Курок Дуглас Пенелопа

“Last chance,” he whispered the same low growl as before.

I breathed hard, the heat pooling between us, and I tipped my head back, taking his wrist and putting the knife on my neck again.

“Keep it there,” I told him.

God, I didn’t care. I liked the illusion. I liked that feeling again, and I didn’t fucking care—here and in the dark where this dude would never see me again, because I would never come back here—that I needed this. He did this to me. I hated it and hated him, but I wanted to see. Needed to see. See if I liked it or to prove to myself that he, and what he did to me, didn’t mean anything and that I didn’t want it.

“Or maybe I’m hungry for something else, Little Girl,” he threatened.

Pressing the knife into my throat, he thrusted between my legs, and we both sucked in a breath as our bodies moved in unison. My eyes rolled back, his cock already hard through his jeans as it rolled over my clit. I could feel the wet heat in my panties, and I closed my eyes, diving into the black.

He humped me over and over again, sucking air between his teeth and getting rougher as his narrow hips rolled again and again. He dug the knife’s blade under my chin, and my orgasm crested, starting to roll through me.

“Holy shit,” he said, breaking character. “God, this is fucking awesome.”

And I lost it. The orgasm drifted away, hanging on by a tether until it snapped and disappeared.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I cracked.

Jesus Christ.

Pushing him away, I stopped him and crawled out from under him.

What the hell was I doing?

Music poured into the room with screams and laughter, and I knew others had fallen through the trap door, too. I followed their voices, scurrying past them and out the door.

“Wait, come back!” the guy yelled after me. “I didn’t mean anything. Are you okay?”

No. I wasn’t okay. I’d lost my fucking mind.

“Winter!” I heard Jade call. “Oh, my God. Thank God. We’ve been looking for you everywhere. You freaked us out. Are you okay?”

“Let’s just get out of here.”

The lost orgasm still lingered, keeping me hot and my head buzzing. I still needed the release.

They led me back to the entrance, and I sucked in lungfuls of air as we stepped outside into the welcome chill.

“Whew,” Isa giggled. “We have to come back. That was fun.”

I chewed my lip, not wanting to think about it. I wasn’t about to tell them what just happened, even though I knew they’d eat it up.

I didn’t hate that I enjoyed it. I hated that it reminded me of him, and that was why I enjoyed it. I still wanted to come. He’d changed my palette.

I didn’t want to understand Damon, but sometimes, I couldn’t help thinking of all the times he watched me but never touched me—confusing me and intriguing me. And how he hadn’t really changed so much.

Thirteen years ago he was hiding from his mother in a fountain, and after what happened in his room tonight and what Isa had told me, he was still hiding. Trying to feel everything through everyone else as he stood back and watched.

But bottom lines never changed. He still took what I never would’ve given him.

They all thought he was different with me, not realizing that I was just a different kind of kink to him. Something to get him off. He fucked with my head just like he did everyone’s, and coerce is still a way to force.

He was as guilty as sin.

No one knew the real tragedy, though. It wasn’t a matter of why he was different with me, but rather, now… I was different because of him.

 

 

 

Winter

 

Seven Years Ago

 

“Ugh, I hate this!” I whisper-yelled, yanking out my earbuds, tossing them onto my bed, and stopping the audio-text.

No one used algebra.

No one.

I’d have to sign up for tutoring or something. I needed to keep my grades up or my father would pull me out of Thunder Bay and send me back to Montreal.

Why was I having such a hard time with this? All my other classes—no problem. I mean, math had always been hard, but the teacher… She talked fast and relied a lot on her Smartboard, projector, and all the other little gadgets that were of no use to me.

And it was pretty clear she didn’t want to change what worked for twenty other kids for the sake of one. I thought my mom could talk to her—help her get a clue—but I didn’t want my father to find out. He hated me being an inconvenience as much as I did.

