I laugh against his lips and slowly pull away. “First thing in the morning.”
***
“Please, don’t. I don’t know who you are or what you want but I’ll do anything,” the guy screams, blood dripping down his face as he hangs from chains attached to a tree.
Where am I? How’d I get here? Why is it when I try to respond I can’t? I reach forward and the gap between us grows wider.
“Please.” His eyes squeeze shut, bottom lip trembling, and I shake my head.
I keep trying to speak back and can’t. My mind imagines what I want to say but nothing comes out except heavy gasps.
“You’re sick, you know that? Fucking sick. What do you want, man? Look, I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t know anyone would be home.”
My vision blurs and the man’s eyes pop out, veins in his face bursting through his skin, and I step back some more, my stomach coiling.
My eyes widen when a bright light shines on the guy’s face and his hair is long, his face stretching outward like he’s about to burst. Right as the rest of him bloats, I back up more and shield my face. My eyes close tightly and then everything grows quiet.
My alarm goes off and I jump up, feeling everywhere around me.
Light shines through the window right beside me, and after blinking sleep from my eyes I realize I’m in my car. The sun is so fucking bright. That means it’s morning. Panic sets in when I look around me and I’m sitting in front of the same cabin I drove away from last night. The last thing I remember is sitting back in my recliner with a book. I don’t even know what page I left off on, or if I took any information from what was read.
Fuck. Why did I come back here after arriving home? Going home earlier and planning to come back was supposed to prevent this. But it didn’t. I feel like I’ve swallowed glass whenmy eyes drop to my trembling hands. My knuckles are splattered with blood and my heart drops.
No. No. No. Please say I didn’t. No, I couldn’t have. The dream I had was about someone else, not him. Was that even a dream or more like a memory? A memory turned fucking nightmare. Why would I have it while in front of his house?
My breaths come fast this time, and they cut more at my throat. My chest caves when I step out of my car and see the bloody footsteps leading to the porch. No. No. No. With my heart skipping a beat, I pick up my pace and practically leap over the steps to reach the door faster. It’s open. Of course it is. I push it open further and walk in, looking around, and I pause when my eyes meet the bloody handprint on the basement door.
My ears heat, stomach twists, and my eyes well with tears. What Rory said was true. I need more help than I realize. I’m not safe to be around. I’m not the same person I was. I’m not sure I can even call myself a person at all at this point. My hand slowly reaches out and I twist the knob. My shaking legs move forward, my feet sticking to the wooden steps, and I stop halfway. A body lies only inches away from the bottom step. The person is wearing black clothing, and I tilt my head as I inch closer.
They’re flat on their stomach. Their hair is too long to belong to Henry. It’s not him. Then who is it? Why are they here? Was it someone else he was seeing? Did I hurt him too? A loud humming has me craning my neck. A soft voice sings“Santa Baby.”
I walk back up the stairs, no longer caring about the dead body waiting for me below, and keep heading to where the sweet sound is coming from. Henry is dancing around the kitchen, cracking eggs into the bowl. He’s breathtaking in a pink robe covered in candy canes while wearing reindeer slippers and two different colored socks.
I smile, watching him closely, and go still when he turns my way. Shit. He can’t know I’m here. And he definitely can’t know what I did in the basement. He’s okay, though. I didn’t hurt him. The muscles in my chest loosen and my lips stretch wider when he goes back to shaking his hips. His phone rings and he sighs. Answering it, he hits the speaker button. He’s finding things so much easier now and hitting buttons without a second thought.
“Hello.”
“Hey. So, I think you have my package.” The voice is grating once I realize who it is.
“What package?”
“Oh, come on, baby. It has to be there. I must have accidentally shipped it to your house and taken it to you.”
“I’m not your baby. Not anymore. And like I said, what package? I only have mine here. Maybe it’s still on the porch somewhere, or it got lost.”
“Why are you doing this, Henry? Is it so I’ll come by? You trying to get me to come inside and look everything over with you? If you miss me, then just say that.”
He seethes, slamming his hand on the counter. “I don’t miss you, and I don’t have your package. Bye, Travis.”
“Wai—” He ends the call before the guy can get another full word out, and I smile wider at that. Good. He doesn’t deserve any more of his time. And he’s right about the package. It’s not his. Not anymore. Once it got into Henry’s hands it became his. It was made for that pretty cock. To lock around and secure it. To keep him from touching himself so that I can be the only one who gets to. He hasn’t put it back on yet, but the next time it’s on him it’ll be because of me.
Henry paces the kitchen, muttering words I can’t make out under his breath, and when he faces me, I look into his eyes. It’s almost as if he’s looking back at me with how still he is.His phone goes off again, but he only looks at it briefly before turning back my way.
I’m here, Honey. Can you feel me? It’s so hard not to cross the small barrier between us. I want to pull him into my arms and bury my face in that soft hair while breathing in his scent. I want to pull back the flaps of his robe and see how many clothes he has on underneath it. It’s so hard not to. So fucking hard. Especially when he starts to frown before picking up his phone again.
“Is it too soon to call him? Should I call him?” He rubs at his head, letting out a soft sigh. “I should wait to see if he calls me. I can’t look desperate.”
Is he talking about Travis? Did he not mean to hang up a while ago? Does he still want to be with him? My heart twists and then I look toward the basement, remembering I have worse problems to worry about.
