Курок Дуглас Пенелопа

Holding my hands out, I felt for the door and left the room, heading to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Maybe I should call Mr. Ferguson up here. He was one of the security guards who patrolled the community at night.

But my parents didn’t know Ari was having a party, and they would definitely hear about it if I called security up.

Walking into the kitchen, I plucked a bottle of water out of the fridge and uncapped the bottle, taking a drink. I could ask my sister to come up and take a sweep around the house. It would piss her off, but she would come if I threatened to tell Mom and Dad about the party. Heading over to the back door, I reached for the handle, but as soon as I grabbed it, the door moved, and I realized it was already open.

My heart skipped a beat, and I instantly reared back. Oh, shit.

I’d locked it.

“Arion?” I shouted, suddenly alert. “Are you here?”

I pawed for the handle on the outside, finding the key we hid under a loose brick outside still inserted. It had to be my sister. Only our family knew where that key was.

“Arion!” I growled, losing my patience. “Knock it off and answer me!”

She seemed to get off on pranking me this week after the locker room incident she was probably the mastermind of.

I patted my pockets, realizing I’d left my phone in the ballroom.

And then I heard it. A few feet away, but I heard it.

Another creak in the floor.

I was paralyzed, frozen in place as my head swam with not knowing what to do. I tried to swallow but my throat had closed.

My mouth tried to form the words, but nothing came out.

The floor didn’t move again, and I didn’t even breathe as I listened.

Someone was there.

I felt it. The presence was heavy, and it was there.

It wasn’t a sound I could describe, though. Their heartbeat? The slow, nearly silent intake of breath. A joint in their body shifting.

It’s Arion. It’s Arion. It’s…

Bile burned my throat.

I finally forced the words out. “Who…who is that?” I stammered. “The...um…” I tried to swallow. My mouth was so dry. “The…the party stays down at the pool. You’re not supposed to be in the house.”

I should’ve bolted out the door, but if someone actually broke in, I wouldn’t get anywhere. Not without being able to run the shortcut I was never able to take anymore without tripping over something in the yard.

I took a step left, inching back into the kitchen. Toward the cutlery.

Not that it gave me any better chance, but…

I took another step, feeling him—or her—watching me. Mere feet away.

They were there. Were they matching my steps, moving in as I moved backward? I tried to listen, but my pulse in my ears was too damn loud.

I took another step.

“This isn’t funny.” My voice shook. “You getting your kicks or something? Get out of my house.”

Another step.

Who was it? I felt lightheaded, my mind and heart racing.

And as I fumbled for the drawer at my side with one hand and shot out my other to protect myself, a breath hit my ear from behind.

“Boo,” he breathed out.

I gasped, crying out and running as I pushed off the island and bolted through the kitchen. I scrambled for the back door, but it was suddenly pushed closed just as I reached it, and I fell onto the floor, instantly scurrying in the other direction, back toward the foyer and the front door.

My phone. My fucking phone. I wouldn’t have time to stop for it.

Seriously, if this was a fucking prank, I was going to kill my sister.

It was a clear shot to the front door, so I ran. My hands slammed into the door, I grabbed the handle and yanked it open, and raced through, taking a single step outside.

But just then, an arm circled my waist, catching me mid-step, and pulled me back in, shutting the door.

I cried out as the tall body behind me now fixed both arms around me, holding my arms down, and pressed me into the door to contain my struggles.

“Damon?” I choked out. “Damon, is that you?”

Even though I was sure there were several people who might get off on a good prank—especially at Arion’s behest—he was the first one I thought of. It didn’t even occur to me he’d be here tonight, especially with the order to stay away from me, but it was entirely possible he showed up for the party, right?

“This isn’t funny!” I shouted.

I kicked at the door, trying to push off it and back into him, but he just picked me up and moved me away. He released me, and my hands shot up to touch the wall.

The corner. He put us in the corner, next to the ballroom.

I whipped around, now free, and veered around him to get away. But he was there, stepping in front of me again.

My chest rose and fell, working double-time, as I shot to the other side and tried to get out of there.

But again, he was there.

I backed up, shaking my head. “Who are you? What is this?”

Why wasn’t he talking?

I inhaled a shaky breath through my nose, but I didn’t smell the smoke on him I smelled on Damon the other day. Damon smoked all the time from what others said. Was it not him?

“What?” I bellowed. “What do you want?”

But he just stood there.

