It Ain't Me, Babe
Page 39
I could not help but reminisce as I sat still on the soft mattress in Styx’s quiet room. The mattress that smelled like him. I had been so young when I was forced to join with men and I hated every minute. What Styx had just given me was like nothing I had ever felt before. It was a fire, a burning fire at the bottom of my spine. It was a pressure, a pressure too intense for words. Then it spiraled into a frenzy, way out of my control.
I had gripped the headboard, pulling to escape the emotion yet at the same time pushing to bring the delicious feeling even closer. And then he touched me… there… and I exploded. I shattered into tiny fragments, my soul bursting with light—too much yet not enough. I was instantly addicted.
Greedy, needing more, I pressed harder against Styx’s hand. Prophet David had been so wrong—nothing this good could ever be a sin. Women should feel pleasure too.
Then it had been over. Styx regretted touching me. He recoiled in horror the instant he saw my scars—the inescapable and permanent link to my past. How swiftly he had left me, alone and naked in his large cold bed.
He had left me.
Left me here, confused, hot, yearning… wanting him.
I refused to let loose the tears threatening to break free. His rejection would not destroy me. I could not, would not, let another man break my spirit. Even if Styx might be the only man able to do so… irreparably.
Gathering my composure, I shifted off the bed, wincing as my feet hit the cold wooden floor. I walked into the washroom, switched on the shower to its hottest temperature and let the flow of hard water pound my skin.
Since my arrival, Styx had viewed me as weak, someone who needed constant protection. He had no idea of the life I had lived, of the tenacity of my spirit or the multiple horrors I had to endure on a daily basis. I am a survivor. The scars he found so repulsive were a testament to my strength. I cannot, will not, be ashamed of actions thrust on me by others.
As God is my witness, I was a child!
What troubled me most was that I knew Styx’s concern for me came from a good place. I knew his cold reaction and his abrupt departure was fed by his anger. His speech, his lifelong disability that prevented the words he so desperately wanted to say to me, was his burden. No doubt he would be in the bar, drowning his sorrows with the amber liquid I had seen him drink so much. I resolved to go to him, to demonstrate to him all was well, and to say that I loved what we had done together… and still wanted more, if he did too.
I dried off and ran Styx’s comb through my long hair, brushing out the knots tangled on the back of my scalp. Earlier, Styx had brought in the luggage bag from Rider’s room and I opened the zipper, pulling out a pair of black pants and a tank adorned with the Hangmen motif in the center.
Once dressed, I took Styx’s leather vest—no, cut—and inhaled the familiar scent—tobacco and leather, all Styx. My skin tingled and my scalp pricked. This unfamiliar sensation both frightened me and exhilarated me and I felt an increasingly familiar need building between my legs. Sighing, I slipped the large, warm leather cut on my shoulders and walked to the door, then out into the hallway.
As soon as I left the room, a high-pitched moan and a low growl grabbed my attention. The sound came from the darkened end of the long hallway. The sounds signaled exactly what was happening, exactly what I had been doing not too long ago.
Not wanting to intrude, I turned toward the exit door at the opposite end of the long corridor, then stopped dead in my tracks as I heard…
“Styx!”
Ice-cold shivers ran down my spine as the very recognizable sounds of intense sexual pleasure drifted toward me. Styx was with another woman? He had switched straight from me to someone else? After everything that had happened between us…
My feet were leaden I as shuffled to the secluded corner, the sounds of heavy breathing and whimpering moans increased with every step. Gathering my courage, fearing the worst, I forced a quick peek round the wall and instantly wished I had turned away and left him to it.
My heart missed a beat when I saw he was with a peculiar-looking pink-haired woman. It was clear what she was doing, on her knees, braced at his most private parts as he leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, his face scrunched up.
I could not stop it. No matter how hard I tried, a cry forced its way up my throat. My hand covered my mouth, but I could not contain the sob. I felt utterly devastated at what he was doing here, right in front of me. I felt like screaming in disappointment and rage. Here was the evidence I had not wanted to believe of Styx: all men are the same. They take what they want, when they want it… from whomever they want.
Styx had shunned me and turned straight to her to “fix” his problem, less than hour after leaving his room. In his mind, he must see me as damaged, lost in this world, the fact of which I was well aware. In his mind, I must not be worthy of the task of giving him pleasure.
Styx abruptly stopped, held her wrists in his hands, and swung his stunned gaze in my direction. His beautifully rough face contorted in panic and there was a whooshing in my ears. I was unable to hear anything but white noise. I was unable to do anything except stand and stare—stare into his hazel eyes, those eyes that always entranced me, stare at the betrayal unfolding before me. I truly believed that Styx was different… I was sick and tired of being wrong.
Feeling like I stood there for an eternity, I jumped as an arm lay across my shoulder. The action forced me out of my stupor. Beauty was hugging me close, glaring at Styx and that woman, who was still on her knees. The woman kneeling on the floor smiled wickedly. She said something to me, but I could not hear what, not in my state of shock. Letti, who was stood behind Beauty, had heard though. As my pretty blond protector pulled me away, the large heavy woman walked menacingly toward the pink-haired girl.
Quickening our pace, Beauty and I walked down some corridors and up a flight of stairs, but not before she fisted Styx’s cut and, in disgust, threw it to the floor.
“Where are we going?” I eventually asked. Only here, when we were out of earshot, did my senses and clarity of thought make their unwelcome return. They brought a crushing hurt.
“I need to check on Rider. Tank’s still on the road. He sent me a text asking me to check Rider was okay. I ain’t fixin’ to take you back to Styx’s apartment. He can stew a little on what he did back there. Might force him to come to his damn senses. Stupid drunken ass!”
