Hana
The weeks had gone by in a blur. Jack and I started to put our lives back together, regaining a sense of normalcy. Or at least, whatever normalcy we had before. We had talked to the police countless times, and I had chosen to testify against Michael when the time came. It broke my heart to learn that Jackie wasn’t his only other victim. He had done things far worse to other women who came forward. I had to recount my time with him multiple times. It was a nightmare I had to relive over and over. But I wanted to get it done—I didn’t want Michael to get off easily. The best case scenario had him in prison for forty years; the minimum was fifteen years. And the worst case scenario was that he wouldn’t get convicted. However, my attorneys and I were confident he would be. Jack also said he would easily kill him if he went free. I thought that was romantic.
I discovered that Michael was going to hire someone to kill Jack while all three of us were “together.” When his plans changed, he paid someone to find a list of houses that went unfinished in the last stages of the building process, essentially being abandoned. Apparently, he had held me captive in the Hudson Valley, less than a couple hours from the city.
I was going to therapy. I was taking my meds again. I was on birth control—thank God Michael didn’t get me pregnant. Jack and I were cozy in our Williamsburg apartment; we still stayed up way too late and I still drank from time to time, but surprisingly my mental health remained in a good place.
Jack was getting ready for his summer tour with Chaos Catalyst. Everything between him and Adam seemed to be swept under the rug—they were the best of friends again. Emily was around a lot too, even Billie. We had dinner dates and went to gallery openings and the guys’ shows around the city together. Jessica was over every other day, bringing us food or random gifts. She was acting off Broadway now and she seemed happy. We all seemed to be okay again.
My twenty-sixth birthday was approaching. Jack had something planned, but he wanted to surprise me.
After his show one night, Jack and I went to the loft so he could “pick something up.”
“I’m not sure I believe that you need to just pick something up.” I side-eyed him as we strolled down the street toward the loft.
He looked over at me and grinned.
“Sweetheart, do you think I’m trying to trick you? I’d never,” he scoffed mockingly at me.
We could joke about the start of our relationship; our dark humor amused us and frankly, if Jack had never forcefully whisked me away, I’d still be with the monster.
“You’re right, baby. I shouldn’t even question it,” I jested, my lips curling up into a smile.
We walked into the loft where it was dark and quiet, and I was surprised that when Jack flicked the lights on, no one else was in there. There were only red roses spread across the floor with a round table in the middle of the loft, a black cloth covering it and a single candle in the middle.
I turned to him, confused.
He grinned at me. “Surprise!”
I shook my head at him. “What is this?”
Jack walked over to the couch on the side of the room and pulled out some canvases behind it.
“It’s a personal viewing of all the paintings I did of you.” He seemed nervous; he had four or five medium-sized canvases, the art still turned around in his hands so I couldn’t see.
“Are they X-rated or something?” I teased. “Are you going to show me or just keep them hidden like that all night?”
Jack gave me his perfect, dimpled smile.
“I just wanted to explain exactly how I felt while painting these,” he started, gently setting them next to the table and slowly walking toward me. “It was a few days after you were taken that I started these. The first one was a portrait done with oil paint, and all I imagined was the look you have when you’re upset or mad. I imagined you fighting. So this was the result.”
He picked up the first canvas and there I was, a perfectly painted portrait with my brows pulled together, my lips slightly parted, and my green eyes boring right back at me.
“Jack.” I walked toward him, gently grazing the canvas with my fingertips. “This is amazing.”
He put it down and grabbed the next canvas. He looked so serious and sullen.
“This is the next one,” he started as he revealed another portrait of me, this time looking terrified; I was frowning, my eyes wide as I looked up in the distance. My heart sank—he probably knew this look well.
He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “I hated that I so easily knew how you looked when you were scared. And I hated thinking that’s how you were feeling.”
There was a sting deep in my chest. We had come so far since that first day here in the loft. All I wanted then was to escape and run back to Michael. Now I wanted to escape any memory of Michael and never leave Jack’s side again.
He continued before I could say anything. He grabbed the next canvas and held it in front of him. It was me, smiling widely in a laugh, my eyes closed.
“A week had passed and all I wanted to think about was your beautiful, happy, smiling face. Your sweet smile was on loop in my brain,” he explained with a faint smile. “I thought you were gone and this is how I wanted to remember you. This is how I wanted the world to remember you.”
A tear shed down his cheek, and he gulped, staring at me with his big blue eyes.
“Thank you, Jack. These are all so beautiful.” I put my hand to his face and smiled as the tears fell down my face as well.
