Chapter Eighteen #4
I hear his words. I do. But I don’t know what they mean. I don’t know anything anymore except how good this feels. How I want him to keep doing this. Keep running the length of his gun up and down my core.
At my continued silence, he repeats, “Now, baby.”
My eyes are scrunched shut. My mind is a whirlwind. My hips are rocking against that gun, and I’m powerless against his demands. “I won’t lie to you. I-I promise. I won’t.”
I feel his chest vibrate with his breaths before he whispers, right in my ear, “Then tell me your name.”
At this, awareness slams into me and my eyes snap open. “What?”
“Because we both know it isn’t Peyton,” he whispers.
I try to stop twisting, but he’s still pumping the gun along my core, and all I can do is stutter back, “B-but I…”
“Because the name you signed on that piece of paper starts with an R, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ shit.
I’m gonna lose it, darlin’, yeah? I need to know your name.
” He keeps pumping as he confesses, “I need to know the name of the girl I’m jerkin’ off to every night and blowing my load like a teenager.
And then, satisfied, I sleep in her scent.
I know the taste of her cunt, but I don’t know her name.
I know I’m gonna kill her daddy for her, but I don’t know what to call her.
And for the past eight years, every time I close my eyes, I see fire.
I see blood and concrete walls and barred windows.
But six months ago, somethin’ happened. My nightmares went away and I’d see skies as blue as her eyes, sun as golden as her hair.
I’d see rosy skin and soft curves instead of cinder-block walls.
So I need to know the name of the girl who made me dream when I thought all I was destined for was nightmares. ”
Later, I’ll think about the repercussions of this. I’ll think about how foolish I’ve been. How dangerously stupid. For now, it slips out of me.
“R-Reverie,” I whisper at long last. “My name… It’s Reverie.”
And then I come.
Because he flicks my clit with the muzzle of his loaded gun and because he says with a long breath that he’s been holding for ages, “Like a dream.”
And I feel such a relief. Such lightness at finally telling the truth, that I don’t have to pretend anymore; not to mention, from having an orgasm that, when I finally come down from it, has left my eyes closed and my lips loose.
“Peyton’s best friend. My mother was her nanny and my daddy worked on the ranch.
She asked me to do her sociology paper because she was failing.
And I said yes b-because I’d do anything for her.
But then I wrote to you and I… I kept writing.
I kept writing even when I didn’t need to because I couldn’t not.
Because I liked it. I loved it. And then we met and I wanted to tell you.
The t-truth. At the café, but you… But then I found out who you were and…
I ran. I had to. I couldn’t tell you the truth because I had to protect Peyton.
Because of who you are.” Still blinking up at him, I continue, “I lied to you because you’re just like him. You’re just like my father.”
I feel him stiffen behind me, but I don’t let it stop me now because I need to get this out. All of it. Every little piece of my sordid history.
“Which is so crazy because I always thought that the man who saved me and my mother could never be like my daddy. You’re that man.
You saved me. Eight years ago, we left the ranch because someone broke in, in the dead of the night.
Someone in a mask. He tried to kill Mr. Turner and so they said it wasn’t safe for us to live there anymore.
They took us away and I was so happy because I thought we’d finally be safe.
That finally my daddy wouldn’t get to us. But I was wrong.”
I think I feel both his arms going around me at this, but again, I don’t let it deter me because I need to get this out.
“He did get to us, to her. He pushed her down the stairs. I saw it. They were arguing about something like they always would and I saw him push her. I tell people I wasn’t home the night my mom died.
I tell them it was probably an accident that she fell down the stairs.
But it wasn’t. I was there. I was hiding behind the couch because I thought he was going to come for me.
But he didn’t. He left. He saw her go down.
He stood before her bleeding body and then he left.
And I… I never thought you’d be like him.
I never thought that the man who saved me eight years ago would kill me one day.
You’re going to kill me now, aren’t you?
Because I’m not who you thought I was. I’m not a Turner. So can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
I hear him say it in a ragged whisper, and I ask the question I’ve been dying to ask. “What’s her name?”
I don’t have to tell him who I’m talking about, and I don’t know how much time passes before I hear, “Annie.”
I smile slightly, my head too heavy for my neck now. “That’s pretty. She’s lucky. That you love her so much to do this for her.”
“I made a promise.”
I nod, my head lolling now, grazing my outstretched arms. “Can you make me a promise too?”
He grasps the back of my neck to give it support and repeats, “Anything.”
“Promise that when you kill me, you’ll make it quick. I don’t want to lie in a hospital bed, in a coma for days before they pull the plug. Like my mother did. So promise me you’ll kill me right away so it doesn’t hurt. So it doesn’t…”
I forget what I was going to say. Probably because my body gives in and I sag against him.
The last thing I remember before I float away is him cutting the rope up above and bringing my limp arms down.
Before picking me up off the ground and winding his arms around me so tightly that for the first time in my life, I feel safe.
Even from him.