp of surprise when he slaps your pussy, once, twice, then multiple times in quick succession, stopping all of a sudden only to press his finger against your clit and rolling against it roughly.

Your walls slicken at the touch and your back arches against his chest as the stimulation drenches over your entire being. Toes curling, hips bucking instinctively and your mind going blank, consumed by the pleasure you didn’t want—and all you could think about is reaching high for your peak and seeking that release.

“I feel your body aching for me, baby,” he groans on your cheek when you break the kiss, gasping heavily and whining when he turns on the bed and lays on his back, pulling you with him and having you rest on his chest. 

With his knees positioned between yours, he spreads them apart with yours and his hand latches around your throat while the other sits gingerly against your cunt. Your body bends, teeth grinding as your body sings in ecstasy when he rams his cock against you, faster, harder, fucking you senseless, making your ass bounce against his thighs. 

Strings of whimpers and moans slip past your lips as you beg for relief, his hand slapping once more against your cunt, your clit stinging in a mix of pain and pleasure. Your walls then clench around him, the pit of your stomach rolling, swirling as Joel continues to impale you, his thrusts frantic and erratic and you feel his hot breath spreading against your heated skin. 

You then shout in pain when his teeth clamp on your shoulder, but it quickly subsides as the sensation only provokes the desire swimming deep in your core. He sucks on the patch of skin and then bites down, his tongue rolling around the prickling area before pressing a kiss on it. 

“You’re mine, baby—” he growls and you choke when his fingers tighten around your neck. “Don’t you ever forget that.” 

His words jolt fear into you with how possessive and feral he sounds. But such thoughts vanish as quickly as they came and you grab onto his arms when you feel the coil within you twisting tighter and tighter. 

You focus on one thing, to reach your peak and you imagine Joel not being here, painting his face with another, with Alex’s, just to simply endure the torture he bestows upon you easier and find a sense of comfort amidst the whirlwind of this monstrosity. 

Breath hitching and legs shaking, you let out a shout when the thread finally breaks and a blinding orgasm takes over, making your body stay still as your juices flow out of you in a rush, coating heavily on his cock. But his hips don’t relent and both his hands grab onto your waist as he pounds into you mercilessly. Though he doesn’t last much longer, slamming his cock deep within where he shudders and growls when he finally spills his seed.

The air is musky with the scent of sex as you both lay atop the mattress, chests heaving and exhaustion settling in. A whine trickles out from you when his hand finds purchase of your pussy once more, fingers playing with your clit before running his hand north and splaying his fingers wide against your stomach. 

“You’re on the pill, right?” he asks out of the blue and panic quickly washes over you at the realization that he finished inside. 

But before you could respond, he plants a kiss on your shoulder and then on your hair, whining when his cock slides out of your pussy and feeling your mixed essence drip down your inner thighs and to your ass. 

“Well, even if you ain’t, we can get those morning-after pills later.” he says, amusement evident in his voice, both his arms wrapping around your body as he cages you to him. “Let’s just enjoy the morning for a little longer, shall we?”

-

Joel, as you’ve come to realize, is insatiable. 

Relief filled you when he allowed you to clean up, happy to finally be away from him even if it was for a short while. Your feet were still stinging from the burns from the night before but you preferred it more than being with your captor. 

But the respite you thought you had was taken away when the curtains flew open just as soon as the hot water hit your skin and Joel stepped inside the tub, feeling his arms wrap around your waist to pull you against him.

“I saw the pills,” he whispered in your ear, tears pooling in your eyes when you felt his cock stiff against the small of your back. “Glad to know we’re in the clear,” he added and proceeded to take you once more in the tight space. 

You’re still in shock as to why he’s doing this, his words from last night ringing in your ears. It makes you question just how long he’s been thinking of you, seeing you in such a way and not as his best friend’s daughter. The thought makes you sick, knowing that he must have been waiting, preying on you without you even realizing it. Taking advantage of the times you both would bond with each other and wait for the opportunity to strike.

