Young Writers Society

Viggo and Nyssa are on the run, laying low. A dog has just wandered into their house.

To know more, read Chapter 10.1.

The harmony of their breakfast was upset. The mutt’s panting and jumping was disrupting their usual silence. Nyssa kept leaning to the side to watch the dog as it tried to moan its way into Viggo’s plate. He was getting increasingly annoyed, both at the begging and at her not eating.

He had cooked strawberry pancakes and a very light lemon mousse. Both were designed to satisfy the secrete sweet tooth they both pretended not to have. Nyssa, who still displayed an unfortunate tendency to push food around in her plate, normally wolfed down his pancakes like there was no tomorrow. He liked watching her eat with such unapologetic relish.

He also loved cooking, he took an almost orgasmic pleasure in handling food – in juicing, slicing, buttering, seasoning, frying, baking, every step, every action. But he needed someone to taste the final product. Viggo needed someone to feed, and that was Nyssa. He showed her his appreciation by making sure that she put on some much-needed weight.

“Stop squirming and eat,” he told her.

She did. For about thirty seconds. Then, she tapped her fork to her lips and said, “It looks hungry.”

Damn it!

Viggo stomped to the sink and dropped his plate in it. He wanted his peace. Was that too much to ask for? He didn’t want that dog. He loaded a bowl with beacon and grits, set it down on the floor and set a bowl of water next to it. Good enough for the mutt.

He headed for the basement.

“Viggo, wait,” Nyssa said.

He spun on his heels. She was still at the table, the damn fork pressed to her lips.

“What?”

She hesitated before pushing the plate on the table toward him. “Have some,” she replied. “Please. I’ve eaten my fill.”

Bullshit.

He strode across the empty kitchen and took her wrist. From the way her hands were balled in fists, she expected him to be rough. He didn’t need to be. He lifted her arm, studied it. She was skinnier even than the dog. He let her go.

“Your fill,” he snorted. “Right…”

“Viggo. Stay. Please. And I’ll eat.”

Damn her. Making him feel needed. He sat next to her. She ate two mouthfuls, watching the dog out of one eye, then she tried to give him her plate. He pretended not to understand and piled two more pancakes on top of the unfinished one. She sighed, gave him a dark look but nibbled some more. “Why do you care so much about what I eat?”

“Because you’re too thin. You weren’t that thin back in the days.”

She pondered that for a couple of heartbeats, her head tilted to the side, her eyes inquisitive. She had to wonder if he really cared. He did. And why did he care?!

But then, she leaned over the table and she touched his shoulder lightly, trailing her fingers along his biceps. His reaction was as male as it was predictable.

“You didn’t use to be so beefy,” she said.

He grabbed the plate, the fork and started eating. Distraction.

It didn’t work. She leaned even closer, resting her chin on his shoulder again, wrapping her hands around his forearm. Did she know the effect she had on him? It wasn’t that much of a leap from their past conversations.

“What’s happening to you?” She kissed the line of his jaw. “I wish I knew what’s going on underneath your thick skull.” No, she didn’t. She really didn’t. “What are you training for?”

“I need to be ready,” he said, pushing her firmly away.

God, was he ready…Just not for the right thing.

“What for? Why are you still spoiling for a fight?” she asked.

Because it’s preparing or going crazy. Because I’m going to leave you, eventually. I’ve got to.

“I hoped that…” she went on.

She adverted her face.

“Malik,” he started, then stopped. What kind of game was he playing? She knew. “What the hell were you hoping?! That I would forget?”

“That you would find peace!” she burst out.

Liar. She was such a goddamn liar, pretending that she cared, when all she cared about was this useless guilt she still carried around. He was tired of tiptoeing around both their needs.

Fine, he thought, let’s have it out.

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. She struggled against him. Her eyes were dry, but she was breathing hard. He didn’t allow her the relative dignity of suffering in peace. He wanted to see it.

“No, you didn’t. What you want is for everything to be back the way it was before.”

“That’s not true!” she cried out.

“Of course, it is. Don’t you think I see what you’re doing? I’m not a gullible sheriff deputy. I know when you’re playing me! This house, the show of sweetness and patience, the small habits – sharing desserts, watching over you – hell, the dog! If it wasn’t so impractical, I would be certain you set me up to find it.”

