Young Writers Society

Foreword

They aren't going to like me. I don't make friends. But they'll probably love him, everyone loves him. But then again, they don't know him the way that I do.

Chapter 1

It was cold outside. Had he ever just stood somewhere like this and only felt the cold? Not happy, depressed, angry, sad, confused…just some numbing, blood-stopping, heavily foreign force of ice on his skin and in it. Had he ever felt like he was in a block of ice, like he was a block of ice, so solid that no one could bring harm to him without hurting themselves, so chill that no one could touch him without their fragile skin chapping, so expressionless that no one could dare mistake him for human?

I couldn’t move my face. My fingers were still too, lost somewhere in the purpling dark that had slowly but surely began to swallow me and the scene I stood before. I wasn’t sure what had happened, I’m never sure because soon I was going to huff out a wet puff of steam I hadn’t realized I’d been holding for what must have been hours. I’d defrost my lips with my tongue and be taken over by a mobilizing chill that always leaves me feeling like a loose whipping power line. I would turn around and walk out onto 25th street until I was home. I would see almost nothing on the way, depending on muscle memory to stiffly demand action from two locked up legs. At this point I would usually remember that it was all a dream, that I don’t remember my way home all that well, that there should be street lights on and people, and I’d stop feeling the cold, and I’d stop feeling at all, and…

My alarm barked cruelly at my face, trilling some miserable beat that made me question why, for the love of god, I picked it out of all the others to wake me up every morning. Oh my god, stop. I gave it my best pouty face and incoherent moan of surrender as I stretched from neck to toes, swiping at the screen of my phone diligently until the frantic barking subsided. Dismiss. Ha!

Mornings for me usually weren’t that great. I had this undeniable talent of convincing myself that my plans for the day could be finished tomorrow. The only problem with this logic was of course that upon staying home in bed all day my Type A personality would kick into overdrive and I’d mull over how useless and unproductive I was being. Ten to twelve hours later and everything I’d sought out to do that day would be finished by the ungodly hour of 3am and then it was lather, rinse, repeat for the days to follow.

I couldn’t fall into that hectic cycle this morning though, sadly I wasn’t in college anymore, I was a respectable working woman and there were bosses to please and clients to appease. I had done the work. I had done the 12 years of higher education doubled with a 5 year residency. I had done the sleepless nights and mountain dew binges; the saying “no” to parties and the kissing up to drone-like professors to achieve good letters of recommendation for medical school. I’d set it up so that I could wake up at 10:30am 5 days a week and work for around 5 hours a day in a career that could harness my attention for 20.

Even so, mornings were bullshit. Not to mention today was going to be a special day. Today, after carefully evaluating the mental stability of my own patients, I was going to take a stab at being one. Although I had had many psyche evaluations in my past, most of which I intended to leave in my past, I was annoyed at the counterproductive idea of getting an eval by someone with less background in psychopathy than myself. Regardless, I had already agreed I would make the most of my little visit by making funny faces at Dr. Greer as she sketched aimlessly on her little clipboard. Boy was that woman in for a surprise.

I took a sweeping glance over my quiet, dimly lit, and sparsely decorated condo bedroom shaking my head as I imagined what my mother would have to say. “All that money and you still have that ugly little futon you got from your aunt when you were 17! What did I put you through college for! And look at your hair!” I squinted my eyes at the thrift market vanity positioned perpendicular to my bed. After a once over it was decided that if I avoided a shower this morning I would never manage a comb let alone a brush through my mass of tightly knit and horribly undefined curls. I whispered a brief curse to my Irish father and Haitian mother before moping my way to the shower fussing with the tangled drawstring of my silky black pajama shorts. I wasn’t one for decorating, but the décor of the body was a whole other rodeo.

It wasn’t that my condo had unacceptable living conditions for what one would expect of a surgeon, because I had spent a great deal of time finding the perfect modern yet slightly bohemian get away in Oregon; Smooth white tile floors contrasted by smooth creamy walls, dangling decorative chandeliers, all with the industrial appeal of tall echo-y ceilings and open space for things like yoga or cartwheels or what-have-you. I had good taste when I was full of dreams and my pockets overflowing from my first “real” post-residency paycheck but after that I lost interest in decorating as I lose interest with most things when the new car smell was replaced by my own.

I pulled off the one sock I always managed to cling to in my sleep and almost had my matching silk tank-top over my nose when I heard something clank behind my closed bathroom door. I paused with both arms hanging in the air and the practically-translucent shirt acting as a poor blindfold over my eyes.

There was no way I got laid last night. Last night I had been exhausted and flustered after seeing a particular client who very obviously suffered from illness anxiety disorder as opposed to the brain tumor that she so fervently claimed to have… and I had finished up with her and went to get a well-deserved Bloody Margarita …and what? A shiver ran down my spine and I quickly yanked the rest of my shirt off staring questioningly at the door.