But his deviance is not what scares you but the fluctuation of his mood. He was rough and manipulative last night, blaming you for his actions. Yet, now, he's calm and all smiles, sitting in front of you on the bed, dressed only in his boxers and you in a nightshirt—foregoing the panties at his behest. A tray of toast, eggs, and bacon sits between you—something he’s prepared himself—a sweet and thoughtful gesture should the circumstances be different. 

He bites on a piece of toast and you do nothing but stare at the food, questions swirling in your head. How will you escape him? Would you even be able to? What would happen if you told your dad what he did?

“You’re not eating.” his voice stops your train of thought and you look up at him, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. “Don’t you like it? I can make you something else.”

“No—this is fine,” you say with a strained smile, picking up a piece of bacon. “Thank you.” you bite into the shred of meat, forcing yourself to eat despite your lack of appetite. But you don’t want to displease him, you’ve seen the extent of his strength and anger.

He stares, hazel orbs intense and dark and you look away if only to keep away from his suffocating presence. But the bed moves and the tray of food is pushed aside, your eyes blinking when his hand appears in your line of sight. You hesitate for a second but immediately place your hand in his when you hear the low growl he makes. He tugs you and you follow him with reluctance, taking a seat on his lap as he directs. 

Back resting on his naked and damp chest, you try not to pull away when he nuzzles his nose on the crook of your neck, an arm wrapping around your waist while the other rests over your thigh and kneads on the flesh.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” he says, more of a command than a request and you say nothing. He continues, “So that you’re not surrounded by memories of that chump ex of yours. Understand?”

You swallow thickly, afraid to utter a word but the way his fingers dig painfully into the meat of your thigh has you hissing and you acquiesce to his demands with a nod. 

“Things are going to be different from now on, baby,” he whispers and you whimper when his hand slips between your thighs, finger tickling your skin before cupping your naked heat, and his thumb slowly pushes down against your sensitive bud. “No more wasted tears,” he murmurs, your hand grabbing his wrist when he starts rolling the pad of his thumb against your clit. “No more broken heart.”

You sniff and try to close your legs, to stop him. But he pinches your stomach and you bite your lip to suppress a cry, succumbing once more to his desires. 

“I’ll give you everything you need,” he growls low and you stiffen against his chest when his finger teases your slit, the tears falling down your face when he pushes it past your folds and into your cunt, fucking you slowly. 

“I love you, baby. Always have and always will.” Shivers run up your spine when he kisses your ear and whispers once more, his words sealing your fate. “And no one will ever take you away from me.”

“You know you shouldn't be around these parts, sweetheart.”

Hands cuffed behind your back and your body pressed against the hood of the cruiser, you groan as you pull against your restraints. Your brows furrow and your eyes are filled with rage, watching the stout sheriff while he rummages through the contents of your pack. 

You knew not to venture into this part of town with the cops buzzing around like flies, apprehending every poor soul that comes across their path. But you simply couldn't resist the call of the east district. With junkies laying everywhere, one stroll through the infamous Tent Alley would have you swimming in cash by morning.

But you got caught and you snarl at Sheriff Bodecker when he smirks in your direction, tossing the baggies of cocaine in front of you and setting down the butterfly knife, the one your brother gave you, beside your face.

“I'd say that's about half a kilo you got there, sweetheart.” he tuts. “You know the punishment for being caught in possession alone?” He says before taking one of the ziplock bags and opening it, dipping his pinky into the powder and pressing against the pad of his tongue. “You’re looking at fifty years when caught selling this shit.”

“I know you, Bodecker,” you growl. “You pigs buy from Fowler’s boys yet I don’t see them behind bars.”

“Well, that’s ‘cause we made a deal with them.” he chuckles, your eyes never leaving him as he circles the vehicle, your heart pounding hard against your chest when he stops and stands behind you. “But I’m sure you and I can make a deal of our own?” The hair on your skin stands in attention, dread filling your senses when you feel his hand run up the expanse of your thigh. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You shout but gasp soon after when he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, fingers squeezing the sides as he presses you harder against the metal surface. “Let me g—” you choke.

