Maniacs! Ch. 01

Do you think that 'the one' appears when you least expect him? That is my experience. I'm not someone who makes things happen or sets her sights on a man and knows how to go about making him hers. I guess that's what seduction is and I've never tried it. Only a fool would try that on Hollis; he'd see right through it for the manipulation it is.

And yes, some girls have just thrown themselves at him, even right in front of me, like willing human sacrifices. Even if they're hot, Hollis regards this the way a tiger would react to rancid meat. Why settle for carrion when you're built to hunt and could eat your prey still warm? I've seen him close his eyes for a second and melt into a stranger's caress to enjoy the sensuality for a second. Then his eyes snap open and he'll send her flying across the roadhouse's sticky floor to fall on her ass with her mouth hanging open. I think they expect to enjoy his dick first before the violence, especially when they approach him all pornified.

Holly takes what he wants and that's how it's got to be; nothing turns him off faster than being approached for sex like he's desirable. When we met, I tried not to let on how much I wanted him, but only because I knew he was out of my league, as they say. He was gorgeous, powerful, seething with volatility... I just assumed he'd want a female version of his badass self. It didn't occur to me right away that the one to snag his interest and capture that feral heart would be submissive.

The difference between throwing yourself at a man like you have zero self-respect and submitting body and soul is perhaps subtle, but it's a distinction even Holly's deranged mind gets instinctively. He saw my true nature where most people wouldn't. The night we met, I learned his life attunes him to secrets. His are massive.

It was about 9 PM on a Friday. It was raining. I remember that because I knew his bandages would be soaked and need changing. It was clear to me he was hitchhiking, though both thumbs were trapped in gauze mitts. This made sense--he was about a half-mile down the road from the Wayne County Hospital where I work.

I took in his silhouette--what a fine-looking man. He had unusually broad shoulders, a V taper to narrow hips, and he appeared to be lean but not skinny. Even from a distance, I could make out his angular features when the passing headlights caught them just right. I liked the way his unevenly cut hair stuck to his forehead and the way rain dripped from his cheekbones. As I slowed up, I noticed the pink of his tongue as he licked his delicate, wet lips. Damn.

Would I have stopped if he weren't wounded? Did that make him seem safer? Would I have told myself it's idiotic to pick up a hitchhiker if he weren't so fucking angelic? I've often asked myself these questions. All I can be sure of is that I wasn't starving for sex, but I was instantly thirsty as hell for this man. I wanted to drink him starting with the rainwater, finishing with his cum.

I stopped and he trotted up to the open passenger side window.

"Where are you headed?" I called out.

His eyes punctured me. I was sure he was just reading my mind, that he knew the impression he'd already made, but I shook off the paranoia. His smirk unsettled me.

"Anywhere. Away from here. Wherever you'll drop me is fine."

At this point, I noticed that even though I'd already stopped, he was still looking down the road from the direction I came. He appeared to be looking for someone he didn't want to catch up with him. When we heard the distant sirens, his hand impatiently darted for the door handle. I swear he commanded me with only his eyes.

"Well, okay then! Get in, please."

He didn't hesitate and I carefully pulled back onto the road, then took the first exit to the highway. My pulse raced. I'm not a great driver to begin with, so on a rainy night with such a distracting passenger I just kept my mouth shut and started to drive to my apartment. I didn't know what else to do.

"Are you sure I can't take you someplace? It's just that... I'm almost home, so that's where this ride would normally end. If you want to go further, I don't mind driving a little. It's really up to you, uh..."

"Kevin," he offered.

I don't know why, but I laughed. So did he! I gave him more than a quick peripheral glance this time and noticed the teeth--unnaturally rotten. 'Well, no one can be that perfect,' I thought. He was still more beautiful than anyone I'd seen in recent memory, in film or real life.

"I thought I was good at lyin'," he drawled. The brief smile gave way to tension around his mouth and eyes. He was in pain, perhaps a substantial amount.

"Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. I just know you're not a Kevin."

"Heh, yeah. He's my brother. Aw, fuck it. I'm Hollis... Holly."