I wasn’t exactly sure I wanted to venture in. Honestly, I had all of my clothes and a brush out here. I didn’t mind looking like sh—

The door snatched open in front of me interrupting any thoughts and very nearly interrupting my bladder in the process. My hands shot up into 2 sloppily instinctive fists, useless as I used them to rub furiously at my mouth and eyes.

I was smothered with sickeningly damp air that invaded my nose, mouth, and eyes with the scent of Irish Spring bar soap. Gagging openly, I searched through the mist of after-shower steam until a tall fleshy figure appeared before me and laid a heavy wet hand on my shoulder.

“You okay there?” boomed the semi naked man in front of me. My eyes darted around looking for any sign of aggression on an only slightly familiar face. There was none, just a sly sideways smile framed by thick laugh lines and wavy damp hair. “Hey…” He reached an uneasy hand towards my hair and I backed away causing a startled twitch to make its way down his body. “Princess?” he soothed.

I made a disgruntled face as the festivities of last night began to flood back in an embarrassing rush. Oh, the Princessss Guy. I remembered him, sadly. Only thing was, I didn’t remember letting him stay, or anything else besides sharing a few drinks with him for that matter.

I looked up from my reverie and met Princess Guy’s puzzled and hurt expression. Literally hurt, his left eye was nearly swollen shut in an ugly purple mass and he had a nasty scrape on the same side of his forehead. I stared for a second or maybe more.

“What happened to your face?” I asked flatly. It was morning still, and I honestly wasn’t ready to deal with any last-night repercussions. He rolled his one good eye and I was offered an unwelcome grip around my naked shoulders.

“Don’t remember roughing me up last night? Don’t blame you, we were both wasted.” He chuckled and splashed the smallest drop of water onto my upper lip. Twitch. “We were going at it like animals,” he continued enthusiastically to my dismay “You were really into it and everything was going kinda fast so I think you accidently clocked me. Just BAM!” I jumped as he demonstrated my clock to his eye very near to my face and rebalanced himself with a looser towel barely covering his groin.

“I didn’t know it was this bad though.” He ran a finger lightly over the corner of his eye and I took a deep breath mentally clocking myself in the face for this mistake. Fucking sloppy. When did I get so fucking sloppy? I felt that switch come on. The one I used for occasions that required some clean up before progressing through my day to insure I didn’t come home to any unpleasant surprises.

Sometimes I thought of myself as the manager of some famous celebrity or politician. I had to be the big cheeky smile and firm assuring hug that got the drunk democrat out of a shit storm. Only difference was, I was the drunk democrat.

“Oh you poor thing!” I took a step forward matching my body up with his damp one and wrapping my fingers around the towel at his waist. His breath came out in a rush in my unwashed hair and his own hands grasped tightly onto my ass as he pulled me against a growing erection.

“I’ll be okay, princess, you made up for it last night anyway.” I could hear the smug smile that must have been forming and rolled my eyes as I pressed pursed lips to his shoulder. I couldn’t lie, he was attractive, but I wasn’t so much into the muscly guys and boy was he a muscle. Curly dirty blonde hair sat fluffed on top of black eyes framed by obnoxiously long golden eyelashes. I hated blondes too, I had never met a blonde that wasn’t snarky and high strung. Evidently, blonde, snarky, and built was just the right mix of ingredients when I was intoxicated, but that was another story entirely.

I planted a kiss lightly on his cheek scraping my brain to find myself out of this situation and Mr. Princess out of my suite without having to worry about cops showing up at my door.

His muscles tightened around me suddenly in a hug I immediately wanted to escape. I managed to pull back smiling and ran my hand over his left cheek. He winced deliciously as my thumb skated over his enflamed eye and right on target I could feel the familiar warmth of need drizzle between my legs.

“Aww,” I preceded, suddenly on a mission. Not like he was a mission, because this boy would be pathetically easy to conquer but a mission nonetheless as I was no longer intoxicated and he was still a bulky blonde little nark.

I rocked into him letting his member press into my tummy and touched a finger to the eye I’d demolished. “Does it hurt?”

His eyes eased into a lazy lust as he bent to kiss me. His tongue tasted like my tooth paste and I immediately made a mental note to toss my newly tainted tooth brush.

I allowed a second and third kiss before nipping at his lip, piercing the corner with my canine and earning an alarmed yelp from my prince.

“Whoa, easy!” He scowled and dabbed at his lip with a hand, finding a spot of blood on his finger and frowning at me in shocked disbelief. I stared innocently back.

I didn’t know what it was with me and blood during sex. It wasn’t something I’d learned from previous partners, it was something that I had discovered all on my own and that I was still confused about til this day. Besides, I wasn’t attracted to it in some sicko vampire way…but in a sick way nonetheless.

