Mark & Sophie

Her eyes were so crisp and bright, but he couldn’t see them. Instead he was greeted by her long brown hair that smelled of vanilla and practically brushed the top of his desk.

He wanted to touch her long locks, to run his fingers through the ends of the hair that sat just above the pencil holder. He wanted so desperately to let the hair tickle his fingers, but he wanted to see her eyes more.

And he wanted to see her mouth.

Taking a big breath full of vanilla and feeling himself harden, he placed his feet on the metal book rack under her chair and rapidly started bouncing them, shaking the chair she sat in.

Her hair bounced a bit but there was no reaction from the girl.

He picked up his pen and placed it between his fingers and started drumming the desk with the pen.

Still nothing but a couple glances from other classmates.

He needed Sophie to turn around.

He stopped playing with the pen and resumed shaking her chair with his feet again as he fixated on the hair that practically tickled his fingers. And that’s when it happened. Finally, her hair brushed his fingers as it swirled a bit before she whispered, “Please stop.”

It happened so quickly, he missed seeing her eyes—her mouth—as she faced forward just as quickly as she had whispered for him to stop.

The fidgeting ceased, but it was as if the whisper was directed at his penis because it throbbed so much that he instantly placed his feet back onto the back of her chair and bounced it with even more vigor.

“C’mon, Mark,” she said turning around to look at him. “Stop.”

He tried pretending like he was looking out the window, but he had to look at those eyes, that mouth. He smiled at her and when she grinned back, he prayed not to explode.

Mark’s feet slipped off the book rack under her seat and onto the floor where he continued to bounce them.

She turned back to face the front of the class and as she did, her long brown hair slowly danced near his fingertips.

Mark sat there looking at his hand and the brown hair that kissed it. He wanted to say something more—do something more—but wasn’t sure what, so he continued to sit there for a minute before his shoes found their way back onto the book rack under her chair and started fidgeting again.

“Mark,” she whispered as she turned to face him. Her mouth was closed and wasn’t grinning.

“Sorry, Sophie,” he said shyly, sitting up straight in his chair, flipping his long blond hair in front of his face as he looked down into his book.

Sophie turned back around more slowly this time, but Mark wasn’t able to watch. He wished they weren’t in the classroom together. He wished the other classmates weren’t around. They didn’t like Sophie. She was the new girl and nobody liked the new girl. But Mark did. And he wanted her to know that he thought of her often, and he wanted to let her know how sorry he was about confronting her with the others when she first started at the school.

But he couldn’t tell her there in the classroom.

So he sat there with his hair in front of his face, thinking of Sophie’s beautiful blue eyes; wondering if she thought about him as much as he thought of her—or at all, for that matter; wanting to rub himself into oblivion but trying to focus on the teacher’s drone in hopes of calming everything down.

caged

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the stars.

The news that occasionally aired on the TV told her she’d been there over two months, but no matter how hard she tried thinking about the last time she laid on the cool, prickly grass with her kids nuzzled into her on either side as they all gazed up at the night sky, she just couldn’t remember.

Oh how she missed her babies.

Ethan was 9 and sure to be quite upset that she was gone; Emily, 6, probably cried a lot for their mommy.

Maybe this is why God took them away from me and gave them to Brad? All that time I spent pissed that they were with him during the week and me on weekends… maybe God knew I’d be taken away from them. Maybe He was protecting them.

Jennifer’s arm started to ache. She had it scrunched below her for too long. She needed to stretch.

But she couldn’t.

The cage wasn’t much bigger than that for a medium sized dog. Like a bulldog. Of course a bulldog would at least have a bit more room to move around than Jennifer whose body folded and remained contorted for hours on end until she was released for cleaning or sex.

Jennifer did her best to keep believing she’d catch a break and be freed, but the days were so fucking excruciatingly long. She even begged the male captor—“Babe”— to shoot her with the rifle he hid behind the door to the mobile home.

Babe just coughed out a laugh. “How you gone make me a baby if I shoo-cha?”

That was the last time Jennifer allowed tears to stream down her face. Inside she screamed and cried all the time, but when Babe and the female abductor called “Kitten” were nearby, Jennifer did her best not to show any kind of emotion.

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The nutty aroma of coffee filled the air. Jennifer tried focusing on that rather than the nearby putrid scent of her own excrement as she opened her eyes to a brightness washing over her.