I pushed my laptop, calculator, and braille keyboard away and crashed back onto the bed, taking my earbuds with me. I plugged them into my phone, found my music app, and clicked on one of my playlists. “Is Your Love Strong Enough?” started playing, and I closed my eyes, my mind immediately going to the choreography I always envisioned myself dancing to for every song I listened to. I loved dancing so much, and if my mom wasn’t asleep, I would blast some music downstairs and get to it.

When I danced and all I heard in my ears was the music, that was where I wanted to live forever.

I laid there, moving my head in a little figure eight motion to the music, and without thinking, my hands and arms started moving a little, too.

What if he was watching me right now? He could be in my room, feet away, at this very moment.

But, no. It had been a week, and I hadn’t heard anything from him. He was probably at my sister’s party, and it was probably just a prank. A one-time thing and some kind of joke he regularly pulled. I wanted to ask someone about him—tell them what happened—but I had no idea how to start that conversation, and other than the smell of the pool on him, I didn’t have much to go by. He’d whispered and hadn’t said anything personal. Like where he lived, his family, his friends, his age… He was tall, though, and his whisper was deep. He was undoubtedly older than me, if even just a couple years.

I hadn’t told my parents, either, and I knew how irresponsible it was not to, but… I knew the consequences if my family thought I was in danger.

And he hadn’t hurt me, so…

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t, but I didn’t know. If I told, he wouldn’t be able to come back.

And I wasn’t sure I didn’t want him to.

Stupid girl. The guy terrorized me over the course of a half hour, and instead of running for cover, I was drinking the Kool-Aid.

I was always stupid. I still thought I was going to be a dancer, I ignored the pain my father caused, because this house was my anchor, and I kept my intruder a little secret, because it excited me. Because I never had a secret, and it made me feel like… I didn’t know. A teenager, maybe?

The song ended and the calm whir of the next one began to play, but in the moment of silence between, I noticed the smallest, barest vibration underneath my bed. The same one I felt when the garage door opened or the landscapers brought in their equipment to work on the yard and trim the trees.

I pulled out my earbuds and propped myself up on my elbows, training my ears for what it was I felt.

Arion had left hours ago for Devil’s Night, some weird tradition of youth mischief the night before Halloween most of the world had forgotten about except our little town, and my father never came home, probably spending the night in the city again.

I remembered my mother’s words about a mistress he kept, but I pushed the thought away and stood up. Other than me, my mom was the only one in the house, and she went to bed with an Ambien an hour ago.

Walking to my door, I pulled it open a silver and listened. Maybe my mom got up or Arion brought friends home.

But now I could tell the vibration I’d felt was a slow whine, but constant and melodic. Up and down, long and slow.

Music. Someone was playing music.

I crept into the hallway, the pulse under my foot growing strong the closer I got to the sound. My heart beat harder, and I descended the stairs, finally recognizing the song set at a really low volume. A Bush song from my playlist in the ballroom.

I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth, trying to stifle the fear and excitement raging through me. I should call for my mom. I should wake her up.

But I ignored that voice in my head and pushed through the ballroom doors. The song played from my system next to the wall at a low volume, and I didn’t know if it was the monsters we all feel when we’re scared or some sixth sense I didn’t believe in, but I could feel someone in the room.

I walked to the dance floor and stopped on the marker in the middle, twisting in a slow circle.

“Are you there?” I asked.

The music suddenly cut off, and my breath caught in my throat as my heart jumped.

“Yes,” a whisper far off in front of me said.

I licked my lips, every limb trembling, but the way his voice washed over me… My blood flowed electric.

I had to swallow a couple times to get my throat wet. “You found the snow village for me?”

He didn’t answer. I knew it was him, but hearing him confirm it would have at least confirmed he was at the party—and near my sister—to hear me ask her for it. It might’ve been possible to pin down who he was then.

“Why did you come back?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Maybe I never left.”

His whispering was haunting but there was something soft and playful in it.