I bared my teeth, anger rising. And then I shoved at his chest.

He barely moved.

I growled and went ape shit, whipping my hands across his face and pounding my fists into his chest, but he didn’t answer me, and he didn’t try to stop me. I darted left again, trying to get out, but he slid in front of me, and when I veered right, it was the same. He wouldn’t let me go. He was a wall.

My chin trembled. “Who…who are you?”

He didn’t utter a word, though. All I heard were the breaths pouring into his lungs and exhaling, the sound deafening, because he was right fucking there in front of me. Like an animal, unable to communicate but could clearly eat and breathe.

God, who are you?

I shoved my whole body into him and opened my mouth and screamed as loud as I could. “Help! Help me!”

I grunted, trying to budge him as I shouted.

But then his whisper hit my ear. “They can’t hear you.”

And the softness of his voice was all the scarier, because the words came down like a verdict with an eerie calmness and resolution that made my stomach twist.

They can’t hear you.

I couldn’t help the tears that pooled. Jesus Christ.

“What do you want?” I cried.

I couldn’t slow my breathing, dragging in more air and more air and the sound being the only thing I could hear in the room. He was so fucking calm. Was this entertaining?

“What do you want?!” I yelled.

I let my eyes fall closed, tears streaming and realizing it could be hours before Arion made it back up to the house, and no one at the party needed to come up here. There was the pool house with the bathroom, and it had a small kitchen that was stocked with all the snacks and drinks they’d need.

A golf ball rose in my throat, and I felt like I was going to vomit. I shook my head, my fight dead. “What do you want?”

I felt his hand touch my hair, and then the ribbon was pulled and all my hair fell from its ponytail.

“Oh, God.” I start batting at him and trying to get his hands off me. “Just stop. Please stop.”

I fell to a squat, partially to get away from him and partially because I felt sick. I clamped my hand over my mouth to try to sustain the rolling of my stomach.

“It’s a joke,” I said to myself, losing my fucking mind. “You’re doing this as a joke. It’s just a joke.” I started shaking. “It’s a joke.”

I felt him squat down in front of me, his breath close again. “Then why aren’t you laughing?” he whispered.

I snarled, getting angry again.

Why was he whispering? Did that mean I knew him? Was he afraid I’d recognize his voice?

I forced myself to calm down, finally able to pull in a long, deep breath.

“Are you…are you going to hurt me?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t know?

“Do you want to?” I pressed.

“Kind of.”

His masked voice was like a breeze through the trees.

“Why?”

“Because I’m sick,” he answered.

What? No one was that self-aware. Especially psychopaths.

He took my upper arms, and I stiffened as he pulled me up, both of us standing again.

He moved in, his shirt brushing my arms. “Because I can’t feel guilt, sadness, anger, or shame as strongly as I can feel fear anymore, and there’s no stronger fear than when I scare myself.” He brushed a tear off my face, and I jerked away. “I never know quite what I’ll do,” he finished.

Everything he said sounded like a threat, only worse. As if he had zero control over himself, and he was just as much a victim in this as me.

Fuck you.

I shoved his body again, and my nails caught his neck as I kicked and yelled for help.

But he grabbed my wrists and spun me around, circling me with his arms like a steel band. My own arms were pinned as his breath fell on my ear.

“Save your strength,” he told me.

But it was gone. My knees buckled and he fell with me, both of us crouched on the floor on our knees, his hold keeping me from falling forward.

I put my hands on the wall, my head bowed as I tried to get my head clear.

But that’s when I noticed the chill seeping through my jeans. And the faint scent of chlorine. His bottoms were damp from the pool.

“I smell the pool on you,” I told him, my voice strengthening a little. “You were at the party. Lots of people. Lots of witnesses. They will find you.”

He held me quietly for a moment, and then spoke low but clear. “My kind of fun has a price,” he whispered. “Better enjoy myself while I can.”

“Why me?”

I mean, really. Not that I wished him on anyone, but was it because I was blind? Because he thought I was an easy target?

“I don’t know,” he said, and I finally heard a clip of his deep voice, although it was still too low to recognize.

“Were you in the ballroom when I was dancing?”

“Yes.”

“You watched me the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” I asked.

Oh, my God. The initial creak in the floorboards I heard upstairs before, too. That was him. He was here the whole time. The idea of his eyes on me. Being in the room, lurking in a corner and watching me…toying with me.

