But I lied, because nothing could look awful on him. Nothing could feel awful, coming from him, or sound awful in his mouth.
Even those words he called me–worthless whore– they weren’t awful. Just cruel. Terribly cruel.
“You’re a worthless whore,” he’d growled in my ears. “A worthless fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you.”
He did make me feel worthless when he said those words as he drove his cock into me relentlessly. Because at the time, I would have accepted pretty much anything if it meant I got to spend even one more minute with him.
I’d like to think, now, that I have a little more self-respect. But I’m not so sure of it when it comes to Quill Nelson.
__
FUCK!
I wake up drenched in sweat. It’s pitch black and one of my hands juts out in search of the light button that’s somewhere to my left, while my right hand wraps around the umbrella under my pillow.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. An umbrella? Anumbrella?What the fuck am I supposed to do with an umbrella?
It’s all I can do not to let out a bloodcurdling scream as the light flickers on, confirming the image that’s just shattered my sleep.
He’s here. Standing in front of me, a terrifying demon sent straight from the underworld to torment me. The monster whomurdered my parents. And now he’s come to kill me.
Monster. That’s the only word to describe the nightmarish creature. A featureless white face, no eyes, no nose, no mouth, just white where the face should be. Half in shadows because of the fabric pulled around it. At least I think it’s fabric. I can’t find my glasses.
The monster stares at me for a moment, standing at the foot of the bed as I pant, my entire body clammy, goosebumps pebbling my arms, wet…
Wet between my legs.
What the fuck?
I’m frozen in shock, both at the sudden monstrous apparition, and at my body’s unexplainable reaction. Before I can even bring the umbrella up to protect myself, the monster turns and walks out of my bedroom, leaving behind a scent of spicy warmth that feels strangely familiar.
It takes me minutes to manage to get up, my legs shaking, grab the umbrella and walk out of my room. The front door didn’t click shut. He’s still here.
I go from one room to the next, straining with nerves, every inch of me on high alert. But he’s not here. Not in any of the other rooms either. The only presence is the deathly silence, punctuated only by my hammering heart. The shadows painting the walls are only made by curtains and furniture. The monster has vanished.
It takes me an hour to admit to myself that the monster really has gone. If he was even here. Maybe it was just a nightmare?
In real life, a monster wouldn’t make me horny… would it?
The theory that I dreamt the whole thing begins to take hold until I at last give up my search. But I’m too creeped out to return to my bedroom. Instead, I cuddle up into a ball on the living room couch. The last thought that enters my mind is, “I’m not going to fall asleep. I’m just going to lie down for a minute…”
Before I know it, it’s morning.
__
The thought that the monster was anythingbuta nightmare feels laughable in the bright penthouse suite as sunlight streams in.
I’m not a morning person and it’s hard work to get up in time for the taekwondo class. I’m finding myself regretting signing up for it as I walk into the shower. But the hot water reopens all of yesterday’s wounds.
The cranky exhaustion leaves me abruptly as it feels like I just got hit by a truck. Suddenly, there doesn’t seem to be a bottom to the pain.
I crouch in the corner of the shower, the heat of the water pummeling into my skin. It’s crazy that only one day has passed. Crazy how one day has the power to change literally everything.
I know I’m not even processing most of it yet. Every particle of strength I have is focused on keeping the massive rip in my heart closed, on keeping all the shit contained. I know that one day, Dad’s lifeless eyes that I saw last night in my dreams will haunt my waking hours. But I don’t want them to. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. Stay the fuck away.
I’m so focused on throttling the images of my dead parents, of throttling any memory of them alive, that I don’t have the energy to keep thoughts of Quill at bay.
Quill Nelson.
