Angie

 

 

Angie paced back and forth across the open studio apartment. Arlen had been conflicted and she had been admittedly difficult when he’d left. Something buried deep within nagged at her to make things right between the two of them. She didn’t know what it was about him, but he felt important, vital even. The pair had a chemistry between them and she was afraid to admit the depth of her emotions.

A man like Arlen wouldn’t want someone like her, someone who’s been damaged beyond repair. Boys never stuck around once they saw the real Angie. Her insecurities had driven off every guy who’d been interested in more than a quick fuck.

Would he even come back? Angie wondered, her long buried fear of abandonment resurfacing.

She crossed her arms across her chest and brought her thumb to her mouth. Angie bit down on the hard nail surface. She was having a hard time letting go of her anger and frustrations though. They’d been about to kiss and it would’ve been epic. Then, poof, nothing. He had run.

She was sure Arlen was about to run like all the other men who had passed through her life. Then, she heard keys jingle in the lock. The icy tentacles of fear crept into her blood right before Arlen’s handsome face passed through the open door. She heaved a heavy sigh of relief upon seeing that he returned to her.

“Hi,” she squeaked quietly, suddenly feeling shier than she had felt since middle school.

His eyes were dark and it would seem his mood hadn’t lightened in the least. If anything, he’d gotten worse.

He grunted his greeting, not sparing her a glance as he crossed the room to the window overlooking the street. His sole focus lay outside.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, trying to see past him to what he was looking at.

“Nothing.” His tone was clipped and tense much like his body language.

Angie had studied him during their time together and she’d become familiar with the fluidity to Arlen’s movement. This stiff gait was totally unlike him.

“Something has to have you all wound up. What’s going on?”

Angie shuffled closer and hesitantly reached out to lay her hand against his back. His searing heat could be felt through the thin material of his shirt. She was in awe of his raw power as she grasped the lines of sinew and corded muscle beneath her fingertips. Little by little, his muscles rolled and relaxed under her touch.

He peaked over his shoulder at her with a gaze filled with conflicting emotions. His grip on the window sill loosened and she watched as the white along his knuckles returned to their normal peach coloring.

“Stay away from the windows. It’s not safe,” he muttered, barely audible.

She took a step back and broke the hold she had on him. Immediately, she realized exactly what he was doing. He was standing guard and doing what he could to protect her.

“What’s out there?”

“Ghosts who should’ve stayed buried.”

His deep voice held a hint of sadness and he looked haunted. He was a complicated man and she could respect that. He’d tell her what was going on in his own time, when he was ready. Angie already knew he wasn’t a man to be forced into anything. No, he’d been on his own for too long to give into such things.

“Are you alright?” she asked, afraid he’d shut her down. She wanted to be there for him the same way he had been for her.

He sighed deeply and nodded before stepping back from the window. Arlen threw the blinds shut and turned to face her. The tense energy between them was becoming something…more. Suddenly, she was much less sure of herself as she took in his hungry gaze.

He stepped forward and she took one back as if they were playing a game of chess. His brows furrowed at her reaction.

It was the first time she’d actually considered how things would change if she went to bed with Arlen. She knew well enough that sex changed everything and carelessly hopping into bed with him could ruin whatever was growing between them.

Losing him wasn’t an option, but she couldn’t deny her desire for him. He took another step forward and didn’t stop until he crowded himself into her personal space. Angie backed up as he marched forward, but after a few paces, she ran out of room. Her back was flush against the wall and she had nowhere to run.

Arlen was a man on a mission, each stride held purpose. His heated gaze raked over her, settling on the cleavage peaking out from her tank top.

“Are you afraid?” he asked huskily.

“Yes,” Angie whimpered.

“Of me?”

Angie shook her head.

It wasn’t him that she was afraid of, never him. It was the possible consequences that had her quivering against the wall.

“Good.”

Arlen didn’t give her a chance to second guess anything as he swooped in and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was sweet and gentle at first, but turned urgent and demanding with each tiny movement. Angie nearly came undone when he wrapped his arms around her and swept his tongue against the seam of her lips. He was all strength, muscles, and man, as he pushed all her right buttons. He knew how to work her body without needing direction.

She needed no further prodding as she responded to him. Her lips parted, allowing him entrance. Arlen’s hands travelled down the length of her torso to grip her hips and pull her into him. He ground his thick manhood against her belly, forcing Angie to take notice.

She was impressed. He had the hardware and seemed to know how to use it very well. His lips left hers and wandered down her neck to the junction between her neck and shoulder. She mewled as he licked and sucked in all the right places.  The tiny noises of pleasure only fueled the fire that was raging in Arlen’s eyes.

Angie had succumbed to the heavy fog of desire and couldn’t think of her reasons for why rushing into bed was a bad idea. The need for more of the man was overwhelming and the only thing she was focused on.

