Cry For Me

I’m not hiding. The house is dark, but I’m sitting right in the open. Just waiting. But I don’t have to wait long. By the time I'm settled into the chair and the ambient chill has given way to the warmth of being sat there, I see the headlights pour through the blinds. Moments later, I hear keys rattling against the door.

A breath of a chuckle escapes me, the only sound I’ve made since I entered the place. The door wasn’t locked. The door, the upstairs window, neither of them were locked. That tangle with the keys is more routine than the actual presence of mind.

The door opens, and I don’t move. I’m comfortable. I’m relaxed.

Light spills from the hallway, and moments later the woman of the house walks in. She sets her keys and her purse aside habitually; she didn’t even look, her eyes locked onto the glowing screen of her phone. It takes her a few seconds before she turns the light on in this room, too, and still I sit. Waiting. Patient. Ready.

“Jesus, Chris!” She jolts and scolds me, clutching the phone to her chest once she notices me sitting there. I say nothing. The shock bubbles away into laughter that melts into flirtatious body language. A tilt of the head, a smirk. She starts walking over, and a smile itches on my face under the mask at the implicitness of her trust. Not so much as a shred of doubt that I might not be the person she’s looking for.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing?” She slips out of her shoes one by one.

I tilt my head slowly, inquisitively. Playing the role she’s given me. But beneath the mask, I’m salivating.

“Mister Oh So Scary, waiting in the dark to get me?” She purrs it out, taking slow steps toward me until she slides into my lap. I let my hands come to rest on her thighs, gripping tightly as I breathe in those sweet, innocent floral scents clinging to her skin, and I nod.

“You’re really into it tonight, huh, baby. You won’t even say hi to me?”

I shake my head and slide my hands up her thighs, and she yields instantly, hips rolling right into my hands. She reaches up to pull the mask off, and my hand snatches her wrist in mid-air easily, moving it behind her back as I shake my head. The best part is how easily she lets me. She has all the resistance of billowing silk, and I can’t wait to hear how she tears apart.

There’s a hitch in her breath before she arches her back in response. I can feel the heat between her legs surge as she presses up against me.

Ding!

She rolls her eyes and holds up her phone. And there it is.

The sudden arrival of utter fear.

In that single flashfire moment, she is more beautiful than any other creature I’ve laid eyes on.

She freezes. The lazy smile she had just moments ago falters, and her lip quivers. She’s trying so hard to play it calmly, but I can feel it. I can feel the way her body tenses; she’s no longer trying to drape herself over me, but holding still with every bit of effort she has. As if she’d just been seen by a rattlesnake and was trying not to incite its strike. Her eyes don’t leave the phone for at least ten seconds. Ten beautiful seconds, I watch that fear multiply. She doesn’t blink. Tears well up and slip free from her lashes like the start of rain. I can see her heartbeat begin to race in her throat, and my cock swells in response to it all.

The phone slips from her hand as she brings it to her face, shakily trying to cover her mouth as she finds her breath. I pay the barest glance downward, and the name ‘Chris’ is emblazoned on the screen, surrounded by cute little hearts. I slowly look back at her and wait. It’s only a few seconds, but I can’t help myself. She settled in so intimately on top of me, and now she’s panicking like a bird trapped in a room that doesn’t know how to escape. For just those few seconds, it’s like holding the most fragile glass, and I so desperately want to shatter her into pieces. I want to feel her crumble in my hands until only shards of her remain.

I keep her hand held tightly behind her back, and bring my other hand upward, holding a single finger in front of my face.

“Shhhh.”

She trembles instantly, her breath catching as her hand shoots out and plants against my chest. As if she could keep me away. I seize the moment, wrapping my other arm around her, bracing her, and in one swift motion, the chair is abandoned, toppled behind me. She’s pinned against the wall, yelping out as I crush her arm behind her. I can’t fight the noise it summons from me, hearing that little melody of pain on her lips. She tries so hard to pull her legs together, but all she winds up doing is wrapping herself around me more.

“I won’t tell anyone! Y-you can leave! I haven’t even seen your face!” Her pleas are frantic whispers, like she’s afraid of making noise, but desperate to bargain. I pin my hips against her, holding her aloft against the wall, and remove the arm that was bracing her there. As slowly as she had sauntered over to me, I remove the mask and let it drop. She snaps her eyes shut and turns her head away.

“No, no, no, sweetheart.” I reach up and grip her jaw, forcing her to face me, leaning in until my forehead touches hers and I can feel the staccato of her breath. The hand pushing against me gives, just a little, and I can feel that sliver of hope slipping away. “I can promise you, whether or not you see my face, isn’t going to make a single…goddamn.. difference.” I breathe the words against her lips, and I can smell the tinge of fear on her skin, the salt of the tears on her cheeks; subtle and fragrant.

I lower my hand slowly, and she doesn’t turn away again. She holds my stare with a flicker of fire, finding some shred of defiance, of bravery. I watch it start to die in her eyes when she hears the clink of my belt coming undone, and fresh tears flood her eyes the moment the head of my cock presses against the flimsy fabric of her underwear. Her hand twitches against my chest, half limp, half forceful. She doesn’t know what to do with it, and I watch as the gears frantically turn in her head.

She doesn’t stand a chance of choking me. She could scream, the only hand that had covered her mouth the whole time has been her own. Or she could go for my eyes, they haven’t left hers since I took off the mask. She could easily do some damage to at least one of them; it might even make me drop her.