“You listen here, sweetheart—” he starts, your skin rippling in disgust when he leans down and you feel his stomach press against your back, his hot breath fanning against your cheek. “I’ll tell my boys not to bother you and you’re free to roam around to do your business in my jurisdiction. And all you have to do is what I want when I want, got it?”

His offer makes your blood boil in rage yet your body shake in fear. You know not to negotiate with men like him, ones who hold power and put on a facade of protecting the people, for nothing good will ever come to ones of your status, the ones who beg for scraps and get into seedy businesses just to get by. 

But you don’t have much of a choice; going back to your usual route brought you nothing and your one-time endeavor in the east gave you so much more than you hoped for. The market is just better here, you tell yourself, but is succumbing to this man’s unsavory desires even worth it? You’ll be a puppet of the sheriff, you know that for sure, but you already are with your supplier and the one he works for. Does adding another to control you make a significant difference?

You sigh, the choice already made in your head. A huff of exasperation and relief then leave your lips when you feel the sheriff’s hold on you loosen but his other hand continuously lingers on your ass, fingers gently digging into the clothed flesh. 

“What do you want?” You breathe.

He chuckles darkly and you whimper against the vehicle when he kicks your feet apart, the sound of his belt buckle jingling filling your ears. 

Your father’s friends, several of his trusted associates, and family members have gathered in your home to celebrate your brother’s success. He not only passed the challenges that were thrown to him by the leaders, but he also impressed them, giving more than what was being asked of him and utterly exceeding their expectations. It not only convinced them to bestow upon him the title of underboss but deemed him worthy of being your father’s successor in the syndicate. 

You’re happy for him—truly you are for you’ve supported him every step of the way and did nothing but encourage him to make your father proud. It even came to the point of helping him in one of the jobs when he caught himself in a tight situation. Giving him a plan of action on how to face the problem which eventually worked in his favor and allowed him to slip through it easily. 

Though such a feat, when presented by your brother to your father, was simply brushed off.

“Her words are nothing but a meaningless babble of a jealous child.” Your father sneered in your direction. “You, my son, are still the one that did all the work.” And praised your brother.

“Don’t listen to him, sis,” Gabriel said after your father dismissed you both from his study. “He knows I wouldn’t have succeeded without your help. Besides, I’m underboss now and you can be my consigliere.” 

Despite his encouraging words, you still felt defeated, knowing well that no matter what you do to help the family, the way he sees you will never change—a burden, someone with no caliber to the family, and the worst of all, the reason for your mother’s death. 

“He’s the child any parent would be proud to have!” 

The cheers that echo throughout the main room pull you away from your thoughts and you watch as the guests gather around your brother, clapping him on the back and giving him another round of congratulations. While you, the other child, remain unseen in the background. 

Not wanting to endure further any more of the festivities, you finish the remaining contents of your champagne flute in one gulp and set it down on one of the tables before making your way up to your room. You know no one will be looking for you or asking of your whereabouts. Hell, you doubt your father would even care if you left home right there and then.

Staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror, you begin taking off your jewelry and make to reach for the zip of your dress. But the sound of your door opening and closing draws your attention, a small smile grazing your lips upon seeing Curtis’ reflection when he stands behind you.

His usual black long-sleeved shirt is hidden underneath a black coat jacket. You also notice his beard is freshly trimmed, making you adore the way he looks—still gruff but with a splash of class.

You stare at his sapphire eyes as they grow serious with intent when he starts unzipping your dress. Rough hands move delicately over your skin and he pushes the straps from your shoulders, the fabric cascading down your body and pooling around your feet, leaving you only in your shoes and panties.

“You left the party.” He drones, arms slowly circling your middle before he leans down to press a kiss on the crook of your neck. 

“No one would look for me.” You sigh and turn to face him, leaning against his touch when his large hand cups the side of your face and his thumb rubs small circles on the apple of your cheek.

“I would.” he breathes, “I did.”

You close your eyes when he leans down and you lean up to meet him halfway, pressing your lips against his. He kisses you softly at first, exploring, gentle, and giving then you feel him pull you close, your hands pressing against his solid chest, and a soft moan leaves your lips when he deepens the kiss.

