Page 63 of The Ripper

Arella, on the heights of absolute pleasure, as she came all over my face, was the movie I wanted to keep under lock and key.

The way her eyelids fluttered, how her eyes rolled to the back of her head, how her perfect lips parted as she breathed in and out, how her chest rose and fell in sync with those breaths, the way her perfect breasts bounced with every movement, how the heatwave traveled up her body and reddened her pale skin, how she let out a scream that broke off as she fell over the edge and her mouth stayed open as if the sound wanted to continue but her body was too overwhelmed to do so.

I was left speechless, on my knees between her legs, swallowing her essence as if it was my only source of sustenance.

After the high passed and her breathing settled, we laid in silence for a while, her leg sprawled over my thighs, arm thrown over my abdomen and her head laying on my chest. She was naked, covered by a thin white sheet, while I was still fully dressed, but it didn’t seem to bother her.

“May I ask you something?” I asked as I brushed my finger over her spine, and she tilted her head up to look at me, but my eyes were fixed on the scar staining her arm, right above the tattoo she had of my words.

“You can ask me anything,” she whispered as her fingers toyed with the hem of my T-shirt.

I bit the inside of my cheek and slowly took her hand in mine, bringing it up to my mouth, pressing a kiss on the cut.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m curious about how you got this scar. What happened?” I asked, moving my eyes to hers, and a flash of darkness seemed to cross her features.

Her body tensed and she averted her eyes for a second, clamping her bottom lip between her teeth. I had no idea how long I waited for her to answer my question, how long I watched her mentally battle herself.

“Um, my mother died when I was a teenager,” she began, fixing her gaze on the wall across from the bed. “I had never felt pain like that before, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I took it out on the people around me for a while, and when that didn’t fill this void inside me anymore, I started to take it out on myself too,” she gulped, her eyes welling with tears. “It started slow at first, a pinch here, a scratch there, but that pain wasn’t enough to numb the one I felt in my chest, so I started… cutting. Most of them healed with time, they weren’t deep enough to scar, but this one…” she sniffled, looking down at her arm. “This one was supposed to be the last, because I wasn’t supposed to wake up from it. I was supposed to die.”

My entire body stiffened at that point, my arm wrapping tighter around her waist, almost as if I was trying to convince myself that she was still real, still alive, still in my arms.

I looked for the right words to say, but every sentence in my head seemed stupid.

“You didn’t,” I whispered, bringing her hand back to my mouth to kiss along the scar.

Her bottom lip trembled as she tried to speak again, but couldn’t, and I could almost see the lump in her throat and how much it hurt her. More tears streamed down her face, soaking through my T-shirt as she held me tighter.

A part of me wanted to push further, to ask more about her past, about those nineteen years, but I didn’t.

“It’s okay,Snezhinka,” I whispered as I turned on my side and took her face in my palms, kissing away the tears. “You’re here. You’re okay. It’s over.”

She nodded frantically, pushing herself more into my body, her head buried in my chest as she clung to me again. My heart twisted and ached, and I hugged her, pressing my lips to the top of her head.

She would tell me all of it someday, but for the moment, all she needed was a shoulder to cry on.

A shoulder I would always offer.

*

She looked at the menu for the last eleven minutes and forty-five seconds.

Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight. Alright, fuck that.

“What are you doing?” I took the booklet from her hand and looked at the page, raising an eyebrow when I saw what she was looking at. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not that hungry.” She hugged herself and turned her head to the side to avoid my gaze like she always did when she was lying.

“Bullshit,” I said without elaborating and waved the waiter over. “We’d like eight egg muffins with bacon, pancakes for two with extra syrup, two slices of banana bread, a blueberry smoothie and two coffees, one black, the other with cream and sugar.” I handed him the menus, then crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair as I watched her fuss in front of me.

“I wanted a fruit cup,” she said, copying my position.

“And I wanted to stay in bed and fuck you until you passed out, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?” I scowled as she widened her eyes and looked around to make sure nobody else heard me.

“Don’t be so crude,” she scolded, pouting in the most adorable way possible.

“You love it.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she said, clearing her throat.

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