Still Beating

I walk down the long hallway, passing closed doors on either side of me. All of them are adorned with artwork, pretty wreaths, or homemade crafts. Most of the art is childlike, made by grandchildren and great grandchildren and displayed with pride.

My feet stop at the one door that is blank and empty. Cheerless.

Sad.

She doesn’t have any grandchildren. She doesn’t have anyone except for me, and I’m too much of a coward to visit her more than once a year.

I knock against the frame as I let myself in, spotting her across the small condo, watching television from the foot of her bed in a nightgown.

“Leave it by the door, Frank,” she says without looking away from the TV screen.

I swallow, taking hesitant steps inside the room. “It’s me, Mom.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink or flinch.

Holly Asher was a strong woman. Kind and soft in so many ways, yet there was always fight in her eyes. Her spirit burned bright with fierce protection for her family and love for those she deemed worthy.

My mother loved my father with the fire of a thousand suns, and he loved her back just the same. My childhood is riddled with vivid memories of them madly in love, kissing, chasing each other around the house, tickling, and dancing in the kitchen to Hootie and the Blowfish. I’d get embarrassed when my friends came over because I knew my parents would act like fools with their terrible dance moves and off-key singing. Mom would always try to pull me into the dance party and I’d run away, shouting, “You guys are so weird!” They would laugh and laugh, immune to my humiliation, and then they’d kiss, not giving a damn.

But they would fight, too. Oh, they would fight, and I’d hear them from the other side of the house in the middle of the night as I clutched the bed covers to my chin.

“You’re an idiot, Mark!”

“You drive me crazy, Hol!”

Their stomping feet and hostile words would vibrate right up to my room and tickle my heart. It always sounded so bad, like I’d wake up the next morning and Dad would be gone.

But that never happened.

Things would go back to normal by sunrise, as if I’d dreamt the whole thing.

Then there was the day I woke up and Dad was gone. It was two days after my high school graduation—I was yanked out of bed by my mother’s horrified screams that still linger in my mind to this day. He’d passed away in his sleep from a heart attack.

So sudden.

So quick.

So fucking unfair.

My mother never really recovered from the loss and her mental state deteriorated over the next few years. Her memory began to decline at only fifty-two years old, and I always thought to myself, “How horrible it must be to forget the love of your life.”

Now, I can’t help but wonder if it was the only way for her to cope.

Maybe there is no recovering from something like that. Maybe there is no healing or moving on. There is no forgetting.

Not unless you truly forget.

I approach my mother, her light brown hair dappled in silver and cut just above her shoulders. She glances up when I’m standing a few feet away, my hands in my pockets. “You look good, Mom.”

Holly smiles, a warmth washing over her baby blue eyes, almost like she recognizes me. “Randall. I’m so glad you came to visit.”

I try not to take it personally. The doctors all say she can’t help it. My father could be standing here, fresh from his grave, and she’d still be all mixed up. “Mom, it’s Dean. Your son.”

She nods her head. “Come sit.” Holly pats the embroidered quilt beside her, encouraging me to join her. “Frank brought tea. It’s by the front door.”

“Thanks.”

We sit in silence for a moment, my mother’s attention back on the television. She sighs wearily. “It’s such a shame the way those towers fell down. So much fire and destruction. So much loss.” Holly shakes her head from side to side, her eyes glistening as images play out on the screen.

I glance at the TV. It’s a commercial for dish soap.

My fingers weave through my dark hair, recalling the way my mother used to stroke my scalp with her fingertips to alleviate my stress or calm my nerves. I miss that sometimes.

I clear my throat, shifting my weight on the bed. “I know you’re not going to understand what I’m saying, but I think I just needed someone to listen. I went through some pretty crazy stuff a few months ago, and I don’t think I’m handling it very well. I’m confused about a lot of shit. I still have nightmares. It’s taking all my willpower not to drink myself to death. And…” I close my eyes, grinding my teeth. “I think I’m falling in love with the only damn woman in the world who’s completely off limits. I know she feels it, too, which should be great, right? This is the shit people write books about.”

Holly sits very still, staring at the television screen as if she didn’t hear a word I said.

