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CHAPTER SIX
PREPPY
Sometimes, we as humans set out to do things with purpose and clarity. Other times, we carry the unconscious heroin addicted thief back to the very house where she’d helped steal your weed plants from, because the woman who lives there is a nurse.
Humans. Weird fucking animals we are.
I carried Dre in through the back door as quietly as I could. I’d wake Mirna shortly, but Dre wasn’t showing any signs of overdose so there wasn’t any rush. I carefully shifted the girl in my arms through the door of the guest bedroom, and that’s when I noticed the scar on the side of her face, right in front of her ear. It was a faded pink color so it wasn’t super old, and I wondered what could have happened to this girl to cause a scar like that.
I shuffled her into the bathroom and set her on the floor. I turned on the shower and propped her against the side of the tub.
The deja vu feeling that I knew the girl was overwhelming.
Maybe she was in porn?
No, because then I’d probably know her name. And bra size. And what her specialty was.
I lifted her shirt and the bruises I’d seen on the tower looked ten times worse under the harsh bathroom lighting. I knew first hand that addicts had a tendency to be bruised up. Either from the marks, from the needles, getting into fights, or just stumbling around. But these weren’t those kinds of bruises. They weren’t from a fight.
They were from a beating.
My eyes drifted down to the bruised and bloodied space between her legs that both thrilled and sickened me.
They were from a rape.
I swallowed hard and willed my cock to stand down. I tucked her panties into my back pocket for safe keeping and lifted her into the tub, turning the shower head on spray mode so I could wash the dirt and blood from her body.
I never gave a shit what twisted thing turned me on. Some people got off on the vulnerable, it was a thing, I googled it, but I never before in my life wished those oddities away before that very moment in that very bathroom.
And I had no fucking clue why.
I tried to concentrate on washing her, pausing the cloth occasionally to wipe the sweat from my forehead or palm my cock through my pants, but managed to finish washing her and carry her to the bed without coming in my pants.
I pulled the blanket over her and she stirred. Her legs fell open, revealing everything to me, and I groaned at the sight.
My cock pulsed. I licked my bottom lip at the thought of what she tasted like.
I needed to know.
Just one little lick and I’d go.
I crawled onto the mattress fully dressed, but slightly damp. I hovered over her and leaned down between her thighs. I inhaled deeply. She had the sweetest smelling pussy. My cock throbbed and my balls ached. I wanted to bottle that shit up and wear it.
Pussy perfume.
I pressed a closed mouth kiss over her small buttony clit before flattening my tongue and dragging it over her pussy opening. It was just supposed to be one little lick, but it had turned into a deep kiss. My tongue darted just beyond her pussy lips. A little more and a little more I took, pushing the tip of my tongue inside her tightness, holding in a groan when I could fully taste her on my tongue. Holy fucking shit. Good wasn’t a word for how she tasted. Epic. Her pussy tasted EPIC.
I shamelessly dry humped the bed, my cock finding little of the friction I needed against the mattress.
I pulled back a little, feeling a bite of anger toward whichever of those fuckers had hurt her magical pussy, and hoped it was the one who was no longer breathing and being sent out to the swamp by Smoke and his clean up crew.
I gave her one last long kiss with my tongue, as if I could heal her with my mouth. I sat up on my knees and released my cock from my khakis, groaning at the sensation of it hot and heavy in my hand. I stared down at her spread thighs, her pussy glistening from where my mouth had just been, her taste still fresh on my tongue.
I imagined pounding into her with every inch of my cock. As I stroked from root to tip and back again, I wondered if she could take all of me or if I’d have to ease up on her and give her little by little.
Then I imagined what she would look like with my hands wrapped around her throat. What she’d sound like gagging on my cock.
I pumped harder, faster. I teased the tip of my cock and just as I felt like I was about to explode, another thought hit me. It was what sent me spiraling over the edge, my balls drawing up tighter than they ever have, and my spine damn near breaking when I came so fucking hard I thought I was going to fall off the fucking bed.
I’d imagined how she’d looked up on the water tower, right before she jumped. Battered and broken, yet free. There was something so sexual about the way she’d accepted death that turned me on something fierce.
I wanted to see her sad. Taste her tears. I wanted to know what she sounded like when she cried. In pain, in pleasure, in both. The thought of me being the one to make her cry was my undoing.
I sprayed long hot streams all over her stomach and thighs, the last spurt landing right over her spread pussy. I tried to catch my breath but when I opened my eyes, I grew instantly hard again when I found myself looking down at the most perfect fucking picture I’d just painted on her body with my cum.
Quicker than I’d gotten on the bed, I jumped the fuck off off. I quickly, yet reluctantly, wiped my cum from her stomach with a wash cloth, then I left the room in such a rush that I tripped over Mirna’s pet pig in the hallway. Oscar grunted and oinked, and even in the darkness I saw the disapproving glare in his piggy eyes. “Fuck you, Oscar, don’t be all judgey,” I whispered. More grunting. “One more look like that and I’ll tell Mirna how you like to dry hump her teddy bear collection during her afternoon nap.” The oinking stopped and he backed away into the bathroom, where I’d set up the giant dog bed he slept on. I flashed him a smug winning look and flipped him off.
I headed out to the backyard where I could smoke some weed and get a grip on the weirdest fucking night of my life. I saved that girl twice in one night. I was exhausted.
But hey, glass half full and all, I DID get to kill someone.
As I sat on the back step and packed my bow tie one-hitter, a thought entered my brain and started running on the days playback reel. I didn’t know why the fuck it was there because it was telling me something I already knew. Answering a question I wasn’t even fucking asking.
I can’t keep you.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DRE
Nightmares. At least, I thought they were nightmares.
Night after night, day after day, they took hold on both my body and mind, delivering an endless kind of agony I never knew was possible. I was sure I’d died because the place I was existing in was pure fucking hell, reliving the very worst moments of my life over and over, never growing numb to the pain.
The sounds haunted me first. Twisting metal. Breaking glass.
Screaming.
The smells came next. Cedar trees and burning plastic.
Then it was like watching a slow motion video of myself. I’m outside of my body, watching myself standing in the pouring rain. Water, streaked with red, ran down my face, my arms, and off the tips of my fingers onto the pavement. I was staring at something, but when I turned around to see what I’m staring at, the scene shifts.
