A Night to Remember Ch. 02

A Night to Remember II : A Dawn to Decide.

She awoke to more rain and another heartbeat next to her. The room was silent aside from the patter of the storm outside, and she smelled bitter menthol in the air. She pulled the cool, white sheet over her exposed breasts, and slid carefully to the headboard. He was awake. His back was to her, and his elbows were on his knees, and he was seemingly lost in thought. His right hand was pressed against his forehead, and cigarette burned to the filter between his fingers.

She felt lonely again, but knew better than to approach him without permission. He was shirtless, showing a thin back rippling with hard-edged muscles. He wasn't a big guy, and what he lacked in bulk, he made up with tremendous tone. She outstretched her hand toward him, her fingertips hovering above a rich, black tattoo. It ascended the length of his spine, which bulged slightly against his thin frame, and bloomed outward along his biceps and over his shoulders. From her side of the bed, the overall image was obvious. It was a grim, black tree etched into his flesh, with gnarling branches stretching up his arms and neck.

"Can I get dressed?" She whispered, squirming toward him. He put the cigarette to his lips and took a final drag.

"Yeah."

She moved to the bathroom and found her bag, grabbing every needed article of clothing. She'd showered while he slept, but couldn't bring herself to dress before climbing into bed. He'd fallen asleep in a good mood, and she didn't want to risk souring it. She pulled on a jean skirt and a button up floral blouse, tucking it in. She skipped the panties. Maybe it would keep him in a better mood.

She emerged, and he was smoking again. She moved to the chair in the corner, still feeling the pinch of the rope around her ankles and wrists as she sat down. She sat conservatively, knees together and hands clasped, but she felt the material of her skirt rubbing her bare skin, and felt the tug of the new rings in her nipples against her bra. This alone caused a pang of excitement to smolder within her.

His eyes were aimed to the floor, normally green but strangely gray and distant at the moment. The cigarette blazed against his lips, worming a pinkie of ash down the paper after only a few seconds.

She didn't speak, and wouldn't, until he allowed her. It was a tricky game they played, but she was always one to play it her hardest. Seeing him now, she wondered what was on his mind. She wanted to kneel in front of him, rest her head on his lap and hear his soul slip through his lips. It would never happen. She would never see him weak, she thought, and that saddened her.

He spoke after snubbing out the cigarette.

"If you leave now, your parents will be none the wiser. Pay everything in cash, and then enjoy the rest of your trip."

"I know." She said, narrowing her eyes. "I've been planning this for months...we both have. You also know that I don't have to leave anytime soon. I have a cell-phone, they know how to reach me, and I'm a good liar. There's no reason they should think I'm anywhere but New York.

"I have shit to do." He said, standing. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and tugged it over his shoulders, leaving it unbuttoned over his bare, hardened chest. Her words were choked in her throat with betrayal.

"I...I understand, I'm not trying to be clingy, but we may never see each other after this."

"That's no joke." He muttered.

She watched him, the color slipping from her face and her hands trembling with anger. "This isn't how it works..." She said, nearly clenching her teeth. "What we had last night, that was sex. This, this is about respect."

"I am respecting you." He said, pulling on his jeans. "I'm telling you to get the fuck out of my life while you still can."

"I'm not here to play games anymore." She snapped. "There's a difference between being mysterious and being an asshole."

He tied his boots in silence, and walked to her. He stood in front of her for a moment, and she seethed with rage. She expected him to hit her, to scream, to be everything she wanted, and hated, at the same time.

He dropped to his knees and put his head in her lap. Her skirt lifted as his cheek fell onto her thighs, exposing herself. He didn't look, and instead put his lips to her skin.

"I want you to come with me." He said, his eyes clenched shut. "There's nothing more in the world I'd like than to have you near me all the time. But there's no coming back from where I'm going." She cautiously ran her hand through his hair, and he allowed it.

"What do you mean?"

"I never understood any of this stuff, these fantasies of yours, until I met you. If I know anything at all, you have to be eased gradually into pain, or it will forever chase you away."

"Then what was last night?" She said, feeling the emotions churning within her core. Shame, anger, ecstasy. It all sent her insides leaping.

