Read Online Still Missing by Chevy Stevens - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chevy Stevens
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Psychological, Psychological fiction, Thrillers, Women, Abduction, Identity, British Columbia, Women - Identity, Self-realization in women
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dress from behind, I knew what to do.
"Please don't touch me--I don't want to do this."
With his chin digging into my shoulder, he nuzzled my earlobe. "I can feel you shaking. What are you scared of?"
"You--I'm scared of you. You're strong and you're going to hurt me." My dress fell to the floor and he moved in front of me. In the candlelight, his eyes glowed. He stood before me and traced his middle finger around my neck.
The finger traveled down to right above my pubic bone and paused.
My skin crawled.
"Describe your fear to me." His voice lingered over the word "fear."
"My knees--they feel weak. I feel sick in my stomach. I can't breathe. My heart, it feels...it feels like it's going to burst."
With his hands pressed into my shoulders, he walked me backward until the edge of the mattress hit the back of my knees, then shoved me hard, so that I fell onto the bed. I watched as he ripped off his clothes.
I crawled across the bed, but he dragged me back by my ankle. Then he was on me, tearing my pan ties and bra off. It all happened so fast. He was hard, then he was inside me. I screamed. He smiled. I gritted my teeth, squeezed my eyes shut, counted his thrusts--struggling when he faltered--and prayed.
LetitbeoverLetitbeoverLetitbeover
When he finally came, I wanted to pour bleach on my crotch and scrub with boiling water until I bled, but I couldn't even get up to wash. When I asked, he said, "That's not necessary, just rest."
In his postcoital afterglow, he lay there stroking my hair and said, "I'll take some chicken breasts out of the freezer tomorrow." He pulled me close against him and nuzzled my neck. "We can make chow mein together, okay?" He cuddled me until he fell asleep.
His wetness was still between my legs, but I didn't cry. When I thought of Luke a sob almost broke free, but I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. I whispered, "I'm sorry," into the dark.
I've watched shows about women who stay married for years to guys who keep beating the crap out of them--worse, they don't just stay, they try desperately to make the guy happy, which of course never works--and I'd want to be sympathetic, want to understand, but I just never got it, Doc. Seemed pretty simple to me. Pack your shit and tell the jerk goodbye, preferably with a boot to his ass. Oh, yeah, I thought I was one tough cookie. Well, all it took was five days of being left alone for this cookie to crumble. Five stinking days, and I was ready to do whatever he wanted. And now I get to be paraded around as a heroine. Heroes dive into burning buildings and save children. Heroes die for the cause. I'm not a hero, I'm a coward.
I have to do another interview tonight, look at some perky blonde with her Chiclet smile who's going to ask, "How did you feel up there, were you scared?" No shit, Sherlock. They're no better than him--just sadists with a bigger paycheck.
Interesting that hardly anyone asks how I feel now, not that I'd tell them. I just wonder why nobody cares much about the after--just about the story. Guess they figure it stops there.
I wish.
SESSION SEVEN
Hard to believe it's already the third week of January, isn't it, Doc? I'm just glad all the Christmas and New Year's hoopla is finally out of the way, which reminds me, did I ever tell you about Christmas with The Freak? You know, I don't think I ever did get around to sharing his not-so-good word on all things red and green. Well, one day he sat me down and told me it was December but we wouldn't be celebrating Christmas, because it was just one more way society tries to control people.
It didn't stop there. I got to listen to an endless rant about the evils of Christmas and how society has taken a myth and blown it up into a money grab. The last thing in the world I'd wanted to do was celebrate anything with The Freak, but by the time he was done talking about every shitty aspect of the holiday I would've helped the Grinch steal Christmas myself. Actually, that's what the jerk did.
"Please don't touch me--I don't want to do this."
With his chin digging into my shoulder, he nuzzled my earlobe. "I can feel you shaking. What are you scared of?"
"You--I'm scared of you. You're strong and you're going to hurt me." My dress fell to the floor and he moved in front of me. In the candlelight, his eyes glowed. He stood before me and traced his middle finger around my neck.
The finger traveled down to right above my pubic bone and paused.
My skin crawled.
"Describe your fear to me." His voice lingered over the word "fear."
"My knees--they feel weak. I feel sick in my stomach. I can't breathe. My heart, it feels...it feels like it's going to burst."
With his hands pressed into my shoulders, he walked me backward until the edge of the mattress hit the back of my knees, then shoved me hard, so that I fell onto the bed. I watched as he ripped off his clothes.
I crawled across the bed, but he dragged me back by my ankle. Then he was on me, tearing my pan ties and bra off. It all happened so fast. He was hard, then he was inside me. I screamed. He smiled. I gritted my teeth, squeezed my eyes shut, counted his thrusts--struggling when he faltered--and prayed.
LetitbeoverLetitbeoverLetitbeover
When he finally came, I wanted to pour bleach on my crotch and scrub with boiling water until I bled, but I couldn't even get up to wash. When I asked, he said, "That's not necessary, just rest."
In his postcoital afterglow, he lay there stroking my hair and said, "I'll take some chicken breasts out of the freezer tomorrow." He pulled me close against him and nuzzled my neck. "We can make chow mein together, okay?" He cuddled me until he fell asleep.
His wetness was still between my legs, but I didn't cry. When I thought of Luke a sob almost broke free, but I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. I whispered, "I'm sorry," into the dark.
I've watched shows about women who stay married for years to guys who keep beating the crap out of them--worse, they don't just stay, they try desperately to make the guy happy, which of course never works--and I'd want to be sympathetic, want to understand, but I just never got it, Doc. Seemed pretty simple to me. Pack your shit and tell the jerk goodbye, preferably with a boot to his ass. Oh, yeah, I thought I was one tough cookie. Well, all it took was five days of being left alone for this cookie to crumble. Five stinking days, and I was ready to do whatever he wanted. And now I get to be paraded around as a heroine. Heroes dive into burning buildings and save children. Heroes die for the cause. I'm not a hero, I'm a coward.
I have to do another interview tonight, look at some perky blonde with her Chiclet smile who's going to ask, "How did you feel up there, were you scared?" No shit, Sherlock. They're no better than him--just sadists with a bigger paycheck.
Interesting that hardly anyone asks how I feel now, not that I'd tell them. I just wonder why nobody cares much about the after--just about the story. Guess they figure it stops there.
I wish.
SESSION SEVEN
Hard to believe it's already the third week of January, isn't it, Doc? I'm just glad all the Christmas and New Year's hoopla is finally out of the way, which reminds me, did I ever tell you about Christmas with The Freak? You know, I don't think I ever did get around to sharing his not-so-good word on all things red and green. Well, one day he sat me down and told me it was December but we wouldn't be celebrating Christmas, because it was just one more way society tries to control people.
It didn't stop there. I got to listen to an endless rant about the evils of Christmas and how society has taken a myth and blown it up into a money grab. The last thing in the world I'd wanted to do was celebrate anything with The Freak, but by the time he was done talking about every shitty aspect of the holiday I would've helped the Grinch steal Christmas myself. Actually, that's what the jerk did.
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