I watch her process my words and can see the disappointment she has in herself. Even from the grave, Black had the power to corrupt the purest of minds. Because it’s Saylor’s he’s fucking with, I want to resurrect him and kill him all over again. And this time, I want him to die the horrible death Saylor was hoping for.
“The last high of his life he didn’t get from coke. I sat at the table with him while he snorted line after line of raw opium and heroin. By the time he realized something was wrong, he was already dead. Black, the only father I knew, the evilest man I know, the one son of a bitch who deserved to die a horrible death, went out the way we all want to. He went to sleep and never woke up.” I watch sadness form in Saylor’s eyes and I wonder why she pities him. “Don’t feel sorry for him.”
“I don’t,” she tells me, and by the way she is glaring at me, she means it. “I don’t. I just hate that he didn’t suffer more for everything he put you through.” Her words are heartwarming. Even though they pertain to the murder of a man, she says them in a way that makes me feel special.
Just before I melt into a pool of mushy vagina on the floor, she changes the subject. “Give me the tour.”
Saylor jumps down from the counter and walks up to me, looping her arm through mine like I’m fixing to take her on a fucking stroll instead of a showing her a shitty little house that smells like varmint shit, or so she said.
“This was my room,” I say, watching as she walks around the room with her eyes closed. If she says it’s perfect, I’m gonna lose it. But she doesn’t say anything. I see her poke her head in the closet and then disappear.
“Where does this lead to?” she asks, and by the echo in her voice I know she is already halfway inside the hole in the wall. I walk in to see her on her knees with her ass in the air. Thank fuck my shirt covers her. “Dirk.” She calls to the darkness and I ignore the thoughts of what panties she is wearing and focus on her question.
“Nowhere. It was once a closet off the bathroom, and someone must have remodeled and just walled it up. I found it by accident.” Flashbacks of days I spent inside the dark hole fill me. It was an escape from Black when I knew he was angry enough to kill me. It was a refuge for me and provided the only sense of security I had my entire childhood.
Saylor backs out of the hole, brushing the dirt from her knees, and smiles at me. “I like it. I wish I’d had a secret room growing up.” I’m glad Saylor didn’t have to endure the shit I did. The thought of her growing up in a house with a man like Black makes me sick. If she’d had a hidden room, she would have used it to escape her parents when she didn’t get her way. Mine was used to save my life.
“I’ll build you one if you want,” I tell her, wondering how in the hell I could do that at her apartment.
“Nah, I’ll just use yours.” Saylor walks out of the room and before I can stop her, she is over the threshold and standing next to Black’s bed. “This was his room, huh?” she asks, looking at me from across the hall.
“Yes. But I’ve never been in there.” And he has been dead for years.
“I think you should,” Saylor says, walking to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. I just stand there, letting her hug me without touching her. It doesn’t feel right—not in this room. “Hey,” she says, squeezing me tight.
“Hey.” Saylor’s hair is dirty. Cobwebs and paint chips are scattered throughout the tangled curls, and I stand there wondering what in the hell she will do to get it out.
“This is your house, Dirk. It doesn’t have to be full of bad memories. We can make new ones.” She pulls back, looking up at me, but she must feel like she isn’t close enough. She wraps her arms around my neck and lifts herself. I grab her hips and hold her around my waist, feeling the heat of her * even through my jeans.
“Will you let me help you change this place up a little?” I don’t know what she means by change, but I like the word when it refers to this house.
Before I can respond, she is telling me all the ideas she has. “Just cleaning it up and painting it will make a world of difference. We can even get new furniture. And I’d love to cook you dinner.”
She looks at me, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please? It will give me something to do.”
I have plenty she can do and it doesn’t involve cleaning or painting. It consists of my cock and all the places she can put it. I don’t give a fuck about the house. If she wanted to burn it, paint it, or blow the motherfucker up, I’d let her. If it made her happy.
“I have somewhere I need to go today. I won’t be back till late, but there’s a truck out back. You can do what you want.” I’m not happy about Saylor spending her time cleaning and doing shit for a place I don’t care for, and she knows it.
“I like it here. I’d like to come back or stay a little longer if you will let me.” I look around, surprised at her admission.
“Here?” My bewilderment amuses her.
“Yes. Here. It’s quiet. And it’s just us.” I like it being just us. I like the quiet. I like that she likes this place.