She was hungry.

It had been at least two days since she was given some food. Her stomach started twisting at the scent of the coffee, and when the sizzle of something frying started to scream out, Jennifer finally couldn’t hold it in any longer and begged, “Please can I have somethin’ ta eat. And some water. Please.”

Kitten’s eyes moved from the TV to the cage. “Maybe if there’s some left over.”

Babe wandered into the room with two paper plates piled high with eggs, potatoes, bacon.

“You should probably save some for her,” Babe said, handing a plate to Kitten. “She gone need her strength.”

Jennifer closed her eyes and started falling.

Miles below her were her children. They were small like ants but she knew they were there watching her fall; she could see their bright eyes, their blond hair. Their arms reached up for her and she reached down for them as she fell. Not a scream came from her, not a worry. She fell and fell and fell. Soon she’d feel their arms around her.

Soon.

 

 

(inspired by this week’s speakeasy prompts as well as this disgusting news story i read yesterday)

sick bastard

On Thursdays, when Matthew’s wife was working late at the hospital, he never missed “snuggling” in bed with their 5-year-old daughter.

And Sundays he never missed 10 o’clock mass.

Matthew prided himself a devoted man, singing his praises and thanks to Him.

 

 

 

i admit to not really comprehending how i came to this piece from the Can I eat this? prompt. i admit to being a bit disturbed by the piece. that’s flash fiction for you.

unleashed: the beginning

“Wow, you really know how to handle a stick, huh?” Gary chortled.

He sat next to me in the passenger seat of my 2000 Plymouth Neon, which happened to have a manual transmission.

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Gary was older than me—like 40 or something. He was the older brother of a guy I worked with. Actually, Gary worked there as well, but he was higher up than the rest of us minions so I never had much interaction with him. But I could always feel when he was nearby.

I wasn’t keen on the idea of driving Gary home from the department gathering at a bar that Friday night after work, but he was without a driver’s license—or car, for that matter. Plus I was the only one not drinking and I’d hate to have to live with knowing I could’ve prevented a drunk from getting behind the wheel.

I knew right away Gary was pretty smitten with the idea of me driving him home, and then when he saw I could drive stick…I had a feeling he’d be dreaming about me that night.

***

I always wished I could be the girl that could live life like an adventure. Sure I was married and loved my husband, but he was away so often. It was bad enough I wasn’t drinking that night, what was preventing me from adventuring with Gary? Me. I was stopping myself from having fun. I was being a good girl. A shy girl. A married girl whose husband called every night when he was on the road.

***

“Thanks,” Gary said as I pulled up to his house.

I could sense his hesitation with getting out of the car. I knew he wanted to ask me something.

Or tell me something.

Or do something.

Feeling his glare, I just sat there looking at the Neon’s headlights bounce off the dilapidated siding of his house. He was trying to make eye contact like always. Like when we were at work. Like when I walked to the bathroom just past his office and he watched. I know he watched me all the time. I could feel him watching. I could feel when he was nearby. Always.

I finally turned to look at Gary and give him the eye contact I know he wanted. I smiled and put my right hand on the stick shift and squeezed—all while keeping eye contact.

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Game on, Gary, I thought to myself.

Gary returned the smile, licking his lips. “Wanna come in for a beer?”

I looked past his thick-lens glasses, over the redness, and into his brown eyes.

“I could go for a smoke,” I replied, turning the ignition key and pulling it out.

Gary fumbled around in his jacket pockets while moving to the front of the car. “I didn’t think you smoked,” he tossed over his shoulder to me.

“I usually don’t.” I walked past Gary, toward the front door of his house.

Wind chimes rattled behind me. It was Gary with his keys. I think the big guy was getting nervous. This was going to be more of an adventure than I had anticipated and I started wondering why the hell I took so long to unleash the bad girl in me.

Gary rushed past me to the front door and jammed the key in the lock while I jammed my hands in my jeans pocket so it could hold onto my rings.

 

everyone has a story

He taught me how to read people’s eyes.

When I was 8, Scotty took me to the bars with him. I watched him load up on booze and cigarettes. I watched him laugh and lean into all the women. Any of them. I watched him place his hand on their thighs. I watched him back away if they moved his hand. I watched him lean in more when they allowed his hand to remain. I watched him remembering I was sitting at one of the tables with a bag of chips and glass of Coke. I watched him throw his head back and toss the gold liquid from a small glass to the back of his throat before slamming the glass onto the table and standing up.