Arlen tore his lips from hers and stumbled back several steps, allowing the haze to dissipate. Slowly, Angie came back to her senses and heat crept up her neck. Angie was afraid of the disappointment she might see in Arlen’s eyes. He probably thought she was easy and would use her before dumping her. She wasn’t the type that guys took home to meet their mothers.

She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had more control,” he said, his muscles strained against his shirt as he regained his self control. Arlen’s arousal had become quite evident, but so had his shame.

Angie felt sick. There was the tell-tale sign of regret written in his features that foretold the end between them. That look was the kiss of death and her mind reeled at the idea of them being over before they ever got a chance to begin.

“It’s okay. My fault…” Angie crossed her arms in front of her chest and wanted nothing more than to hide away in the sanctuary of the bedroom.

The pair were silent for a moment before Arlen cleared his throat and Angie was sure hers was about to close up.

“Angie…” Arlen started.

“I’m, uh, tired. So, I’m going to head to bed. Night.”

She hurried, skirting past him and heading towards the room. She grabbed ahold of the door and turned to shut it. She caught a glimpse of Arlen, who hadn’t moved from his spot in the living room, but instead just turned and watched her as she went. His eyes were swimming with longing and sadness.

The door clicked shut and she turned and leaned back against the frame. As soon as she was closed off and out of view, her eyes began to mist. Pressure grew within her throat as she fought to keep her composure and ward off the threatening tears. What was wrong with her? She finally met a guy who she could envision more with and at the drop of a hat, she’d throwing caution to the wind and practically mounting him.

Pressure grew at the back of Angie’s head and she shuffled towards of bed. She only made it a couple steps before she froze at the images racing in front of her.

Far off screams drew up the hair on the back of her neck. Blood spattered the walls and pooled along the marble floors.

It was no longer Arlen’s bedroom. Shit. It was happening again.

***

Panic forced her heart to pound within her chest. She wanted no part of the terror that was being played out before her eyes. She no longer had control over her movements; she was just a witness.

Guttural screams tore through the space and she tried to squeeze her eyes shut, not wanting to see the terror, but was unable to. The small sitting space opened into a great hall and there was where Angie found the source of the cries.

A young man was chained to the marble with his forehead against the floor and curled into a tight ball. Blood coated the ground surrounding him, but it wasn’t his. At least, not all of it. A girl, no more than fourteen, lay before him, lifeless. The open wound just below her sternum told Angie her death had absolutely not been accidental.

Several feet away, a man paced seeming manic and completely out of his head. He was muttering unintelligibly to himself. There was a white metal crown perched proudly upon his head. His hair was as black as a Raven’s wing and braided, which reached to his lower back.

Something about him was familiar to Angie. Although, she couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

Angie’s eyes scanned the room and noticed two ornately carved chairs perched upon a dais. Deep green fabric peaked out from behind one of the chairs and without needing to investigate further, she knew it was another body. She wondered what had happened, though she didn’t want to see anymore of the gruesome vision that had captured her.

“Wake up,” she whispered to herself while pinching her arm. It hurt, but it didn’t stop the floaty feeling she got when the scenes overtook her. She was stuck until it ended on its own.

The sobs from the man on the floor had ceased, yet his shoulders still shook from his silent pain. Angie noticed his wrists were angry and raw like they’d been burned. She could even smell burning flesh.

The man, who she could only assume was a king, continued on his maniacal patrol which was interspersed with miniscule twitches that could only be seen by a close observer. There was something wrong with him.

Angie moved behind the man kneeling on the ground, never catching a glimpse of his face.

“You’re a monster,” the man whispered. “You better kill me too because I’ll kill you if you don’t.” His tone was cold and hateful. Angie knew the man meant every word.

The king paid him no attention and his muttering grew louder as he became more agitated.

Shoes clicked against the stone of the hall leading into the throne room. Hearing the coming visitors, the ruler swiftly moved and slammed the doors shut, barring them from entering.

“They’re going to take the throne… must kill them. They want you dead,” His Majesty chattered away as he stalked towards the man on the ground. He was out of his mind, that much was clear.

He drew his dagger from his hip and approached his chained captive, his intentions clear. Angie wanted nothing more than to close her eyes, but it wasn’t that easy. She had to watch.

The ruler raised his weapon high and just as it began its descent, the vision dissipated and the bedroom came back into focus.

***

Tears slipped freely down her cheeks and her limbs trembled with fear and pent up energy. She slid to the floor slowly wishing things had turned out differently.

She’d never tell anyone aloud, but it wasn’t the first time since her kidnapping that she’d wished she hadn’t made it out alive. It had to be better than the near constant trauma the visions brought on. She didn’t want to live the rest of her life witnessing the worst that the world had to offer.

Angie pushed her thoughts away and wrapped her arms around herself. Her insides felt like they wanted to run in every different direction. She was going to be sick.

Angie scrambled to her feet and staggered towards the connected bathroom, just in time to empty the contents of her stomach. It wasn’t elegant, but she wasn’t trying to impress anyone either by being ladylike about it.