Chapter 9
Evelyn
"Forgiveness begins with understanding the wounds we cannot see."
The haziness of my vision is fading as Christian’s face appears before me.
“What… happened?” The words are a mere whisper as they push past my lips.
With my sight slowly clearing, my surroundings become more refined by the second.
My body is shaking with the cold, and my breath is visible before me, like little crystal clouds escaping my lips.
“Where am I?” He is brushing my hair out of my face, his sea foam eyes drowning in sorrow. As I address him, “Christy-” A calloused finger seals my words in, not allowing me to finish my statement.
“We got out, sugar.” His voice was soft and sincere.
A smile starts to form on my face, until the words register. We… got… out? “Out of what?” One glance and it looks like we are camping, but it is more than that. No, this is a homeless encampment. “Christian, where are we?”
He drops his gaze, so he doesn’t have to see my disappointment as he responds.
“We aren’t staying here. I just needed you to rest until the drugs wore off.
They were dosin’ you, babe.” His words hit like a freight train.
I try to stand, stumbling and groggy. “Careful, sugar.” His hand is on my elbow at lightning speed, bracing me as I take a few more steps.
Interlocking my arm with his, we wander around the fire barrels—he tells me what led him to the choice to leave, and more importantly why he took me with him.
“So,” I begin, as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and lets out a deep giggle, I proceed, “I was like a zombie?”
“Yeah, it was kinda hot, at first. I felt like we were in that movie... “Warm Bodies,” He starts to kick pebbles on the street, “And it was, for a moment. I got to save my zombie.”
I snort-laughed at his comparison. “You just compared us to a zombie romance.” Nodding, he takes my hand and kisses the back of it like I am royalty.
“Anything for you, little zombie.”
Something about my new ‘pet name’ sends chills through me that not even this wintry weather could match. “So, what does that make you—a Necrophile?”
“Yo, that’s funny, little zombie.” He chuckles, and the image of John Travolta in “Grease” springs up in my brain, and he continues with his ‘greaser’ persona, “Wanna find a decent place where I can crack open a cold one?”
“Christy!” I smacked him on his shoulder. “Ew, that is gross.” A tee-hee leaves my mouth.
He doesn’t stop there. “Come on, don’t you want to help me with my ‘mourning wood’?” I gasp at his audacity. “Hey, Necrophile’s are people too… we’re just looking for some-body to love.” He turns me to face him with a half-ass smirk plastered to his face.
Pulling me close to a cut-out between two buildings, he steps back, his beat-up sneaker, disappearing into the darkness. “Come, little zombie. Step into my freezer.”
I keel over in laughter. “Okay, the other ones were bad. This one… HA! This one takes the cake.”
He grabs my wrist, yanking me into his arms as the crevice devours us, engulfing us in shadow.
My back smacks into the stone as his lips crash into mine.
His hands cup both sides of my head, then work their way to clasp fists full of my hair.
A waft of cinnamon and pine fills my nose as his tongue forces mine into a slap-box battle.
Cinnamon and pine—yes please, it's so much better than the clean linen smell that will forever haunt me.
I place my hands on his chest, his pecks prominent beneath the hoodie he wore over stolen scrubs.
His hands start to dance over my body in a frantic attempt to lift the hospital gown that drapes over my sweatpants.
He hikes the material up, so it rests in the curve of my lower back—my ass supporting it.
Once his goal is achieved, he takes hold of my wrists, raising them over my head to finally flatten my hands against the brick wall, before entwining his fingers with mine.
Getting the hint, I leave them raised as his fingertips slide down my arms, the sensation is diluted by the coat I am wearing. “Sugar, I am going to get you so high that sobriety will look easy.” His gaze is screaming dominance.
“Let.
Me.
Be.
Your drug.”
He spins me to face the wall, one hand trapping my wrists above my head, while the other makes little work of pulling my sweats aside.
“Lift your ass, sugar.” I rise to my tippy toes, pushing my stomach away from the wall, doing exactly what ‘my drug’ demands me to do.
“That’s my good fucking Zombie.” Running his cold hands over my bare skin, “I’m going to give you the best brain you’ve ever had.
Ready. Breathe in.” Before I can even obey, he slams his cock deep into my pussy.
With a strong hold still on my wrists, he moves his free hand around, placing it on my lower belly. This placement allowed him to thrust. Harder. Deeper. Compelling a small whimper to escape me. “Oh, Christy.”