"Me trying to chase you away."

He lifted his head from her lap and took her hands into his own.

"If you want to come with me, you have to do everything I say. Think of your fantasies, your elaborate stories and scenarios. Think of how much you've obsessed over them, how you plotted every detail."

"Ok..." She said hesitantly. That was a piece of her life she hadn't specifically shared.

"I've done the same thing." He said. "If you come with me, no matter what I tell you to do, you have to obey."

Her defiant demeanor slipped away in that moment and she descended back into a primal, obedient form.

"Ok..." She repeated.

He brought his hand across her cheek, jarring her vision and sparking pain through her flesh. She looked for anger in his eyes, the same rage that made her squirm, but found nothing but found nothing but quivering orbs floating on a bed of welling tears. "I mean it." He said, barely sputtering the words.

"So do I." She said, lifting his hands hand kissing them.

He raised his eyes, which had finally regained their emerald luminescence.

"We'll see."

He moved back to the bed, buttoning his shirt before sitting down. He leaned backward, resting on his palms.

"Show me why I should let you stay."

She eyed him warily from across the room, thinking of the night before. What hadn't they already done?

She approached him and sank to her knees. This was the game he liked to play. When he wanted something, he'd hint at it, make her guess, plead, as though it was the secret to life. She'd always done the same. For as long as she'd talked to him online, she dropped hints about wanting a man, needing a master, and he caught on just as easily. Falling to his knees earlier, despite the sweetness and sincerity in his voice, showed his hand, and she knew what he wanted.

She ran her hands up his thighs, moving toward his zipper, but he seized her wrist and shoved it away.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

She showed a weak smile, her eyes shifting, searching his face for the answer.

"I said show me why I should let you stay." He repeated.

She backed away, showing a smirk, and begun to unbutton her blouse. Normally her cheeks would fill with blood and her posture would become defensive. Now, though, she only felt anxiety, not embarrassment, knowing that he could turn her away at any time if he wanted.

He swayed in her vision as she moved. Her blouse clung to her tender nipples, barely keeping from opening completely as she looped her thumbs in her skirt, and shoved it slowly downward, revealing the sensual lines of her pelvic bone.

"Who are you?" He asked, watching carefully. She almost stopped her dance, but continued, seeing his stern mouth contorting slightly to a frown. She said nothing. This was one rule he knew not to break.

"I'm yours." She said simply, pushing the skirt down further. Her wide stance alone was all that kept it from falling to the floor.

"We both know that." He snapped. "But to the rest of the world, who are you, right now?" She hesitated, biting her lip as she moved. She knew how he worked. He didn't need her to answer. "You're meat." He said. "No matter how much you get paid, no matter how good your fucking grades are, you're an object to the eyes around you. So why ever let them know who you are?"

She turned to hide her confusion, putting her back to him, and lowering her blouse to show her shoulders, and hide her ass as her skirt finally hit the floor.

"Secrets are all that we are." He said. "People throw their bodies into films, or onto magazines, so the whole world can know why they should bother breathing. Fame, notoriety, infamy, these are the Gods we worship. But these people who spill their souls to the world, they are the weakest of us all. The chest that's open for the world to see leaves the heart bare for prodding. But that's not you, is it? That's not us."

She'd traveled across the world to see him, to find a person who would make her nightmares come true, and wouldn't judge her for it. She took a plane from Athens to LaGuardia in New York, then a bus to Louisville, Kentucky, and finally a cab the Southern Comfort hotel. She'd worked for a year and dumped almost all of her money into the journey, all for someone who could understand her. She wasn't sure what he had to gain from meeting her, but listening to him now, she liked to think he wanted to be understood, too.

She didn't hear him stand, and his sudden hands around her waist startled her. He pulled her to the bed, causing her blouse to open and exposing her breasts. She expected his rough gestures, fingers prodding and at least an open palm, but it never came. His hands moved below his waist, and in an instant he was inside her.

She felt the familiar thrill overtake her. The fear, the anticipation of pain, but neither actually came. He pressed himself inside her fully, and lowered himself to her lips. No, she thought, this wasn't for her. It was his turn, and as always, she would obey.

