Manwhore 3 (A Ferro Family Short Story) (3 page)

“Why?”

“Because it’s cruel.” He looks over his shoulder and swallows hard. Those eyes that have been so cold and unfeeling fill with an unreadable emotion.

“What I did to you was cruel. I stole something from you—something you intended to keep for her—right?”

He turns toward me and nods. “What you did was not fucking, what you did was sex—and sex is like food, it’s a necessity of life. You destroyed an act I wanted to keep pure.” Anger seeps into his voice, and he does little to hide it.

“I wanted it, so I took it. That’s the way this works. It requires more trust than anything else. I’m giving you permission to take me to the edge and hold me over the side—just don’t drop me. That’s the only rule. Don’t push me so far I can’t come back.” I touch his arm and look up at him.

He pulls away and shakes his head. “I can’t. It’s too much. It’s over the line, a line I don’t want to cross.” His voice fades on the last words.

I walk up behind him and speak carefully. My hands hover over his back. “It’s something you need to do, something you want, or you wouldn’t have come looking for me. You don’t need a fuckbuddy, Sean. You need someone who can both dish it out and take it. You need me.” I rest my hands on his shoulders and trail my finger along the back of his neck, knowing he’ll hate it.

Sean rounds on me faster than expected and shirks me off. “Don’t.”

“Do it.” I step closer to him.

Sean shakes his head and backs up. “No. Let me think.”

“There’s nothing to think about. It’s an instinct. Act on it. Do it.” I reach for him again, trying to bait him. I touch his cheek, tracing my finger along his jaw before his hand grips mine hard and throws me off.

Sean sits down on the bed, grabs his head in his hands, and pulls at his hair. “I can’t accept this. I shouldn’t have come here.” His voice is barely audible. He runs his hands through his dark hair a few more times before gritting his teeth and shaking his head.

He’s fighting his moral compass. It’s telling him not to cross this line. Maybe I should listen. Maybe I should leave, but I feel I owe him this. Before I know what I’m saying, I tell him, “It was me. I’m the one who suggested you’re a monster. It was my idea to make people think you were laughing when you called 911. The woman who spit on you today—I can take credit for that. Everyone hates you because of me. It wasn’t David or anyone else. I took this case because I wanted everyone to hate you as much as I did.”

As I speak, he continues to hold his head in his hands, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. A moment of silence passes between us and when Sean stands I’m truly afraid. The way he looks at me makes my body react. My fight or flight instinct kicks in and my feet want to run, but I lock my knees in place.

“You did that? You were the one who told those lies?” His eyes narrow to thin slits and I know I’ve given him enough reasons to leave his morals behind.

“Yes.” I say it proudly and smile at him. “All of it was my idea, and whatever you want to do now, I’m saying yes. Cane me, whip me, tie me up and use me. Do whatever it is you imagined.”

Sean leans in close to my ear and grabs the hair at the nape of my neck. He jerks my head back and hisses in my ear. “I’m going to take you to the edge and hold you there until you scream for me to stop, but I won’t. That’s what you’ve done to me with your lies. You wanted a monster, Miss Driskill—well, here he is.”

It’s part of the game, part of the play. I know it is, but I’m shaking so hard I can’t stop. I try to pull away, but he won’t let me. Before I can scream, Sean twists me around, ripping off my blouse and tearing the fabric as he goes. He takes it in his hands and tears it down the middle, twice, making one strip of cloth and then another. Gasping, I stand frozen, watching. He reaches for me again and rips off my skirt, and tosses it aside. I’m left standing in a pair of white undies and a nude colored bra.

He looks at me, his eyes seeing something else, something to come. He rips off my bra and then while I’m still screaming from that, he grabs my panties with both hands, tearing them off my body.

No. Oh, God, no! Trembling, I back away from him. I know what he’s doing, and I’m panicking—I can’t submit to what he wants. Hands up, palms toward him, I shake my head and plead. “Please, don’t. Not this.”

He doesn’t listen, nor does he stop. He takes my wrists and pulls them behind my back, tying them together with the scraps from my panties. After that, he pushes me down on the bed, face-first, holding me there until I can barely breathe. When he pulls my hair, my head tips back and my mouth hangs wide open, gasping for air. Suddenly a strip of cloth—my shirt—is gagging me. He stuffs the fabric into my mouth then ties a second layer across it and behind my head.