“Lessgo!” he’d bark.

Sometimes he’d slap the woman’s ass on our way out. Sometimes he’d tilt her head back and kiss her for a moment or two. Always he’d stumble out of the bar while I followed like an obedient little puppy.

We’d go back home where my mother would be passed out in her bedroom. Scotty would go in anyway. Always I’d hear the click of the door lock. Sometimes I’d hear a knocking sound. Sometimes I’d hear my mother yelling. Always he’d end up leaving at some point in the night, only to repeat the same game within a day or two.

He never really did much talking and he made even less eye contact. I don’t know what my mother saw in him. He was always drunk, always coming over at the oddest times.

When I was 12, Scotty showed up one night when my mother wasn’t home.

“Where the fuck is she?”

“I dunno.”

“Well what the fuck, man.”

“I dunno.”

He barged into the house anyway, headed straight for the fridge.

“Where the fuck is the beer!?”

When I didn’t answer right away, he came toward me like lightening. Before he knocked me unconscious, I realized his eyes were almost black and he was looking at me with such rage. Like I had taken all the beer and hidden it. Like I had told my mother to not be home at that time.

I’m not sure how he didn’t kill me that night.

***

Everyone has a story. Mine involves Scotty. Mine involves a shit of a woman I was lucky enough to have as my very own mother. Mine involves learning that people look at you, really look at you and study you. Mine involves learning how to attack without them even knowing I’m going to do so.

Why Scotty didn’t learn to attack like this, I don’t know. I don’t care. What I do know is that it’s so much more satisfying when they have no fucking idea what’s coming. And then bam!, completely blindside them with the unraveling of all your rage.

***

 

untitled for now. contains adult content.

I climbed on top of him and nestled my face into his neck. He smelled like cigarettes and baby powder, oddly enough. I could’ve laid on top of him like that forever–smelling him. But I needed more so I started to softly blow on his neck. He started to stir a bit and I started to suck on his neck, and soon, I couldn’t control myself anymore.

It didn’t take much sucking, kissing, nuzzling his neck before he fully woke.

I stopped and lifted my head up so that I could look at him and was met with his blue eyes. My god those eyes. He always looked like he was about to fall asleep, yet he also looked like he could hold the deepest of secrets in those eyes. Those beautiful sky blue eyes that widened when he saw me.

He was absolutely surprised. I really hoped he wouldn’t be pissed.

I tried smiling to let him know I knew what I was doing and what I wanted, and that it was okay by me to keep going. He looked at me for a good minute. His hands were on my hips. He wasn’t trying to move me off of him, they were just naturally there and I never wanted them to move.

I felt as if I could cry at that moment. I had never done anything like this. I had never gone for what I wanted in any aspect of my life. I always was the one to just let things happen to me. But there was something about Jeremy, and I couldn’t risk him not knowing how I felt. So I climbed on top of him that night with his little brother in the bunk right above. I climbed on top of him with a long tshirt on and nothing else. Absolutely nothing else. I climbed on top of him with the intentions and hopes that he would, at the very least, lift me onto his hard cock. I really wanted him to rip off my shirt. I wanted him to take control and roll me onto my back, lift my legs up into the air, and fuck me. Hard.

I just needed him inside.

I felt him get harder and harder. He still didn’t say anything, didn’t push me off of him, didn’t try to kiss me. Maybe he thought he was dreaming. Maybe he was afraid his little brother would wake. I wanted to assure him that it wasn’t a dream, it was real and I hoped he was happy about that. I leaned back down and burrowed into his neck again. I inhaled like I’d never inhaled before, and felt so high I could float to the ceiling.

His hands shuffled from my hips and back again and, in an instant, he slipped inside.

My back arched up, my neck snapped back.

It was amazing. Just amazing. We remained still for a moment–he deep inside of me. I didn’t want the moment to end. I wanted to die right then and there with him inside of me.

Tears streamed from my eyes.

He moved his hands from my hips to my back and pushed me toward him. We hugged, him still deep inside. Our mouths met; our tongues, of course, danced. He took off my shirt and rolled me over, taking off his shirt and shorts. He lifted my legs, just like I’d hoped he would.

I couldn’t stop the tears he tried to gently wipe away.

After he came, he did a push up off of me and rolled over so that he was scrunched against the wall.