“But there’s no story like ours, Mom. People don’t write about what we went through. They don’t write about how we were abducted in the middle of the night by a sick motherfucker, handcuffed to pipes for three weeks, hungry, dirty, and scared out of our damn minds while I was forced to violate her with a gun to my head.

“They don’t write about how I shredded a man’s face with my bare hands until I cut my knuckles on his skull. They don’t write about what the hell we’re supposed to do after something like that, when life goes back to normal and everyone around us is smiling and happy, but we’re still stuck in that hellhole, clinging to each other because we’re all we have.” I lower my hands to my face as I try not to break. “And the real kicker is that I was engaged to her sister. What the hell kind of twisted shit is that?”

Jesus Christ. What a goddamn mess. Part of me is glad my mother has no clue what I’m saying.

I breathe deeply into my hands, my elbows on my knees. I jump when I feel familiar fingers trail up the back of my neck and into my hair, massaging my scalp, quelling the pain that’s tearing me apart inside.

I inhale a shaky breath, sitting up and looking over at my mother. Her focus is still on the screen, but her fingers continue their soothing trek along my scalp, forcing my eyes to close in contentment.

“Every love story is worth writing, no matter how messy it might be,” Holly says absently, still stroking my hair. “I would like to read your book.”

My brow creases into a frown, confused, wondering if she was absorbing my words, after all. My mother used to have many moments of clarity, but they have become few and far between. The last time I visited her—in March for fuck’s sake—she wasn’t at all lucid. She called me Gator the entire time, which was the name of our Beagle who died ten years ago.

Holly reaches for my hand resting on my thigh, clasping it inside her cool palm, still enamored by the pictures on the television. “I had a terrible nightmare once. It was a lot different than yours, though.” She squeezes my fingers and releases a small sigh. “I was all alone.”

I wait for her to continue.

I wait for the story to unfold, the horrors to play out, the nightmare to come to life.

But she doesn’t say anything else and I realize… that was the nightmare.

We sit in silence as her words pinch me. My insides ache and twist with something I don’t exactly understand.

And then my mother lets go of me, smiling pleasantly as she folds her hands in her lap. “I should have the paperwork all filled out by the end of the day. I do appreciate you coming by.”

As I drive home that afternoon, I think about the things I said, about the things she said, and about how sometimes all we need is a good dose of perspective.

There are worse nightmares than this.

I could be all alone.

I decide right then and there that I will start visiting my mother more often. No more hiding. No more fear. No more guilt.

Because as sad as my mother’s condition is, there is nothing sadder than walking up to that blank, empty door.

It’s a little after nine P.M. when the power goes out. My television flickers off, as do the lights, and I’m left sitting on the couch in complete darkness.

The first thing I think about is Cora.

She doesn’t like the dark. She keeps the lights on at night, even in her bedroom, and I don’t blame her.

I’m on the other side of town, but I reach for my phone just in case. Just to check on her.

Me: Did your power just go out?

I wait for her reply.

It’s been another week since I last saw her—since we kissed and cried and held each other on her bedroom floor until reality crept back in and I drove myself home.

And that was it. We haven’t spoken since, and it fucking sucks. I’m not sure what to say to her now that she feels responsible for my break-up with Mandy. I’m not sure what to think after she told me she hated me over and over, even though I know it’s the furthest thing from the truth. And I sure as hell don’t know what to do now that we’ve tasted each other again, voluntarily, desperately, and were likely one more kiss away from doing a lot more than that.

It’s a mess.

My phone buzzes in my lap, and I quickly open the message.

Cora: Yes

Shit. She’s probably terrified.

Me: Do you have candles or something?

Cora: I can’t find my lighter. I’m using my phone’s flashlight, but my battery is almost dead. Shoot me.

I run my tongue along my teeth, weighing my options. There are only two options, and it doesn’t take long for me to pick one.

Me: On my way

Cora: That’s not necessary.

Me: You’re afraid of the dark.

Cora: I’m afraid of a lot of things. You’re one of them.

I stare at her text, my heart sinking into my stomach.

She’s scared of me? What the hell?

Me: Wow. Ok then.

A few minutes tick by before her response comes through.

