WYATT
Constantly looping.
Ever the same, over and over.
Every dream, every ambition. Every moment in time repeating, again and again. Everything.
The day I met her, the day we first fucked, the days surrounding Dad’s funeral, and all the times leading up to this current disaster.
Fuckin’ depression eats me alive. Circe cared for me unlike anyone has, coddling me as I wept like a heartbroken soul. She’s always there in every thought, in every silent moment I’m alone here. The need for her at this desperate time is heady. Calling to me, my goddess brings me back from the brink, reminding me I can do this, that I can survive this latest curveball. In every thought that consumes me, showing me that I can be a better person, that I can find a better way to deal with the pressure of not being enough, she’s there. Circe.
Circe saw the pain of it. She knew that being there was enough, enough to help me survive this internal war. It feels like I’m tied to a chair with rough cords, with a massive overhead light shining down as I’m being interrogated by my own defective mind.
The day’s blend as the drugs cause me to constantly feel awake, yet asleep. I ghost through the memories of my past. I want to wake, but I’ve overheard the nurse, the doctor, and Doll chatter on about my condition. My swelling is not coming down as they’d hoped. They’re certain a few more days should help before they wean me, pulling me from the coma. They have no idea what they’ve subjected me to. My tainted mind is the most dangerous place on earth. They shoved me inside it, locking it behind as they tossed away the proverbial key. I feel more trapped than ever.
The good I can find from this? I have an opportunity to go back through everything and slot the pieces that fit. The pieces that are incorrectly placed in my psyche will be erased, obliterated, removed and destroyed. When I do wake up, I will work free of the drugs that were prescribed to help with the depression and mood swings. A lot of it was created by triggers.
The trigger.
The major trigger is gone. That, I’ll deal with later.
Dealing with family matters seem to be an ongoing disaster. With Dad, with our crash, and the will. When I wake up, there will be lawyers with paperwork, perched on a tree branch like vultures. Respecting the position they’ve given me is one thing, accepting it is another. I don’t know how to be what they want—what it takes. This will change my life in ways I can’t fathom.
Laying here, day after day, unable to do much of anything else, I think of my past—our past. Remembering the first night we met, my mind wanders through bright points. It wasn’t love at first sight for either of us. Fuck. I pissed her off and I couldn’t drink in enough of her sassy attitude. Yes, it’s only been months, and yes, I know my manic depression can make my need for others constricting, but Circe has dealt with my quirks in stride. She’s made me feel better about it all.
Envisioning her, my mind reels in every nuance of her look. The slight rose tint in her cheeks that softens her look, but in no way diminishes those pouty full lips that taper to a tiny dimpled chin. Her sea foam, stormy green eyes that are perfectly spaced between the most adorable freckles. All of that rests atop her long slender neck. The things I’ve thought about doing to that neck and those pouty lips should be illegal. The things I’ve done and intend to do again as well. Her parents named her aptly. Daily, she’s a Siren, calling me to my redemption.
Fuck, there’s no lying to myself. She’s been a distraction, but the right one. I’d say my head wasn’t in the races, but I still came out on top and it worked out. Fuck anyone who wants her out of my life.
After Dad’s death, Mother didn’t want her around. Her sharp tongue and crass demeanour made it very clear that Circe was, in her opinion, the wrong thing for me. She felt that Circe was only after our money. I didn’t think it was her business, so I never told her of Circe’s past or her family. On the day of the crash, Mother and I, we’d had a heart to heart. She was still oblivious about Circe. Maybe I’d feel less guilt if she knew?
Maybe it makes no difference?
Either way, everything moved so fast those first few weeks. All I wanted was her with me. If it wasn’t on a phone, it was in person. My cell was on constant charge from the texting and video calls, and I’ve spent a fucking fortune to have her flown out at a moment’s notice to see me all over the globe.
I remember the weeks after Dad’s very public funeral with sweet regard. Whiskey had gone back to Colorado. He was done with family. Yeah, he came for the funeral and left right after, but I couldn’t get him on the phone for love or money, and the lawyers told me he must be present. Fucking pricks. It’s bad enough I don’t want the job. Jamieson will want what’s expected of him even less. So of course, someone had to get him to come back to California for the mandatory reading of the will, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be mother.
Calling up his team manager, our Aunt Janie, I let her know I’d be stopping out to talk. Thankfully, she answered, telling him to expect me.
Getting to Vale, I got in early enough to watch one of Whiskey’s races. It was the first time Circe had seen something of Whiskey’s, and she was impressed. She was totally enthralled by the whole pantomime of snowboarding races, half-pipe competitions and freestyle jumps. Her eyes were alight with joy.
Afterwards, the three of us had dinner. We talked about everything, and he promised to fly out the night before the reading of the will. Whether we liked it or not, it was a necessity. The best part, he and Circe hit it off pretty quickly. And yeah, I didn’t need his approval, but it felt nice.