"Yeah, that's more like it," I agreed. I didn't ask why he'd lie. I took in the injuries. Probably burns, as if he'd tried to salvage something going up in flames. The teeth... some small scabs like he had a habit of picking at his sleek neck. I had never smelled a meth lab before, but there was a strange chemical smell emanating from his wet clothes. However, I was more intrigued by the musky scent of his sweat that I could detect underneath it. I put it together right then that he had been cooking, it caught fire, he'd reluctantly gone to get his injuries treated, someone at the ER had called the police.

Of course, he could be wanted for something worse--perhaps much worse--than manufacturing crank. I didn't care. In hindsight, I can see I was already falling for him. Too fast? Sure. Too fast to be believed? Only if you don't believe in love at first sight. Call it shallow, or maybe animal instinct, or maybe, to be lofty about it, it was just written in the stars. I chose to give him my trust.

What does that say about me? He's a drug dealer, a killer, a sex freak, a meth head... of all the people I could have met, I chose him. Oh, like I'm such a prize!

"Hollis... would you like to stay at my place tonight? You know, until you figure things out? I can change your bandages. You can dry off..." I kept my voice even, blasé almost. I wanted it to be clear that I was offering, not begging.

"Ya really should be more careful," he replied. "I mean, I could be anyone. You don't know shit about me," he said, almost angry with me.

"It was just a thought. At least you're closer to the highway now, so you should have a better chance at getting... someplace."

His breathing had grown shallow, panting almost. Burns do hurt like hell, relentlessly. I could see he didn't like the thought of standing in the cold rain while in pain, maybe hungry, bored to tears or beginning to freak out about his situation. Was he going through withdrawal? I didn't have much that could treat that, but we might be able to take the edge off it a little, make it a fraction less awful.

"Yeah, okay. Let's go to your place. But if you call the cops, you'll regret it."

I had no doubt he'd just threatened to kill me. It was not an idle threat. I was okay with that. I knew from the start that if I ever crossed him, he'd kill me without hesitation. How painfully, I didn't know, but that didn't matter. I just wouldn't betray him.

I didn't promise him I wouldn't because I could tell from the jump that promises sicken him. We have that in common.

"I won't." I shrugged--there's no other true thing I could say that wouldn't sound like a lie.

I lived in an apartment complex on the second floor. It was clean and recently built, but nothing enviable. Most of the tenants were low-level hospital employees like me, with the rest holding other types of working-class jobs. One of those places where you enter from the outside like it's a motel. The inside looked like it could be one, too. I kept it spartan, generic. I don't like a lot of clutter and I'm not one of those people who want their personality looking back at them everywhere they turn. It's probably creepy to some people that I have no photos, no collections of crap nor personal touches. I find most people's places creepy, too.

Hollis entered and looked around warily. "Ya live alone?"

"I do. No one to come looking for me if you murder me in my sleep. They won't find me until my putrid corpse rots through the floorboards into the unit below," I deadpanned.

"That's fuckin' sick," he said, showing a little of his teeth. I decided I like to make him smile. "Ya got anything to drink?"

"Booze? I have some vodka in the freezer if you like. What did they give you for the pain?" I asked.

"Shot of morphine. It's wearin' off already," he said a little pathetically. What the fuck was that twinge in my belly--maternal feeling for this degenerate? He can be very cute, just take my word for it. Maybe not adult Holly, but I get flashes of him as the vulnerable boy who was cruelly molded into the beast he is today.

I went to the open-plan kitchen to fix him a drink. "How do you like it? I could..."

"Just gimme the bottle," he snapped. From someone else, I'd have been annoyed. Yes, it's a little that I understood he was in pain. More than that, though, I liked the tone in his voice. It felt more like dominance than rudeness. At least, that's how I chose to interpret it.

"Please," I said, gesturing at the two bar stools on the other side of the counter. He sat down in the practiced way of a man who'd spent some time haunting a bar. His bandages squished when he rested his forearms on the fake marble. There was no way around it--those would need changing. But first, best to get some alcohol down his throat. I ignored his command for the bottle and poured a generous amount into a glass and put a straw in it. How else was he going to manage?

He grunted at the straw. "I won't tell anyone," I whispered.

There was that pink tongue tip again to guide the straw between his perfect lips. Fuck. I was in so much trouble already in more ways than one. His shoulders looked even wider as he leaned over his drink. "More," he said a second later. I complied by pouring a little more so he wouldn't have to ask so frequently. I hoped the mostly full bottle would be enough for him. We didn't talk. He drank and I tried not to stare at him.