“I didn’t!”

“No? But were you that scared of it? Or did you just overreact a little to force me to acknowledge it?” She blushed scarlet. “Ah,” he cried out, satisfied and angry at the same time. “I knew it!”

“Screw you,” she cursed, pushing him away.

He wouldn’t let her. Not now that he was getting somewhere. He held her delicate wrists tighter together and brought them against his chest, forcing her into close contact. She stiffened. He had been avoiding touching her, even casual touches, and so, he had let her dictate the pace in their relationship.

No more.

He wasn’t a good guy anymore. He wasn’t going to play big brother to her vulnerable act anymore. They weren’t friends anymore.

“I’m not the same person anymore!” he roared. “He’s gone! Dead!”

“That’s not true!” she cried out. Her eyes were wide with anguish. “You’re right here!”

“But I’m not him anymore! Stop prying. Stop! I’m not going to magically find my way back. Stop pushing me!”

“I’m not pushing you.”

“Of course, you are. Don’t you know what it does to me? Damn it! Damn you! Always…Your…Damn you,” he repeated, his voice so low it was more of a whisper.

All the pushing, the touching, the subtle hints as to what she expected, her scent everywhere, the…the dog! It needed to stop.

But he had made a mistake, he realized. Showing her his vulnerability had been a mistake. She was seeing through his show of anger and now, her eyes held only compassion. Even her body language was different. No longer stiff with fear and denial, she was relaxing against him. Still physically close, but already taking charge again.

They were poised over the edge again. He could let go of her, he could leave the room right now. She would let him brood and occasionally curse but he would be back under her control and, if she had her way, he would always find a good reason not to break away from their plans. Part of him wanted that, the comfort and routine of leaving all the decisions to her. He would probably resent the hell out of her, but it would no doubt be as much his fault as hers.

Or he could force her to understand that he wasn’t the same man anymore. But no…No, he couldn’t simply prove it. He couldn’t simply demonstrate, simply reason with her. It wouldn’t be enough. She would keep denying it right until the point where he would wring her neck from sheer frustration.

No, he needed to wreck their past relationship, to destroy it so completely that she wouldn’t even be able to bear the idea of a friendship. Yes, he needed to make her recoil from him. It needed to be deeper than simple understanding. It needed to be one of those gut reactions, like the stiffening, hair-raising sensation of prey being stalked by a predator. He needed to reach further than her conscious mind, straight into her body. And because Viggo knew Nyssa, he knew exactly what would have such an effect on her.

Only a bastard of the worst kind would dare, he thought. Only a bastard like him.

Maybe she read the resolution in his eyes. She tried to escape, fear written in every line of her body. He let go of her hands, caging her in his arms. She was like a little bird, his sparrow, batting her wings, trying to escape, but too well-caught.

He crowded her and realized that she couldn’t distance herself emotionally anymore. This easily, he had thrown her off her game. This easily. Her arms were trapped against his chest, and her legs between his. She tried to say something, but her words came out as barely more than a breath. They tickled his lips but never reached his ears.

Then he was kissing her. Hard. Her lips were soft, they tasted of pancakes. She was suffering passively through it. He tried to reign himself in, but her body was supple and womanly, he was drowning in the smell of her. It was as perfect and elusive as bliss. He tangled his fingers in her hair and drank a soft moan directly from her lips. A protest? Pleasure?

He wanted closer, he wanted more but he couldn’t be sure about her. He needed to be sure. His erection pushing hard against his fly, he trailed his fingers down her nape, then traced her spine. Her blouse was white cotton too, so sheer that he felt the warmth and texture of her skin.

She was shivering.

His hands found a spot in the small of her back. His fingers dipped in two small dimples he had never known were there. He gave her just a little push and she swayed into him. He could track every little tremor raking her back, every shuddering breath she took. Warm pleasure unfurled in his belly. It was nothing sexual, this time, none of this crazy heat he couldn’t get under control. It wasn’t lust he couldn’t help for one decent piece of ass. It was Nyssa.

His kiss changed. It softened, lightened. Fleeting brushes of his lips and hers. Dipping and tasting. Panting. It was so good his mind froze. The same thing kept replaying, over and over, in his head: please, don’t let it stop.

