12. What Makes Gideon Bell Smile?
What Makes Gideon Bell Smile?
Downward spirals were always interesting enough to watch, coworkers and friends ranting and raving about their problems. In the heat of the moment, sharing more than they really wanted to and regretting it almost immediately after.
The out-of-place behavior, changes in their routines, impulsive decisions.
After years, I’ve mastered the signals, the perfect amount of empathy to pretend I feel the ranges they do, the right eye contact, and when to avoid it.
I learned how to smile and laugh at jokes I don’t find funny.
How to get the attention of a woman, even to fuck one if I cared to.
I don’t. I’ve always saved my first time for my puppet, more than content to avoid women in hopes of touching a girl I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years.
The point is, I don’t spiral. Not in the traditional sense. I don’t rant or rave; I don’t vent.
The key turns in the lock quietly as I let myself into the place Audrey has been hiding for the past two days.
The key’s owner is currently off fucking some girl who, like him, peaked in high school.
I glare at the chaotic state of the house, trash scattered and mixed with clothes on the floor.
Bottles and cigarette cartons, ash on the coffee table.
The smell of cheap perfume and musty towels that weren’t set out to dry properly makes me wrinkle my nose as I snag a baggie of pills off the counter.
I’ve watched enough to have a general idea of where she’ll be within the labyrinth of filth as I pocket the baggie.
My fist tightens around the key, its jagged edges pricking my palm.
The small shack turned house in the backyard of a much grander and probably cleaner home owned by the parents of the girl she’s sleeping beside.
My cock hardens despite that hot feeling in my chest that has persisted since the night I saw her kiss her boyfriend.
Jealousy. I’ve felt it many times before with Audrey.
Any time anyone but me paid her any attention, really.
Her other friends, parents, my parents, a fucking stray dog.
I’ve always required all of her focus unconditionally.
Distance and time only seemed to aggravate and worsen the need.
Audrey’s ass is exposed in the pile of blankets, lacy sunshine-colored underwear exposing all of her.
The woman draped over my puppet is in even more of a state of undress.
Her small, pierced breasts poke out from under the covers.
My jaw clenches, noting every place their bodies touch.
That it should be me she’s tangled with, admiring her while she sleeps.
It should’ve always been me. Allowing myself a small moment to mourn for our lost time while I glare down at the two women.
One, I would destroy everything to kill; the other, I’ve already destroyed everything to keep.
I lean down beside the bed, letting my fingers drift over Audrey's cool cheek. She doesn’t budge, judging by the smell of alcohol on her breath, she won’t.
For her, this is nothing, a little tickle she probably barely felt, but for me?
This is everything. This is my spiral. This is years of tension and longing in a single touch.
Seventeen women have died in her name. All for her, all because of her, because she looked so goddamn pretty, smearing sand in my passenger seat when she asked me if I loved her that day.
The bed creaks against my weight as I climb on it, the box spring letting out a pained groan.
The rim of my glasses gently brushes her as I lean in, dragging her through my lungs.
My nose and hair tickle over her bare shoulder blade.
Every inch of me lights, like someone set off not a match but a fevered inferno.
A devastating, raging wildfire that doesn’t care for the victims it leaves behind.
My breath turns shaky, my cock pressing painfully against my zipper as I trail my lips down the soft expanse of her back, lower and lower until I meet lace.
My heart stops in my chest as she grumbles, swatting blindly behind her. “I said no, Jess.”
So you’ve let her have you too? What are we going to do about that sweet puppet?
My eyes flick toward the heavily stated corpse beside her, wondering how I’ll do it.
How she’ll die. So many wonderful options with merits of their own.
Perhaps I’ll make you watch Audrey. I forgot how pretty your voice cracks when you cry.
I’ve been desperate to hear it for years.
My girl groans, shifting to open her legs more, all with mumbled, muted protests leaving her mouth, those plush salmon-colored lips I’ve failed to recreate countless times.
She buries her sleepy face in her pillow as I shift her lacy underwear down her pale thighs, bringing it to my nose and inhaling her tangy scent before pocketing it.
