Page 27 of Soft Tissue Damage
Doing God knows fuckingwhatto my woman.
I gave Elena her cell phone back and told her she could stay over if she didn’t feel safe in her apartment, but when Leon offered to take her home, she nodded meekly and got into his car.
I felt sick as I watched them drive away.
The next time I try to contact Elena, her head will have cleared, and she will have probably blocked my number and reported me to the police. There will be nothing but fear and disgust in her eyes if she ever looks at me again.
I realize I’m in the kitchen, and I lean over the counter, both hands flat against the cool marble. As far as I can tell, when Leon looked through the foggy car window, he thought I was comforting Elena while she was upset. Now he’s upstairs in her apartment, and he’s probably kissing her. He’s probably in her bed.
I take out my phone to check on Rosie, but she’s still sleeping soundly. Mrs. Kerr put her to bed tonight and then went home. Rosie will wake up in an hour or so, and I need to calm down so I can take care of her properly.
My hands and forearms are sticky with blood, so I head upstairs and take a shower. When I’m naked beneath the hot spray, I stare at my semi-hard cock. I’ve been hard ever since Elena stabbed one man and hit another with a lamp. I close my eyes and imagine vividly that she’s still in my arms. That I’m covered in the blood of the men who tried to hurt her, and their corpses lie all around us. Taking my cock in my hand, I stroke myself, my forearm planted against the shower wall and my forehead leaned against it. I imagine that I have her pressed against the wall, her face upturned to mine so I can kiss her, and that Elena wants me as much as I want her. She’s so turned on that her inner thighs are coated with her wetness, and she’s begging for me to soothe the aching need within her.
Anything for my woman.
After the first thrust, I pull out and relish the sight of Elena’s blood on my cock. She’s a virgin. I’ve claimed her before my son could. I’m the only man for her. She pleads with me not to stop. To come deep inside her. Her lips aresoft and wet against mine, and she whispers that she wants to be mine forever.
I come so hard that I nearly black out. I’ve never climaxed so hard in my life. I push myself away from the wall and feel the hot water spray over my face. God, I’m so fucked.
As I get into bed, I think one more time about that kiss, and what might have happened if Leon hadn’t interrupted us. Staring at the ceiling, I wonder if I could have coaxed Elena to sit astride my lap and rub herself against me while I told her what a good girl she is until she came in my arms.
I groan and push a pillow over my face. It’s torture thinking about Elena.
I want her, but I also want to be a good father to Leon, and my children always come first.
When I wakeup in the morning, I lie still with my eyes closed, wondering if a night’s sleep has put yesterday’s events in a new light. I hear Elena’s soft, needy whimper as I kiss her. I feel hot, slippery blood on my fingers and the ghost of the knife and gun in my hands. My cock is thick and swollen.
Nothing’s changed.
I still crave Elena.
And I want to keep killing.
All through the day, I anticipate an angry call fromLeon, demanding to know why I kissed his girlfriend. Surely she’s told him everything by now. If she hasn’t, then maybe she’s too traumatized to speak about it. I wonder if she’s coping with the aftereffects of all that violence or if she’s terrified and shaking.
I have to go out on a job, but at lunchtime, I’m able to swing by Archer’s Diner. The greeter tells me Elena called in sick, which makes my heart seize up with worry. I picture her alone and crying after yesterday’s ordeal, and I’m the one who’s traumatized her.
I stride out to my truck and race around to her apartment. I double park across the street and keep the engine running while I stare up at the building, wondering which apartment is hers. There’s no sign of life anywhere. Is hers the one with the pale yellow curtains? Or the one with the row of potted plants on the windowsill? My guess is the one with the plants, seeing as she was taking a fern to her friend as a housewarming present.
I hesitate for a moment, and then call her.
It rings, and then goes to voicemail. I send her a text saying I called the diner and ask if she’s feeling all right. I wait for five minutes, but she doesn’t read it or reply.
She already got all the comfort she needs from Leon.
That gloomy thought follows me all the way home.
In the afternoon, I take Rosie to her favorite park where there’s a water fountain and a little pond with ducks swimming. She plays with the other children, and I push her on a swing, then I hold her in my arms while we point out all the ducks to each other.
As we enjoy the sunshine, I examine my own feelings. Am I coping with the aftereffects of all that violence? With Rosie cuddled in my arms, I relive each kill. The slash of a knife across a throat. The two quick gunshots. The furious stabbing. I can’t decide which kill I enjoyed more. I wonder if Elena saw the pleasure in my face when I killed those men. The ecstasy in my eyes.
“Duck-ee,” Rosie says, pointing toward the pond.
“You’re not scared Daddy is a killer, are you?” I whisper to my daughter.
Rosie smiles up at me, and I laugh and kiss the top of her head.
When I’m taking off Rosie’s shoes in the kitchen back home, Leon finally appears. I study him, wondering if he’s about to tell me I’m a cradle-robbing asshole for kissing his girlfriend.
