Seductive Truths (Seductive Trilogy)

Seductive Truths

Can you really trust those closest to you
?

     I can hear the rain crashing on a metal roof and plastic sheeting flapping with the force of the wind.  In the distance a dog barks; its voice lifted above the noise of city life.  An emergency vehicle screams its way down the road, off to save some poor soul, or to catch some bugger acting recklessly and placing others in danger. 

     I’m haunted by the sounds surrounding me; squealing women filling the atmosphere with their laughter, but their naivety leaves them vulnerable.  They become easy prey for the vultures that always lurk in the dark.  Heavy footsteps alert me to the men that stalk by looking for their next target, while others are just looking for a warm embrace to fill a lonely heart. 

     Soft whispers of courting couples trying to steal a few secret hours drift to me in the darkness.  They give me comfort from the hell I find myself in; they let me know there’s good out there and warmth and safety can be found if you look hard enough.

     I know it’s out there, I have felt it many times before, but in this moment
that belief is waning.  There is an icy dampness beneath my fingers; a chill has started to seep into the fabric of my jeans.  My bottom is numb from the mixture of the cold, hard floor and the hours that have passed me by while I remain sitting in this same position.   

     I have given up crying out for help, because the piece of cloth bound tight around my mouth is quite efficient at muffling any sound.  My lips have become sore from the harsh material digging into my skin and my throat is dry from lack of moisture.  My eyes are cast into darkness by a makeshift blindfold.  The fabric is so dense and so close to my skin that no light can seep through.  I’m surrounded by complete blackness. 

     However, as one sense is denied and shuts down, the others are heightened, especially my sense of smell.  The foul stench of sewage and the mouth-watering aroma of cheeseburgers and chips float in the air around me.  But there’s one scent that
overwhelms
them all.  I feel as if I’m drenched in it it’s that strong.  It’s familiar yet not.  A musky, seductive cologne so powerful I feel lightheaded and find myself succumbing to the strange power it holds over me.  All this mingles with a familiar blend of cigarette smoke and whiskey.

     I feel lost and disorientated; a helpless victim under someone else’s mercy.  I’m the doll waiting for a child’s hands to possess me, to give me life.  All sense of time has eluded me.  Is it eight o’clock in the morning or eight o’clock at night? 

     Is this the beginning of something or the end?

     I shiver, but not only due to the cold.




     Later.

    
Not sure how much later, but I’m jolted from my semi-conscious state at the sound of what I suspect to be a large, metal object hitting another metal object.  Its sound rings through the air like a church bell.  With my heart pounding and pulse racing I listen for further sound. 

     There’s nothing. 

     Silence. 

     I want to call out; my mind screams for me to run for my life, but I can’t move.  I try lifting my head, but even the slightest movement results in the sensation of being repeatedly pounded by stones.

     I hear faint footsteps.  Gradually they draw closer; picking up pace with every move. 

     Then silence.

     The tension makes me want to scream. 

     That exotic, intoxicating aroma assaults me once again.  I feel dizzy as the musky cologne seeps through my aching body into my brain.  It revives me.

     The footsteps return, pace slow and steady.  Whoever is there is in no particular hurry, unlike before.  It’s like they’re drinking in my presence, taking every precious moment to observe their trophy.

     The footsteps stop.  I hear the slight shuffling of material adjusting to accommodate its new shape and sense the person crouching down so they are level with my head.  They are so very close, if I could move my hands I’m sure I could touch them.  Their breath tickles my skin.  This sends a shocking tingle down my spine to the tips of my toes.  Our heavy breathing starts to mingle.

     In and out.

     Together.

     As one.

     My heart takes control over my body.  Where it was once cold, I now find waves of heat coursing through me at an alarming rate.  I’m terrified how my body can behave in such a way.  Never before have I felt such temperature.  I am being scorched with just the whisper of hot air and heady cologne, with a faint smell of cigarette and whisky on their breath. 