I slide a finger beneath the fabric and, oh so slowly, start to tug it to the side, and she trembles even more. I’m giving her time, a head start to be clever. But she’s shaking too hard, the tears are streaming, and all she manages is to weakly push against my chest. That’s just as well, I suppose. The constant ramping up of her terror in my arms is like a drug, heady and euphoric.

I position myself against her slit and groan, sliding in with ease from the arousal dripping between her legs. I know it’s just a biological reaction, but it’s the shame in her face because I notice how wet she is, that’s the treasure. It’s the way she tries to pull her legs together once more, to try and hide it like a dirty little secret.

“P..plea—”

I sink into her; rough and indifferent, sheathing myself in her completely to the blessed sound of a whimper tearing from her lips that makes me ache.

“That’s right, beautiful..” I breathe, keeping my forehead still pressed to hers as I set a relentless rhythm, pumping into that slick, quivering heat. “Cry for me.” Every shake of fear ripping through her body is pure ecstasy in the way it makes her clench around me. She cries, and she does it beautifully.

Tears streak down her cheeks, and she chokes on her breaths, crying to smother the noises I force from her. But I feel it. I feel the rush of heat where I’m buried inside her, I see the flood of color to her cheeks, and a flare of disgust making her swallow back a gag. She doesn’t want to, but she’s getting off too. I can’t help the vicious smile that carves its way onto my face because of it, and I brush my nose against hers, the closeness tender and almost intimate.

“Please. M-my name is Lily..” She's gasping the words out, struggling to make a sentence, but the damage has been done.

“Shhhh.” I hush her gently, my rhythm slows to a stop, and I reach for the back of my jeans, hand wrapping around cold metal. She looks almost hopeful. Like that attempt to start humanizing herself to me has just saved her. The push against my chest is now a desperate cling to my coat. I keep my head pressed to hers, claiming her field of view and holding her stare as I bring my hand back around. My expression softens, but it's not gentle. It's pity. I breathe a sigh against her lips.

“All you had to do was cry for me..”

Her brows knit together in confusion, and she opens her mouth to say something in the same moment I press the barrel to her head and pull the trigger.

BANG!

I jolt, bright light assaulting my eyelids as I squint them open. Every muscle is tense, and it takes a few seconds to flex my hands open from the white knuckle grip on my sheets. My head is pounding, and the last lingering seconds of the dream fade off. I wearily look to my nightstand, neck cracking uncomfortably with the movement.

7:45 AM.

I sit up and rub my hands against my face, the sheet peeling away from my back with sweat. It was the second time I’ve had that dream. The second time, I woke up with the taste of bile coming to greet me. I swallow, shaking my head and reaching for my phone. I swipe through the contacts until I find Lily’s number and delete it. I find Chris too, and delete him just for good measure. They aren’t more than old acquaintances, and we haven’t talked in months, but it’s just the same. The first time I had the dream, it was a stranger, some random face that existed in passing memory. No name.

This time was different.

This time it was a real person. A real person I could get access to easily. Consciously, it was abhorrent. I can feel the disgust roiling in the back of my throat, and the shame of it sits on my chest like an anvil. But the dream was visceral, and I know I can’t look at either of them without thinking of it. Go to some catch-up brunch or something, and be sitting there thinking of how pretty she looked while I was assaulting her? How feeling her brains splattering on my face made me harder?

I stumble into the bathroom as I feel a rush of saliva fill my mouth, and brace for the heaving that follows the thought. My throat burns, my eyes water, and my stomach spasms even once there’s nothing left to come up.

After last night's dinner makes a return appearance, I splash cold water on my face and just hang over the sink for a minute or two. I try not to acknowledge the slowly fading erection and feel another twist in my stomach that it’s even present. I just don’t understand it. The idea of doing something like that makes me physically sick, but in that dream? I didn’t even think I was capable of it, let alone orchestrating it like some personal snuff film in my head.

“You good, Deacon?” My roommate and best friend, Jake, pops his head into the doorway with concern etched on his face. “Heard you upchucking from the kitchen, you didn’t catch some kinda bug, did you?”

“I’m good, man.” I lie. “Just somethin’ not agreeing with me is all.” That something being my own disgusting subconscious. I stay leaned over the sink, not only for the extra security of balance that it offers, but to hide the shame that hasn’t completely gone down yet. My stomach twitches again, and I have to shift my focus to anywhere else but the aftermath of that fucking dream, unless I want to start heaving again. “You got classes today?”

“I’m a free man all day, baby. Why, you gonna take me on a date?” He jabs with a grin, shoving at my shoulder. I cling to the normalcy of the dynamic like it’s a life raft.

“Yeah, pookie.” I roll my eyes and grab a towel off the rack, drying my face off. “Gimme like, twenty minutes, I’ll get dressed and we can hit the diner. Kinda feeling like I wanna eat my weight in pancakes.”

“I’m not gonna say no to pancakes. You sure you’re good though?” He asked sincerely. The jokes aside, there was genuine worry, and it just made my guts all the more twisted up that I couldn’t talk to him about what was bothering me. I wouldn’t.

“Just need some sweet, sweet carbs and I’ll be right as rain.” Carbs? An old priest and a young priest? A really understanding therapist? Maybe some shock treatments for good measure?

Carbs, it was.