Craved (Twisted Book 2) (12 page)

I get straight to business. I drop my dress on the floor, go down on my knees in front of him and reach to open his belt. He stops me, and exhales, ‘I can’t do it… I love my wife… do you understand?’

I open my mouth to say something, then change my mind. I get up and walk to the TV stand. I open its doors, looking for the minibar. Luckily it’s stocked. I pick a little bottle of whisky, poor it into a glass and give it to Felix.

‘I think you need a drink.’

He looks at me, takes the glass and drains it with one gulp.

‘Maybe she is also suffering. She has something she didn’t share with you – her sexual preference, I mean.’ I pick up a can of Coke, go back and sit down next to him. ‘Maybe she is just ashamed of it… And all you need is to talk about it openly.’

‘When you slept with her, did she look ashamed?’ He turns and looks right into my eyes. I say nothing.

He laughs with an edge, then hisses. ‘You... women... You always cover for each other. You fucking bitches!’

My jaw drops open. In just a second he’s gone from being a quiet man to a mad bastard.

‘You all are evil, two-faced cunts!’ He’s almost screaming. ‘You’ve taken advantage of me since the third grade!’

‘What’s wrong with you? Third grade?’ I finally overcome my astonishment.

‘For all these years… since the third grade! Not even one of you has been a normal human being to me!’ There is so much hatred in his eyes. ‘At least once it will be different. I will be the one who takes instead of giving…’

He throws me onto my back, peeling his clothes off, climbs on top of me and furiously takes me.

Okay... third grade, huh..? Freaking loony!

21

‘I am a client with special needs.’ Once again, his greedy glance stops at my chest. He runs his tongue over his lips.

No shit… get in line, brother! All of you here have bloody special needs!

‘How much are your services?’

‘It depends. Is it a day or a night job?’ I answer, maintaining my bestseller smile. ‘Would you like to tell me first what those special needs are?’

He fidgets in the chair. He’s definitely uncomfortable talking about it.

‘I like role playing.’ He takes a sip of his iced water. ‘I would like to meet with you during the day.’

‘I like role playing too.’ If he knew my history, he wouldn’t be uncomfortable sharing his secret fantasies with me. ‘Do you like BDSM, or something more romantic – a French maid?’

‘No, it’s not BDSM, I don’t like pain, no physical suffering. Don’t worry. I have the outfit for you, you don’t have to bring anything. Would you be able to come to my place tomorrow at two? It will not take more then an hour, hour and a half.’ He talks very quietly, his gaze searching all over the place.

Another freak for my freak collection. One day I should write a book.

‘No problem, it’ll be R5 000.’

‘Would you mind if I pay you half right now? Let’s say, as a security deposit.’ He pulls his wallet out of his pants pocket.

‘Of course not.’ I look at him, puzzled. Should I start worrying or just enjoy the weirdo’s unusual approach? He is the first one who’s asked me to take the money up front.

I take the notes and toss them into my purse. ‘Aren’t you afraid that I will blow you and not show up?’ I laugh.

He turns to me, takes a lock of my hair, leans and smells it. His eyes closed. ‘I know you are a good girl. You wouldn’t do that.’

‘Okay. See you tomorrow.’ I get up and leave.

I ring the bell. A minute later, the door flies open.

‘Hello Julia.’ He is wearing a white shirt and dark blue velvet trousers with a high waist and suspenders. His hair is wet from hair gel, brushed back and parted on one side. Every inch Clark Gable in
Gone with the Wind,
only a hideous version. ‘Come on in.’

Okay...

Soft classical music comes from the back of the apartment.

‘The bathroom is there. Go change. Follow the instructions, please.’

I raise my brows, but do as he asks.

The outfit is folded carefully on the washing basket with the note on top of it: ‘Dear Julia, you will play my daughter. Please call me Daddy.’ I take time to dress. It’s a schoolgirl skirt, a white polo T-shirt, and a large, white hair clip bow, similar to what I had in the first grade.

When I’m done I glance at myself in the mirror, shake my head at my reflection, and walk to the living room.

‘Hey, honey, how was your day at school?’ He starts his act right away. ‘Come on in, your mom and I are waiting for you. Lunch is ready.’

‘My day was very good, Daddy!’ I mumble, checking out the setup.