Every movement is executed precisely—as if he'd been there, as if he'd seen the files of how my mother was raped and stabbed. They used her clothes to tie her up and gag her. They forced her onto the bed, and then dragged her onto the floor in the kitchen and stabbed her in the side after drawing on her arms and legs with the tip of the blade.

He can’t. I pull at my bindings, but they’re becoming tighter. My wrists ache, and I struggle to breathe. He holds me on the bed, leaning on my back, as I fight against him, but there’s no point. He’s too strong.

When I feel the cold cloth around my ankles, I lose it. I try to kick, feeling my mind slip too far into panic. My heart is ready to burst through my chest, and my mind can’t process that this is real. I feel something within me wither and back away. It slips from place, like a fallen ribbon.

Sean pushes me to the floor and binds my feet behind my back. They raped her before they did this. Sean didn’t rape me. He didn’t touch me like that, but the rest is the same, accurate. Using my clothes, ripping them, throwing me on the floor and tying me like this. Everything is identical, except the rape. My face presses against the carpet, and I’m helpless. I lay on my belly, tied up like an animal. Sean walks past me and turns off the lights one by one, plummeting us into darkness.

The weight of my body in this position makes my breasts ache. I never lay like this; I never want to remember that night. Now I’m reliving it in a way I never imagined. Tears roll down my cheeks as I wait for the next part. I wonder if he’ll cut me, if he’s lost his mind. When I feel the cold steel on my leg, I scream into the gag. I try to pull away, but I’m bound too tightly. I feel the cold cuts of a blade, one by one, followed by a warm drip of blood. He does one leg and then the next, marking me with the same symbols, the same words. When he straddles my back, I already know what he’s going to carve into my skin. WHORE. It was there on my mother.

The long lines of the W cutting into my skin are too much. I buck and try to roll over, but he doesn’t let me. Sean presses me down with one hand while he cuts me with the other.

When he finishes, he grabs hold of my ankles and pulls me across the room. The carpet burns my breasts, but I’m no longer screaming. I’ve retreated to the back of my mind, to a place filled with buzzing silence, where I can’t feel what he’s doing to me. It’s a place where it doesn’t matter.

I’m limp when he drags me into the bathroom. The cold marble doesn’t register, even though it’s pressing against my breasts and stomach. My cheek is pressed to the floor as he walks away. I’m left like that, lying in a pool of warm blood on the cold floor.

This is how I found her. This is what I saw when I ran inside that day. I cut her free and watched her pale hand fall limply into a puddle of blood. The movement in my mind is suddenly real. My wrists fall freely to the floor, and someone is rolling me over. I don’t struggle. I don’t fight.

I see Sean looking down at me as he bends over to lift me up into his arms. He carries me over to the bed and places me on the white sheets. He reaches for the remnants of the ankle restraints and pulls them away. He spreads my legs and unzips his pants. I’m aware of him, but I no longer care. I’m here, but I’m not.

The gag remains. He takes my hands and places them above my head and leans in closely, and kisses my breasts. I feel him pressing against my core as he shifts, pressing his body to mine. He moves and rocks into me gently. He holds my hips in his hands and pushes into me slowly. His sapphire eyes lock on my face as he does it. He fills me, pushing in deep, over and over again. He doesn’t speak as he does it. There are no false words—only the sound of his breathing becoming more and more jagged.

His hands cup my ass as the rhythmic rocking turns frantic. He pushes in harder and faster, until that last time where he slams into me as deep as possible and arches his back. His eyes close and he stays like that for a moment before his shoulders sag, and he collapses on top of me.

He rolls off of me, and I feel my mind slowly turning over, wondering how long it will take for me to die. I don’t move when he gets up and turns on the shower. I assumed I’d be too weak. I blink and wonder why it feels like I’m waking up. I wiggle my toes and am surprised when they move. I sit up, shocked that I can. I pull the gag from my mouth and touch my arms. They’re wet, but when I pull my hand away, there’s no blood. It’s too dark in here. I can’t see what he did to me.

I slip out of bed, and pad to the bathroom. The lights are bright and blur my vision. I blink and rub my eyes as I walk over to the mirror. I expect to see my body covered in cuts and blood pouring down my arms, but when I wipe my hand across the glass—there’s nothing there. No blood. No cuts.