“Oh yes, sugar.” His voice is like an earthquake—a rumbling echoing in the empty alley, “Please, please, please, please.” His voice softer with every plea. “Say my name, baby.”
I call his name soft and broken. “Chr-is-tian.” Again, I am spinning. This time, as my back leaves the concrete wall he picks me up.
I wrap my legs around his waist, as he folds my arms around his neck, then my back meets the stone once more.
“I want you to come for me, sugar.” Using his body to pin me, one knee jams between my legs like he is putting me on a pedestal.
I feel him shift the material of my pants, moving them further down my thigh until they are bunched at my knees, and my bare ass is exposed.
He shifts my body slightly off center, the cold air invading my vagina as the warmth of his leg moves.
My breathing hitches when he drops his hand through the hole he created, and my body bucks when I feel him start to rub the head of his dick on my clit, before he pushes it inside me.
I try to look down and watch, but as to purposefully be my enemy, my pants are in the way as my knees meet my chest with every thrust.
“Fuck Evelyn,” he moans before he shifts me to where I have one leg over his thigh, the other cradled by his forearm—slipping closer toward his shoulder as his free hand moves to collar my throat. It’s slow, at first, while he gets his footing, “Come on, baby. You ready to ‘pour some sugar on me’?”
Because I wasn’t prepared for him to crack a joke, I break out in a fit of ugly laughter. “Yes, Christy, I am.” He chuckles along with me. I speak once more, “Anything for you.” He takes my final words as an invitation for him to go harder. Faster. Deeper.
Just what I wanted.
His hand leaves my throat, traveling down my chest and stops at my pussy.
He rotates two fingertips around my clit, then slides them back and forth, until finally he inserts them, cupping me in his hand—adding more girth as he moves them in coordination with his cock.
His palm pressing into me, rotating methodically over the bundle of sensitive nerves.
That was the final step. He is doing it so well.
I can no longer fight the feeling, and I come almost instantaneously.
My breathing is jagged as I feel his cock pulsating in me.
Breathy, I try to ask, “Christy, did you-” He nods, removing his fingers from me and bringing them to his lips.
Inserting them in his mouth, he releases a low vibrato followed by the sound of him sucking them clean. “We didn’t have-” I try to continue.
He talks over me, cutting my statement short.
“You.” He puts a hand behind my right knee, still aloft on his thigh.
“Taste.” Entranced by his words, not expecting what comes next, “Fucking. Invigorating.” As he finishes his statement, he forces my back higher on the wall, wrapping my sweatpants around the back of his neck making his face—my seat.
Suddenly, he begins licking, and lapping, pushing anything that attempted to escape back in.
He pulls away briefly, sticking his tongue out into the frosty air, I look down and watch it glisten with my essence.
Then, after a moment, he returns and the sensation from the cold on his tongue was like a wintery takeover as he works his magic down there.
With my fingers gripping his hair tight, I meet my second release.
He enhances it with a growl at the realization he finished me a second time—the vibration in his tone better than any toy I have ever owned.
“Sugar. Spice. And everything nice.” He says each word between licks before lowering me forcing our eyes to meet, “Tell me you’ll be my girl…
let me be the chemical X that completes you? ”
“You-” I use the arm of my sweater to wipe his face as I giggle. “You want me to be your Powerpuff girl?”
“I mean, weed is the only enhancer I would be ok with still doing, so you can say that.” He flashes a charming smile, but it doesn’t bless his face too long. We are interrupted by a noise echoing from further in the cutout than I would dare go. “Stay here, sugar.” And with that, he is gone.
After, he emerges from the darkness of the alley, and I notice he has a new addition. Draped over his shoulder is a woman, and as they slink past me, he gives me a look, one of anger and sorrow.
We stay for a moment more, dropping her off at a tent the others said was hers.
“Adelaide,” She doesn’t budge as he snaps in her face.
“Adelaide, hun… wake up.” Her eyes open to reveal crisp, honey-colored eyes.
As she looks at Christian, finally she speaks, “Do I know you?” Her voice is raspier than one who smoked their whole life.
He gives her one good look-over, then replies, “Not anymore.” As he turns to walk away, he kicks something hidden beneath the sleeping bag in the tent, causing him to almost face plant to the stone floor. “My father’s Louisville?” Leaning down, he picks up the baseball bat.
“Why does she have your father’s baseball bat?” I inquire.