The oval dining room table is covered with a white tablecloth, and three places are laid, with a bowl of steaming hot rice and salad in the middle. It smells quite nice. There are three chairs around the table. One of them is occupied by a blow-up doll from the sex shop, with its open mouth and dodgy long black wig.

That, apparently, is going to be my mommy.

The rest of the room is furnished in a classy and simple way. The furniture looks quite old, except for the flat-screen TV in the corner.

‘Sit down, honey. Your favorite honey-lemon chicken breasts are probably ready.’ He walks to the doll and pats it on the shoulder. ‘Don’t get up, sweetheart, I’ll bring it.’

I sit down without taking my eyes off the doll – the smeared red lipstick on her face, some other stains of unknown origin, and oily fingerprints all over her exposed breasts.

I take a deep breath. ‘Hey Mom! You’re looking great today.’

He comes back wearing an apron and oven gloves, holding the hot dish. He places it on the tray in the middle of the table and sits down.

‘Let’s pray.’ He reaches to take our hands and closes his eyes. ‘Dear Lord.’ The doll’s body bows on one side and its fake hair moves, covering half of its face and left eye. ‘We humbly receive and thank you for this food you have given us. Amen.’ He lets our hands go and begins to eat, sweeping the food away and without lifting his eyes off the plate.

Seriously?

I poke the plate without enthusiasm while taking in all the details of my entertaining afternoon.

‘Excuse me,’ he gets up, leaves the room, and comes back with a pink backpack. He opens it and pulls out a notepad.

I guess this is my school bag.

‘Well, well, well… Let’s see how you did today.’ He opens the notepad and starts turning the pages while spitting on his fingers.

‘Again!’ I jerk as he slams the notepad onto the table. ‘Math test – 70 out of 100. Do you have any idea how hard your mom and I work to pay for your schooling?’

I shrug.

‘I am sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know how that happened.’

‘Oh, are you?’ He leans over the table, pressing his fists over the tablecloth. His eyes drill through me. His natural shyness has vanished. He is a confident family man.

‘I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry.’

‘You are a bad, bad girl.’ He turns to the doll. ‘What do you think, Marta? What do you think we should do?’

He pretends to hear the answer. ‘Yeah? You think so? I agree. She has to get what she deserves. You’re right Marta.’

He takes my hand and leads me to the TV lounge, which consists of a set, a dark-blue flowery two-seater and a chair. He takes a remote control from the TV stand.

‘I’ll show you what we’re going to do to you,’ he utters, and turns the volume up. He then goes back to the table, picks up Marta and sits her down next to me. Her wig slips down onto her face. Now only her red, vulgar open mouth is sticking out of the black mop. He stops, standing behind the couch.

Okay. He is definitely going to make the top five list in my future bestselling novel
The Freaks Contest.
But let’s get down to business. All this is too freaky, even for me.

Two adults, a woman with a man, and a child are having lunch. The girl is no older than ten. The scene is pretty similar to what my ‘daddy’ was trying to pull in here. At first, the father is angry with the girl about something she’d done. Then both parents are angry and shout at the girl. The girl starts crying. But the parents won’t stop shouting at her. The scene jumps to another. All three of them are naked. The man is shoving his cock into the girl’s mouth while the woman touches the girl’s private parts. The girl is crying and begs them to stop. I turn away. It’s sickening.

‘Why are you looking away?’ He leans over the couch, takes my head and turns it straight again.

In less than a minute – I throw his hands off me and cover my face.

He drops next to me, squeezing me closer to the doll, puts his left arm on my shoulders and hugs me tight so I can’t turn away from the TV screen. With his right hand he opens the fly, takes his half-hard penis out and puts my hand on top of it.

‘Here’s my girl. Show your daddy you love him.’

I start rhythmical movements up and down.

‘Mommy and daddy love you…’ He breathes into my neck. I shut my eyes, trying to restart my usual detachment attitude. I can get over his flaming breath on my neck or the rubber-dirt stink from the doll, but not the sounds from the TV screen. The sobbing of the girl muffled by lustful utters and moans of the man and woman twists my guts inside out.

It doesn’t take him long. He comes. The warm squirts cling over my hand. His body relaxes. He leans back, taking his arm off my shoulders and closes his eyes. I get up, holding my mouth with the clean hand and rush out of the room. Almost running, I break in to the bathroom and a violent contraction makes me bend forward. I grab the toilet seat and watch the rice, chicken and green leaves splotch it.