It wasn’t easy getting to where you and Curtis are now—remembering the day he joined your father’s men; a newbie to the syndicate and assigned to watch over the boss’ daughter.

His silence and grouchy exterior caused you unease, making you unable to trust him and simply go along with your father’s wishes just so as not to upset him. But as the months turned into a year, you grew to know him despite his lack of enthusiasm to talk and you slowly found a friend in the lonesome world of the syndicate.

He’d accompany you to errands your father would give you, an act of pity or a means to give in to your brother’s requests, and you felt nothing but safe in his company. Always standing guard even with no threats visible but you knew better than to question his judgment. He’d even lent a listening ear each time you would ramble on your frustrations about the lack of trust the family gives you and would give small words of comfort, telling you that you’re better than the leaders that run the business.

Eventually, your relationship blossomed, although in secret—Curtis sneaking into your room when you would call upon him or spending days with you at the family’s vacation home when your father would have you nowhere near the mansion when he had his capos over for meetings.

Aside from your brother, he’s the only one you trusted. A confidant you’ve always wanted and a lover you never knew you needed.

Your arms circle his neck, pulling him closer as you reciprocate the intensity of his kiss, tongues, and teeth clashing against each other. A giggle slips from your throat when he carefully, blindly walks you toward the expanse of your bed.

As your back hits the mattress, Curtis kneels on the ground, lifting your leg as his lips trail butterfly kisses down its length before wrapping his fingers around your ankles, one by one, taking off your heels and dropping them to the floor. 

Instinctively, you hook your leg over his shoulder and welcome him into your heat. His name leaves your lips in a series of soft moans, fingers skimming over his shoulders and then through his buzzed hair when his lips press against the front of your panties, tongue soaking through the fabric as he rolls it around your clothed clit. 

You feel him push your panties to the side, the cool air of your room kissing your heated skin, and your pelvis bucks against his mouth when he laves his tongue slowly against your slit and connects with your clit once more, flicking on the bud before wrapping his lips around it to suck on it hard.

“Curtis—!” you gasp his name, uncaring as your voice bounces against the walls of your bedroom, pulling him closer and slowly grinding your pussy against the warmth of his eager mouth. 

He doesn’t hold back and you don’t want him to, loving the way he takes and takes but at the same time gives you the pleasure that has been an addicting sensation each time he’d bury his face between your thighs. 

His beard only adds to the lust-filled sensation running through your veins, rubbing your sensitive skin raw and sending a wave of pleasure down to your toes. Your back arches and your breath hitches when he slips his tongue past your pussy folds, licking, tasting, and lapping up the nectar that pools at your core, a gift you willingly give and desire for him to take.

You feel the stirring at the pit of your stomach and you urge to pull away, to stop him from his worship. But he doesn’t relent, hooking his arms around your thighs, growling against your cunt that makes your skin shiver and you do no more but succumb to his control, whining as you feel yourself reaching your limit. 

“Curtis—please,” you beg and try to lift yourself by your elbows but the way he looks at you, piercing blue eyes meeting yours, have you convulsing, the intensity of the orgasm taking you by surprise that you tip your head back and call out his name, fingers digging into the duvet as your essence rushes out of you.

“Sweet as ever, princess,” he rumbles into your cunt and gives your clit one last kiss before licking you clean and pushing himself from the ground. 

You’re panting heavily, a smile of satisfaction etched on your face. It’s what you’ve needed to release the stress from the evening’s event and forget about the humiliation and dejection from your father. 

As you lay on the bed, limbs weak from the pleasure, you smile once more when you feel Curtis join you. He’s naked and warm and you immediately wrap your arms around him when he hovers over you, parting your legs wide to enfold them around him as he positions himself between them.

“Curtis—I need you.” you whimper, feeling the tip of his rub against your folds. “Please—”

“I know, princess,” he whispers, lips ghosting against your cheek before he presses his forehead against yours. “I know.”