"Who are you?" He said, his words entwined with a breathless moan.

"I'm yours." She said, her breath shuttering beneath the weight of a thrust.

"As am I."

Their sex wasn't so much an event as sudden loss of time. He thrust slowly, moving his hips rhythmically while they kissed, and in such a passionate embrace that the sands fell at an extraordinary slow rate. While there, the dark lust within her was absent, but she felt the flush of ecstasy all the same. It didn't matter how hard he hit her, or whether she was bound or gagged. She was obeying, and for once, entirely willingly. He finished, and seemed to raise his barriers again. He found a cigarette and lit it ablaze. After buttoning his pants, he found her old clothes, the white blouse and a pair of jeans from her bag.

"You don't look like you belong anywhere near this shithole." He said, pitching the clothes to her.

"Put those back on."

She took them, blushing slightly. "You know I actually wear these sometimes."

"It's not the look that matters." He said. "You need to look like you've been on a bender, like you're the kind of girl who's fuck for cash."

"Wearing a white blouse and jeans does that?"

"Smelling like sex and cigarettes does it." He said, exhaling smoke from his nostrils, spilling the silver fog over her breasts. "Get dressed and go talk to the clerk. You need somewhere to stay tonight. You're tired and hungry."

"What do you mean..."

He took her face in her hands. "This will be the last time I answer any of your questions. I need time to root around in the room behind the desk. You're going to keep him busy."

"What are you going to do?"

He raised an eyebrow, and she knew it was one question too many.

"Just do everything I say from now on or you'll never see me again."

She dressed, feeling her heart slam against her ribs. This was different. She'd been used every which way the night before. They'd had the kind of sex that would make a gynecologist blush, but the thought of "distracting" another man was too much embarrassment to bear. It nearly took divine intervention to get her to pull her clothes off the night before.

He stood at the door while she finished dressing, leaning against the frame and staring out toward the dusty parking lot outside. He flicked his cigarette toward the pool, sailing it into the scummy and neglected water.

"One last thing." He said. "Don't let him touch you."

He left, and she felt mixed emotions about his final words. It was clearly a command, but wasn't he aware what he was getting her into? She'd seen the owner the night before. He was an old man practically, nearly sixty, but it didn't keep him from sliding his gaze up and down her body before finally retrieving her key. She thought about the dance he made her perform, and how it was clear now what he wanted her to do, but she had the sick fear that the owner of the hotel wasn't clear on the definition of consent.

She moved down the faded white platform and stairs to the ground level, looking cautiously for him, but he'd entirely slipped away. She still felt moisture between her legs, and the tight cotton blouse tugged relentlessly against her ringed nipples, sending shocks of pain to mingle with her anxiety. She moved through the battered front entrance, noting that the parking lot behind her was empty. As she entered, she saw again paper advertisements for a "quilt show" in the next town over, and apparently it was quite the affair. In the off season, she imagined that the only the fleas rented the rooms.

The man was at the desk, a small television droning in front of him. The aroma of coffee hung in the small lobby, and after approaching him, she had to lean across the counter to really sitting in a rusted folding chair. His hair was white and askew and he was wearing a pair of coveralls that were open at the front, exposing a wiry chest buried beneath grey fur. He looked more like a mechanic than a hotel owner, and she wondered what she looked like, to him.

He flicked his eyes to her, clasping a stained cup between his wrinkled hands.

"Mornin'."

"Good morning." She said. Her accent was obviously foreign after following his southern drawl.

"Checkin' out?"

"Uhh, no, not exactly. I...I need the room again for another night." She said, adjusting herself. Her breasts were relatively petite, but they rested comfortably on the counter.

"Thurty-five for another one."

She bit her lip. Maybe it was too early for him, but he was apparently much more disinterested in her compared to the previous night.

"I...I don't have any money." He looked up, and then back to the TV before growling.

"This ain't a boarding home miss, I can't help you."

"You, you seem distracted a bit." She said, nearly whimpering. "We can talk about this somewhere quiet." His eyes lingered on the television, and she circled the counted toward the entrance. She tugged down her blouse, as though adjusting it, but instead revealed more cleavage. "Or we don't have to talk at all."