Cora: I didn’t mean it like that. I’m afraid of the way you make me feel.

I should have figured that’s what she meant. I tap my finger against my phone and shoot back a reply before grabbing my shoes and coat.

Me: I get it. But I’m starting to realize there are things much scarier than that. See you in 15 mins.

Cora opens her front door in a tank top and cotton shorts that I can hardly make out through the veil of darkness. I hold my phone screen up for light, illuminating the hesitant look in her eyes.

“You didn’t need to come over, Dean.”

I offer a small smile. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

She steps aside, sighing softly, and allows me to enter. I take tentative steps inside, holding out my hands so I don’t bump into anything. “Shit. It’s really dark.”

“That’s generally the consequence of no light.”

I make a humming sound, turning towards her when the door clicks shut. We stand there in silence for a few beats as our eyes adjust and find each other’s faces.

Cora clears her throat and sweeps past me, heading towards the kitchen. “It figures the power goes out the same day I drop a small fortune on groceries. Do you want anything?”

The moon is our only nightlight, and I can make out her vague outline reaching into the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of something. “I’m good.”

“Well, I’m going to have a glass of wine and try to pass out.”

I make my way into the kitchen, only bumping into one side table along the way. I hear the jangle of a dog collar from across the room and glance over to see four eyes glowing at me through the dark fog. “How are the dogs doing?”

I hear Cora rummage around a drawer, likely looking for the wine opener. “Really great, actually. Jude already knows how to give me his paw. Penny follows him around everywhere—it’s adorable.”

“That’s awesome, Cora. I’m glad it’s working out.”

“Yeah, I definitely haven’t gotten any vibes that they want to turn me into puppy chow. I think I’m in the clear.”

I quirk a smile, sidling up beside her and watching as she pours the wine. She sets the bottle down and cups her glass, bringing the rim to her lips and flicking her eyes up to me as she takes a sip.

Cora nibbles on her bottom lip, lowering her glass. “I didn’t hear from you all week.”

Her tone is accusing, but her eyes spear me with something softer. “Oh…” I scratch my head, then rub my hand down my face. “I didn’t know you wanted to hear from me.”

She blinks over the glass, then dips her chin. Cora turns away and ambles into the living room, plopping down onto the couch without responding.

I follow, sitting down beside her. “Cora, you told me you hated me—like, a dozen times. Then you told me you hated yourself, which I can only assume is because of me.”

She shrugs her shoulders and takes another sip. “I was upset.”

“Well, I didn’t want to make you more upset.”

“We kissed, Dean.” Cora glances at me through fluttering lashes. If I could see her better in the dark, I’m almost certain her cheeks would be flushed pink—and not from the wine. “A real kiss. You didn’t have a gun to your head.”

“I know.”

Cora starts picking at her sock, averting her gaze. “I figured that would warrant a follow-up call, or a text or something.”

I study her shadowed outline.

Her waves of hair spilling over her shoulders. Her eyes lowered to the wine glass she’s spinning between nervous fingers. Her lips pressed together in contemplation. Her nipples pebbled through her cotton tank top.

Damn.

I lean back against the couch, my hands on my knees. “If it makes any difference, I wanted to call you. I wanted to see you.” I wait until she’s returning my gaze before finishing, “I wanted to kiss you again.”

There’s no mistaking the way her fist grips the spine of the glass and a small gasp escapes her mouth. “That’s not a good idea.”

“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”

But my eyes cut to her mouth anyway, and hers trail to mine. We look back up at the same time.

Cora chugs the rest of her wine and places the empty glass beside her. I think she’s going to start scratching her wrist, but a fresh bandage provides a barrier, so she runs her hand along her arm instead, almost like she’s cold. “I should get to bed. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

She glances at me, and I’m not sure if that was supposed to be an invitation or not. Shit. I realize I have no idea what I’m even doing.

But I came here for a reason, so I reply, “I can lie with you until the lights come back on.”

Cora bites her lip, grazing her teeth back and forth as she processes the offer. Then she gives me a small, agreeable nod and rises from the couch.

I must not scare her quite as much as the dark.