Why would he just hang out and watch?

“Because it was pretty,” he finally said.

Pretty?

“You asked me why you?” he said, holding me to him, my back pressed into his chest. “That’s why. You’re pure.”

Pure? What…? Did he want to make me impure now or…?

“Your parents are bad,” he explained. “Your sister lacks any depth to be interesting, and I hate my house. It’s so dark there.” He paused, then continued. “It all fucking disappeared when you were dancing, though. It made the world prettier. I liked it.”

“So, what?” I argued. “You wanna lock me in your basement to dance for you on command? Is that it?”

But instead of the creepy, monotone, and calm response I’d been getting, his chest shook with a quiet laugh. “Can I hide there with you?” he asked.

I knitted my brow, taken off guard by the tone. Almost sincere.

I pushed my confusion away, though, and thought fast. Jerking my head back into him twice, I finally felt it hit his face, and I didn’t waste a moment once his hold loosened. It was only a second, but I planted my foot on the wall and pushed against it, making him lose his footing and sending him falling backward. He took me with him, but it was enough to loosen his grip on me, and I scrambled away, across the floor.

My parents had a landline in their bedroom and bathroom. I could lock myself in and still have plenty of time to grab for some kind of a weapon. Hell, I could break the mirror for the shards if I needed to.

I scurried up the stairs and down the hall to my parents’ room. My legs felt like rubber, my lungs hurt for air, and my hair stuck to my face and body, a light layer of sweat cooling my skin.

I threw open their double doors and raced for the bedside table, hitting my leg on the bed frame as I rushed past.

“Shit,” I grunted, pain shooting through my shin. I fumbled for the phone, found it, and gripped the receiver.

But just then, he was at my back. A sob lodged in my throat as he wrapped his arm around my stomach, lifted me up, and yanked the phone out of my hand.

I breathed hard, my head falling back on his shoulder as he carried me away. My limbs were exhausted, and the fear had drained me. Everything felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

He stopped, leaning against what I thought was the wall next to the closet, and I used what strength I had left to alternate between pushing at his arms around me, trying to get him off, and batting for his head behind me, barely able to hit much while facing the wrong way.

But then he took one of my hands, clutching my fingers tight, and held it steady, even as I continued to pull and tug at his grasp.

Even with my resistance, he pulled my hand over my shoulder and pressed my fingers into his neck, the pulse of his vein there throbbing wildly against my fingertips.

He dropped his head into the back of mine, breathing heavy. “You know what I have to do to myself to get it to pump like that?” he whispered.

He sounded spent.

It was beating hard, and I could feel the sweat on his neck under my fingers. But so what? My pulse was pounding, too, you freak. We just ran up the stairs. What the hell was he talking about?

“Don’t worry,” he finally said, releasing my hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not tonight.”

I brought my hand down, grazing his collarbone, but there was no rosary there. And he didn’t have Damon’s scent.

His hold around me tightened for a moment, though, and I didn’t trust a damn thing he had to say. Then, he let me down, my feet touching the carpet.

But he wouldn’t loosen his hold.

“I wanna leave,” I told him.

If he wasn’t going to hurt me, then he could let me go. We had no cameras inside or outside the house, and no one else was here. No one would know who he was if he left now. I certainly couldn’t place him.

But then came his cocky response. “Then leave.”

“You’re not letting me,” I growled, trying to push against his arms.

“People aren’t going to let you do a lot of things, Winter.”

So he wanted me to make him let me go? What game was he playing?

I was done entertaining him.

“Please,” I said.

“Don’t walk away from me!” someone suddenly shouted down the hall.

I popped my head up, realizing someone else was in the house.

What?

My mom. She was home.

“Fuck,” the boy whispered.

I opened my mouth to shout, but he clamped his hand down over my mouth, hauled me up again, and I heard doors behind us swing open and realized he was hiding us in the walk-in closet.

I kicked and screamed, but the doors swung closed again, and his hand muffled my cry.

I heard the bedroom doors on the other side slam shut and a switch next to me click. He must’ve cut the light in the closet as he hid us behind the wall.

“No, no, no,” I heard my father argue. “Since you had to drag us back home tonight, I’m just trying to make sure we’re behind closed doors so the girls don’t have to witness your drunk-mother-tantrum.”

The guy holding me turned me around to face him, his arm circling my body and holding me to him tightly as his other hand stayed pressed over my mouth.

