I’m alone. Caleb left town shortly after the funeral. And Serena’s spending more and more time with Jason. He’s been going with her to check on Trent in rehab. But for me the days only bleed into nights. I decide to move out of my house. I can’t stay there. The ghosts are everywhere. I end up catching a break in that there’s a young couple ready to rent it. I move into my mother’s empty house where more ghosts haunt me, but right now, I have no choice. At least I can live off the rental income until I find a job, which isn’t going to be easy. And to boot, that fucking douchebag photographer from the funeral has decided to sue me. Let him see what he can get even if he wins. The house is in Dahl’s name and I have nothing else to speak of.
I fall into a routine . . . same thing, different day. I go out, get drunk, come home, and descend into oblivion. But the numbness from the alcohol is starting to wane and the pain isn’t fading as quickly anymore. Tonight a new antidote dropped itself right into my lap. I was at the Cliff and just before closing, a chick slipped her hand into my back pocket while I was playing pool. I saw only the back of her before she ducked out, but it was enough to intrigue me. I pulled the note out and read it. I’ve been watching you all night. Meet me around back if you want to know what reward and punishment feels like. I couldn’t turn that down. I exited the bar through the same door as her. I walked around the corner to the parking lot. She was sitting on top of a car, waiting for me. I stared at her as I tried to place her familiarity.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Ben Covington.”
I was still trying to figure out how I knew her.
“I didn’t think you’d recognize me. We went to high school together. We were in the same English class.”
I couldn’t fucking place her and by now it must have been evident.
“We were partners on the Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn projects. I made the Mississippi River for you and the blue epoxy stuck to my fingers for days.”
“Fuck, yes. How the hell are you . . . ?”
She laughed. “Dawn, Dawn Buckley.”
I lazily swept my eyes over her and recognition finally hit. She wasn’t the Dawn I remembered. That Dawn was a little freaky—goth, heavy eyeliner, black fingernails. This girl couldn’t look more different. Long, blonde hair, sexy legs, and hot.
“Yeah, I know I look different so I didn’t expect you to remember me.”
“No, I do.”
“I always had a crush on you, you know?”
I laughed. “Really? No, I didn’t.”
“You want to get out of here?” she asked.
She didn’t have to ask me twice. We left in my car and she started things off right when she showed me how this little game of hers was going to go—road head was my reward for inviting her back to my place.
The porch was pitch dark when we arrived and she began undressing while I fumbled for my key. When we finally made it in the house, we stayed where we landed—in the family room.
Time must have flown by afterward because now when I stand up and glance out the window I suddenly notice it is light outside and wonder how the night flew by so fast.
“What time is it?” she asks, squinting as the sun breaks through the blinds.
“I can’t even tell you what fucking day it is, let alone what time it is.”
“It’s Sunday or maybe Saturday.” She laughs.
I shrug and scratch my head wondering why this chick is still here. I should tell her that it is time to end this party, but her presence is helping me forget the things I don’t want to remember. In the kitchen I grab a drink and steel a look at the clock—nine a.m. Fuck, we’ve been at this for hours. I walk back in the room after chugging down another beer and she has a scowl on her face.
“Did you change your mind?” she asks.
“No I didn’t.”
She points to the ground. She wants to punish me and I’m going to let her. Why not? I already knew it was coming—she warned me. She wanted me to go down on her after she got herself all worked up, but I wasn’t into it. Since I refused—punishment it is. I drop to my knees, facing the couch as she instructs. She stays silent. She’s dead serious about this and I try not to laugh. She ties my ankles to the bottom rung of the coffee table with some ribbon she found on my mother’s desk. When she’s done she lies on the sofa and fingers herself. She’s masturbating in front of me and it’s fucking hot. Her method isn’t entirely worthless because I definitely want to touch her now, but her * is too far away. Obviously this is working just the way she planned it—entice me with the view. And I’m enticed. My dick swells while watching her and once she starts humping from her own touch, I take it in my hands and start stroking myself.
She jumps up in an instant and whips the belt off my shorts. “No, no,” she purrs from behind me. She grabs my hands and tucks them inside the seat cushions of the couch. “Now, don’t make me tie these, too.”