Page 33 of When Sinners Fall
He warned me that he’d expect things. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I can’t be out again on a work night – not in the way I think he means. That I have commitments and responsibilities, but I don’t. Mainly because I want to be with him and find out what else is to come more than I want to get up and plan a fairy tale that I’ve done a hundred times already.
“Okay. See you at ten.” I end the call, and a rush of anticipation wakes me up more effectively than any shot of caffeine.
I leave work, dive in the shower again, careful to move the spray from hitting my ass, and find an outfit that both makes me look hot and that I don’t mind being damaged. The dress from last night has a split in the side.
There’s an old skirt that’s a bit more modest, but I pair it with a low-cut top that makes my boobs pop. Once I’m ready, I grab a quick bite to eat and then wait.
And fidget.
And pace around the front room.
God, I feel like a teenager.
The thought sends me back all those years, to a point in time where we’d hang out at my house, or rather the yard in the back. He was different then. Weaker. No, not weaker, just less comfortable in his own skin than he clearly is now. He’d try to be normal like the other kids and fit in, but they wouldn’t let him. They’d pick on him and push him and make him feel like crap about himself. And then, of course, they’d beat on him. Sometimes it was so bad I’d be sick to my stomach about it.
I can’t remember the number of times he left a paper bird at mine, but I’d find it and then eventually see him outside by the trees over the road. He just wanted me to come out and let him in. I always did. I never confirmed if it was simply a distraction from his home life or a safe space where he didn’t have to worry, but I suppose we just had some kind of bond back then, perhaps born of our own outcast natures.
Mine was because I didn't quite fit in with the other girls - wasn’t interested in makeup and hair. Or not their kind, anyway. His was because, well, I never was quite sure, but the rumour was his mother was a prostitute. I didn’t know whether to believe it or not, and I didn’t want things to change between us if I asked. So I didn’t.And, selfishly, I liked that heneededme. I could see it in his eyes when they would pause for a fleeting moment and look right at me. He was lost, and I was his safe harbour, and it made anything else I heard about him or his family vanish.
Maybe it was because I talked and wasn’t afraid to ramble on about the book I’d just read, or whatever else popped into mind. Maybe being in my world saved him from his.
Either way, I ended up needing him, too.
Right on time, he pulls up, and I rush out to slide into the car. I enjoy the lingering gaze my outfit causes and smile to myself.
Like yesterday, the drive to wherever we’re headed is quiet. My nerves aren’t quite so scattered tonight. Although when my mind wanders to what we could be doing that’s a step up from last night, I feel the sudden race in my chest.
“I like your tattoo.” I start, unable to cope with the quiet any longer. “I’d like to have a better look at it in the future.” I watch him as his eyes stay locked on the road in front, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch.
We arrive, and he helps me out of the car. The place looks similar to last night as he leads us through, and I reach my hand for his. It’s the only thing I know I need, and that’s for him to stay with me.
It’s dark, with multiple rooms off the entrance corridor, but there isn’t the underlying bass of music like there was last night. As we walk in, it feels… calmer. It’s not an overload of sex and skin. But somehow, it feels sexier. Darker.
Each door is open. As we walk past, I glance in, but we don’t slow to get a full picture. After the second door, I pause and peer in and see a woman strapped to a table. Someone wearing a mask is holding a candle and dripping wax over her chest. As it hits her skin, she gasps. Not in pain, but in pleasure. I can see it in the way she writhes and mewls, practically begging for more of it.
My own heart rate spikes, and that deep pull of desire knots in my stomach.
“What fantasy are you playing out in your head, Wren Bird?” His voice in my ear makes me jump.
“I…” I can’t answer because what I’m seeing is so past what I thought I’d be interested in.
“Come.”
Dante leads me past the next room, where I only get a glimpse of a couple. One is crying out, again in pleasure, as the other is kneeling at her feet. My curiosity grows as I want to know what is happening, but Dante keeps his pace up.
He stops in front of a door. “In you go.”
I step inside the dark and look around. Shapes and items pattern the walls, but he steps closer to me before I can identify anything.
“Turn.” I do.
He wraps black material over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. My breathing stutters as my fingers reach for the blindfold, but his hands pull them away. “Keep your hands against these.” He walks me forward and then turns me, placing my hands on pegs or some sort of handle. I rest my fingers around the grip, and I feel soft material wrap around one, then the other wrist, securing me.
It brings me right back to the alley, in the dark.
Not knowing who was in front of me.
Only it’s heightened because I can’t escape.