I glance down at my legs and see it’s the same. Sean is in the shower. I walk over and pull the door open. I feel half alive. It’s like he sucked every last drop of sanity and hope from my entire body.

He smiles at me awkwardly and holds out his hand. “Come in.”

I shake my head, instinctively backing away. “What did you do to me? I thought there was a knife. I felt the cuts and the blood.” My voice is shaking, and it’s not until then that I realize my entire body is shaking.

Sean holds out his hand, palms up. “Touch my hand, Paige. Do it. What you're feeling will fade the more you touch things and people.”

I don’t believe him, but I feel too weird. I reach out and touch the pad of his finger. The normal simmering spark between us amplifies, feeling like licking a light socket. The charge rushes through me, enough that I gasp and pull away.

Sean lowers his hand and explains. “That happened to me, too, after you did that to me.”

“I did not do this to you.”

“Yes, you did. You made me relive something that pushed me too far. You didn’t break me, but it came close. I did the same thing to you.” I can’t read his thoughts or tell if he has any remorse. I’m not sure if I care.

My arms are over my breasts even though my bottom is bare. I feel fragile like I might come unglued. “I felt the knife. I felt blood.”

“It was warm oil and a letter opener, Paige.”

I stand there, thinking, still unable to believe it even though both objects are on the counter. Before I can say anything else, he steps out of the shower, naked and dripping. He walks over to me and stops before touching me. Water beads on his hair and drips from his chin. “Thank you. I haven’t felt like this in a long time. I owe you, Paige.”

“No, you don’t. I did this to you. I caused your suffering to be more than anyone could possibly bear. The worst part is I know you didn’t do it. I just don’t understand why you aren’t trying to kill the person who did. Amanda’s killer is still walking around.”

He shakes his head and averts his eyes. “That person won’t kill anyone again.”

My eyebrow jumps into my hairline. “You can’t tell me things like that. I have to report it.”

He steps closer, his naked body barely touching mine and I’m such a freak because I want to jump him. He shakes his head. “You asked a question. That’s the answer. Amanda’s killer is gone. There’s nothing to report or call.”

His hands are on mine, and I’m not sure if I did it or he did. “You didn’t do it?”

He shakes his head. “No.” His voice is soft.

“I believe you.”

Sean touches my face and wipes the tear stains off my face with his thumb. “Let me help you feel a little bit better, if you trust me.”

I feel a smile take hold of my mouth as I nod. “A girl’s got to eat.”

“True.” Sean’s mouth comes down on mine, and he kisses me softly.

T
he trial ended
a few weeks ago, and Sean Ferro is no longer the heir to a massive fortune because he walked away from it. That made my jaw drop, but he did it. He took the first plane out of New York and hasn’t looked back.

Sean did something with me that plummeted my mind into darkness and then brought me back to life. It was frightening and glorious. I’ve never forgotten him because of it.

It’s early spring, and daffodils are popping up in Central Park. I’ve gotten back into the habit of jogging, and I value that time in the morning more than anything else. Since my night with Sean, the mental barricade I was afraid to acknowledge is no longer there. I no longer need Club Noir, and have no intention of ever going back.

I shower and dress before Jess falls out of bed and heads to her yoga class. I spend the day crushing bad guys and wishing I had someone to share my nights. I’m not exactly lonely. I just know there’s someone out there for me, and I haven’t bothered to look for him.

When I get home that night, Jess has a bucket of chicken. I smile at her and plop down on our couch.

Jess hands it to me. “Your favorite, right?”

I take the bucket, thinking it’s filled with fried chicken and glance inside. Buttermilk biscuits. I grin at her. “Oh, my, God! How’d you know?” I pop a piece of bread in my mouth and savor the flavor. I swear it’s like these are deep fried angels or something—they taste like heaven in my mouth.

“Well, you’ve been working too hard and running too much.” She sips her huge-o bottle of water and lifts a chicken leg to her mouth.

“You’re a yoga teacher!”

“And I’m eating fried chicken and our living room isn’t Feng Shui enough. I know. My aura is totally out of whack. It’s throwing me off. By the way, this came for you today. I found it stuffed in the mailbox.”