Page 4 of Twice as Twisted

Under the table, Geoff sandwiches my foot between his, and I draw a slow breath through my nose, remaining steady by focusing on something else. Like what kind of sap eats a steak well done? I like mine bleeding. But then, I like a lot of things bleeding.

After dinner, I check my surroundings expectantly as we step outside, but no one darts from an alleyway or steps from inside a car with a gun raised or the pair of shears that feature in my nightmares. Of course the Dolces didn’t spare me when they pruned my brother’s fingers, like ten was one too many. They wanted me to see. Baron was always testing me like that.

Geoff clears his throat, glancing around nervously, maybe expecting someone to stop him from the crime he thinks he’s about to commit. I’m not nervous. I know they’ll prune off more than a finger from my date, but that’s kind of the point. I also know that if I were anyone else, no one would stop him. The people who have the power to punish crimes like that are the ones that commit them. That’s why I had to take matters into my own hands.

“Since I’ve been separated, I’ve been staying at this little motel on the outskirts,” Geoff says. “Do you want to continue our date there? Maybe open up a new bottle of wine and see where the evening takes us?”

“I probably shouldn’t,” I say, pretending reluctance. Sometimes they like that.

Usually they do.

“Right,” he says. “You have school in the morning.”

“Yes,” I say. “But my mom thinks I’m staying the night with a friend, so I can be out as late as I want.”

“Naughty girl,” he says, and I can tell he approves.

We linger on the curb. I wish they’d make their move now, but that wouldn’t be fair. Not when he hasn’t done anything except buy me dinner. I have to do my part before they do theirs. Those are the rules of the game.

“Is your friend waiting for you?” Geoff asks.

“Something like that,” I say. “But she goes to bed early, and she’d never tell.”

I am her and she is I, cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. Zip your lips and never tell, or you’ll end up in pits of hell.

I never tell. That’s why grown men trust me. That’s why they do terrible deeds.

That’s why they never suspect that I do them too.

“Does she know who I am?” Geoff asks, his waxy face going even paler under the streetlamp.

“Of course not,” I say, stepping toward him. “I’m very discreet.”

“Then it sounds like a perfect night to have a glass of wine or two,” he says, stepping a little closer, backing me against his car. My skin recoils as my entire body fills with revulsion, but he pulls away without making contact. “What do you say, Skyler?”

I bite my lip, duck my chin, and raise my lashes to heaven. “Maybe just one.”

He opens the door for me and closes me in the passenger seat like a gentleman before sliding behind the wheel of his car. In the motel room, he pours wine into the plastic cups next to the sink, but they sit untouched on the bedside table as he leans in.

“I have to tell you something,” I say, toying with the button on his shirt. “I’m a little nervous.”

“We can do whatever you want, Skyler,” he says stroking my hair behind my ear. “We can go slow.”

I force myself not to flinch at his touch. “I’ve never done this before,” I whisper.

If there’s one thing men crave more than young flesh, it’s untouched flesh. Offer them both, and there’s nothing they won’t do. They’ll walk out on their own children or straight into prison. They’ll throw away their careers, their wives, their lives. Too bad too few ask that sacrifice in return for their perversion.

“It’s been a long time for me too,” Geoff says. “My wife and I…” He trails off and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t want to get your hopes up and then let you down.”

“You’re not letting me down,” he says quickly. “We can take all the time you want. I’m a patient man. We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, a spider finally making contact with the wasp she’s wound into her web. He lays me back on the bed, and soon his hands are under my clothes, over my scars, and I’m floating on the ceiling looking down on us, waiting for the moment they burst through the door and rescue me.

It never comes.

---