When he up and left us before dessert, chasing tail, I had a dirty thought. Circe jumped on it immediately with excitement and an itching anticipation. Watching her floating ethereally toward the bar, stopping right beside a man about our age, I sit in a quiet corner of the bar. Circe selects the seat beside him, hoping to engage his attention. I have to admit, I didn’t expect that I’d like it, watching him check out what is mine and mine alone. It both angers and arouses me. But it’s a game I’m willing to play, as long as it’s harmless.
Wearing a light peach dress, fluttering in the night breeze, Circe’s a contrast to the dark and dangerous girls here. Each of them are looking to hook up with the guys here for one single night, nothing permanent, except for STDs or a stolen wallet. It makes Circe a sweet, delectable angel to the dark devils surrounding her. She’s amazing and perfect in every way.
Yeah, maybe I have no right to someone like her. I’d broken her, destroyed her. She will never be the same innocent girl I met, and that turns me on. From where I sit, I can smell her perfume, and wanting to touch that soft skin so badly, it makes my cock engage in ways I can’t voice. To fucking own her body and soul every night is my only goal.
Pulling up a chair beside the man, he takes in her beauty, then offers her a drink, of which she gladly accepts. Watching them interact, I keep a close eye on her. It may be a game, but it’s our game, and the last thing I need is someone getting palmy with what is mine.
Receiving her drink, I see that something’s off. The way the bartender looks to the man for approval, the way they signal each other, as if it’s a scam, leads me to believe that her drink has been spiked. Carefully observing every movement, every nuance of him, I watch her take a sip of the concoction. If it’s spiked, it won’t take long for her to become incapacitated and pliable. The perfect toy for his intentions.
As they converse, she continues to engage him. Her movements become sluiced, awkward and vulcanized. It’s easy to see that she’s been drugged. Scanning the bar, looking for me, I understand the feeling well. Having a loss of control is daunting and fucking scary when you don’t expect it.
Immediately, I rise from the chair, feeling the steam building within. Something I haven’t done recently is let my darker side loose. I actually relish it in a way sometimes.
When I’m near enough to kiss her cheek, I dip my head in close. “Darling, it’s time for bed.”
Turning, her eyes are like saucers, and she can’t respond. My chest tightens. My breathing shortens considerably, and the anger fuels my need to tear him apart. He’s not about to get what he wanted from her. His need was to fuck her into next Sunday.
“Who are you, buddy?” The date rape druggist asks.
Turning, I punch him square in the jaw before he has a moment to comprehend the situation. As soon as his ass hits the floor, my fists drive into his cheek and teeth, over and over. Yes, I may enjoy sex as a release, but letting out my inner demon on a piece of shit like him is far more fun.
“You piece of fucking garbage!” I lay into him repeatedly. It’s easy to see he isn’t used to giving or receiving abuse. His hands cover his face, and he tries to curl up on the floor in a fetal position. Once I feel he’s suffered enough, I release the collar of his cheap suit, allowing him to flop unconscious to the dirty carpet. Inspecting his wallet, there isn’t much there. Pulling out his driver’s license, it’s just as I’d suspected. He’s the worst kind of fucking garbage. A man with a family at home, and more than likely, a frequent proclivity for doing this to women when he’s on the road.
Rising off the floor, I turn to the bartender. His back is squarely against the back bar. “Did you call the cops?” I ask him.
“Fuck yeah. Of course I did.”
“Good.”
Circe starts to sway. “Wyatt?”
“You’re okay, Siren. Just sit there.” I turn back to the bartender. “Hand me a glass and your spout. I’ll pour the glass. After that, don’t touch a fucking thing.” Frightened, he nods as he hands me a glass, then shows me the water button on the filler. “Don’t think I won’t climb over that bar and make you pay too.”
I place the glass in her hand. “Siren, drink this. It’ll help.” As she sips it slowly, I do my best to keep her awake. She’ll need the water to flush her system out, and to not have a drug hangover in the morning.
While I’m worrying over her, the cops walk in. With demands and questions, the patrons of the bar point to me as the culprit. I was more than happy to give them my statement. In the end, the bartender and the salesman were both carted off. One bloody, and one that got off lucky.
The whole ordeal took less than an hour. Lifting herself off the stool, slowly, I direct her, my mind still pulsing with rage. “Love, it’s time to go.” The once rubber movements have lessened, and became more controlled. It will still be hours yet before she’s back to normal, but I feel good. Those two won’t be able to do this to other defenceless women in the future.
I gather my calm, thinking of nothing but caring for her. “Let’s not do that again. Okay, Siren?”
Tonight, I’ll be caring for her, and in the morning, I’ll show her body just what she means to me.
Circe Maco is someone I never intended to find. And in my future, I want more of everything she has to offer. I have chills of anticipation, thinking of our lives together. Figuring out what makes her tick, having those fuckable lips wrapped around my cock until they’re swollen every morning and night—that’s what I want.
Wishing that I was sucking and licking every inch of her body, consuming her mind—these are the pieces of her that I need now.
Nothing more will satisfy me.