"Fuck. I'm dyin' for a smoke. Ya got cigarettes?"

I apologized that I'd quit. I looked at the clock. It wasn't quite 10 PM. "I could run out. What kind do you smoke?"

He eyed me suspiciously. "You're gonna leave me alone in your apartment?" he asked.

"I doubt you're in any shape to walk off with my TV. I don't have anything to take."

"I think I'm good," he decided pointedly. I might not have been afraid to leave him alone, but him letting me out of his sight was another matter.

"I have no interest in calling the police. I don't even know what you did. I do have to check if I've got enough gauze to wrap those. That can't be comfortable to have them soaked through like that. I'm just going to the bathroom, okay?" I placed my phone on the counter and walked down the hall feeling like I was supposed to ask to be excused or something. In my own damn home!

At work, they kept giving out these cheapo first aid kits. I'd ended up with several and so between them probably had enough to wrap his arms. Shit. Was that the extent of the injuries? I didn't even ask. That wet sweatshirt he had on looked like the ones the hospital has for patients to leave in if their clothes have been ruined.

I'm not even close to his size, but I did have an oversized toweling robe that could fit most people. I brought that back to him, too, in case he wanted to get out of his wet things. He certainly couldn't sleep in the state he was in.

"Here, I thought you could wear this. Um, do you want some help? I know it's weird, but..."

"Sure. Ya work in a hospital. I got nothin' you ain't seen before," he drawled. His voice was raspy but soft, too, like a wave sounds machine. It was beginning to have a hypnotic effect I'd grow to crave. "Hit me again, first."

I poured him another two fingers, which he slurped up like water. "Better than what I usually drink," he observed.

"Somewhere along the way, I got it in my head that being an adult meant having good vodka in the freezer," I said.

"What else ya got hidden away that makes you an adult?" he replied, not missing a beat. Was that a leer? I didn't mind it, except that it was making me blush. He noticed and chuckled.

"Okay. Ready now?" I asked him, though getting him undressed was not the most effective change of topic to cool me off.

"Let's do it," he said and was quickly on his feet. He raised his arms and winced--just the change of elevation hurt him a lot. I felt terrible he was going to have a long, painful night ahead of him. I lifted the hem of his sweatshirt and he stooped so I could pull it over his head. The backs of my fingers made just enough contact to feel the heat and smoothness of his skin, the hard abdominal muscles beneath it. I glanced at his chest and instantly felt weary as it looked like the ideal place to rest my head.

"Are the burns just on your arms?" I asked.

"Mostly. I mean, the burns, yeah. I have stitches in my back from some shrapnel. There was an explosion... "

"I see. Can you turn around? I'll get those first."

His back has a gorgeous flow to the musculature, but what struck me most was the demon tattoos. Large and stacked on one shoulder, they had the appearance of winged creatures trapped in a tornado. They seemed to say as much about Hollis as any answer he might care to give me to the growing number of questions forming in my bewildered brain.

The bandages came off easily. The incisions were neat. There was some bruising and swelling, nothing out of the ordinary. I dabbed a little hydrogen peroxide on the wounds and applied square bandage pads. It was easy enough to create a false feeling of competence. I was handling this. You know, like an adult.

It was good that the gauze mitts were saturated, otherwise, they might have stuck to the open wounds they covered. When his first arm was revealed, I gasped, unable to help it. It was bad. Not horrific, as in exposed fat and bone, but it was somewhere between raw hamburger and fresh roadkill.

"Jesus, ya gonna pass out on me, girl?" he asked. "Yer white as a ghost."

"I'm... good. Yeah... okay... it's okay..." I babbled as I did fight the rising unconsciousness.

"Thought ya worked in the hospital," he said, looking almost amused.

"I'm a fucking dietitian! I never said I was a nurse."

That's how I ended up here in the middle of nowhere. My degree in nutrition qualified me to run a dietary department. So, I left California for the Utah desert. My job was essentially deciding who got sugar-free Jell-O and who could have regular without going into a diabetic coma. It's as fascinating as it sounds. I'm so glad I made the move for one obvious reason. What a tragedy it would be to continue to live my life unowned by Holly!