And the fact that he kept whispering meant I might have heard his voice, and he was afraid of being recognized. Or maybe he just wanted to scare me.

“Who are you?”

“A ghost.”

I shook my head, a slight smile playing on my lips. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Why aren’t you screaming?” he inquired, changing the subject. “Or calling for help?”

I fell quiet, wishing I could answer his question. For my own sake. I might be in danger. At the very least a strange man was in my home uninvited, and he’d been here before, threatening me.

Run. Scream.

“I don’t know,” I answered instead.

I still could scream. I wasn’t ready just yet.

“Why did you come back?” I asked.

“I wanted to see if you’d dance again.”

“How did you know I’d be alone?”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re alone,” he said. “Just as long as I have you to myself.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I breathed faster and shallower.

I wanted to be like him. Bold.

“I have your shoes,” he whispered.

My shoes?

Oh, my pointe shoes. I’d left them near the stereo when I rehearsed this morning before school.

Dance for him…

I could. As long as I didn’t blast it, the music wouldn’t wake my mother.

What would happen after I danced, though?

What was wrong with me that I liked that he was here?

He liked my dancing. He came to see if I would dance.

It made the world prettier.

I quickly hid the smile that tried to peek out.

I held out my hand. “Shoes?”

He set them in my hand, using both of his hands to make sure I had them.

I dropped to the floor and slipped the shoes on, lacing up the ribbons as I heard him walk away, probably to give me room.

Once the slippers were fastened tightly, I stood up and walked to the center of the dance floor, finding my X, and turned out into second position. Bending my knees in a quick demi-pli to find my balance, I rose up to en pointe onto my toes and back down again.

I should have had more of a warm up, but I was suddenly nervous. Maybe because the last time he saw me dance I didn’t know he was watching or because I still wasn’t sure if he was going to slit my throat or not.

“Track seven,” I called out, my voice shaking a little. “Could you find it,please?”

I heard him move across the room as he did what I asked, and I wished I was dressed. The situation being what it was, I couldn’t believe I was worried about that, but I only had on my sleep shorts, a tank top, and no damn bra.

Ellie Goulding’s sonorous humming and chanting finally started, low and faint at first, but grew stronger, and I walked slowly around the dance floor, making a casual circle and getting a feel. I had only played around with choreography on this track once, and I couldn’t remember it, so I guessed I was winging it.

The music built, haunting and crawling inside my skin, and then her voice gave in to lyrics, echoing and layered with chants as the drums started.

My pulse started to beat harder, and I closed my eyes, marking the tape on the floor in my head as I grazed over it and started moving. I hit the beat, rolling my head, shooting up on my toes, and twirling in a circle, feeling the music.

I forgot about him, and all of my teachers who complained about my technique, and just slipped into my own world where I craved the feel of my body slicing through the air and my hands in my hair and on my neck.

My back arched as I swung into an attitude, and I felt my heart leap in my chest when I twirled and posed in an arabesque. I smiled, biting down on my bottom lip to stifle the laugh I wanted to let loose. I spun and bent and dipped and slithered through whatever I wanted to do, just letting the music tell me.

When it ended, the air felt cold all of a sudden, and I breathed hard, remembering I wasn’t alone.

“Are you…are you still there?” I asked, my mouth parched.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but when he did, his voice was calm. “The way you move, it’s…different.”

“Different than what?” I stilled, breathing hard.

But he didn’t answer. I’d gathered my teachers were sometimes frustrated with me over years because I improvised. A lot. I appreciated the classical education I’d received, but I didn’t want to do the same things that had already been done to death. I kind of just went on impulse, because it made me happy. Did he not like it?

I found my way to the chair again and sat down, removing my pointe shoes. “Are you still thinking you might hurt me?” I broached.

“I’m not in a hurry.”

I almost laughed. It was a pointless question to ask, because I didn’t expect him to tell me the truth, but somehow, I liked his answer. There was humor in it.

