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Chapter 9 Part 2
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2024-10-29 19:42:56I stand quietly. Her legs wrap around my sides. Walk us into the bedroom I wish we could just call ours. Kick the door shut. Like anyone will intrude. Milo won’t. I think he’s dead. That scruffy stray. I hope he isn’t. For Sasha’s sake.
In any case, I drop her down on the bed as gently as I can. She’s still got my clothes on from last night. Hair fastened at the nape of her neck. And it takes me a moment to decide what to do. I’ve got so many things I want to. But I kiss her gently. Push her shirt up over her shoulders and throw it somewhere to my left. I don’t think we’ll have much use of it. And the feeling of her fingers up in my hair and the taste of the skin all on her stomach is enough to send me over the edge. I want to cut off her clothes with a pair of kitchen scissors and just have my way with her. And I just want her to take me by the scruff of my neck and use me at her discretion.
Still, my heart goes into a frenzy at the sight of her. Pink, swollen and w
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January 2nd, 2013 Morning Sasha “Joel’s been asking about you.” Tami seems to have mastered the art of swinging on her newly broken chair. Of course, she would find a way to. “It’s bonkers, I’ve got Brett’s cock in my mouth and he’s talking about how his mate asks about another double date once a day.” The chair slips. She squares her hands on the table. Close call. “Excellent. Not happening.” I don’t look up. I’m well behind on paperwork. I know she’d be giving me that pathetic look, anyway. “He’s a nice bloke, Sasha.” “He tried to kill me.” At least, that’s what Damon said. “You need to get out there,” Finally, I look up. She has that pathetic look, just as I predicted. And it finally dawns on me. This whole time, she was just trying to fix me up with someone who wasn’t Bertrand. Does she really think I’m so wounded and desperate to run back to an emaciated predator? Him and wha
Foster Chapter 9 Part 4
The guide glances over. A strange look on her face. She places a hand on my shoulder. Wants to take me outside. Where their best ones are, I’m guessing. “A couple of the younger ones are just outside; would you like to meet a few?” “Maybe later,” I shrug off her hand as politely as I can. I’m walking over before I can consider how best to not startle her. The girl doesn’t look up. I have a thing for strays. Not that this child is one. Souls who may need a little extra love. Perhaps because I know I do. “Hey…” I sit. Stiffly. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Not after years of service. I should have worn a pair of older jeans if I was going to be sat Indian style. Hindsight, I suppose. Always sharper. She looks up. Bright blue eyes. Almond shaped. Hooded. Doesn’t say a word. “Why don’t you go play?” “I’m waiting for James.” She has that huffy kid voice about her. Looks me up and down with a small frown. Stares straight back out the window. “James isn’t co
Foster Chapter 9 Part 5
January 3rd, 2013 Almost midnight “Are you awake?” I hardly catch it. The sound of rustling sheets fills the room. Finally, I roll over. Damon has his palms squared on the edge of my bed; face lit by the streetlight coming through my unbarred bedroom window. He’s still got on his clothes from the day. But he speaks in whispers. “What are you doing?” I’m not dressed for this. I wasn’t expecting him. An old, stained pair of tracksuit pants. A baggy tee-shirt I’m almost sure was his, once upon a time. “Where’s Chloe?” “Punishing me for not letting her rearrange the living room by spending the night at her apartment,” I’m sure I feel my heart skip a beat, in the most naïve, virginal way it could. Ironically enough. This is good. I can work with this. I’m confident that in about five minutes I can have his trousers around his ankles and his cock up inside of me. Brilliant. “Why on earth are you j
Foster Chapter 10 Part 1
January 4th, 2013 Morning I haven’t spoken to James since he was last at mine. I feel badly about that. I suppose he was right in wishing I would fight with Tami more; I’m starting to see how much she dominates my social sphere. Obsessed with her, I would be. There’s probably no nicer way to put it. I mean, she represents all I wanted to be in high school. That thin, cool blonde with all those friends and an incredibly profane Myspace. Sometime between middle of the day vodka and consoling new widows collecting their partners effects, I graduated from that snotty child who scolded her father for not understanding out secret base was invisible. I do feel that a reconciliation would ground me, if only slightly. I’m afraid I’ve got no real family. A sexual partner masquerading in my father’s room. A dead mum in a waterlogged coffin. But I’ve got a brother, out there somewhere. Stomping around in his leather jacket. Brooding f
Foster Chapter 10 Part 2