-

With Curtis kneeling on the bed, his arms wrapped around you possessively, you gasp for air with your fingers scratching his skin raw while he sucks on your breast, his cock impaling you repeatedly and making you bounce against his thighs. 

He’s made you come twice now and it’s the third time he’s having his way with you, giving you no respite to have you breathe and only switching the position to take you once again. He’s eager and full of passion, a feat you’ve never seen before and you bask in it, allowing yourself to fall into his demands. 

He thrusts into you with pure hunger, teeth grazing against the nipple that makes you whine and meet him with each thrust, feeling his cock slide deeper and deeper into you as your cunt slickens further from the lust that cocoons you both.

You look down at him when he pulls away from your tit, sapphire eyes dark, blown wide, and laced with carnal desire. You lean down to kiss him and he meets your lips with a fiery intensity, laying his back on the bed and effortlessly pulling you on top of him. 

He swallows your moans when his pace quickens, fucking into you hard and fast, the sound of your skins slapping against each other filling your ears with the unrelenting tempo of his hips. You try to move your hips but he doesn’t let you, keeping you still as his arms tighten further around you.

He’s movements are frantic and reckless and you pull away from the kiss to take in air. But it only makes him latch his lips onto your neck, sucking on the skin and bruising it with his teeth, the sensation making you moan loudly when you feel yourself, once more, reaching your peak. 

“You’re mine, princess," he groans when he pulls away from your neck, his eyes boring into yours as he circles his hand on your nape. “You understand? You’re mine.”

“Yes,” you choke, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m yours.”

You feel his cock throbbing against your walls and your breath hitches, hands gripping him tight when the dam within you finally breaks, and your pussy walls flutter around him, your body spasming as you come hard and coat his cock with your essence. He doesn’t take long to follow after, the air in your lungs leaving you all at once when he gives a hard thrust, your name spilling from his lips in a form of a growl when he spills his seed deep within.

Exhaustion finally takes over and you lay limp over his solid chest, soft whimpers escaping your lips as he keeps grinding his pelvis against yours, fucking more of his come into you. You keep your eyes closed, too tired to even move a muscle or appreciate the post-sex haze. But a smile makes its way to your lips when he presses a kiss over your cheek, moaning softly when he wiggles his hips, keeping his cock snug inside your swollen cunt.

“Sleep, princess,” he mumbles against your hair, hands gently caressing your skin. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” His words act as a soothing balm, a comfort you desperately need and you snuggle in his hold, basking in his muscular scent and the warmth he gives you before your consciousness dwindles and you fall into a sated slumber.

But he’s nowhere to be found when you stir from your sleep, a vast bed and a muted darkness greeting you instead of the face of your lover. Though it doesn’t take away the peaceful smile that forms on your face and the delicious ache that sings deep in your bones. 

You try to hear if the party in the main room is still up and swinging but the time displayed on the clock says it’s way beyond midnight. You only hope that the festivities have been long over and that everyone has gone home and called it night but still, you don’t put it past your father to hold one of his private meetings with his capos now that your brother has joined the fold. 

Walking toward your closet, you put on a pair of pajama shorts and a night shirt before leaving your room, wanting to look for Curtis and grab a glass of water before heading back to bed. But as soon as you climb down the stairs, an odd feeling drenches you with the halls being eerily quiet and your father’s men that usually walk around the house nowhere to be found.

You make it to the kitchen, still set on your intent when a peal of chilling laughter sounds from the main room. The voice is somewhat familiar, one you’ve heard in your father’s meetings with his boss. But that can’t be—despite your lack of involvement in the syndicate, you know the rules that had been laid out for the others to follow. 

“Let’s see if these moves fuck!” The voice says with amusement.

An angry shout follows after followed by a pained grunt and you can tell it's your brother. Immediately, you run to the dining table and snatch the gun tied under it before stalking over to the main room, keeping to the walls to check on the unwanted visitors. But what you witness makes the bile crawl up your throat, a massacre of your father’s associates, the strong scent of metal wafting through the air as lifeless bodies are scattered across the floor. 

