Page 24 of Shattered Souls

“I’m not yours. This isn’t right.” Her voice is soft and honest as moisture leaks from the corner of her eyes. “I’m scared and want to go home.”

I shake my head.

“Please. It’s not too late, I can leave.” My hands tremble with the thought of her leaving me.

YOU STAY

“Please,” Her voice cracks.

I WON’T HURT YOU

“I literally watched you kill someone.” Her brows scrunch together. “Your word on safety isn’t very promising.” My eyes dance across her delicate features as I try to think of the best way to speak to her.

I start to sign my response but immediately regret the attempt when her face mirrors confusion. I have to push away from her and walk to the threshold of the bathroom.

My fist slams into the concrete wall. I let the bark of pain in my wrist wash over me. I press my head to the wall and try to calm my swimming rage that I feel deep in my chest.

I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder decades ago and no matter how hard I try to distance myself from the diagnosis, I always prove the doctors right. Medications used to make me numb to the world, and at one point, I cherished that feeling. But now, I crave the feeling of each and every emotional downslide.

My diagnosis has often led to manic or depressive episodes. My manic episodes usually involve reckless behavior mixed with a swelling self confidence—hence kidnapping this woman in the middle of the scare park.

When I turn back around, she’s watching me with a hint of fear in those green eyes. I step back over to her and steady my breathing. I grab her hands and turn her palms to the sky. I squirt a big dollop of shampoo in her hair and let her struggle to massage it in.

She leans her head under the waterfall, and I selfishly take the opportunity to look at the swell of her breast and the way they rise and fall with each inhale. The way some of the suds slip down her slim abdomen and dip into the sweet spot between her thighs.

“Can I do another round of shampoo?” She asks, bringing her head level with mine again. “I don’t feel clean enough.” I allow her a small sense of humanity.

She rinses her hair once more, my eyes remaining on her chest again, and this time when she brings her head back up, I give her a generous squeeze of conditioner.

“Um,” She eyes me nervously. “I need my privates cleaned.” I grab my washcloth, wet it, and lather it with more of the peach scented soap. I grip her shoulder with one hand to hold her still while the other goes between her thighs to clean her.

I use gentle pressure but immediately realize that she’s coated in arousal. I let the cloth slip to the side of my hand, letting my finger touch her bare pussy. She’s slick and dripping for me like a good little scarecrow.

“Hyde,” My name coming off of her lips with a moan does it for me. I run my finger up and down her beautiful pussy before softly and just barely guiding my finger inside her.

Her bound hands grip my arm as I slowly draw back out of her. I shove the digit deep inside of her this time, loving the way her walls clench around me. She whimpers and her knees start to buckle with surprise. My balls immediately tighten at the sound and sight before me, and before I can stop it, I’m coming in my sweatpants.

I bring my hand out from between her thighs, her eyes hooded and heavy with a hint of fear and shame. I bring my finger to my mouth and pop the glistening digit into my mouth.

I groan, my cock ready to betray me again, at the sweet taste of my newest obsession on my tongue, mixed with a hint of peach soap. When I finally look back at her, her eyes are wide as she looks down at the evidence on my crotch.

“So fucking delicious, little scarecrow.” I sign to her.

She swallows, though she doesn’t ask me to slow down for her.

I let her rinse and then pull her from the shower, wrapping her in the towel that’s still damp from my shower earlier in the night. I walk her sopping wet body back to the living room, to her prison.

Before I let her back in, I grab the stack of clothes that I picked from Seek’s stock. I lead her in, discarding the pile on the bed, and finally pull the keys from my pocket.

I unlock the cuffs. She rubs her reddened wrists before clutching the towel to her body. “Are those for me?” She looks over to the pajama set that has small jack-o-lanterns covering the black fabric.

I nod.

“Well, thank you for letting me shower.” I take a single step backwards. “Wait, can I please just have the door open? I can’t do the darkness anymore.”

As much as I’d rather keep her in my bed for the rest of my days, I know she’s not ready for that yet. I know the second she gets the chance, she’ll try and leave. So instead of answering her, I walk out of her room and shut the door. Sealing that beating thing in my chest on the other side of that concrete wall with her.

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