January 5th, 2013 Midday “I think we need a redo,” When he walks back over, he knows better than to come empty-handed. A cup of steaming coffee threatens to spill with each step. A stupid, playful grin is the only warning I’ll get. I think I have a good enough idea what he’s after. I lean forward. Prop my chin up in the palm of my hand. I’m ready. “Of?” He sits on the same un-cushioned chair he did last time. The halls are quiet, Tami tapping away happily at a keyboard is the only sign of life for kilometres. It’s the palliative care ward, after all. His chair is just as disagreeable when he scoots closer. He reaches forward again, rakes the hair from my face, and I can’t help but lean in because at this point, it’s all become instinct. His lips brush mine at first. The other winding through the back of my hair. And I don’t care that we haven’t spent a moment together alone since Tuesday. That I worr
Foster Chapter 10 Part 3
January 6th, 2013 Morning I’ve been staring through the tiny window all morning. I saw a single magpie on the way here. It tailed us in the car. Swooped down like we’d stolen its babe. Flew off into the distance like some mysterious harbinger of death. I waited for another. Even two. I think I would rather death than sorrow. At least death would put me out of my misery. Not give me another reason to want it. “I thought you might need this.” I hadn’t noticed he was even close. I’m a shotty receptionist. Damon is leant over me. His elbows on the counter. A disposable cup in his hands. “What is it?” I lift the lid. Foam. Dark foam. Coffee? “Cappuccino.” He’s smiling. He’s got to know I’m not impressed. “I know. No coffee with milk in it. Just try it, won’t you?” “Will it make you happy?” I’ve been struggling with the lid. I don’t know how the baristas get them on. “Very.” I take a
Foster Chapter 10 Part 4
“What?” Now I just want to hide back behind him. Damon seems to know. He steps in front of me. “You can’t search her; you’ll need a female officer to.” “I can search her; I just can’t take her clothes off.” Again, with that smug smile. He claps his hands together. Peers around Damon’s shoulder to me. I was right to hope for two more magpies. “Now, shall we do it here, or do you have a more private place you would rather.” “Show me your warrant.” Damon seethes. “I was hoping you would ask.” I can see him fish into his pocket. “Finished my two-year probation yesterday.” “Did you know about this?” Suddenly, Damon turns to face me. Thrusts the card toward me. Looks a bit like a student ID in a fancy wallet if you ask me. With a stupid, god-awful photo of this git rather blow-up. “Know about what?” “He’s a detective, Sasha!” He shouldn’t be yelling that; I can only imagine the things it woul
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January 6th, 2013 Evening “If you can’t even move that couch, I don’t think you’ve got much chance with your hands.” I dig in my heels a little harder. I’m determined. Besides, it can’t be that heavy. “I’m not getting a gun—I don’t ever want to fire one.” “Pepper spray?” Begrudgingly, he joins in—with a small huff and the roll of his eyes. His shoulder brushes mine. I’ve pretended not to see his eyes. Or to have heard the huff. I suck in a breath. Put my weight into it. “No weapons. I don’t want to have to count on anything.” “Okay. I get it.” I think he does all the work. The couch slides towards the dining table like it’s on wheels. Moves, nonetheless. That’s all I wanted. “This should be enough room.” I step into the centre. The rug is nice and plush. I don’t think it will hurt too much if incoordination victimises me. It will. I just know it. “What do I do?” I’m not too
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“Ah…” It’s the only sound I can make, half-hidden by a gasp, hands through his hair. And he pulls back. I’m just soaking. I can feel it. “That—that little sigh you do and your fingers in my hair.” And his lips are trailing from my sex down to my knee. Until he draws back. And sucks my big toe between his lips. Mouth hot. Tongue soft. I just want him to have me already. He draws back again. Lips drawing a line from my knee, dangerously northbound. I can’t take it. “I just love it when you come. I can’t get enough of it.” I can’t help it. Another “Ah…” escapes me as his mouth clamps down on me and his fingertips brush my clitoris. It seems to embolden him, encouraging him needlessly to rip me to shreds on the bathroom counter like he should have that first night. And I hate the fact he’s memorised everything that drives me to the edge, if only to bombard me with until I feel my heart could give way. “That shower is still running.” I’m talking
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January 25th, 1997 Midday Chloe I hadn’t even seen the house until now. Crazy, I know. It’s an old Victorian, I would assume. I’ve never cared much for architecture. A little boxy and castle-like, overgrown with ivy. Two-storeyed, he’s probably hoping to get some babies out of me. All paid for with my money, I presume. The sold sign is still up. The whole village has got this medieval look about it, completely surrounded by this lush, sweeping countryside. Far enough from London to lose the smell of the city. I’m sure every house has a vegetable patch in their yard. They’ve probably got a committee for everything. I’m sure a “homeowners committee” will come knocking down the door with a list of injunctions for the city folk set up shop across the road. Lawn too long. Car too loud. Moving truck too much of an eyesore. Ivy too modest—should cover the whole house! God, it ought to be the first thing to go. Just