“Why don’t you call the police?” he whispered, and I could tell his voice had gotten closer. He was approaching me.

I bent over, slipping the first shoe off and stretching out the ache in my foot. “Did you like the dance?” I asked instead.

“I won’t stop you if you call for help,” he explained. “Not tonight. Go ahead.”

“It wasn’t choregraphed. I just improvised.”

“I could kill you,” he pointed out. “It would be over before you realized what was happening.”

“I want you to like the dance,” I continued, ignoring his one-sided conversation, because it would mean I would have to have answers for things I didn’t have answers for yet. “My parents think the idea of a blind ballet dancer is ridiculous, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. It can be done.”

“You could die tonight,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard me.

I unlaced the other shoe and slid it off, letting it drop to the floor. “I could die ten times on any given day. I could’ve died when I lost my sight when I was eight.”

I was used to feeling endangered. Every step I took could lead me off the side of a building for all I knew. Maybe that was why I wasn’t as scared of him.

“What happened that day?” he asked.

When I lost my sight?

“I fell,” replied. “From a treehouse. I hit my head twice on the way down. Optic nerve damage. Irreparable.”

“Were you pushed?”

I closed my right fist, still remembering the terrible feeling of the boy’s hand slowly slipping out of it and knowing that was all that was standing between me and the ground far below.

I wasn’t pushed. Not exactly.

“I shouldn’t have been up there.” My voice had lowered to a mumble. “I wish I’d never met him. I wish I’d never gone up there with him. I…” How very different my life would be if I could change that one day and never step foot in that fountain. “I miss seeing things. Movies and the sea.” I paused before continuing. “Your face.”

Not being able to gauge his body language or expressions left me at a disadvantage.

I heard a chair scrape against the floor and then it was placed in front of me before I heard his weight sit down on it. He took my hand, but I jerked back, sitting up steel rod straight in my chair and suddenly alert.

He took it again, squeezing my fingers a little tighter. “Stand up.”

I guessed what he was doing, and I’d gone this far, so… Hesitantly, I stood up from my chair, every muscle still rigid and ready to run if I had to.

His hand was a bit bigger than mine, and his fingers were long and sculpted but so chilled. So cold. He took both of my hands and led me to him. To his face.

“What do you see?” he asked, placing my hands on him and releasing me.

My fingers splayed across both sides of his face, and I stood still for a moment, afraid to move my fingers, because he would feel how much I was shaking. Every inch of my skin that touched his buzzed underneath the surface, and I almost pulled away because it tickled so bad.

“You’re tall,” I said, clearing my throat. “When you’re standing, I mean. Aren’t you?”

I remembered the feel of his body pressed into mine last time, and even sitting now, the top of his head reached just above my breasts.

Moving my hands over his face, I took in the smooth skin, gently brushing his forehead, temples, cheekbones and brow with my fingertips.

“Young,” I continued, painting a picture in my head. “Oval face but a hard jaw. Sharp nose.” I lightly pinched where the bone met the cartilage, smoothing my fingers down the length. “How did you break it?”

It was just a faint curve the naked eye probably wouldn’t catch, but I could feel how it bent just slightly in that centimeter.

“I fell,” he answered.

I cocked my head, reading between the lines. I’d gotten pretty good and figuring out what people didn’t say.

“Yeah, my mom falls a lot, too,” I told him.

He was clearly punched and didn’t want to elaborate. Which meant he was either still pissed about it or…embarrassed and ashamed.

Moving on, I ran my fingers over his straight eyebrows, the cold, smooth ridge of his ears and lobes, and his thick hair that fell over his forehead and in his eyes a little. He was probably dark-haired, since fair people like me often had thinner hair.

I trailed my hands down to his chin, my heart pounding as my fingers danced around his mouth, but then I brought them up and traced the lines of his lips.