His gaze washed over her, and she felt her knees quake for a moment. Her arm was braced against the door-frame and her forehead rested in the crook of her elbow. If she'd been standing upright, he'd have seen her trembling.

"Where's Casey?"

She narrowed her eyes, her heart jittering. She didn't have much of a plan to start with, but his question had tossed her mind asunder.

"He...he left this morning I think. He was supposed to pay for another night."

His name, she thought. The owner knew him better than she did.

The man shook his head. "And he didn't even bother to say goodbye to this old man." He said. "Come on, I won't toss you out."

She followed him to a room behind the desk and saw that the place had been retrofitted into a proper home. It still possessed the same matted carpet and drab floral wallpaper as the other rooms, but this one had been outfitted with a variety of "homely" appliances and furniture. He took a seat on the couch and unzipped his coveralls, revealing more bare chest and the elastic band of a pair of dingy underwear. She could smell the sweat wafting from him as he gave a shaking gesture toward his lap.

There was no music. All she could hear was the morning news still droning in the background. She began to sway to the sound of her own hammering heart and a traffic report. Closing her eyes to rid herself the sight of the old man's hungry glare.

"What are you doin'?"

"Just warming up." She muttered, tugging her shirt over her head. Her motions were sporadic, forced. She knew exactly what he wanted, but unlike with her master, she had no interest in teasing. Her nipples were still tender and her breasts were swollen. Wearing a bra would have prolonged the dance, but she doubted if she could get any of her already snug harnesses to fit, anyway. She spent the next minute swaying, her heart in her throat, and finally resorted to unzipping her pants after sensing his impatience. It wasn't enough for him. He stood, his coveralls barely clinging to his narrow shoulders, and he hobbled to her.

"Enough of all that."

Before she could fight, could think, his thin hands were on the small of her back and on her shoulders, tugging her toward him. His face lowered to her chest, and he took one of nipples into his mouth. He seemed perpetually tired before, but he no doubt was stronger than her despite his age. She felt his hot breath and spit spill onto her breast, and she felt tense revolted. It wasn't his force, his age or his dark intentions that set her off. Casey had ordered her not to be touched.

She shoved him, bracing her hands against his shoulders and sent him stumbling backwards onto the couch. He looked up with rage and betrayal, and she returned his stare with shock at her own strength. She quenched the fire that smoldered inside her, only smiling.

"I'm just warming you up too, honey." She said.

When he landed, his coveralls had risen, hiding his hard prick beneath the fabric. He seemed content despite her violence, showing a smile on spittle ridden lips.

She dropped her pants, leaving her in her panties, and continued to dance, cursing her master. How long did she have to do this? A thousand possibilities ran through her mind but one was obvious. Casey was robbing the owner. Why else would he need time alone in the depths of the man's home?

Just as the realization had ran across her mind, she saw him emerge from the bedroom at the other end of the home. He looked to be carrying a black-rod with wooden trim, which he kept concealed at his side. She kept her eyes on the old man, not daring to reveal her master's presence. He crept behind the couch and spoke. His words weren't fierce or quiet. They were merely firm, a command.

"Close your eyes."

It took her no time at all to obey, but Casey still moved too fast for her to avoid seeing all of what came next. He pressed the iron rod to the man's chest, moving in front of him, and it was in the split-second before she brought her hands over her eyes in horror when she realized that it was a shotgun, and the barrel was pressed beneath the old man's chin.

The shot was like a thunderstorm had fallen upon the room in an instant. The flash slipped through her fingers and the sound was the thunder that followed, like lightening had fallen to the earth and stolen a life in front of her. She felt warm flecks of liquid splatter onto her hands and arms, and then felt a firm grasp around her forearm, pulling her out of the room.

She opened her eyes to see her master, the man of her life, the murderer.

He was shirtless and his hair was slicked back with water, or some kind of product, but was flecked with blood. His chest and face got the worse of it, showing a streak of crimson across his hardened chest. His grip was smooth, and she saw that his hands were clad with leather gloves. The dark elm on his back gnarled its branches up his neck.