Standing up, I watch as Cora saunters down the hallway, her white tank and shorts the only thing visible as she heads towards the bedroom. I make my way over to the bed, careful not to trip on anything in the process, and roam my hands across the sheets as I slide in. I feel her body heat from the center of the bed, so I scoot my way to her and slink my arm around her middle. Cora stiffens for a moment, as if she’s surprised by the contact. “Sorry… is this okay?”

She responds by moving in closer, nuzzling into my chest like she’s done so many times before, and letting out a long breath. “It’s okay.”

I can almost feel the tension leave us both, my nose nestled in her soft hair, her warm body pressed into me like she’s the missing piece to my puzzle. Cora lies on her back with my lips to her ear, and I feel her shiver every time I exhale. She dances her fingers up my arm as we embrace the darkness together.

“Do you want to know the worst night of my whole life?” she asks suddenly, her voice merely a whisper, yet so loud in the silent room.

The truth is, I don’t think I want to know… but I assume she wants to tell me. “What was it?”

Cora tickles my arm as her fingers glide back down, inciting goosebumps to sprout all over my skin. “It was the night after we… well, the first time you had to…” She swallows. “You didn’t talk to me. You didn’t sing. And it was so dark.”

God, she’s going to rip my heart out. I close my eyes and squeeze her closer to me, my fingertips unconsciously dipping beneath the hem of her tank top. She lets out a squeaky sound when I trail them along the skin just below her belly button. “That was the worst day, and night, of my whole fucking life, Corabelle. I didn’t know what to say to you.” I inhale her freshly washed hair, burying my face into the crook of her neck. “What could I say?”

“I wasn’t mad,” she responds in a breathy tone, pressing herself even closer to me. “I understood.”

“No.” I shake my head, her golden locks tickling my nose. “You couldn’t possibly understand. I spent the whole night wishing I’d let him kill me.”

Cora jerks her head to her left, pinning her eyes on me. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No… Dean, don’t ever say that again. Don’t even think it.” She twists around until we’re facing each other, and my hand slides up behind her top, caressing the small of her back. Cora maintains my gaze for a long time before dipping her chin and sucking in a choppy breath. “Remember when we were trading confessions?” she asks, still avoiding my gaze.

I nod, and our noses almost kiss. “I remember.”

Her tongue slicks over her lips and her eyes close as she pieces together her words. “You told me two confessions and I only told you one.”

My hand instinctively rises up her back, massaging her spine, then curves around to her front. I splay my fingers along her stomach, feeling her body melt into me, and my breathing picks up to match my racing heart. “Do you have another confession?”

Cora nods timidly, her lips parting as she arches into my roving hand. I slide it up her middle until my fingers graze the underside of her breast.

Fuck, I’m getting hard. I should probably stop touching her.

But I want to keep touching her. The last time we were trapped in the dark, we couldn’t even touch our toes together.

“Tell me,” I whisper, lowering my hand and curling it around her waist. I leave it there, waiting for her to speak.

Cora’s eyes flutter open, and it almost feels like it takes all of her courage to let them meet mine. She inhales sharply, then lets it out, her breath skimming my lips. “The only time I felt safe was when you were inside of me.”

Her words shoot straight to my groin. My cock twitches in my jeans, remembering exactly how it felt being inside of her. Only… I thought she was repulsed. Outraged. Horrified.

“Me, too.” I manage to get those two words out as my hand crawls back up her body and cups her breast, forcing a moan from her lips. Her pelvis thrusts against mine, and I grab her face in my hands and start kissing the fuck out of her. When my tongue pushes past her lips, it’s just as desperate as before. Just as wild and untamed. We are pulled together, fueled by our memories and trauma and desire and need.

Cora hoists her leg up around my hip as her arms encompass my neck, pulling herself impossibly close. Her tongue is in my mouth, hot and demanding, and her hands start fisting my hair, tugging it until I moan. I roll her onto her back, our mouths only parting so I can slip her tank top up and over her head, her long hair falling down to the pillow like a golden halo.

Like an angel.

I capture her lips again as I tug down her shorts and panties until she’s wearing nothing but the necklace I gave her for Christmas.