It would be morning soon and his little brother would be waking. I found Jeremy’s mouth with mine one last time before groping for my tshirt and slithering out of his bed and room and back into his sister’s room.

 

The next morning was complete chaos. Emma was barking orders to the rest of the kids, including Jeremy.

Jeremy never looked at me and I tried not staring at him. He did remember, right? He knew it was real, right? Oh god, what if he didn’t remember? What if he hated me now? What if he thought I was too fat or too old?

I helped Emma get bowls of cereal on the table for the little kids when suddenly there was a sharp pain in my side. The pain started to burn. I moved my hands to my side and could feel warmth slip into my hands. It was blood. I’d been stabbed. By whom? By what?

The kids were all running around screaming. They ran in circles from the kitchen into the living room down the hall toward the bathroom back into the kitchen. Over and over again. I tried catching up with them as the blood gushed from my side. I didn’t quite know what the fuck was happening, but there was lots of it happening.

I saw a stack of CD’s on a shelf. They were mine. My favorite band—U2. They were Jeremy’s favorites too. Would he grab them for me? Should I grab them for him? I couldn’t. Then everyone would know what I did last night and I couldn’t risk losing Emma’s friendship because I slept with her little brother. Emma and her entire family had pretty much become my own family after all.

And besides that, I had to hold my side to hopefully prevent the blood from gushing out while I chased the kids. Around and around we went through the house. And finally one of the little ones fell to the floor and then the others piled on top of him. Everyone was gasping for air. I still held the blood from my side.

We had to now clean the house before child services came. I wanted to put everything in trash bags; Emma insisted that we throw nothing out. “Everything has a purpose,” she said combining two plastic hangers into one to make a hook to hang something from it.

Jeremy still avoided me.

I found something that I knew was his but acted as if I didn’t. “How ’bout this?” I asked Emma. “Can I toss it?”

It was an empty box that once held a bottle of Jeremy’s favorite cologne.

“No that’s Jer’s,” Emma said.

“Right,” I commented as I searched to give him his empty box.

Jeremy finally looked at me. I smiled. It’s okay, I wanted to say. It’s more than okay.

“Here,” I said handing him the box.

He took the box and grabbed my hand while never leaving my eyes. “Thanks,” he said.

At that moment, my legs gave out and I collapsed to the floor.

“Jesus, what the fuck happened?” Jeremy asked.

“I have no idea,” I whimpered, grasping at my side.

***

 

possibly to be continued. dunno.

 

the puppet

“Tell me if you’re game,” he whispered in her ear from behind, slowly tugging at her hair.

“Yes,” she cooed from beneath him.

With her head pulled back by her hair as far as it could go, he reached for the red bandanna with his free hand.

“I’m gonna put this in your mouth. Just bite down on it ‘n’ breathe through your nose.”

He rested her head back down onto the bed and placed the red cloth in her mouth, tying it behind her head along with most of her hair. Her hands and fingers, already secured behind her back with her own leggings, looked like a nest full of freshly hatched baby birds reaching with their beaks for food.

“Just breathe through your nose,” he said again, slowly reaching his foot to the floor to steady himself and stand up.

Once off of her and the bed, he studied the curves of her naked body as it wiggle on the gray sheets. He was reminded of worms that emerged after it had stopped raining.

She closed her eyes and tried remaining still, but she couldn’t; the gag was just too much for her. She lost any control she had left. She became his puppet and that realization soon brought the taste of salt from her tears that the bandanna absorbed.

When she managed to open her eyes, she saw his hairy legs, then his cellphone. He was recording her or taking her picture. She tried telling him to stop, but the gag prevented her from saying anything coherent and forced her to concentrate on breathing through her nose.

What the fuck was she doing? How could she allow someone to tie her up? The drugs were good. The sex was good. Why was she allowing this though?

She was his puppet. She would do whatever he wanted because he was wanting her company. This is what you do when someone wants to be with you.

He placed the phone onto the nightstand and rolled her over so she now lay on her back.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered. “And you look fuckin’ a-maze-ing.”

He smiled as he climbed back on top of the bed and loosened the gag. Then he kissed and teased each nipple while she moaned.

This is why she let him do this to her.

 

***

 

 
Sadly this piece is “inspired” by the missing persons case of Kelly Dwyer, particularly this news story here. She’s been missing since October 11, 2013!!