Page 44 of Redd

“Why me?” she asked, her tone deflated and full of so much sorrow it stabbed me in the chest. “Why did this have to happen to me?”

“I don't know.”

That was a question I had asked myself on so many occasions. When you think things couldn't get any worse, but the world kicks you down again and again; of course you ask yourself why.

Why me?

Why now?

Why here?

Why, why, why. . .

You could do that forever and ever, but it changed nothing.

That was a hard lesson I had to learn. Asking why doesn't fix it, asking why doesn't stop it from happening. All you can do is pick yourself up and keep going.

Because until you're dead, the world keeps on spinning and you're still walking it.

“I wish I knew, I really do. But I don't have that answer.” Running my hands up and down her arms, I massaged her shoulders. “Maybe it would help if I knew who you were. Tell me your name.”

A cynical chuckle left her mouth as she peered at me over her shoulder, her lids lowering into thin lines. “Are you sure you want me to tell you? You weren't too interested earlier.” Nodding, I waited patiently. Pursing her lips, she shook her head. “Bijou, Bijou Garrel.”

“Bi-ju,” I sounded out the letters, trying to pronounce it the same way she had. “Did I say that right?”

“Yeah, you said it fine.” Her hands nervously tumbled around each other, fingers braiding and unbraiding repeatedly.

Bijou—That's pretty.

Stroking her hair, my heart began to beat for a different reason. It wasn't working off adrenaline or anger anymore, it was filling with something else.

My body became warm the longer I touched her, my stomach clenched tight and buzzed with electric pops. Her hair tickled the skin under my chin, and a faint aroma of lavender swept over my senses.

Trailing the tips of my fingers up and down her arms, my eyes drifted around her body, taking her in. Her small, firm breasts pressed against the cotton, nipples hard as diamonds.

Moving my hands down lower, my eyes followed the lean lines and muscles of her legs, ready and willing to keep going, to stroke her harder, longer, over every inch of exposed skin.

No, it's wrong. Don't be an even bigger asshole, Redd!

I couldn't understand the sudden change, or why my body reacted so easily to this woman. I felt it that night too, when she peered up at me in the car to thank me. Her eyes were glittering in the moonlight, her skin glowing under the white hue.

She looked so sweet and innocent. Her lips curved to speak those few simple words and my mind went into shock. I thought about what it would feel like if she wrapped her flesh colored lips around my cock. I wondered if her skin would flush pink and if her pussy would soak her panties as she sucked me off.

It was a horrible thought to have, especially after what had happened. So I didn't respond to her thank you, I sat inside my head, talking my cock down. Forcing the thoughts away, I chalked them up as some demented response to the trauma we had just experienced.

Why is this happening?

I'm fucking sick in the head. What the hell is wrong with me?

I had to put some distance between us. I was afraid of what I'd do if I didn't. “Come on, want something to eat?” Pushing myself up, I snatched the knife off the carpet, and walked into the kitchen. “Do you like peanut butter?”

“I'm not hungry.” Crossing her legs, she sat on the floor, staring blankly at her hands.

“Alright.” Leaning against the sink, I tucked my arms into my ribs. “Look, I'm sure the last thing you want to do is talk about it, but I really do need to know. Why were you in that house?”

Cocking her head up, her eyes shot fire in my direction. It was a sore question to ask, I knew that before it left my mouth. I just needed to know. There were really only two questions I wanted her to answer.

Why had she been there?

---