Tensing up, I swallow hard, expecting the worst; I slowly and deliberately asked, “Did he… join… with her?”
I had gripped the headboard, pulling to escape the emotion yet at the same time pushing to bring the delicious feeling even closer. And then he touched me… there… and I exploded. I shattered into tiny fragments, my soul bursting with light—too much yet not enough. I was instantly addicted.
Greedy, needing more, I pressed harder against Styx’s hand. Prophet David had been so wrong—nothing this good could ever be a sin. Women should feel pleasure too.
Then it had been over. Styx regretted touching me. He recoiled in horror the instant he saw my scars—the inescapable and permanent link to my past. How swiftly he had left me, alone and naked in his large cold bed.
He had left me.
Left me here, confused, hot, yearning… wanting him.
I refused to let loose the tears threatening to break free. His rejection would not destroy me. I could not, would not, let another man break my spirit. Even if Styx might be the only man able to do so… irreparably.
Gathering my composure, I shifted off the bed, wincing as my feet hit the cold wooden floor. I walked into the washroom, switched on the shower to its hottest temperature and let the flow of hard water pound my skin.
Since my arrival, Styx had viewed me as weak, someone who needed constant protection. He had no idea of the life I had lived, of the tenacity of my spirit or the multiple horrors I had to endure on a daily basis. I am a survivor. The scars he found so repulsive were a testament to my strength. I cannot, will not, be ashamed of actions thrust on me by others.
As God is my witness, I was a child!
What troubled me most was that I knew Styx’s concern for me came from a good place. I knew his cold reaction and his abrupt departure was fed by his anger. His speech, his lifelong disability that prevented the words he so desperately wanted to say to me, was his burden. No doubt he would be in the bar, drowning his sorrows with the amber liquid I had seen him drink so much. I resolved to go to him, to demonstrate to him all was well, and to say that I loved what we had done together… and still wanted more, if he did too.
I dried off and ran Styx’s comb through my long hair, brushing out the knots tangled on the back of my scalp. Earlier, Styx had brought in the luggage bag from Rider’s room and I opened the zipper, pulling out a pair of black pants and a tank adorned with the Hangmen motif in the center.
Once dressed, I took Styx’s leather vest—no, cut—and inhaled the familiar scent—tobacco and leather, all Styx. My skin tingled and my scalp pricked. This unfamiliar sensation both frightened me and exhilarated me and I felt an increasingly familiar need building between my legs. Sighing, I slipped the large, warm leather cut on my shoulders and walked to the door, then out into the hallway.
As soon as I left the room, a high-pitched moan and a low growl grabbed my attention. The sound came from the darkened end of the long hallway. The sounds signaled exactly what was happening, exactly what I had been doing not too long ago.
Not wanting to intrude, I turned toward the exit door at the opposite end of the long corridor, then stopped dead in my tracks as I heard…
“Styx!”
Ice-cold shivers ran down my spine as the very recognizable sounds of intense sexual pleasure drifted toward me. Styx was with another woman? He had switched straight from me to someone else? After everything that had happened between us…
My feet were leaden I as shuffled to the secluded corner, the sounds of heavy breathing and whimpering moans increased with every step. Gathering my courage, fearing the worst, I forced a quick peek round the wall and instantly wished I had turned away and left him to it.
My heart missed a beat when I saw he was with a peculiar-looking pink-haired woman. It was clear what she was doing, on her knees, braced at his most private parts as he leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, his face scrunched up.
I could not stop it. No matter how hard I tried, a cry forced its way up my throat. My hand covered my mouth, but I could not contain the sob. I felt utterly devastated at what he was doing here, right in front of me. I felt like screaming in disappointment and rage. Here was the evidence I had not wanted to believe of Styx: all men are the same. They take what they want, when they want it… from whomever they want.
Styx had shunned me and turned straight to her to “fix” his problem, less than hour after leaving his room. In his mind, he must see me as damaged, lost in this world, the fact of which I was well aware. In his mind, I must not be worthy of the task of giving him pleasure.
Styx abruptly stopped, held her wrists in his hands, and swung his stunned gaze in my direction. His beautifully rough face contorted in panic and there was a whooshing in my ears. I was unable to hear anything but white noise. I was unable to do anything except stand and stare—stare into his hazel eyes, those eyes that always entranced me, stare at the betrayal unfolding before me. I truly believed that Styx was different… I was sick and tired of being wrong.
Feeling like I stood there for an eternity, I jumped as an arm lay across my shoulder. The action forced me out of my stupor. Beauty was hugging me close, glaring at Styx and that woman, who was still on her knees. The woman kneeling on the floor smiled wickedly. She said something to me, but I could not hear what, not in my state of shock. Letti, who was stood behind Beauty, had heard though. As my pretty blond protector pulled me away, the large heavy woman walked menacingly toward the pink-haired girl.
Quickening our pace, Beauty and I walked down some corridors and up a flight of stairs, but not before she fisted Styx’s cut and, in disgust, threw it to the floor.
“Where are we going?” I eventually asked. Only here, when we were out of earshot, did my senses and clarity of thought make their unwelcome return. They brought a crushing hurt.
“I need to check on Rider. Tank’s still on the road. He sent me a text asking me to check Rider was okay. I ain’t fixin’ to take you back to Styx’s apartment. He can stew a little on what he did back there. Might force him to come to his damn senses. Stupid drunken ass!”
Tensing up, I swallow hard, expecting the worst; I slowly and deliberately asked, “Did he… join… with her?”
