To Haunt A Heartbeat #2
I shake my head, wondering if I’m hallucinating, but she repeats herself again, this time sounding like herself.
“Did you hear me? He. Doesn’t. Care.”
“I know,” I murmur.
“He’s going to hurt you,” she warns.
“Stop it,” I plea.
“Stop what?”
“Talking,” I beg.
A shrill laugh sounds, spreading more goosebumps over my entire body. It’s so harsh like the frigid temperature of her touch.
“I will, after I ask you one question.”
“What?” I ask, reluctantly.
But that fades the moment her lips hover above my clit.
I blink once, twice, three times.
I don’t remember putting on a nightgown.
And I don’t remember any of the nightgowns I packed being made of lace.
The longer I stare at it, the more it resembles the lace dress that hugs her perfect body in all the right places.
“Wha-what is it?” I stammer.
“Ssh. It’s okay. I just want to make you less lonely. Will you allow me?”
“How?” I ask.
Curiosity overcomes me like a tidal wave. Scaring and exciting me all at once. I’ve never been with a woman before. Same way that I’ve never had anyone ask me if they can make me feel anything good or pleasurable. My word – my consent – has never been taking into consideration much in my life.
“There are so many ways I can make you feel my company, but why don’t we start with my tongue on your pussy.”
It’s impossible to miss the admiration in her gaze as she stares down at my slit. Running an eager finger attentively up and down it, collecting my arousal, shebrings it to her lips for a taste. A hum of approval falls from her. “I’m lonely too you know. I need this as much as you do.”
Anticipation like I didn’t even think was possible rips through me.
There’s nothing left to say.
There’s no part of this that I want to fight.
I want this.
I need this.
“Lay back,” she instructs and I listen, doing as she says. She applies pressure to both of my knees forcing them wider apart. “Let me take it all away,” she coos, with her tongue skimming the edge of my clit.
My hips buck forward. Pitiful cries of pleasure escape me, becoming aware of the torn muscle of her tongue with each suck, lick and pass she makes at my throbbing clit.
The suction she maintains on me, is better than any toy, any lover, anything I’ve ever experienced.
It doesn’t take long before I’m a withering, writhing mess, thrashing my sex at her face.
As I ride the wave of my orgasm, I reach down, grabbing onto her veil and the coldness I felt when she first touched me returns.
The tighter I hold on, the more she begins to fade away.
“Mine,” she shouts, so loud that I let go on her veil and bring my hands to my ears, shielding them from her sound.
My lids close and I feel water splash onto me, though as I open my eyes I’m stunned.
I’m in bed, not the water.
And there’s a large pool of wetness beneath me and my very plump, very satisfied cunt.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Gavin laughs, amused with himself as I walk into the kitchen, still wearing the nightgown.
“Clothes,” I answer, sarcastically.
And of course, the hypocrite that he is who can always dish it but can’t take it bites back.
“I fucking hate when you do that.” He slams the cabinet door shut.
“Do what? Exist?”
He wags a finger at me. “No, don’t play stupid. I’m talking about that. That damn snarky, sarcastic humor of yours. I hate it.”
I bite my tongue, holding back what I want to say to him.
Not for his sake. I know I’m fully within my rights to tell him that he’s a horrible person, but the truth is, confrontation makes me physically ill.
It takes me hours, sometimes days to recover from our arguments, so I’ve learned it’s easier to say nothing, and instead curse him in my head instead.
“I only asked you what you’re wearing because I’ve never seen you wear that before.”
“I didn’t realize you kept track of my clothing.” In all the years he and I have been together, he hasn’tnoticed or commented on so much as a new hairdo, let alone what I own. “It’s new.” I leave it at that.
“Doesn’t look new, it looks old.”
Naturally, Gavin isn’t done, needing to tack on another insult. “It looks creepy, like this house.” I look around, it’s clear from the cobwebs gathering on the molding and the architecture that has more charm than newbuilds do these days, that the house is old, but it’s no less beautiful.
“What does it matter? It’s not like we’ll be seeing much of each other this weekend, anyway, isn’t that right?” There’s a boldness to my voice that I’m not quite certain where it came from. And the pit I’m expecting to be in my stomach due to my hatred for arguing with him is nonexistent.
