Pure Illusion (18 page)

My
fingers thread through his hair.

“She
was on the bed,” he voice drops a notch lower, “giggling and being the happy
drunk she is. I was on top of her, feeling her up. She cupped my face and
looked me straight in the eyes and told me she loved me. I told her to show me
how much she loved me. I never said that to her before because she always
showed me. But when I said that, something changed in her eyes.
Pure terror.
She was frightened of me. Lily told me she
wasn’t in the mood anymore. She told me to stop. Her body was shaking. She was
so scared. I never saw her like that before. It pissed me off.” He pauses,
squeezing my knee.

My
heart beats erratically in my throat and I feel a little faint.

“I
didn’t get off her. My anger, it took over me. She was thrashing around and I
used my hands, the same hands I use to wipe her tears away, to hold her down.
Lily was frantic, pushing grunting and whispering, ‘please no. please, please,
please not again.’” He takes inhales deeply, releasing it in a shuddered
whisper against my neck.

“Petrified,
I let her go as if her skin was hot iron,” Max mumbles. “By that time the
member was already gone. Self-preservation I guess. She cried for hours. I sat
on the edge of the bed, my mind blank. I was empty. Lily moved close and hugged
my back. She told me what happened to her. She told me everything. Do you
remember Earl?”

“Lily’s
oldest brother?” I whisper, confused.

He
nods numbly.

“The one who jumped off The Suicide
Bridge?”

Max
nods again. “He molested her throughout her childhood.” His voice is dead and
flat.

My
heart plummets to my stomach. I knew Earl, never hung around him. But still.
Everyone couldn’t help but know Earl. He was very kind. But I guess the ugliest
of monsters smile too. “It started when she was ten and ended when she turned
sixteen, the night he took his life. I had no idea.
None.
Do you know how many times me and Earl were around each other? Lily was
suffering and I didn’t have a clue.”

My
hand runs the length of his spine, attempting to comfort him. “It isn’t your
fault.”

Wetness
touches the inside of my neck from his thick lashes. “It is. I could have
stopped him.”

“It’s
not your fault.”

“He
hurt Lily.”

“It’s
not your fault.”

“I
was about to hurt her.”

“You
didn’t. It’s not your fault,” I repeat, my throat burning from unshed tears.

“She
loved me. She trusted me. I was going to hurt her,” he whispers emotionless.

I
grab his face with both hands and stare him in the eyes. “It’s not your fault.”
His face becomes blurry from my tears.

We
hold each other as we cry.

This
lasts a while.

“I
think I want to get drunk now,” he whispers into my hair.

Morning After

The
sun is muted by the thick maroon curtains. I lie in Max’s huge bed with him
passed out next to me. I am still fully dressed; Max is just wearing his
boxers. Max drunk until he couldn’t anymore, I just watched in agony. After he
destroyed two six packs I put him to bed. I called Falcon so he could come and
get me, but Max begged me to stay.

I
did.

I
got up a few times to rummage through his house.

Max
sleeps like the dead.

There
is nothing of interest here.

He
has nothing to hide.

Max
proved that last night.

I
should tell him about GreenFrog.

Maybe
he can help.

I
mean, he’s a cop.

He
has way more knowledge about solving crimes than I do.

Max
is good guy and a great cop.

Yeah,
I should certainly tell him.

I’m
obviously overwhelmed with this.

“Max,”
I whisper, poking his ribs.

Nothing.

We’re
face-to-face and our legs are mingled together. I’m so very close to his
stunning face, his warm breath fans across my lips. Max is savagely gorgeous in
such an intense, masculine way. This kind of beauty should be impossible to
achieve, like Hunter.

I
press my lips against his smooth cheek, skimming it lightly. “Maxi-Pie, wake
up.”

He
stirs a little but he is still very much asleep, his warm hand gliding
underneath my jacket and shirt, up my stomach and cupping one of my breasts. He
shifts his powerful knee between my legs.

My
breath hitches in my throat in a sharp inhale.

His
hand just rests there, not moving.

My
heart is thundering in my ears. Not from fear or nerves. His hand feels good there.
I curl my fingers in is inky black, thick hair. My fingers feel good there too.
I tug it by the roots whispering in his ear, “You want me to make you coffee,
Maxi-Pie?”