“There’s one more.” He set down the canvas and picked up the last one, facing it to his chest. “This is how I imagined we’d be reunited. I didn’t know how or when that would be, but all I could think about was having you in my arms again. I knew we’d find each other, whether it be in the next life or the afterlife.”
Tears streamed down my face and my chest heaved. Jack turned the canvas around and there we were, perfectly painted, staring at each other with our upper halves pressed together. His hand was to my face and I mirrored him on the other side. The lower half was our bodies turning into dust, drifting away in the wind.
All I could do was wrap my arms around him and bring my lips to his. His full, pouty lips hungrily attached to mine and the canvas dropped to the floor as he put his hands to my face, pulling me in even closer. His hands stripped off my clothes as I did the same for him. Then we backed onto the wall where he lifted me, and I entwined my legs around him. I ran my hand through his hair before his hard cock fully plunged inside of me. I bounced myself up and down, helping him with his thrusts, never parting my lips from his. He quickly stopped and carried me over to the kitchen counter, setting me down carefully before getting to his knees and pressing his hot mouth onto my throbbing clit, flicking his tongue around and instantly making me come.
“Baby,” I moaned, and he continued, looking up at me and smiling as he made me come for a second and third time.
“Jack,” I breathed out. “Hurt me like the night of our wedding party.”
He stopped and looked at me quizzically. “No.” He shook his head. “I can’t.”
I frowned. “Please. I’m sober. I can handle it, and if I can’t, I’ll use my safe word.”
Jack shook his head and stood, his eyes full of concern. “Why would you want me to do that again?”
I bit my lip; I wasn’t sure why. “Maybe…a mixture of curiosity and horniness?”
He smiled at me but still shook his head. “No, sweetheart. It was wrong then. I was holding onto too much anger and took it out on you. I don’t want to recreate that night anymore,” he explained. “But there is something I can do.”
I perked up.
“First: your safe word?” His eyes showed that hint of darkness in him, and maybe that’s all I wanted when I asked him. Maybe I felt he was being too soft on me since I returned.
“Red.” I smiled.
He nodded and pressed his lips against mine. I could taste myself on him. He quickly let go of me and fisted my hair tightly in his hand.
“Get on your knees, love,” he ordered, his voice gravelly and deep.
He guided me off the counter, and I quickly got on my knees. His hard cock was suddenly in my mouth, and Jack roughly face fucked me, bobbing my head back and forth with his grip.
“Mmm, fuck. You’re such a naughty whore, aren’t you?” he asked, keeping his pace.
He let go of my hair, and I gasped for air as I looked up at him, drool dripping all over my mouth and running down my body. He quickly slapped me and took my hair again.
“I asked you a question, sweetheart,” he growled.
“Yes, Jack. I’m a naughty whore,” I breathed out.
He smiled, causing my whole body to tingle with butterflies. “Get on all fours.”
I turned around and got onto my hands and knees, waiting for his touch. He quickly slapped one side of my ass then the other, and I let out a yelp each time. He suddenly grabbed my hair with his hand and pulled back, making me sit up and then stand. He gripped my throat with one hand while the other still held my head back.
“You still love how rough I can be, don’t you?” he asked quietly in my ear.
“Yes,” I whispered, barely able to breathe with his hand pressing against my throat.
“You love the pain I give you, don’t you?” he went on.
I nodded as much as I could, getting lightheaded before he let go and I gasped for air. He was suddenly inside me, his cock deep while he pulled my hair back with one hand and slapped my tits with the other. His hand inched down to my pussy as he furiously pounded me. He rubbed my clit with fervor, forcing me to come quickly and loudly.
“Whose pussy is this, Hana?” he moaned into my ear right after my orgasm slowed.
“Yours, Jack,” I breathed out.
“Say my name again, sweetheart.” He was almost out of breath.
“Jack. I love you, Jack,” I moaned.
His pounding grew wild as he grabbed my hips with both hands and moaned a powerful grunt, filling me with his cum.
He slowed, but my body still shook with pleasure. I needed to sit—I was drained of all energy. Jack could tell; he pulled out of me, turned me around and picked me up. He sat me down on the cloth table and wrapped his arms around me as he stood against my chest.
“Jack, I love you more than anything,” I whispered in his ear.
He looked to me with the most earnest, endearing smile. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Six months ago, I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I had no purpose, no direction. I had goals, but things weren’t planned out or set in stone. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know where I belonged. My life had turned into this chaotic, messy, thrilling, scary story. Trying to take my own life because I thought I would never see Jack again made me realize that all I wanted was him. And now I knew my purpose: to love my imperfect Jack, to follow him into the darkness, and to live happily ever after in our very own little twisted fairy tale.