"I'm not sure what to put on this to disinfect it without hurting it. Did they tell you how to take care of this at home?" I asked hopefully.

"I wasn't exactly discharged. Just pour that shit all over it."

"You sure about that?" I asked.

"I really doubt yer gonna make it worse!" he snapped at me again. "It'll be okay. Or just cover it up--I don't fuckin' care," he added more calmly.

He held his arms out over the counter and I tentatively poured a splash of hydrogen peroxide; I winced, though he didn't react at all. The liquid bubbled grotesquely for a long moment, then quieted.

"See? You're doing fine," he reassured me. I remember thinking it was almost like he was trying to be nice. Why was I sure already he wasn't nice? His demons riding his back? And why didn't I care? I'm normally quite sensitive--if someone looks at me wrong, I avoid them forever. I suppose with eyes like his there is no wrong way for him to look at me. Just so long as his gaze remains on me, I can breathe.

There was just enough gauze to adequately cover both arms just past the elbows where the burns stop. I exhaled more dramatically than I meant to.

"Now get my belt," he told me, enjoying himself despite the surely awful pain. Maybe the palliative effect of the vodka was kicking in. I hoped so. If he didn't need every drop, I'd have taken a swig myself for some liquid courage.

I stepped closer and reached for his waist. My fingers went numb so were clumsy. His intense gaze was trained on my face, and I had no doubt he was seeing everything about me, inside and out: every freckle and pore, every sinful or embarrassing thought. I exhaled again, this time with resignation. I accepted that he knew I wanted him violently.

I unbuckled, undid the top button on his jeans, unzipped him, and stepped back. He'd just have to try on his own to do the rest.

"Think you're forgettin' something," he stated.

It had been a while, but surely undressing a man wasn't that complicated. "Huh?"

"My laces. I can't untie my boots without my fingers," he pointed out oh-so-innocently.

It was as I knelt in front of him for the first time that I noticed he wasn't wearing any underwear. It was the scent of him, sharp and sweet, that prompted me to lift my face so that I was eye-level with his open fly. He smelled like sex. He looked like it, too, with the thick base of his semi-hard cock exposed, the length bulging in the rain-heavy jeans slipping down his legs. I could barely keep from licking him.

I hastily untied his boots and sat back on my heels, looking away. When he was able to kick them off, I pulled off what was left of his socks. It was too bad the fire hadn't claimed those somehow, but at least his legs were unscathed. I stood up, feeling him smirking at me in his naked beauty, and held out the bathrobe at arm's length for him to slip on. I knotted the belt around his waist a bit more roughly than needed. When I stepped back, he studied my face with a raised eyebrow.

"Are ya good?" he asked.

"I should be asking you that! How bad is the pain?"

"It don't tickle, if that's what you mean."

"I, um, have some painkillers. I can't give you all of them because I really do need them for my back and I can't get any rest without them, but you need them, too. Just be careful since you've been drinking, okay? Don't take more than one at a time."

My man is such an all-around addict. His face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. You see, I knew he'd find a way to steal my meds, even if I'd managed to hide them. I thought if I just shared with him, he might leave me some. "Well, don't hold out on me, girl."

I got the oxycodone bottle, knowing I might have to explain to my doctor why it is I'd run out too early. In this region, he'd surely heard it all before. I told myself not to be so damn selfish and remembered the sight of his raw flesh I'd already pushed out of my mind. Addict or not, he had a reason to take narcotics tonight.

To my horror, Hollis downed a small handful of pills with a swig of vodka.

"Jesus, no! You're going to kill yourself doing that!"

"I know what I'm doin'. This is like candy to me," he said matter-of-factly. He was neither cocky nor ashamed about it. It was my first introduction to the Zen of Holly: No hope, no fear; no pride, no shame. There was only desire and the strength to fulfill those desires in their myriad forms. He only had to stay healthy enough to remain the ferocious predator. As long as he didn't get soft, he'd take as much of whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

"I can't imagine you've got much appetite, but I'd like to make you some food. Would you eat something?" I pleaded.

"I can eat. It's been a couple of days," he confided.

"Oh, no! Why so long? You need fuel to heal your body."

"I've been kinda busy," he growled sardonically. "I had a fuck ton of work to do... ya can see how that panned out," he said.