Lucky and the Killer ✔

Are You Scared?

Cedric pushed Lilly against the wall. He looked down into her dark eyes as they stared up at him—almost begging him for mercy. Her long hair fell down past her shoulders, and her little mouth sweat beneath his hand. It was electric, and he just had to have more.

Lilly felt his other hand move down her body—from her jaw down to her chest and her chest down to her waist. She shouldn't have left Lucky outside. She shouldn't have come back at all. She should have known he was crazy, but she'd spent so much time with him before. She just had to go in and talk to him. She'd wanted to figure things out and get her picture—that was all.

Cedric steadied his breathing. He let the air out of his mouth slowly as his finger tips trailed across the smooth skin beneath her shirt. He'd been so good. He'd seen and not touched for so long, and she came back just like he knew she would.

"I almost thought I was going to lose you," Cedric sighed as he pressed his nose into her hair. "I saw you with that other guy. I can't lose you, Lilly. I won't. You're supposed to be mine."

Her knees went weak, but he held her close—stronger, taller, and unyielding. She hid inside her mind as he touched. It was something she'd had to do her entire life. When things got bad, she picked something to stare at, and she stared until it passed. She stared at the bottle of medicine on the marbled kitchen counter just across the other room—just above the knuckles wrapped over her mouth.

His free hand moved. He had to trace every inch of her to make her his own. He could remember her smile and her laugh on the nights they watched movies together—so innocent beneath that blue blanket on the couch. She was like a little caterpillar amidst the white and gray flashes of the television.

She smelled the way she usually did—cherries and lemons mixed with vanilla. It was the shampoo she used. It'd filled the air whenever she took showers there. It made him think of home. That's what she was.

He ignored her eyes—glassy and staring out beneath his hand. He felt her hips instead. Her curves pressed against his like puzzle pieces. She was so silent and so beautiful. He made sure to touch gently, softly, so she wouldn't break—he was an immortal now, after all.

"I'm so glad you came back," he sighed into her ear. His breath invaded it, pushed into it, and his voice slipped further into her body.

Stop. She winced as the image of the bottle wavered in and out beneath her hot tears. It sat, un-moving, surrounded by newspaper coupons, unopened letters, and dirty dishes. Forks and knives lay in crusted mashed potatoes and dried up steak. They leaned, like a tower, beneath the flickering fluorescent bulb. She felt him move against her again.

His hand slipped past the belt line of her jeans. It slid down her leg, around her leg, and to the front. There she was—the holy grail he couldn't touch. He couldn't ever touch that skin. He couldn't ever touch the warmth she gave off beneath those silky underclothes of hers, but he could then.

"It's okay," he said soothingly as he smiled down at her. His body moved on its own with a little jerk towards her. She was completely against him, and it made his blood race. He pressed his knee between her legs—holding her up that way against the wall. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. All she could do was make those little noises he liked to hear. His fingers went to work un-fastening the silver button on her jeans and the hooks and straps on her shoulder blades. He could keep her quiet.

He slid his hand beneath the strap on her tank top and grabbed it into his fist. His lips found her neck, and with one hand, he ripped the shirt from her body. Her muffled squeals got louder from beneath his hand.

Her fists found his chest and pushed against him. She shut her eyes and closed everything out. All she could do was push, but he wouldn't move. She couldn't get him off.

He slipped the loose straps from her shoulders and smiled as she crossed those arms over her chest. She could hide herself or push back against him, but she couldn't do both. He pressed his hand down her back instead—pulling her close to him by the top of her thigh. He kissed down her shoulders until her skin turned red and hot and she made even more of the muffled cries for help that he so-much loved.

"Are you scared?" he asked, but he didn't expect an answer. He kept touching, kept feeling and taking any place that he wanted. He kept biting. He kept grabbing and tugging. He kept pinching and breathing against her ear.

Lilly's stomach lurched. Pain shot through her shoulder as he pushed his teeth down. Her red hot skin pulsed beneath him, and watching the bottle was no longer enough. She twisted her head back and forth and clenched her eyes shut. She beat on his chest with her fists and tried to pry his hand from her mouth. If she could just let out one good scream. If she could just make some noise—Lucky would know to come help before it was too late.

"C'mon," he said as he picked her up like a child—her feet dangling on each side of his waist. He walked her to the bedroom while making sure her flailing limbs wouldn't knock anything off the walls. Not that it really mattered if they did. He kicked the door shut with his foot.

In one motion, he laid her down on the bed. He grabbed a sock from the foot of the bed, wadded it up, and pushed it into her mouth. He pinned her arms down, one at a time, as they popped up and tried to pull the sock back out. He sat on her chest, trapping those annoying arms with his knees, and smiling as the red crept further down.

"Hmm," he thought aloud, "this will do. Sorry, I just, need my hands."

He picked up a tie from the night stand, wrapped it in place over her mouth, and sealed the scratchy, dry sock inside of her. Her eyes were so wide beneath those dark lashes. Her skin was shadowed by the dim room, but he could still see the red peeking through. It was better than any sunrise.

"You're just...so beautiful," he whispered as he scooted down her body to sit on her waist. He tucked her arms beneath her torso and laid down on her so they wouldn't be a problem. He loved the way her feet moved. He loved how they kicked out and then back in—as if her squirming could actually help anything.

Tears rolled out of her eyes as she stared helplessly past him. She focused her eyes on the ceiling as the muscles in her arms pulled tight beneath her back under his weight. Her legs were flattened by his, and all she could do was scream beneath the muffling, strangling sock. Why did she go into his house like that? Why did she think she could ever trust someone again?

He bit his lip and pulled on her knees. His sweaty chest rubbed against hers, and he was in ecstasy. She was all he'd wanted for months. She was his—his and no one else's. She was his prize.

"I love you," he whispered.

Outside, the sun sank behind the trees. Its glorious, yellow light fell asleep behind the hills, and fog descended to take her place upon the ground. It rolled in like a widow against the buildings and sidewalks and billowed sideways in the shade like a snake. The wind blew through the trees and made their leaves weep. Night came.

I hate you.