Cora grips my t-shirt, her legs linking around my hips. “I need to feel you…” She discards the shirt, and her hands drift up and down my bare chest, over my shoulders, along my arms, then back up again. She leans up to kiss my neck, nicking her teeth on my skin—like a claim.

It fucking does something to me.

A sound pitches in my throat, almost a growl, and I loosen my belt buckle and kick off my boxers and jeans, descending on her again with maddening urgency. My mouth takes hold of her nipple, dusky and taut, and my tongue laves over each one as I feel her writhing beneath me. Her hands are in my hair again, her nails digging into my scalp, and it only drives me more wild. “You’re fucking beautiful,” I murmur against her skin, trailing my lips down over her flat stomach, then lower, until I’m between her legs. Her scent alone fuels me, but the way she bucks her hips against my face, still pulling my hair, has me diving into her heat with a hunger I’ve never felt before. Cora arches her back and lets out a cry of pleasure that electrifies me. I palm her inner thighs, then push her legs further apart, spreading her as wide as I can. I want her to be fully exposed to me—utterly vulnerable.

I push two fingers inside her as my mouth works her clit. The sweet, intoxicating taste of her mixed with how goddamn wet she is, has my cock throbbing, yearning to be inside her again. I glance up at the stretch of her body, bowed and trembling, and reach up to palm her breast as she rides against my face. I thrust my tongue over her slick folds, sucking her clit, until she’s chanting, “Dean, Dean, Dean…”

Jesus. I’ve heard my name expelled from her mouth so many times, in so many ways: anger, annoyance, outrage, humor, audacity, fear, confusion, grief, heartache… and I swear to God, love.

But not like this.

Never like this.

I crawl back up her body before she spirals, and Cora squeaks in surprise when I leave her unfulfilled. But before she can protest, I hook her thighs around my waist and whisper against her ear, “I want you to come when I’m inside you.”

Cora pushes at my chest and flips me onto my back, climbing on top of me and straddling my hips. My cock grazes the crease of her ass, and I want to lift her onto me, but she reaches behind her and starts stroking me. She drags her fingernails down my abdomen with her opposite hand, then leans down to kiss me.

Feeling her hand grip my cock as her tongue plunges into my mouth is too fucking much, so I flip her again until she’s on her back, like we’re in some sort of powerplay.

But I want to be in control.

I kneel in front of her and grab one of her legs, tonguing and nipping along her thigh before hooking it over my shoulder. My other hand reaches up to grab her breast, tweaking her nipple between my fingers until she whimpers. Then I situate myself between her thighs, my cock just teasing her entrance. Cora moves her hips downward and releases a gasp-like moan when the tip pushes inside.

Fucking hell, this is really happening.

We’re going to have sex.

By choice.

There are no guns, no chains, no shackles, no evil eyes watching us from across the room, tainting us like poison.

It’s just us.

I lean forward as Cora’s ankle curls around my upper back, her leg still draped over my shoulder. She’s spread wide and waiting.

A trace of moonlight brightens her face, and I can see that her eyes are closed. I pull all the way out of her, and she lifts her hips with frustration. “Look at me, Corabelle.”

Cora’s eyelids flutter open beneath her long lashes, and we are face to face. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. I could never look her in the eyes when I entered her before—there was too much shame and guilt. Too much heartbreak. Too much I was afraid I might see.

Now I want to see it all.

When our gaze is fixed and holding tight, I push my cock inside her. We both cry out with a tapered groan, and I watch her eyes glaze over, widening slightly, as we are swept up together in the culmination, the pinnacle, of the last fifteen years. We are frozen for a heartbeat, taking it all in, absorbing it for everything it is.

And then we let go.

I pull out and push back in, hard and demanding, and it’s teeth and nails and moans and sweat. Cora scratches at my arms, meeting me thrust for thrust, her neck arched back against the pillow as she whimpers and gasps. I glide my hands up her chest to her neck, my fingers catching on her necklace and gently curling around her throat as I plunge into her. My lips caress her ear, biting the lobe, and I whisper, “Did you miss my cock?”

Cora grabs my ass, spearing me with her fingernails, tightening her legs around me while she moans, “Yes…”

Goddamn.

