8. Chapter Eight Lakey #2
"More. I want more." I was greedy. I was always greedy with him. No amount of Cam was ever enough. I could have him inside me for hours and still feel the ache of wanting when he pulled out. He was the only addiction I'd never tried to quit.
He fucked me harder, each thrust shoving me across the floor until my head was dangerously close to Ed's chair and I could smell the copper of his blood mixing with the scent of us, sweat and sex and the metallic tang that was becoming the soundtrack of our lives.
"Cam, I'm close, fuck, I'm so close—"
"Not yet." He pulled out. I actually whimpered, the emptiness unbearable after being so full. He flipped me onto my stomach and pulled my hips up, entering me from behind in a single thrust that made me bite into my own forearm to keep from screaming loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
His hand found the back of my neck, pressing me down into the floor, my cheek against the cold wood. His other hand reached around and found my clit, rubbing in tight circles while he fucked me from behind with the kind of force that would have terrified anyone who didn't understand us.
But I understood us. This was how we processed.
This was how we metabolized the violence, the trauma, the kill.
Some people meditate. Some people journal.
We fucked each other into oblivion on the floor of the house where our abuser's body was still warm in his chair, and when we were done, we'd be lighter.
Emptied out. Ready for whatever came next.
"Come for me, Lakey. Now." His fingers pinched my clit at the same time his teeth sank into the junction of my neck and shoulder, and my orgasm ripped through me so hard my vision went black around the edges.
My pussy clenched around him, contracting in waves, pulling him deeper, and he followed me over the edge with a growl that vibrated through my bones as he spilled inside me.
He collapsed on top of me, both of us panting, both of us wrecked, the hardwood floor sticky with sweat and fluids and probably Ed's blood that had dripped from my shirt while we fucked.
We laid there in a heap on the floor of Ed's living room for several minutes before finally he pulled out and reached for our discarded clothes, wiping himself off with his shirt before helping me up.
"Damn... there's cum everywhere. We're gonna need to find bleach. Did you touch anything else?" Cam asked, hardly giving me time to catch my breath before he was onto the next thing.
"Really? We just had a mind-blowing fuck and you're thinking about that?" I wasn't impressed. I mean, I kinda was. I was ready to leave. But he thought of everything.
"Um, yes? Do you want to get caught?" He looked at me like I had three heads. "I'll grab it from the kitchen with some cloths. We can wipe everything down and scrub the floor. Then we can leave our bestie to be found whenever he does."
"Fiiiiiine," I sighed, getting up and pulling my leggings over yet another load of cum. These things are going to be crusty as fuck. I followed Cam into the kitchen and grabbed some gloves, throwing him a pair before we got out the bleach and some kitchen cloths.
Wiping everything down was tedious. It took forever and burned my nose. When we were finally done, we took the supplies with us, putting them in a bag before heading out to our bikes.
What a fun fucking start to my day. Sex, murder, a bit of everything that set my dopamine levels soaring.
A flash of a memory invaded my happiness. Right before our social worker moved us to the Almines, Eddy had brought Bill in with him. He wanted to take turns. Whispering to me how beautiful I was and how I was growing into such a pretty young woman.
I was fucking ten.
Anger surged through me. It never got that far because that night, I'd hidden a steak knife under my pillow.
I'd been ready for Ed. Bill was a bit of a surprise, but that didn't stop me.
They'd pulled their pants off and slid in, one on each side.
I pulled my knife out, hopped out of bed and held it out.
Bill tried to 'reason with me', but once he stepped too close, I slashed across his thigh, almost nicking his putrid dick in the process.
Bill had limped for a month. Ed kept his distance after that. It wasn't long before Bill told Carmen I was 'unruly' and needed to go. Carmen believed her son over the ten-year-old because of course she did. That's how the system worked. The adults protected each other and the kids bled.
So, after an interview with Sarah, where I told her nothing, she made the choice to move me. She hadn't seen a need in moving Cam, but when I refused to go without him, she made the wise decision, bringing him with me to the next shithole.
God.
Rage burned through me, and I had half the mind to go finish Bill and Carmen right now, but exhaustion was setting in and my muscles were growing tired.
I needed rest before we tackled those beasts.
I'd been so caught up in my thoughts, I hadn't realized we'd gotten home, parked and were on our floor.
Following behind Cam, I trudged into the house, tossing the bag of evidence on the counter.
We'd burn it at the barrel later tonight, I'm sure.
"Lakey?" Cam said, snapping me out of my thoughts. "You good? You look... I dunno, lost in thought."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about the next order of business.
" Which wasn't a lie. But I didn't want him to know about my memories.
They were mine and mine alone. For now, anyway.
The ones I remembered. He didn't need to carry my burdens as well as his own.
Cam carried me through things that would have broken lesser people, and I didn't want him to carry everything on his own.
He also needed a place to unload and thankfully, that place was me.
That's why we worked. We knew the pain and suffering we'd endured because both of us suffered in the same ways. No point in trauma dumping on each other when we could do something about it instead.
And Cam had given me a way to get it all out.
"Hey, babe?"
"Mmmm," he replied, ducking his head around the bathroom door to look at me.
"I think I'm gonna start writing in my journal again."
He frowned. "Why?"
"I dunno. Kinda wanna do something new." I shrugged.
"Well, okay, but remember that whatever you put in there can be used against us if anyone catches on."
"I know. I'll be careful. Don't you worry about it." I winked, trailing my finger down his abs as I walked towards our room, before sauntering off to find one of my dozens of unused journals and a pen.
And so, here I am, sitting at our kitchen table, writing my first entry in this godforsaken thing because for some reason I thought that it might be 'therapeutic'.
I wrote until my fingers were sore, telling a tale about a giant, who towered over a little woodland fairy.
Eventually, she grew big and strong and took her revenge on the evil giant.
With a giggle at the fleeting thought that I should write children's books, I signed at the end of the short story:
Without Regret, Lakey