Page 14 of The Highwaymen

Jamie limped towards the grimy bathroom, his steps halting but determined. I watched the play of abused muscles beneath his mottledskin, admiring my brutal handiwork even as concern tugged at my conscience.

The bathroom door slammed shut with a resounding bang, rattling the thin walls. The sound of the shower sputtering to life followed, pipes groaning in protest. I sat frozen on the rumpled bed, struggling to reconcile the uneasy feeling in my gut with the dark satisfaction still thrumming through my veins.

Steam began to seep out from beneath the ill-fitting door, carrying with it the sharp scent of cheap soap. I imagined Jamie standing under the weak spray, wincing as the hot water sluiced over his abused flesh. Delicate hands gingerly tracing the marks I'd left, assessing the damage. Washing away the evidence of me.

The dingy room suddenly felt too small, the stale air suffocating. I pushed to my feet and paced to the window, shoving the tattered curtain aside. The motel's flickering neon sign painted the night in lurid shades of red and blue, the colors bleeding together like a fresh bruise. In the distance, the highway stretched out into the darkness, a black line unfurling endlessly into the unknown.

I stared out at the desolate parking lot and lit a cigarette. Jamie was right. He wasn’t a victim. He was like me. He understood me on a level that no one else did. He’d asked for this, hadn’t he? I was just doing what he wanted.

So what was this nagging guilty feeling in my gut for?

The scalding spray ofthe motel shower pelted my battered body, the water pressure pathetically weak yet still painful as it hit my bruised flesh. I winced as I gingerly soaped up a washcloth and began to clean the remnants of Stu's brutality from my skin. Rust-tinged water swirled around the grimy drain, tinted pink with traces of blood.

I went through the motions mechanically, numb. My muscles ached and injuries throbbed, but those pains paled in comparison to the awful feeling in my gut.

Images flashed, superimposing themselves over the dingy tiles and moldy grout. Phantom hands grabbing at my hips, cruel and bruising.The sour stench of cheap vodka and stale cigarettes, the whirr of road under tires, the weight of the metal chain linked to my collar, the mocking laughter of a man I didn’t know—didn’t want to know—and yet was forced to live with.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the flashbacks to fuck off, but they only got more vivid with my eyes closed.

Shaking, I turned off the faucet and stepped out onto the threadbare bathmat. I fumbled for one of the thin, scratchy towels and began drying off, wincing as the rough fabric dragged over tender flesh.

In the smudged mirror, my reflection stared back - a mosaic of purple and yellow bruises mottling my skin. Finger-shaped marks encircled my throat, souvenirs from Stu's strong hands. I looked away, unable to meet my own haunted eyes.

I pulled on the clean t-shirt and jeans I'd brought into the bathroom before I finger-combed my damp hair and shuffled out into the dingy motel room.

Stu lay sprawled across the bed, out cold, his pants still unbuttoned. The room reeked of sex and cigarette smoke. Bile rose in my throat as sense-memories assaulted me - grunting, rutting, pain mixed with twisted pleasure.

I'd consented, I reminded myself. Agreed to the scenario, the roleplay, the rough treatment. So why did I feel so violated now? Used and filthy and... broken?

Panic clawed at my chest and I couldn't breathe. I needed to get out, away from Stu, away from the oppressive walls of that disgusting room.

I needed to hunt.

I laced up my boots with shaking hands, grabbed my jacket, and slipped out the door into the cool night air, carefullyeasing it shut behind me so as not to wake Stu. Outside, I gulped deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.

The motel parking lot was deserted, bathed in the sickly orange glow of a flickering streetlamp. I scanned the area, senses on high alert, feeling the old familiar itch crawling beneath my skin. The hunger. The need.

I set off walking, no destination in mind, just needing to move, to prowl. To find prey. The pain of my injuries faded into the background as adrenaline began to sing through my veins. This was what I needed. The hunt, the kill. It was the only thing that made me feel alive anymore.

I walked for miles, the chilly air soothing my heated skin, until the shabby buildings and empty lots gave way to the neon glow of bars and clubs. The perfect hunting grounds. I felt the anticipation building, a dark thrill chasing away the lingering horror of the motel room.

I picked a seedy joint, the kind of place where no one looked too closely. The bouncer barely glanced at my fake ID before waving me through. Inside, the bar was dimly lit and packed with hard-drinking men. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, and a jukebox blared tinny country music.

I wove my way to the bar, ignoring the leering stares and crude catcalls. I ordered a beer I wouldn't drink and leaned back against the sticky bar top, letting my jacket fall open to reveal the tight white t-shirt underneath. An open invitation.

It didn't take long. A man slid up beside me, his eyes raking over my body with blatant hunger. “Hey there, pretty boy,” he drawled. “Lookin' for some company tonight?”

I looked him up and down, taking in the beer gut straining against his stained shirt, the wedding ring he didn't bother to hide. The predatorygleam in his bloodshot eyes. Yeah, this one would do just fine.

I licked my lips and leaned in close. “Depends. You got someplace we can go? Someplace more private?”

The man's mouth curled into a hungry grin, revealing yellowed teeth. “I got a truck parked out back,” he said, his boozy breath hot against my cheek. “Plenty of room in the cab for you and me to get... acquainted.”

I forced a sultry smile, even as my skin crawled. “Lead the way, handsome.”

He grabbed my wrist in a meaty paw and tugged me toward the rear exit. I went along willingly, already envisioning the moment when I'd wipe that lecherous smile off his face permanently.

Out in the parking lot, he pulled me around the side of the building, into the shadows where the streetlights didn't reach. His truck was parked at the edge of the cracked asphalt, half-hidden behind a dumpster overflowing with trash bags and empty liquor bottles.

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