“What if he didn’t know?”
“So what?” I set the plate in the sink, the lingering smell of food making my stomach roil. “What the fuck does it matter now? It’s done, Eva. Done and over with. Let it go.”
“Why are you so mad?”
“Because I was settled in for the night with my wife. Dinner, wine, a little TV, a couple hours making love … after a long, rough day.” I left the kitchen. “Forget it. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Gideon, wait.” She grabbed my arm. “Don’t go to bed pissed. Please. I’m sorry.”
I paused and removed her hand from my arm. “So am I.”
“START out slow,” he whispers, his lips near my ear.
I can feel him becoming excited. He reaches around my hip to where I’m stroking my penis. His hand covers mine. His breath is quick and shallow. His erection brushes against my buttocks.
My stomach feels sick. I’m sweating. I can’t stay hard, even as my oiled fist slides up and down, guided by his.
“You’re thinking too much,” he tells me. “Concentrate on how good it feels. Look at that woman in front of you. She wants you to fuck her. Imagine how it’d feel to push your cock into her. Soft. Hot. Wet. And tight.” His grip closes harder over mine. “So tight.”
I look at the centerfold spread over the top of my toilet’s water tank. She’s got dark hair and blue eyes, and her legs are long. They always look like that, the women in the pictures Hugh brings.
He pants in my ear, and the sickness is back. Wrong. There’s something wrong with me. This feels wrong. His eagerness makes me feel dirty. Bad. I’m a bad boy, even Mom says so. She yells it at me when she’s crying, when she’s angry with me about Dad.
A low moan cuts through the sound of his heavy breaths. It’s me making that noise. It feels good, even though I don’t want it to.
It’s hard to breathe, to think, to fight …
“That’s it,” he coaxes. His other hand pushes between my buttocks.
I try to pull away, but he’s got me trapped. He’s bigger than me, stronger. No matter how I struggle, I can’t push him off.
“Don’t,” I tell him, squirming.
“You like it,” he grunts. His hand pumps me harder. “You shoot off like a geyser every time. It’s okay. It’s supposed to feel good. You’ll be better once you’ve come. You won’t fight with your mother so much …”
“No. Don’t! Oh, God …”
He pushes two slick fingers inside me. I cry out, writhing away, but he won’t quit. He’s rubbing and thrusting into me, hitting the spot that makes me want to come more than anything. The pleasure grows despite the tears burning my eyes.
My head falls forward. My chin touches my heaving chest. It’s coming. I can’t stop it …
Abruptly, I look down from a higher vantage. My hand is suddenly bigger, my forearm thicker and coursing with veins. Dark hair dusts my arms and chest, my abdomen ripples with muscle as I fight the orgasm I don’t want.
I am not a child anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.
There’s a knife atop the centerfold, gleaming in the light from the vanity beside me. I grab it and jerk free of the fingers fucking me. I turn and the blade sinks into his chest.
“Don’t touch me!” I roar, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him into the knife, all the way to the hilt.
Hugh’s eyes widen with horror. His mouth falls open in a silent scream.
His face morphs into Nathan’s. My childhood bathroom shimmers and transforms. We’re in an eerily familiar hotel room.
My heart pounds harder. I can’t be here. They can’t find me here. Can’t find any trace of me. I have to leave.
I stumble back. The knife withdraws in a smooth, blood-soaked glide. Nathan’s eyes turn milky with death. They’re gray. Gray eyes. Beautiful, beloved dove gray irises. Eva’s eyes. Clouding over …
Eva is bleeding in front of me. Dying in front of me. I’ve killed her. My God …
Angel!