Chapter 5
5
MALCOLM
M y eyes scan the pages of the old, tattered book I found tossed out on the curb with someone’s morning trash, taking in the strange and gruesome history of some of the country’s most prolific serial killers. While I have hundreds of books stacked up in piles around my apartment and shoved into lopsided bookshelves warping from the weight of too many pages, I still can’t say no when I see a free book. It doesn’t matter what kind of book it is, if it’s free, I’ll take it with me and read it. The last time I counted, I had close to three hundred books scattered around my place. Once a year, I try to go through them all and donate ones I’ve already read but by the time that happens, I’ve almost always collected enough to replace the ones I pass on.
The alarm on my phone goes off, notifying me that it’s time to get ready for the closing shift I have at the bar. Sitting up from the couch, I slide my oversized black framed glasses from my face to the top of my head and reach to turn it off. After too many times of getting sucked into a book and losing track of time, I’ve learned that setting obnoxiously loud alarms is the only way to pull me out of them. The book lands on the coffee table with a thud and the pained look of the person on the cover stares up at me as I stand from the couch and head for my bedroom. As I change out of the sweats I’m wearing and pull on a pair of jeans and a black polo with the bar logo on it, my mind wanders to the conversation I had with my friends last night.
Why was it so weird to them that I would be asking about Ophelia? Can’t a guy be curious? I mean, sure, I’d been curious about a lot of women over the years, but what’s it to them if I’m curious about a specific woman for once? The more I think about it, the weirder it feels that I want to know about her and her relationship status.
Who she sees or what she does with other men doesn’t impact me in the slightest.
If that’s true, why do you want to put your fist through a wall anytime you think about her fucking someone who isn’t you?
I shake my head at the internal voice I hear and my long dark hair flows with the movement. I flex my fingers that have clenched into a fist as the thought of her with another man. Standing in my bathroom, my eyes scan the counter and find an elastic to pull my hair back. While the weeks are creeping closer to October, the hot and humid summer temperatures won’t quit, and there’s nothing worse than your hair sticking to your neck. After leaving the bathroom, I pick up my new read and shove it in my back pocket, deciding to take my serial killers with me to the bar. We aren’t normally super busy on Thursdays and it’s just interesting enough to warrant bringing it with me. As I reach the front door of my apartment, I grab my keys and head for my truck, trying to focus on the things I need to get done at work rather than the lingering images of her supple curves that can’t seem to escape my mind.
* * *
“What ya reading?” a soft voice asks me from the other side of the bar. My elbows hold me up as I lean on the bartop to read, my brain filling up with the horrific crimes of Jeffery Dahmer and Joseph James. It’s been a slow day and I’d already plowed through 80 percent of my book when the voice of a woman cut through my concentration. Looking up, I take in her features.
Petite build. Ashy blonde hair. Mousey features. Cute and sweet. She’s looking at me with wide green eyes and has a smile that Mr. Dahmer himself would most likely enjoy as an afternoon treat. I hadn’t registered the front door opening but looking around, I notice she’s alone.
“A book about serial killers,” I say as my mouth pulls up in one corner. I can’t help but turn on the charm as she slips onto one of the barstools. Her brows raise at my words and she gives me a nervous smile.
“Are you studying for something?”
I laugh at her joke and stand up straight. “No, I just like to read,” I assure her. “What can I get you?”
“A martini. Dry, please.”
I nod my head and get started on her order. Once I’m done, I slide it across the counter to her.
“Meeting anyone else? Want me to start you a tab?” I lean my hands on the edge of the bar and her eyes flick to the veins that are popping in my forearms. A piece of blonde hair falls into her face which she quickly tucks behind her ear, biting her lip as she does.
“It’s just lil’ ol’ me tonight. My friends bailed on me but I needed to get out. Have a good time, you know.” The way her words fall from her lips tell me exactly what kind of ‘good time’ she’s looking for. For half a second my brain flashes to the last woman I was with and the smug look on her face as she left me with my pants around my ankles.
Literally.
I lick my lips and run a hand through my hair before dropping my voice an octave lower like I know women love. “Well, lil’ ol’ me, lucky for you I’m here all night and I’ll gladly keep you company.”
* * *
“ Fuck ,” I grunt, rhythmically moving my hips back and forth against of her. The bar closes at ten on Thursdays and Lily, as I discovered her name was, never left. Three hours of flirting and multiple innuendos later, she was in my bed getting the good time she came in looking for.
“ Please ,” she gasps underneath me, digging her nails into my arms. I continue to give her what she wants, causing her to gasp and cry out in pleasure. The more she digs her nails into the soft flesh of my wrists, the further along I know she is getting. After sleeping with enough women, I’ve come to know that when a woman says ‘please’ they really mean ‘don’t stop what you’re doing because it’s working.’ That’s the biggest thing men don’t understand: they hear their lady say ‘please’ or ‘don’t stop’ and they take that to mean ‘do something else.’ Fatal mistake.
“That’s a good girl, come for me,” I demand, but when I say the words my brain flashes to the last time I said them.
To Ophelia.
On the night of Hank and Bailey’s wedding.
Suddenly there, I feel my dick get harder and my heart race speed up.
“I feel you getting harder,” Lily coos from under me. If only she knew that it isn’t because of her. I keep my focus on that night and remember how good she felt around me. How turned on I got when she called me ‘good boy’ and how sexy I found her confidence. The way she owned the room even though we were the only ones in it. “God, Malcolm, yes!”
“Oph—” I start to say and catch myself before the remainder of her name slips out.
“Ohh,” Lily parrots, thinking I was moaning instead of almost accidentally saying another woman’s name.
I feel Lily start to come undone even though my mind is focused on that of another woman. Continuing to move in and out of her, I bring her to her finish and follow closely behind. As she lays next to me, catching her breath and smiling, I can’t stop the panicked feeling in my gut. Not once has what just happened ever happened to me before. The thought of another woman seeping in and taking control of my thoughts as if they belong to her. She had made me finish without even being in the room and the worst part is—I think I liked it. I liked the thought of her in my bed and having her be there on more than just one occasion. Maybe as more than just a casual hookup.
What the fuck is happening to me?