The walls of the room are painted crimson and men you don’t recognize stand still at the sides, armed and stoic while they watch the scene playing out before them; your father tied to a chair, gagged and beaten while your brother stands in front of him, protecting him. Blood trickles from his head and his left eye swollen, he holds up a knife, grip tight on the handle while he faces the enemy that taunts him. 

Lloyd Hansen is never supposed to set foot on your family’s territory. It’s the rules the elders have given when your father was gifted the city. But there he stands, looking pristine in his black turtle neck and blood-spattered white jeans with only the cut on his cheek and his disheveled hair giving away that he’s been fighting. But still, he holds himself in that cocky demeanor, the hair on his lip twitching when he smirks and taunts your brother. 

Before he could get close to your brother, you stand away from where you’re hiding and pull the trigger, a loud bang resounding through the walls as the bullet meets the marble floor by Lloyd’s feet, making both men flinch and Hansen’s men stand on alert, all guns pointed at you. 

“What the fuck?!” Lloyd shouts, his head turning and anger etched on his face when he faces you. “You almost shot me!”

“Stand down.” A voice calls in the room and you stand in shock when Curtis comes out from the shadows, a hand resting on Lloyd’s shoulder before walking over in your direction. “You’re not supposed to be here, princess.”

“Curtis—” you say in a rush, panic surging through your veins when he nears you. “What’s going on—”

“Stay away from him, sis!” Gabriel shouts, grunting in pain soon after when one of the men clad in black hits him in the back with a gun, making him drop to his knees. “He—” he wheezes, “he’s a traitor.”

“What—” you flinch when the gun is snatched from your hand, the firearm sliding across the floor. Curtis stands so close, his sapphire eyes laced with darkness as he rests his hands on your shoulders. “Curtis?” your lips quiver upon saying his name, the easiness slipping from your lips and replaced with fear. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that we’re taking over this worthless city, sunshine.” Lloyd answers from behind him, a smirk playing on his lips as he runs a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you tell her, boss?”

“Boss?” You blink in surprise and step back from Curtis, disbelief running through your head as you try to piece everything together. Your brother’s warning, Lloyd’s words and Curtis looking unscathed despite facing the enemy. “You’re—” anger surges through your veins and you ball your hands into fists, lunging at Curtis and beating at his chest. “You liar! You fucking used me!”

But you’re fighting a losing battle as he easily grabs your wrists and you yelp loudly in pain when he turns you around, twisting your arm and bending it behind you, your shoulder straining from his strength. 

“You let her go!” Your brother shouts in rage but Lloyd kicks him in the stomach, making him bowl over and drop himself on the floor. 

Curtis walks you into the vast room, having you stand over your brother and you cry when you see his condition, battered and bruised as he struggles to push his feet under him. But you only shout in agony as Lloyd kneels over him and continues to beat him, fists raining down on your little brother’s face, blood spilling from his mouth. 

“Watch carefully, princess.” Curtis drones, his other hand framing your chin as he forces you to face forward. “This is all thanks to you.”

“Why are you doing this?!” You shout as you continue to struggle against his hold. “Please—let him go! If you love me, Curtis, you’ll let him go.”

You feel him tense behind you and you’re washed with relief when he commands Lloyd to stop. 

Lloyd’s fist stops mid-air, a huff of annoyance leaving his lips before he stands and Curtis’ grip on you slackens, allowing you to stagger forward and kneel before your brother. You cradle his head as you try to wipe away the blood from his face. your tears flowing continuously as you stare down at him, watching him cling to life as you grab his hand and press it against your cheek.

“I’m here, baby brother.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his. “I’m here.”

You see a faint smile form on his face but a loud bang echoes in your ear, making you recoil in fear. But as soon as the chaos dissipates, you face your brother to check on him but stay stock still when he stares up at you with lifeless eyes, blood trickling from his head and staining your hands, seeing a bullet lodge in his head.

You scream in shock but more in agony as you shake him, and beg for him to be alive. But nothing comes out of it, not a sound or even a movement, making you cry out harder as you hold him to you, your baby brother—gone.