“What’s wrong?” I taunted, pushing his chest playfully. “Did a little girl hurt hims? What are you, a pussy?” I had hit a nerve. That line usually hit a few nerves.

“That shit isn’t cute.” He grumbled, letting go of me so suddenly that I stumbled back a bit. “Kinda fucked up. Maybe you should let me rough you up this time huh, Princess?” His hand closed around my wrist almost in tune with my own hand closing around his throat. I pressed my thumb into his wind pipe until he knees started to sag.

“You won’t fucking touch me unless I tell you to touch me. Do you comprehend?” He choked out a yes from a confusedly flustered face and I pressed into him smashing my lips demandingly into his that were already puckered. Like this, I lowered him to the floor making sure to keep hold of his neck and licking into his minty mouth.

“Ah, Princess” He sighed, pulling off his towel and running one hand down his taunt shaft. I slipped my tongue down his neck and gripped his member almost too tightly reveling in his sharp inhale. My lips fit snuggly into the crook of his ear as I stroked him mercilessly.

“I’m not your princess. I’m your fucking Queen.” His eyes lolled back and his body opened to my control. Tightly wound muscles released their hold and his neck fell back to drip between his shoulder blades.

It is endlessly amusing just how much human beings actually wanted to be controlled if you managed to convince them there was something to gain from it. Sure he was a text book gender-stereotypical-power-hungry-male, I was assuming since I’d fallen for him last night, but he wanted me to take the power from him; This of course was another assumption supported by his staying at my place after my irresponsible outburst last night he could’ve sued me over.

I probably needed to stop drinking, I mean I knew I needed to stop drinking but I wasn’t at all sure how much that would help. Sometimes my personality alone was enough to fuck up what could have been a violence-free night.

Thinking about these issues managed to dry up any hope of enjoyable consensual sex. I cast my eyes down at my watch attached to the wrist that was attached to the hand that was attached to my hopeful prince.

“Shit! Um…Queen has to go to work now before she gets kicked off of her royal thrown.” I stumbled out, releasing him and racing over to a pair of panty hose I was certain I was going to demolish in my haste.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

“Are you fucking joking?” I shot a look over to the man whose name I figure I ought to catch at some point and shrugged as I slipped a grey sweater dress over my head. It was scratchy over bare breasts but I was only averagely busted so going without a bra for the day didn’t look completely discombobulated. A tit here, a tit there, who was going to notice anyway?

“Really have to run, and so do you. Find pants! Find shoes! Toute-suite!” I managed a half-assed balance routine to slip on two black leather knee-highs and latched the little silver buckles as quickly as I could with shaking hands. I scavenged for my purse that was hidden under a pile of discarded shirts, dirty or clean I was unsure, and attempted to wrestle my waist length cloud into an elastic band.

“You’re not joking.” I flashed all of my teeth in probably the most insincere smile being reminded for the hundredth time to work on my sincerity.

“If you leave now you can come back later.” I offered, sliding my thick black rimmed glasses onto my nose. I was in a hurry but not so much that I’d forget I had some finishing up to do with what-ever-his-name-was.

He stood up and started putting on his pants, a little more motivated than before. “Really?” I couldn’t help but look to catch his stupid hopeful grin.

He was cute. I could probably get a few good nights out of him. I made that realization my deciding factor when I nodded a yes to him and slung my purse over my shoulder.

“How’d you do that?” I frowned and headed out of my room to meet a very disheveled living room. I was going to dismiss his question but the curiosity caught up with me and I turned to study him.

He was half-dressed in a pair of acid wash jeans and some not so white socks. I sighed internally realizing he wasn’t going to be able to make it out of here as quickly as I desired him too.

“How’d I do what? And where are your shoes?” He gestured at me with the hand holding his solid white shirt; It was stretched in finger length increments I’m guessing from our little tussle last night.

“You went from sexy exotic princess to hot naughty librarian in about 2 minutes flat.” He licked the corner of his lip and I was stunted for a moment in the pure stupidity of my current situation. It was getting more obvious by the second why I had targeted him specifically.

“Get out.” I huffed, throwing him his shoes and knocking him rightfully in the chest. Pft, hot naughty librarian? That’s what I got for tens of years of research and hard work? “You can still come back, I reassured. I’ll call you. Just leave your number somewhere. I’m getting out of here. Lock up when you leave.” I left through the front door barely catching his goodbye and holding up a two-fingered peace sign in response before fast-walking myself to the elevators.

Oh goddess, I prayed hopping into the nearest open car and stabbing the lobby button until the doors slammed before me, may no one try my patience today. I shook my head, pooling into criss-cross apple sauce on the carpeted floors as I waited for 17 floors to pass above me. Who was I kidding, I didn’t have any patience.