Page 21 of Still Beating

Dean remains sitting with a straight face. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Oh, it’s not what you’re thinking.” Earl throws his hands up, shaking his round head back and forth with a broken laugh. Then he pulls out his pistol and places the barrel at Dean’s forehead. “I’m no homo. Now, stand, pet.”

Dean rises. We share a perplexed look, both confused. Both frazzled.

“I’m going to unchain you now,” Earl says to Dean, his gun still pressed hard against Dean’s head. “One wrong move and I’ll blow you to pieces. I’ll find a new doggie for my kitten. Ya hear me?”

Dean nods.

“Good.” Earl pulls a key out of his pocket and uncuffs Dean. I watch as the shackles fall to the floor and Dean rubs his swollen wrists as he awaits more orders.

Earl is quiet for a few moments, taking three steps back so Dean can’t make any sudden moves. There is a giddy smile pulling at his fat, red cheeks, and the look on his face makes my anxiety swell and churn. Whatever he has planned cannot be good.

With one satisfied, drawn-out breath, Earl voices his intentions: “Fuck her.”

The air leaves my lungs.

The room starts to spin.

I look over at Dean, who is shaken and visibly paling before my eyes.

“What?” Dean questions, his voice hardly more than a taut whisper.

Earl chuckles, his beady eyes filled with wickedness. “Did I stutter?” He points the gun at me, then aims it back to Dean. “Fuck. Her.”

Dean is shaking his head in disbelief—in abject horror. “No.”

“No?” Earl repeats.

“No.”

“Then you die. Three, two, on—”

“No!” I shriek. “No, no, please. Just do it, Dean.” My chest is heaving, weighed down by impossibility.

This can’t be happening. This can’t fucking be happening.

Dean’s eyes are wide and conflicted as he looks over to me, his brows pulled together, the veins in his temples ticking with quiet fury. “I won’t do that to you. I’d rather die,” he says to me. And he means it. I swear to God he means it.

Earl grabs Dean by the front of his t-shirt and starts dragging him over to me, the gun smashed against his ribcage. “Kitten wants it. She’s already purring for you.”

Dean stumbles as he’s shoved towards me, catching himself before our faces collide together. Our eyes unite in a powerful clutch as the palpability of this moment, the terrifying truth, eats right through our withered bones. I can feel Dean’s warmth radiating into me as his hands reach out to touch me for the very first time.

He places his palms against my shoulders, squeezing gently. “I can’t, Cora. Let him kill me. Please.”

“Stop it.” Tears brim my weary eyes, and I lean into him on instinct, craving more warmth. More contact. “I’m not letting you die. Just get it over with.”

Better you than him.

I can’t quite get the words out, though.

Dean lowers his hands, his fingers digging into my upper arms. He drops his head as he lets out a hard, pained breath. “Fuck…”

“Let’s go, Romeo. Earl has things to do today. You’ve got one more minute before I get impatient and trigger-happy.”

We both glance over at Earl, then back to each other. The eye contact proves too much for me, so I twist my head to the right as tears spill down my soiled cheekbones.

“Cora.” Dean’s tone is urgent. Quiet, but laced with a thick heaviness. He takes my chin between his rough fingers and forces my gaze on his. “Cora, look at me.”

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