“Mom!” I called out, but his hand was so hard over my words, it barely carried. I breathed hard through my nose.

“Oh, yes, by alllllll means,” I heard my mother shout back. “Let’s take them to the next company function where your latest twenty-year-old slut can suck the sweat out of you in the men’s room with all of our friends outside!”

My ears perked, and for a moment I stopped fighting him.

“Is this one pregnant, too?” she went on. “Paying for another abortion and to keep her mouth shut about it is really going to nail home those good Catholic values we’ve tried to instill in the children. You’re such a piece of shit.”

“Say it again,” my father dared her.

Pregnant? Abortion? What?

I shook my head, clearing it, and called out again. “Mom! Dad!”

He held me so tight, my teeth cut into the inside of my mouth.

“You work for nothing and spend, spend, spend, you lazy bitch,” my dad continued, “so if I want a young piece of ass to bounce up and down on my cock once in a while, then I’d say I earned it!”

I winced. Young piece of ass? Oh, my God. What the hell were they doing?

“And you can smile and take out my credit card, go shopping, and shut the fuck up about it,” he told her.

A slap pierced the air, and I startled.

“I hate you,” my mother choked out. “I hate you!”

The springs in the bed squeaked, and it sounded like a struggle.

“We weren’t always like this!” my mom cried. “You wanted me. You loved me.”

“Yeah, I did. When you were a young piece of ass.”

Fabric ripped, and my mother growled as they fought. I froze, not fighting anymore and tears pooling so heavy they threatened to spill over.

“But thanks to my money,” Dad said, “you still have the tits.”

She cried out, and I heard another slap, and then grunts and groans, and I shook my head, starting to cry. But before I could think of what to do, the hands left my mouth and waist, and instead came up and covered my ears as he pulled me close.

“Shhhh,” he soothed, his mouth next to my temple.

I cried quietly, their voices dulled now, but I could still pick up pieces.

“Oh, God,” my father groaned. “Yeah.”

I shrunk.

“Get off of me,” my mom demanded. “No!”

“Uh, come on.” My dad’s voice sounded labored. “I’ve still got her all over my dick. Your cunt will smell like hers. Sweet, like honey.”

I brought my hand up to cover the sobs escaping, and that’s when he brought me into his chest, still holding his hand over one ear, but pressing the other into his heart.

I breathed through my hand, and even though I wanted out of here, and I didn’t give a damn if they knew I’d heard them, I was afraid of the consequences. Since my father hadn’t actually wanted to bring me home from Montreal, he wouldn’t need a good excuse to send me back.

So I stayed in here, the boy’s heartbeat drumming in my ear, and after a few moments, everything had calmed. My tears stopped, my breathing got slower and more steady, and I couldn’t hear my parents anymore.

Just his heart, pumping heavy and fast and in a constant, perfect pace like a metronome, unchanging.

At some point I dropped my hand from my mouth, my arms hanging limply at my sides, but he never let me go. And the beating in his chest lulled me until my eyes grew too heavy to keep open anymore.

Exhaustion took over, and before I knew it, I was lost in it.

In his warmth. In his arms. In the thunder of his heartbeat.

 

 

The next morning, I woke up, slowly blinking my eyes awake and my body feeling like it weighed a ton.

Why did—?

But then my eyes popped open wide, and I shot up in bed, remembering last night.

“Hello?” I called out. “Is there anyone there?”

There was no answer, and I reached over, hitting my alarm clock.

“Nine-thirty a.m.,” the clock said.

It was morning. Late morning. I never slept this late.

I plastered my hands to my body, inventorying my clothes. I still wore my jeans and tank top, and I still had on my bra and my ballet slippers.

I darted my hand to my jeans zipper, wincing just in case.

But my jeans were buttoned and zipped, and my body, although tired, felt fine. I didn’t think he’d touched me. At least not in that way.

Throwing off my covers, I swung my legs over the side and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. How did I get in bed? I wasn’t sure which was the least mortifying option. Actually falling asleep after he’d scared me half to death and then him putting me to bed or my parents finding me passed out in the closet and discovering I’d been there the whole time. And them putting me to bed. I almost didn’t want to leave the room to find out the answer.

But I needed to face the music.

Standing up, I walked alongside my bed, toward the door, but I accidently kicked something in my way and stopped.

I held out my hands, finding a cardboard box.

No, actually… Two cardboard boxes, stacked on top of each other.