Another shot sounds and you snap your head to the side only to see your father slumped forward, his restraints holding him from falling off his seat. But he, too, met the same fate as your brother. You turn to see Curtis standing over you, the gun you previously had in your hand now in his and you pounce at him, rage taking over you as you try to attack him. 

But he easily fends you off by smacking the back of his hand against your cheek, making you drop down where your brother lays. You then wince when you’re pulled by your hair, making you look up to face Curtis who crouches in front of you, the hand holding the gun reaching over to caress your cheek that swells from his assault. 

“Why are you doing this?” You cry, defeat drenching you cold. “I thought you love me—”

“Love you?” The low drawl of his voice sends a chill up your spine, pulling away when he leans closer and presses his forehead against your own. “I don’t love you. I own you.” he spits and you feel your heart break at his words, all the comfort you felt with him shattering into dust. 

He did this—fooled you and your family, disguising himself as a bodyguard only to get information on the ins and outs of your father’s business. And the worst part? You showed him the way. With all your complaining and mindless ramblings, you were feeding him information that no one should have known. 

So, his words bear some truth, that this was all your doing.

“And along with that, everything your family has.” He smirks and your stomach rolls in disgust when he presses a kiss on your forehead.

underboss - 2nd in command to the boss

consigliere - trusted advisor of the boss

“Fuck you, Alex,” you murmur under your breath before taking a shot of the liquor, the burn of the tequila is a welcome sensation.

Slamming the glass down against the bar top, you give the bartender a tipsy smile of apology when he looks at you in disapproval of your rowdy actions. But can he really blame you? The anger you thought had passed slowly starts bubbling in your core, your hand gripping tight around the glass before letting out a defeated sigh.

Bullshit!

That’s what you call the reasons he gave you that fateful afternoon when you marched into his office, worrying, thinking if he was alright and well but also annoyed for ignoring you the entire five days he was on his business trip. 

You couldn’t take it any longer. His silence, too deafening and his disregard becoming too much to handle that you stormed into his office the day after you knew he would be back. You even went as far as missing a day of work, Denise’s nagging ringing in your ears when you called that morning. 

Though you can bear her wrath, something you’ve done countless times. But this? Not this. Not with Alex toying with your feelings. 

I’m not ready for anything serious yet.

You deserve someone who’ll give you the time and attention you want. And that’s not me. But you can always call me when you feel lonely. 

Oh, how you wanted to scream at him and punch away the smug look on his face. To throw the things sitting idly on his desk and cause a ruckus and fully express that you are not one to be played with. To make him regret wasting your time loving him and taking care of him. 

But you didn’t.

Instead, you nodded in defeat, much to your chagrin, and bade him goodbye, shoving him as hard as you could when you ran out of his office. You ignored the stares of curiosity his co-workers threw at you, your heels clacking against the marble floor as you rushed through the lobby so that no one would stop and notice the tears running down your face and hear the sound of your heart breaking. 

And now, here you are—wallowing in your self-pity, your sadness, and loneliness with tequila being your only friend.

Unshed tears begin welling in your eyes and you mop them away harshly with the back of your hand. You call the attention of the bartender once more, a little loud and more obnoxious than you expected, and order another round of shots.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ alone in a place like this?”

Your back straightens upon hearing the lilt of the man’s voice. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widen in surprise when you see those familiar hazel orbs glinting against the light of the bar mirroring your expression.

You almost don’t recognize him without the flannel he usually wears, replaced by a navy suit jacket hiding the same colored shirt underneath. His salt and pepper hair is tousled back neatly and the scruffy facial hair you’re used to seeing him with is neatly trimmed, accentuation further the cut of his jaw.

“Joel?” you ask with a soft voice. “Wh—”

“Sweetheart—” he grunts, “Jesus—fuck!” he takes a step back, disbelief and embarrassment evident on his face before he turns to you once more, a sigh leaving his lips. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I thought you were—wait,” he pauses mid-way, palm pressing flat on the bar when he leans closer. “Why are you crying?”