    
The hot air is now against my ear and I flinch.   A deep, warm, and husky voice whispers,
‘
You
will
be mine.
’

A few days before…

    
‘
Darling, you’ve got to get up.
’
  A rough grumble was his only response. 
‘
I did tell you it was a bad id
ea to go out on a work night.  “
I’ll only ha
ve two at the most
” you said.  “
Just the two drinks and no more, promise.’
’’

    
‘
Sod off
’
the grumble responded as it pulled the covers over its head.  A laugh.  A low sexy rumble vibrated through my brain.  God it hurt, but it made my heart beat a little bit faster.  

    
‘
Now up you get.  Here, I’ve brought you Paracetamol.  I’m going to cook you some breakfast.  A nice cold shower should wake you up.
’
  Then he was up and making his way to the kitchen, chuckling.  Why did he have to be such an insufferable morning person? 

    
Sod
.

  
‘
Shut up
’
I mumbled to his retreating back, although it sounded more like ‘shmmph’.




     An hour later I was washed, dressed, with a dab of make-up, hoping to resemble something human.  How I managed to achieve that in an hour was beyond me.  My feet felt as if they were made out of stone.  Every step I took downstairs was accompanied by a sharp twinge in my head. 

     It was torture, pure and simple.  But that’s what you get when you don’t listen to your own advice but go along with others.  Why did I listen to her?  Why did I even try to play Zoe’s little game?  The three glasses of white wine was fine, but the whole experience went off the rails when Vodka shots were lined up along the bar.  

     I vaguely remembered entering a cocktail bar and a man in a darkened corner kept on staring at me from a distance, but never made my acquaintance, and the rest is all a blur. 

     The smell of bacon and eggs revitalised my mind to some degree.  I was able to complete the process of coming down the stairs in a state closer to that of normality.  As I turned the corner and entered the kitchen I saw him, with his back to me, frying an egg.  Dressed in his charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, no doubt with the first few buttons undone as usual, and his black polished shoes to finish off.  Right in front of me stood the epitome of tall, dark and handsome and he was all mine.

     As I walked towards the island in the middle of our kitchen I croaked out a ‘morning’, the chirpiest I’d sounded so far.  He turned around with that heart-stopping smile plastered naturally on his handsome face.

    
‘
Ah!  The zombie has awoken.  Ready to feast on my blood?
’
he laughed and went back to frying the egg.

    
‘
Ha ha.  You’re hilarious.
’
  I plonked myself down onto the stool as elegantly as I could. 
‘
And it’s vampires that suck blood not zombies.
’

    
‘
Same thing; you look like the walking dead.
’
  Once again that sexy laugh made my heart flip.

    
‘
Thanks, I love you too,
’
I groaned. 

     How can a person be so chirpy in the mornings?  Even when I’m sober I still love a good moan and a groan before I can become human.  I’m officially not a morning person, where as he gets up at six
every
morning, even at the bloody weekend.  Only with certain
inducements
can I persuade him to have a lie in.

    
‘
Here you go.  It should soak up some of that alcohol still in your system.
’
  He kissed my head and went over to the cupboard and then the fridge. 
‘
And here is some orange juice to wash it down with.  Enjoy.
’
  He gave me a parting kiss and left to go back upstairs. 

     In front of me I had a fried egg, two rashers of bacon and a piece of buttered toast cut in half placed neatly on a plate.  To the left I had a glass of orange juice.  I quickly took a few gulps of it and felt the difference in my throat immediately.  The roughness was still there but at least the after taste of the alcohol began to recede.  Slowly I took a bite of my egg and then the bacon.  The greasiness of the meal eased the thumping pain in my head. 

     By the end of my breakfast, even though still slightly groggy, I felt just about ready for work.  I dumped the cutlery into the sink and went to join my fiancé upstairs.

    
‘
Will,
’
I said as I walked into the bedroom to see him bent over his briefcase. 
‘
Are you going to be working late again tonight?
’

    
‘
Hmmm,
’
he carried on shuffling through his folders. 
‘
I’m not sure.  It all depends on how well it goes at the meeting we are having late morning.
’
  He threw something into the bin. 
‘
We are having a few problems trying to strike a deal at the moment.
’
            

    
‘
Just give me a ring to let me know.  I might pop round to see Maggie and Bethany after work.
’