My fingers make feather-light passes on her wet slit, making my cock throb, noting everything that makes her whisper and grunt as she tries to bear down on my fingers.
I’ve pictured Audrey like this more times than I can count, but none of those fantasies have ever come close.
Every fiber of my being thrums and exists for her.
My only regret is ever staying away. Ever denying my need for her.
Ever letting her be anything but mine. Letting my bitch of a mother win, letting them take me from her.
My finger finds her hot, wet entrance, my heart slamming around in my chest as I sink it into her to the knuckle.
Her little needy hole clamping and adjusting to the intrusion.
My eyes nearly roll back in my skull as I brace my head against the swell of her ass, barely suppressing a whine of my own.
I’m panting, running my lips across her soft, warm skin.
“You don’t have to miss me anymore. I’ll take care of everything.
Everyone. It’ll be just how it was, puppet. I promise.”
I have to be gentle with Audrey, my sweet puppet with big feelings and weepy eyes.
I have to be patient. I can do that for you.
The sound of her gasp fills the quiet room.
Audrey is suddenly very… very alert, my pulse shudders before kicking up to a violent sprint.
I extract my finger as she goes to lift her head from the pillow, my hand snapping out, capturing the back of her neck, holding her face down.
My own breath heaves as she goes still, an edge of panic in her voice. Panic that’s for me, only me. She’s so fucking cute when she’s scared. I’m glad that hasn’t changed. “Jess?” she whispers.
I don’t respond, keeping her still, but soon enough she decides the weight against her is heavier, bulkier.
“Bryan, this isn’t funny.” Her voice is muffled as I press against her neck harder, hating the sound of his name on her lips.
In that we agree, sweet Audrey. Nothing is funny about what you’ve done since I’ve been away.
I just need you to go back to bed so I can leave.
I bite back a smile, a real one, as I shove her head deep into the pillow.
I don’t want to hurt her. I’ve never wanted to hurt her…
well, not really anyway, or I assume she’d be dead by now.
Everyone always called me a freak, but she understood me.
Accepted me when nobody else would. She’d understand this now, I’m sure of it.
Audrey would forgive me; that’s what makes her so perfect.
My eyes reluctantly leave her so I can make sure the corpse beside her doesn’t budge, my weight settling on Audrey to keep her still.
Not all of it, just enough. Everything about the way her perfect body flexes and struggles underneath me makes my heart flutter in my chest. Only Audrey could make suffocation endearing.
After a few moments, she stills. I’m breathing heavily, my breath rustling her bangs as I release her.
My lips meet the top of her head, my hands shake, checking her pulse and breathing to ensure she’s fine before I push off the bed.
It only takes shifting through a few piles of thankfully clean clothes to find a blanket to better cover her with, ensuring it’s tucked between every inch where they were touching each other.
Movement from the other side of the bed has me stilling, a new, sick kind of anticipation building in my gut.
I glare at the sleeping woman, wondering if her eyes will open.
Adjusting my still hard cock in my pants before pressing another soft kiss to my Audrey’s forehead, hating the idea of leaving her here.
“Get out, Bryan. You shouldn’t fuck with her when she’s sleeping in here. She’s gonna be pissed now,” she mumbles, twisting to face the other direction.
I take a few extra moments to dissect what she just said, what those words truly mean. The implications there. Then another few to convince myself not to strangle her to fucking death right here, right now. Consequences be dammed.
You need to be smart about these things.
Like he taught you.
The thought makes that constant buzzing in my head louder as I leave the house, twirling the keys around the finger I’ve already sucked clean as I stalk across the yard.
Each step is a dagger in my chest, made even more jarring because she’s mad at me.
If I spoke to her now, would she even speak back?
If I grabbed her and hauled her out of this shithole first thing in the morning, would she scream? Demand I put her down?
I made her cry at the Johnson’s shop. Not a cry that felt good either.
My hand clasps around her underwear again, bringing it to my nose as I head down the street toward my car. I’m slamming the door before I decide my spiral isn’t done yet.
Not even close.
And everything is about to get so much worse.
For the second time in ten years… I smile again. Really smile.