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January 25th, 1997 Morning Chloe Want to test your marriage? Move back home. Rather, your husband’s home. On your first wedding anniversary, no less. Practically to the minute. I know, I should be sympathetic. His mother has cancer. Still, I thought I had married a man who despised small towns as much as I do. At least, that’s what he told me. He hadn’t lived until he’d seen London. Got amongst its busyness and decrepit charm. Yet we’re northbound, and rather quickly. Sat in a rental truck that feels it will topple over if we round a corner too suddenly. The provincial furniture rocking in its rump so blissfully. It has no idea it’s headed straight to its grave, never to be looked at by anyone of note again. He promises we’ll be back to the city when she’s better. Healthy as a horse, he thinks. Loins of steel. Built like a machine. She acts like one. Has never cared all that much
Foster Chapter 10 Part 5
January 6th, 2013 Evening “If you can’t even move that couch, I don’t think you’ve got much chance with your hands.” I dig in my heels a little harder. I’m determined. Besides, it can’t be that heavy. “I’m not getting a gun—I don’t ever want to fire one.” “Pepper spray?” Begrudgingly, he joins in—with a small huff and the roll of his eyes. His shoulder brushes mine. I’ve pretended not to see his eyes. Or to have heard the huff. I suck in a breath. Put my weight into it. “No weapons. I don’t want to have to count on anything.” “Okay. I get it.” I think he does all the work. The couch slides towards the dining table like it’s on wheels. Moves, nonetheless. That’s all I wanted. “This should be enough room.” I step into the centre. The rug is nice and plush. I don’t think it will hurt too much if incoordination victimises me. It will. I just know it. “What do I do?” I’m not too
Foster Chapter 10 Part 4
“What?” Now I just want to hide back behind him. Damon seems to know. He steps in front of me. “You can’t search her; you’ll need a female officer to.” “I can search her; I just can’t take her clothes off.” Again, with that smug smile. He claps his hands together. Peers around Damon’s shoulder to me. I was right to hope for two more magpies. “Now, shall we do it here, or do you have a more private place you would rather.” “Show me your warrant.” Damon seethes. “I was hoping you would ask.” I can see him fish into his pocket. “Finished my two-year probation yesterday.” “Did you know about this?” Suddenly, Damon turns to face me. Thrusts the card toward me. Looks a bit like a student ID in a fancy wallet if you ask me. With a stupid, god-awful photo of this git rather blow-up. “Know about what?” “He’s a detective, Sasha!” He shouldn’t be yelling that; I can only imagine the things it woul
Foster Chapter 10 Part 3
January 6th, 2013 Morning I’ve been staring through the tiny window all morning. I saw a single magpie on the way here. It tailed us in the car. Swooped down like we’d stolen its babe. Flew off into the distance like some mysterious harbinger of death. I waited for another. Even two. I think I would rather death than sorrow. At least death would put me out of my misery. Not give me another reason to want it. “I thought you might need this.” I hadn’t noticed he was even close. I’m a shotty receptionist. Damon is leant over me. His elbows on the counter. A disposable cup in his hands. “What is it?” I lift the lid. Foam. Dark foam. Coffee? “Cappuccino.” He’s smiling. He’s got to know I’m not impressed. “I know. No coffee with milk in it. Just try it, won’t you?” “Will it make you happy?” I’ve been struggling with the lid. I don’t know how the baristas get them on. “Very.” I take a
Foster Chapter 10 Part 2
January 5th, 2013 Midday “I think we need a redo,” When he walks back over, he knows better than to come empty-handed. A cup of steaming coffee threatens to spill with each step. A stupid, playful grin is the only warning I’ll get. I think I have a good enough idea what he’s after. I lean forward. Prop my chin up in the palm of my hand. I’m ready. “Of?” He sits on the same un-cushioned chair he did last time. The halls are quiet, Tami tapping away happily at a keyboard is the only sign of life for kilometres. It’s the palliative care ward, after all. His chair is just as disagreeable when he scoots closer. He reaches forward again, rakes the hair from my face, and I can’t help but lean in because at this point, it’s all become instinct. His lips brush mine at first. The other winding through the back of my hair. And I don’t care that we haven’t spent a moment together alone since Tuesday. That I worr
