She wants to take me somewhere, I don’t say no. If she can help me piece together my memory, I won't be saying no. A part of me wants to find a place, stay in it by myself, do my work, and escape into the darkness. I like the place it takes me to, it’s a place that’s peaceful. But it’s wrong, so people tell me.
I was surprised by her choice of car, it’s a truck. A black truck, it’s something I would own. She doesn’t look to me when she drives, her shades cover her face. Her fingers tap on the steering wheel, her fingernails are red. The name I once called her, still call her, matches her even more now I know her name.
“Where do you live?” she asks pulling to a stop.
I look around, it’s quiet, a train track, no one is here but us. I feel her stare on me, even with the glasses covering her eyes I can tell she’s looking directly at me.
“A few hours away, in a club.”
“In a club?”
“Yes, Vicious Vipers.”
Her hands fly to her mouth. “A bikie club?”
“Yes!” Her hands start to shake, then her body. She reaches for the door, trying to open it but she can’t, because her hands won’t stop shaking. I reach over, it shocks her and makes her jump backward in the seat. She looks to me, and I can just make out her wide eyes behind the glasses she wears. I open it and she jumps straight out, hands crashing to the ground while she breathes deep on all fours.
I don’t know what I’m meant to do. I don’t know this woman, I don’t comfort women. Hell, I don’t comfort anyone.
When I walk around to the side of the truck where she’s on the ground, she starts to stand. Her hands bracing herself on the truck.
“Sorry, it doesn’t happen often.” She wipes the front of her dress, straightening up.
“Why?”
She removes her glasses from her face, sadness is evident in her eyes. “Blackness…” is all she says before she starts to walk past me. I follow her, unsure of what we’re doing, or even what’s happening.
“This is one of our places,” she says. I look to the train, her hand slips into mine, then I remember… remember something.
Her hand slipped into mine, it was odd, I hadn’t gotten used to her hand. It was too soft, too tender, too innocent. She had done it often, though. Every day I saw her, she would sneak up on me and lace her fingers through mine. Like she knew I needed it, like she knew that she brought color with her. That when she was there, it wasn’t so dark, because fuck it was—fuck was it dark.
She squeezed my hand, nudging me with her shoulder. We were at one of our places, the train tracks. Trains were colored on one side, mainly from me, painting her name. Mainly in red, or any other color that was as vibrant as what she was. No black was needed when I was with her—all color.
“Tomorrow,” she whispered turning her head away from the train, looking up at me with her ice blue eyes. Tomorrow was what I always looked forward to, till I could gain the color back, gain it back by her hand, in her touch, in her. She raised her other hand, brushing the stubble that was now growing on my jaw, it wasn’t much, but I couldn’t afford to shave it.
“You should grow it, make me even weaker at the knees.” She winked, always at the most incidental things. She was random in some ways, I liked that about her.
My own hand went to touch it, I thought about it and decided I would. She could see my decision, she just knew me. Like no one had before.
“I’ll miss you when I can’t see you, and I’ll miss you even more until the minute I do.”
“I’ll miss the minutes, the seconds, the hours, until then.” I always retorted her odd way with words, sometimes they made no sense, but since that first night, when weird confessions were made on top of a lake, nothing seemed that odd anymore.
She leaned up, her lips brushed slightly against my lips, they were so soft, so full. I could never get enough of them. I released our joined hand, grabbed either side of her face and kissed her as hard as I could. She participated. Opening her mouth and giving me as much back. When we broke apart, our breaths were heavy and our eyes closed. She leaned in and kissed me one more time.
I watched as she walked away, her long blonde hair swaying as she left. And couldn’t wait for the next twelve hours to be over so I could see her again.
Then… I waited. She didn’t come the next day.
Or... the next.
The color was gone.
And in its place, was Black.
I look at the train, then back at her. I don’t remember anything but that memory and the pain she left with it. Her hand squeezes mine.
Was she the cause of the darkness that took me over? Was she the reason killing someone didn’t affect me. Was she the reason I didn’t care? Didn’t love? The train was still colored, the paint chipped in places, but her name in red writing stood out the most.
“Sixteen years old,” I whisper.
I hear her sharp intake of breath, then listen as she came to stand in front of me. Her eyes are large with hope. “I’ll miss you when I can’t see you, and I’ll miss you even more until the minute I do.” I look straight into her eyes when the words leave my mouth, her eyes growing so wide in surprise. She steps forward, reached her hand up to my face, touching my beard. “I knew I’d love it,” she says, touching it.
I watch her with interest. The thoughts consuming my mind mixed with anger and lust. I want to fuck her like I’ve never fucked anyone. Then I want to strangle her for making me this way. The cold-hearted bastard that I am. I grab her face with both hands, pull her to me and place my mouth on hers—it’s not soft, it’s hard. Her mouth automatically opens granting me access. I take it, planning to take it all from her tonight, then dish out her own punishment.
Her body rubbing against mine, I rub back wanting the friction to never end. I walk us backward, she keeps up with me, then, I pick her up by the back of her legs and slam her back into the train. Punishment.
She squeaks but never says a word. I free my cock, hike up her skirt, then pull her panties to the side. She knows what I’m about to do, and doesn’t stop me. I break away, the kiss falling from my lips as I watch her. Her eyes are closed, her head slams back against the train in pleasure, and I’m not even inside of her yet. Has she not been touched for ages? The thought skips through me then vanishes just as fast. I position her, then slam into her. She screams my name—not Trace, but Liam. The one I just remembered. It’s beautiful coming from her lips, and it’s even sexier how she rides my cock, up and down.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, my fingers dig into her ass. She wants what I’m giving her, no, she fucking loves it.
“Tell me, Liam,” she screams.
I ignore her and push into her harder, fucking her harder. It’s pleasure unlike I’ve had with other women. She’s it, and I’m about to ruin it. Was it the darkness taking over? It has its way of doing that, though not with her. She keeps it at bay, something I never understood until tonight.
I’m bruising her hips now, I can feel my own strength gripping her too tightly that I know bruises will be left. She doesn’t seem to care, it actually makes her go faster, encouraging her. She leans down when she’s coming, her pussy milking my cock and she bites my shoulder, hard. Then I come.
Her head picks up, she smiles at me, hope written on her face. Nothing is written on mine. I know she can see it, her smile drops, her hope dwindles too. I unwrap her legs and place them on solid ground. I smile a sinister smile and speak, “Tomorrow.”
She barely smiles but repeats what I said, and turns away from me as I walk off.