His hot breath fell across my fingers, and my whole body warmed. Was he looking at my face, too? Into my eyes? What was he thinking?

“I wish I could see you for real,” I told him. “I want to know what you look like when you look at me.”

He remained silent, and embarrassment burned across my skin. I shook it off, moving on.

“No piercings,” I added. “On your head anyway.”

His upper lip tilted up, and I half-smiled. “And he smirks,” I teased.

Of course, I didn’t need to feel his mischievous smile to know he was a bad boy, but it comforted me to know he had a sense of humor.

“Your neck…” I grazed my fingertips down his smooth skin and throat.

“What about it?”

I leaned in, surprising myself as I pressed my cheek into the skin there. He didn’t move a muscle.

“It’s warm,” I remarked. “Smooth.”

And the house was cold.

I inhaled, smelling his soap and shampoo, far too fragrant to be hours old.

“You just showered,” I guessed.

Pulling up, I took a step closer, holding his head right in front of me and sliding my fingers back into his hair.

“Tall, dark, young,” I commented on what I knew about so far. “Good personal hygiene, likes to fight, long eyelashes, kind of a pretty boy, I’m thinking…”

He snorted, and I smiled, too, but then my fingers grazed something on his scalp but before I could figure out what it was, I felt another one. My face fell, contemplating the raised pieces of skin. As I examined the rest of his scalp, I found several others. All about a quarter inch long.

Scars.

“I fell,” he said again, not waiting for me to ask the question.

I clenched my teeth for a moment. “That’s a lot of falls,” I said. “Do you have those anywhere else?”

“You wanna check the rest of my body?” he asked, sounding cocky.

I dropped my hand, trying not to roll my eyes. Thanks for the offer.

“How old are you?” I asked.

But his guard stayed up when he replied, “Older than you.”

What was he doing here? Really? Was he just a prankster, pulling another joke for Devil’s Night, or did he actually have more sinister intentions when he broke in a week ago, before he saw me dance and got suddenly smitten? What would happen if I refused to dance again? What did he really want?

“What’s one thing you’ll never be able to do but really want to?” he asked.

I nearly laughed. One thing?

“Are you kidding?” I shot back. “I have a whole list.”

“Just tell me one.”

I pondered it for a moment, thinking about how I missed all the things I would never see again. Films, plays, mountains, trees, waterfalls, dresses, shoes, the faces of my family and friends… I didn’t know what it was like to leave the house alone or do simple things like go hiking or for a stroll in the woods by myself. I would never be able to escape, run away, or experience the freedom of a spontaneous getaway all by myself without anyone knowing or being there to help me.

“Drive,” I finally answered him. “My dad used to have this old stock car in the barn at our ski lodge in Vermont, and I would sit in it and shift the gears, pretending I was racing. I’d love to be able to drive.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then finally, he rose, and I could feel him right in front of me.

“Would you really?” he asked.

There was a sneaky smile in his voice that made my heart skip a beat.

“Let’s get out of here then.” And he grabbed my hand and pulled me along.

“Huh?” I stumbled, perplexed but letting him take me even though I had no idea what was going on. “And go where? I can’t leave!”

I remembered my mother upstairs and closed my mouth, shutting up immediately.

“I can take you if I want,” he said, pulling me into the foyer toward the front door. “Or you can scream now and the fun has to end.”

“Who says I’m having any fun?”

“You’re about to.” He stopped but kept hold of my fingers. “Or, if you want, I can put you to bed and go have fun with someone else.”

I rolled my eyes. Please. Like I’d be jealous or something?

“You’re the one I want to play with, though,” he whispered, leaning in.

Yeah, I’m sure. A psycho with a penchant for blind girls who can’t pick him out of a line-up. Was I out of my mind?

“People and music and fires and beer,” he taunted. “Let’s go, Winter. The world awaits.”

I shook my head at myself. I was out of my mind.

“You’ll bring me home?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Alive and… untouched?”