Nothing.

Feeling
playful, I flick my tongue against the shell of his ear, nipping the lobe.
“Wake up, zombie man.”

He
growls low in his throat, a gruff sound that I feel right between my legs.
“Mmmm.”

“Is
that a yes?” I tease.

Max
presses his lips to the base of my neck, dragging them up, his hand fondling my
breast.
“Hmm?”

“I
like how you wake up, Maxi-Pie.”

His
lids flutter open and bright, bewildered lavender eyes meet mine.
“Pumpkin?”

I
can’t help but smile.
“The one and only.”

Max’s
eyes drop down to his hand on my boob and further down to his knee wedged
between my legs. He flinches back so quickly. “God, I’m sorry. I thought you
were…Lily. She’s the only person I’ve ever woke up with.”

Moving
closer, I run my fingers down his horrified face.
“Yeah?”

He
nods. “If you haven’t noticed, when I wake, I’m a groper. Lily liked it. She liked
it so much she gave me blowjobs just about every morning.” He laughs softly at
the found memory and gives his head a slight shake.  

“Really?”

He
wipes his eyes with his hands.
“Yeah.”

“That’s
hot,” I murmur, definitely turned-on.

Max
blinks at me.

I
smile back. “So you want coffee?”

“Mm.
That sounds
nice.” He grins and my heart clenches.

“How
do you take it?”

“Three teaspoons of sugar.
No cream.”

“You
have a sweet tooth,” I whisper, still smiling.

He
hooks a finger in the belt loop of my jeans, pulling me closer. His lips brush
mine as he speaks. “You have no idea.”

Oh.

My.

God.

I
practically convulse right here in front of him. Nose to nose, we stare at each
other for the longest moment.

Unbelievably beautiful.

I
watch in complete fascination as his eyes sparkle. “You gonna stare at me all
day or get me coffee? I’d be pleased either way.”

My
lips move against his when I speak. “Make you coffee.”

His
eyes partially close when he smiles massively. “Okay.”

“Okay,”
I mumble as if dazed.

I
am dazed.

He
takes his finger from my belt loop and I reluctantly slide off the bed. When I
reach the kitchen, my cell vibrates in my pocket. I fish for it as I discard
the old, saggy filter in the trash and replace with a new one that sits in
stack on the countertop next to the huge tin can of coffee.

It’s
Hunter.

Pressing
ignore, I place the phone back in my jacket pocket. It continues to buzz as I
pop open the tin lid and dump the grounds and measure the water, then start the
coffeemaker. I smile as I flop down in one of four chairs at the square oak
table.

I’m
not smiling because Hunter is calling; I’m smiling because I used to make my
father coffee. It’s something me and my mom did together, every morning, and he
loved it when we brought it to him in the mornings. He had the biggest smile on
his face.

My
eyes dart to Max sprawled out on the bed, resting on his back. His mouth is
partly open with his forearm thrown over his eyes. Sitting the mug down on the
stand next to him, I crawl in bed and watch the steady rise and fall of his
chest.

He
sleeps so peacefully…

The
nonstop buzzing in my pocket draws my attention. Sighing, I swing my legs off
the bed and move to the living room, collapsing on the couch. I snatch my phone
from my jacket and glare at the screen.

Ten
missed calls.

All from Hunter.

It
begins to vibrate in my hands. I answer it and press it to my ear with an
unfriendly and hostile, “What?”

“What?”
he asks in a definite hostile manner.

“Yeah, what?”

“Is
that how you always answer your phone?”

“Yes,
when you’ve called multiple times. Clue in Hunter, if I didn’t pick up the
first five times then, well, that means I am
busy
.”

His
tone changes from unfriendly to vigilant. “Busy with what?”

“Not
you” I snap.

“Where
are you?”

“Not
with you.”

“Where
are you?” he growls, his voice lowering to menacing level.

“What
do you want?
Because, like I said, I am
busy
.”

“Where
the
fuck
are
you?” The intensity in his voice
makes my stomach flutter with dread and anxiety. He’s losing patience with me.

“That’s
none of your business. Why don’t you do something productive, like, say, fuck
Candy senseless. I’m sure she will be eagerly awaiting your call.” The sharp
edge of bitterness is evident in my voice.