“I—”

You turn away quickly to face the bar and dab away the tears away you didn’t know escaped, cursing yourself for allowing them to fall in the first place. But you stop moving when you feel a hand gently wrap around your wrist, your eyes looking upward to see Joel with concern looming in his. 

“I—I wasn’t,” you say with a chuckle, hoping the display of mirth would mask your lie. “I just had something in my eye and the tequila they serve here is very st—”

“You know that I’ll know if you’re lying to me, sweetheart.” Joel scolds and you pout at his words, knowing full well how much the man knows you. “Who hurt you? Was it that stupid boyfriend of yours?” he growls.

His question makes you blink in surprise. “You know about Alex?”

“Yeah. Your papa told me about him before I moved here.”

“Moved? Here? But this is a long way from Tex—”

“Don’t try to change the subject, sweetheart.” he interrupts, hand moving to cup the side of your face with his thumb reaching over to rub gently underneath your eye. “Now, tell me what happened.” 

Releasing a breath of resignation, you turn back to face the bar and grab one of the shot glasses already lined up in front of you. 

“He broke up with me,” you admit, tipping your head back as you take a drink and hiss when the liquid burns your throat. “After five days of ignoring my calls and messages, he tells me he isn’t ready to be in a committed relationship and a couple of bullshit nonsense.”

You glance at Joel, waiting for him to chime in or say anything, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes focused on you, the hand once on your cheek now resting on your shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze. You continue. 

“I loved him, Joel—fuck! I still do.” you cry, the tears flowing freely, though this time, you do nothing to wipe them away. “I just don’t understand why he would do this to me. Why he would ghost me like some stupid teenager and hurt me instead of being honest with me.”

You frown as doubts begin to plague you and your self-esteem slowly crumbles. You never once were the first person people chose, always the last, or if the universe was being kind, at least the second. And meeting Alex, you thought that would change, that for once, someone actually chose you, wanted you.

He was sweet, attentive, and possessed all the qualities anyone would want in a partner. The sex was definitely amazing but that was simply a consolation for you for it was his personality and charm that drew you closer to him. But people always said ‘if it’s too good to be true, it probably is’ and what he did and the pain he’s caused you, only proved it to be very accurate.

“Was I not good enough?” A hiccup erupts from your lips and you press the heels of your palms to your eyes when the tears keep going, sobbing silently as sadness completely takes over you. “Was I not worthy enough to be loved? To be honest to?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Compassion laces Joel’s voice and you keep your head down to avoid him seeing you in such a state when he takes your hands away from your face. You allow him to wipe away the tears, calloused hands cupping your face gently afterward and tipping your head back for your eyes to meet his. “Never think that because you are enough and you are worth it.” he intones, thumbs gently caressing your cheek to put away stray tears.

“You are beautiful, inside and out, and that boy couldn’t see that. Just know that someone is out there and they want you, will do anything to be with you and it will only be a matter of time before they reveal themselves.” His words, sweet and comforting, pierce through your heart for no one has ever told you such things. You want to believe him, you really do, but a small part inside tells you that he simply pities you and is feeding you words you want to hear. 

“You’re perfect,” he adds and leans over to press a kiss on your forehead. You sit on your stool, stunned at his display of intimacy and staring up at his warm, caramel gaze when he steps closer. “I hope you can see that.”

Warmth blooms at the base of your neck, crawling up your cheeks and you pull away from Joel’s hold to face the bar instead, feeling shy with the way he’s acting. Still, you’re grateful for his presence, happy to have even bumped into him even if it was a weird coincidence.

“T-Thank you, Joel.” you give him a small, pathetic smile. “Really—it means a lot and I’m happy you’re here.” 

“Anything for the best girl I know.” he grins at you and calls on the bartender before leaning against the bar and setting a hand on your thigh. “Tell you what, why don’t we drink and let the alcohol take that heartache of yours away.” You startle when the bartender sets two tumblers of whiskey in front of the two of you and stare at the glass when Joel casually slides it in your direction. “No need to think of the pain but be happy at the fact that loser saved you years of it.”

He lifts his glass to you, a grin etched on his face. 

“What do you say?”