He furrows a brow at me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I glance at his phone that hasn’t stopped going off since I walked out of the bedroom.
The buzz is faint. He always has it on vibrate, but still, there’s no missing it.
“That’s your work phone, isn’t it? The one you swore you wouldn’t bring.
It’s been going off nonstop, which lets me know that as soon as you finish putting away the last of the groceries, you’ll be glued to it. ”
A scowl forms, making him look hideous. Gavin is an objectively good-looking man, but there’s something about the way his mannerisms shift when he’s angry that makes him look ugly. Guess that’s to be expected when you’re ugly on the inside, it’s bound to make its way out.
“Yes, Cora, just because you’re sad doesn’t mean that I get to take time off. We have to eat you know. Oh, and pay bills.”
Despite every fiber of being urging me to ignore him since it’ll only make me sick. I can’t stay quiet. I won’t.
“Yes, so you’ve reminded me. You know there’s much more to a partnership than shoving it in my face every two seconds that you provide monetarily for us.
Good for you. That’s all you do. I can’t remember the last time you acknowledged a birthday or an anniversary or did anything nice for that matter.
” Word vomit continues. “Or when the last time you even fucked me was. You may provide monetarily, but you’re not a provider. You’re an asshole.”
My chest heaves, violently. My pulse thrashes as my entire body trembles with a mix of anxiety and pride tangling in my veins watching him stand there with his jaw practically on the floor in shock.
“Apologize to me,” he demands.
“No,” I say, standing firm.
He shakes his head and the most sinister smile forms on his face. It’s the equivalent to a blinding ray of sun reflecting off a metal surface, so eerie that I’m forced to turn my head and look away.
“The fuck are you looking at it?” he spews, charging towards me, but he stops a few inches away, but close enough that his hand reaches for my chin.
“Look at me.”
“Get off of me,” I protest.
His grip only tightens, squeezing my cheeks.
“I said get off of me,” I repeat, this time as I yell it.
He turns his head to the window, finally letting go of me. “Fuck it. You’re not worth it.” He laughs. “They weren’t kidding about this place.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shrugs casually as if we weren’t just arguing and he didn’t have his hands on me.
“It’s why it was available with no bookings.”
I shake my head. “Gavin, what the fuck are you talking about?”
He ignores me.
Unfazed by my questioning he reaches for his work phone and it’s obvious from the smile on his face whoever he’s talking to it isn’t about work.
He gets up from the couch, stating that he has work to do.
“What about it?” I ask again.
“You don’t know?”
“Gavin, you’re not making any sense right now. What is it?”
“This place is supposedly haunted. If you believe in that sort of thing,” he scoffs.
“Haunted?” I whisper.
It’s then that I look out the window and see the pier from my dream.
“Yeah, some shit with the lake out there.”
“What about it?” I ask, but he’s already walking out of the kitchen.
I follow him.
“Gavin, I asked you a question. Are you even listening to me?”
The phone is raised to his ear as he motions for me to get away. “Don’t you see I’m on the phone?”
He keeps his back turned to me, running into the next room, slamming the door, making it obvious it’s not a work call. I know, just like in my dream, with that woman whispering it to me, he isn’t faithful.
Something that I should care about but right now the only thing I’m concerned with is finding out what happened in this house.
“I want none of that talk in my house, do you understand me, Cora?” A slap burns my cheek robbing me of my ability to answer even if I wanted to.
My mother charges past me, grabbing the book I took out from the library to show my father.
As soon as she heads downstairs to show him, he begins to yell and it’s a matter of seconds before footsteps thud and they both are screaming at me.
Scolding me for bringing witchcraft into their house.
All I did was want to learn something outside of what’s shoved down my throat in Sunday school.
I just went to the library to take out a book on spirits hoping that maybe I’d discover the answer as to why I see things no one else in my family can and why every time we drive past the cemetery at the bottom of the hill, I hear whispers.
So. Many. Whispers.
Last night after Gavin went to bed, I went to my room but after tossing and turning, replaying what he implied about the house and what happened here.
After some scrounging on the internet, I quickly discovered that he was right.
Over thirty years ago, a woman who lived here with her husband was found drowned to death.
She was a few months with child. The details surrounding the drowning were deemed suspicious and according to local lore, strange things have happened in and around the house since.