“You’re
hurting. I hurt you, baby. I’m so sorry about that,” he taunts spitefully.

My
heart stutters painfully in my chest, so much so that I try to rub away the
ache.

“Stop,”
I say barely a whisper, knowing he’s playing a game with me; the first one who
breaks and hangs up is the loser.

“Are
you crying, baby? Don’t cry, ’cause I can fuck you like that, too.”

“Promise?”
I say
innocently, sarcasm leaking from my tone.

“Yeah,
baby, I promise. Don’t worry.”

“I’m
not worrying,
baby
, but only because Max took care of me last night, good
care of me. I was
nice
and
warm
. You should thank him for that,
after I do with round six. He can go on forever, that Max.”

There’s
a deathly silence that seems to suspend time before he mutters, “Stop being a
bitch, Isabel.”

“I’m
not a bitch!” I gasp.

“You
sure are acting like one. Now are you going to tell me where you are or are we
going to play this game all day, ’cause the way I see it,
baby
, you’re
gonna lose.
Badly.”

I
exhale an exasperated sigh. “God, what do you want from me?!” The tears sting
my nostrils as I try to hold them in. I don’t know why Hunter and I clash like
we do, like we’re in a death and life combat, fighting desperately to destroy
one another for survival. I told Hunter I loved him yesterday. He didn’t say it
back and it certainly didn’t affect him. Even when I try to get away from him
and maybe move on, Hunter won’t let me go. It’s like he’s haunting me.

God,
I’m so freaking stupid, stupid and hopeless.

“You’re
crying,” he states quietly.

I
sniff, roughly wiping my dripping nose with my sleeve.
“Yeah,
so?
You win. What do you want, Hunter?”

“You’re
not a bitch, Isabel,” he says in the same quiet manner.

“I
know.”

“You
gonna come outside?”

“What?”

“Are
you gonna come outside. I’m parked in front of Max’s.”

“I
didn’t tell you where I was.”

“Didn’t need to.
I went to
Falcon’s house to drop something off for you, you weren’t there. I asked about
your whereabouts and Falcon smirked. He didn’t have to say a word. I already
knew where you were.”

“So
why did you ask me where I was?” I say curiously.

“I
wanted to see how honest you would be and, baby, I wasn’t expecting you to be
blunt
.”

Another blow to the chest.

“Isabel?”

“Yeah?”

“Come
outside.”

“Max’s
sleeping. I already left one time without saying goodbye properly,” I tease.

“Well,
say goodbye and come on out. I don’t have all day.” Without another word he
disconnects.

When
I peep into Max’s bedroom, he is still in the same position, out cold. The blue
mug on his stand appears untouched. Instead of waking him, I scribble a note on
a back of a used envelope:

Though
the atmosphere was somber and depressing, I sort of had a good time last night.
Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me the truth. That truly touched my
soul in a way you can’t even image. I programmed my number in your phone and
vice versa. I hope to treat you to Lucky Charms very soon.

Maybe
two separate halves of a different whole can fuse together and become something
else entirely.

Your
Pumpkin-Isabel
  

I
leave the envelope leaning next to the mug. After a short but satisfied moment
of watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, I tiptoe out the front door
and hold my head up high when I march to Hunter’s truck (without looking at
him), swinging open the passenger door and hop in, slamming it behind me.

“Feel
better?” he questions, amused.

“Nope.”

He
laughs, at what, I have no freaking clue.

I
stare at the window as he backs out of Max’s driveway.

“Have
you eaten?”

“Nope.”

“Hungry?”

“Nope.”

I
can feel him glance at me, the heat of his eyes boring into me. “Too bad,
you’re eating. Chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Nope.”

He
tries to stifle more laughter but fails, miserably. “Are you gonna be pissed at
me forever?”

“Yep.”

“So
‘nope’ isn’t the only word you’re gonna say to me?”

“Nope,”
I mutter, smiling to the window. Then something very close yelps and licks my
elbow. “What the…” I turn my head to an adorable black and white cocker spaniel
puppy in Hunter’s lap. Hunter’s hand is curled under the puppy’s belly and his
other hand is on the steering wheel. “You have a dog?” I ask, rubbing its head.

“Nope.
It’s yours.”