When I walk out 15 minutes later, the table has been cleared, Marta is gone, and the TV is off.

He hands me the money. ‘There’s a tip. You did a great job. Thank you.’

I take the money and head to the door.

‘I am sorry. I know how upsetting it is for you. I really am.’ He follows me. ‘Julia,’ he puts his hand on mine as I reach the door handle. ‘I have a mental condition. You have to understand. It wasn’t my choice. God made me this way. They say I’m a pedophile. I take medication but sometimes I need more to release the tension. I am just trying to live my life without hurting anyone.’

I say nothing and walk out.

22

‘I can’t fall pregnant,’ Lena announces out of the blue. Natalia and I look at each other, brows up to the ceiling. We are at the table with Mark and Tom, having a late Sunday lunch barbecue. We never speak Russian when the guys are around. The time and place Lena’s chosen to share this is weird.

At least it explains why she’s been quiet and miserable all afternoon and her attachment to the wine bottle.

‘It’s only been a few months,’ Natalia says and looks apologetically at Tom. ‘I don’t think you should worry. Shall we talk about it some other time? And,’ she adds, a little more annoyed, ‘maybe you should slow down with the wine too?’

‘Don’t tell me what to do! You already suggested having an abortion once! Maybe that’s why I can’t fall pregnant!’ Lena’s high-pitched voice makes Mark and Tom twitch on their seats.

I stay silent and just shake my head at Natalia, indicating that she should rather leave it.

‘Honey, is everything all right?’ Mark asks Lena and puts his hand on hers. But she ignores his attempt and holds the bloodshot stare at Natalia.

‘Истеричка
[2]
,’ Natalia throws back, disregarding my suggestion. She turns to the men, ‘Sorry, guys. We don’t mean to be rude.’

Mark and Tom shake their heads in understanding. Mark is still holding Lena’s hand.

‘No worries,’ Tom mumbles.

‘Are you all right, honey?’ Mark is trying again.

‘Don’t apologize for me!’ Lena shouts at Natalia and throws off Mark’s hand. ‘This is my house! You hear me?’ She gets up, picking up her full wine glass, and staggers to the terrace. ‘I’ll do whatever I want here!’ On the way she picks up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the coffee table and heads outside, not noticing that the sliding French door is closed. At full speed, she walks into it. She hits her head on the glass and loses her balance. The cigarettes and lighter fly to one side of the room and the wine glass to the other, marking the white walls and the furniture with dark red stains and throwing glass all over the room.

‘Oh my God, Len, are you okay?’ we all exclaim and rush to help. Cursing and pressing her hands to where she’d knocked her head, she turns back, steps onto the wine-splashed tiles, slips and clatters down onto pieces of broken glass.

‘Ahhh!’ she screams and rolls on the floor, trying to get up, ‘Holy… Ahhh!’

We help her up. She grasps her back, her hands and shoulders covered with bleeding cuts.

A cascade of loud tears washes Lena’s face as Mark and Natalia help to comfort her on the couch. I run around with the mop and broom. Tom just stands in the corner, not knowing how else to help.

‘Let’s go to the hospital. Some of the cuts are too deep,’ Mark suggests.

‘I am not going anywhere looking like a drunk!’ she shouts through her tears, grimacing in pain. ‘I am dirty and smell of wine!’

‘I am sorry, Len. Let us help you. You’ve got glass stuck in your skin,’ Natalia tries to reason with now-shivering Lena.

‘It’s painful.’ Sobbing, she looks over her cuts, but doesn’t get up.

Tom walks to the couch, ‘I’m sorry.’ He moves Natalia and Mark aside, ‘You need a doctor. And it’s not up for discussion.’ He lifts Lena in his arms and takes her to the car.

‘I am so sorry Nata. I didn’t mean what I said.’ Lena starts crying as soon as we walk into the hospital room. We’d waited for an hour and rushed through when the nurse called us. ‘Nothing serious. The doctor put in a few stitches. You can take her home when she’s ready. Let her rest for a little while.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Natalia heads straight to Lena’s bed and hugs her. I go to the other side of the bed and put my hand on Lena’s hair.

‘I am just so scared that I may never have kids.’