I pull out completely, flipping her around until she’s on her stomach, and reenter her from behind. She cries out, fisting the bedsheets as I slink my arm under her stomach and yank her up, driving into her with zero restraint. I tug her hair back until she’s fully flush against me, back to chest, moaning and mewling. One of my hands roves over her breasts, twisting each nipple, while the other finds her throat and tilts her face towards me. Our mouths collide over her shoulder, and I can taste every beautiful fucking sound I’m ripping out of her, our tongues tangling and hungry as our bodies crash together.

My lips make their way to her ear again as my right hand slides between her legs and finds her clit. “You’re mine, Corabelle,” I breathe out, claiming her, branding her, marking her as my own. Her wetness slicks my fingers as I massage her into a frenzy, feeling her shuddering, spinning, begging for release. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

Cora snakes one arm behind my head, holding my face to the crook of her neck where I pull the tender flesh between my teeth and bite down. She gasps, squeaking out more sounds that drive me fucking mad. “I’m yours,” she says, whispery, laced with lust. “You know I am. You’ve always known it.”

“Fuck…” Does she really believe that? Do I believe that? I’m overcome with the need to look her in the eyes, so I pull back out and spin her around, pushing her down onto the mattress. I climb over her until we’re face to face, my arms resting on either side of her head. My cock grazes her entrance, and Cora jerks her hips up, craving me, needing me to fill her.

“Please,” she tells me, grinding herself against my length, making me crazy.

I love teasing her. I always have. “Please what?”

She whimpers. “Please fuck me. Please make me come.”

Jesus. I curl my hands around her wrists and press my forehead to hers, pushing in slowly, our eyes locked. Desire is the color green, and it floods me, bathing me in emeralds and jades and the waves of the sea. I lean down to kiss her mouth, puffy and pink, and Cora arches up, wrapping her legs around my waist and locking her ankles. I reach down to grab her thighs, palming and squeezing, as she rakes her nails down my back, then back up to tug handfuls of my hair. I pick up the pace, drowning in the madness. Drowning in her.

I never honestly believed we would be in this position again, voluntarily. Not really. I thought about it, of course—fuck, I thought about it a hell of a lot more than I care to admit. And when I pictured this moment, being inside her again, feeling her pulsate around me, I envisioned something softer. Slow, gentle lovemaking that wiped us clean of all that violence. Of all that darkness.

But this is anything but soft.

This is rough and raw and dirty, and we’re animals clawing at each other, biting, all primal growls and desperate thrusts.

It’s fitting, I decide.

After all, we were created in darkness.

It’s in our blood.

I angle my hips so I stroke against her sensitive bundle of nerves as my fingers dig into her thighs. I ram into her over and over, quicker and harder, until I feel her body tense beneath me, her breaths hitching and halting as she begins to peak.

The last time she moaned with pleasure as she came, my mouth found hers before the sound could touch the air. As much as I wanted to hear it, as much as I wanted it to sweep right through me and claw its way inside my bones, I couldn’t let him hear it. I couldn’t let him have it. So, I kissed her instead and swallowed it down.

But this time I watch her let go; I let her cry out with shameless abandon, and she’s so fucking loud and wild and stripped down, I can’t hold back any longer. My orgasm takes over and I come inside her, burying my face into that perfect, familiar curve of her neck and groaning as my body shudders and releases.

We cling to each other, her legs stretching out underneath me, her toes tickling their way down my calves. I bring my hands up to her hair and weave my fingers in the soft strands, breathing in her scent with a long sigh. I feel her arms wrap around my middle as she pulls me close, and I lift my head to meet her eyes.

And then the lights flicker back on, like a spotlight, illuminating our tangled limbs and flushed skin. Our bite marks and scratches and sweat. Disheveled hair and wide eyes. All of our flaws and cracks and weaknesses are spread out between us, visible and raw.

We don’t speak. I pull out and roll beside her, sliding my arm around her waist and tugging her towards me. She curls up against me, her back to my chest, and we lie there silent and spooning, wondering what the fuck happens now.

But then I feel her start to tremble, shivering in my arms as she tries to hide her tears from me. I hold her tight, kissing her shoulder and whispering soothing words into her ear.

I told her I would stay with her until the darkness passed, and I did not lie.