WHAT OF TONIGHT?
My head ached trying to wrap my head around my recent discovery. I sat at Bradley’s table navigating through different websites that might have information on the faces I saw in the basement. With each passing hour, my vision began to blur, my eyes so heavy that I gave in and let them rest. Just for a moment.
"Jenna. Jenna, wake up." A heavy hand shook my shoulder. Lifting my head up, I saw Bradley hovering over me. Quickly checking the screen, I was relieved to see my screen saver. I closed my laptop.
"Wh-what time is it?" I squinted my eyes at the clock on the microwave. 2:45 a.m.
"What are you doing?" Bradley laughed.
"Research," I lowered my head back down on top of my hands and looked up at Bradley. His eyes softened and I felt a tug on one of my heart strings. He was pretty from this angle. Not that he wasn't pretty in other angles, but something about the mixture of exhaustion, the quiet of morning, and a caring man made me want somebody, anybody. Lifting my head up, I shook my head, tossing aside my frivolous thoughts. There was a lot about Bradley that I was too iffy about, especially after yesterday’s findings.
"Don't do that," Bradley said desperately and kneeled down by my chair.
"What?" I furrowed my eyebrows.
"Ignore what's here,” he pressed lightly on my chest, too close to my breast, “I know you feel it - maybe not like I do, but a little."
"Bradley," I looked away.
"Yeah...yeah," he said, answering a question I never asked, as he stood up and walked away. I watched him go inside his room and I hated that I was hurting him by being here. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for the photos in his basement - he was a cop, but I couldn’t ask him about it just in case. Standing up, I drifted quietly along the hallway wall to watch. Bradley was stripping down, getting ready for bed. He exhaled loudly and sat at the edge of his bed with his back to me. He wasn't the man of my dreams but sometimes I had to ask myself why. The bedside lamp illuminated his skin, the grooves around his muscles, his quiet vulnerability. I'd had one night stands with people who meant far less to me than Bradley. Bradley had given me shelter and protection. He adored me. What more is there? my head asked. More, my heart answered. What of tonight? My skin interrupted.
Slowly, I crept into Bradley's room, second-guessing each step I took. Lying down on the bed, the mattress sunk beneath me. Bradley immediately tensed and looked over, but I calmly brushed my fingers over his back, leaned over him and turned off the lamp. Light was too intimate, too honest.
Bradley cautiously trailed his hand up and down the length of my torso and rested it just beneath my breast, thumbing at the curved base and then up towards my nipple. He pulled me close and our mouths lingered next to each other’s, both scared to take the next step. Skimming my hand down his thigh, I brought it up and felt him there. Bradley let out a heavy breath and pulled my head to his lips.
Greedily, we pushed down on each other’s underwear and moved against each other for a few moments. I was more than ready now so I wrapped my leg around him and we met each other effortlessly. He quivered inside me, nervously, the tiny sensations driving me wild. It went on like that for a while - romantic, shy, but soon Bradley shifted. He became selfish, flipping me over and into positions that were awkward for me but satisfying for him. I tried to adjust but he wouldn't let me. Pulling my hair, my head went back too far and it got hard to breathe. Letting go, Bradley put his hand on my throat and pulled, choking me. "Stop, Bradley," I warned.
"Shhh," he responded calmly, not letting go of my neck. That was it. Crawling away from Bradley, I flipped on my back and jumped off the bed. "What are you doing?" Bradley asked, out of breath.
"You can choke yourself," I hissed and stomped to the guest room, plopping myself angrily onto the bed. Bradley didn't come to apologize. I was fuming so badly that I didn't fall asleep for hours.
What was wrong with me? I fumbled with the question the next day. This guy has weird pictures in a hidden photo lab and gave a questionable story about Julia, who was now dead. Why did I sleep with him?
The way he acted last night made me question further what kind of person he was to act so kind, yet have such selfish, violent tendencies. Grabbing my phone, I slid through the pictures of the photos I'd taken in Bradley's lab. These were photos that Bradley had taken himself and they looked like stolen moments – pictures of the girls doing random things, unawares that someone was watching, save for Julia. Julia was looking straight at the camera as she took a drag from her cigarette, she looked terrified. I couldn't continue my work on Julia and the Marilyns under Bradley's roof, so I decided to investigate at work and make trips to my house whenever I could.