Then, the damn mutt yapped. Nyssa jumped, briefly wrenching her mouth from his. Viggo realized how far off he had slipped. He took a couple of steps back.

His knees were still wobbly. He felt so strange, as if the floor he was standing on was insubstantial. His heart was pounding. His breathing sounded harsh to his own ears. His hands were trembling. He was still hard as a brick. He didn’t recognize himself. He stood transfixed for a while and admitted that he was still in a daze.

Nyssa…She…She was trembling as badly as he was. Her face was pale, and her eyes seemed huge, incredibly vibrant. Her lips were…They were raw from his kisses. Everything stood out sharply. He didn’t know why but it was as though a veil had been lifted. He had sensed it before. It had kept him in a state of intermittent lust. But now he saw everything.

He had messed her hair even worse. Her top had ridden up, showing her navel. It took him a while to look away from her belly. It was a very cute navel. She was breathing heavily, her chest rose and fell, straining the thin cotton, emphasizing the swell of her small breasts. They bounced with every sharp inhalation and exhalation.

Then, she blinked, and a harsh breath rasped noisily in her throat. She collapsed onto herself, crossing her arms over her chest and she slid down the kitchen counter, folding down on the floor. Quiet tears rolled down her cheeks. Viggo didn’t know whether she was crying out of despair or horror, but she obviously wasn’t happy.

“I…” he began.

Where was he supposed to go from there? He left. He was halfway up the stairs when he realized that he hadn’t won in the end. They were still tipped over the edge and would no doubt tumble down madly until they found a new balance. He had cursed them both with the memory of this kiss.

He tried to sit on his bed, in his chair and found that he couldn’t stay still. He started pacing his bedroom. He wasn’t brave enough to walk past Nyssa to go down into the basement.

He snorted. “Coward.” He stopped in front of the mirror and glared at his own mean mug. “Why the hell did you…did I let that happen?”

How could it have happened? Nyssa had always been cute. That’s all she had been at first: the cute crime scene technician. Then, Viggo had learned to appreciate how she could find cause to laugh at 2 am on the scene of a triple murder. She had been kind and tactful with the guys, teasing, but never egging them on.

She had always accepted that Viggo was committed to his relationship with Angela. Unlike Russ, he would have shied away from a rapport fraught with ambiguity. There had never been any. He hadn’t once thought of her in a sexual manner. It would have been especially distasteful once she had become a close friend of his and of Angela’s. When he’d had relationship troubles, she had been the one he had turned to – her advice was better than Russ’s, which always revolved around sex.

She had been his best friend, almost a sister, closer than any of his step-siblings. He hadn’t ever touched her, he had never fantasized about her, he wouldn’t have lusted after her. Russ had often accused Viggo of being a goody-two-shoes because he hadn’t liked it when the guys got bawdy and crude, especially when either Angie or Nyssa served as the butt of their jokes.

He wasn’t supposed to kiss Nyssa.

Where did they go from there? The lust, he could understand, rationalize, but he couldn’t forget the fierce joy he had felt. It was the happiest he could remember being in recent years.

He was startled by a knock. He had no idea how long he had stood statue-still in the middle of his bedroom, just staring at the wall. The knock came again.

“Yes?” he queried, at last.

“Hi, I…I’m going out.” She waited a beat, he didn’t ask where she was going. Finally, probably thinking that he was a jerk, she explained, “I’m taking the dog to the vet. Just in case it’s got a chip or a tattoo.And it could probably stand to have its vaccinations checked and updated.”

She was getting rid of the mutt? Good riddance. “Okay.”

“You should think about a name.”

“It’s not my dog!”

She chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that.” The burst of laughter took him aback. She was apparently brazening it out. Once again, he couldn’t help respecting her moxie. “Do you need anything?”

Amnesia. “No.”

“Okay. By the way, Viggo, I meant to tell you…”

Her voice was now low and sexy – intimate. His heart missed a beat. Drawn to the door despite himself, he touched the tip of his fingers to the wood. “What?”

"You should watch the news."

"I don’t want to…” I don’t want to see my face plastered all over. I don’t want to hear again all the lies they’re gabbling about me. He shut up before he could admit to yet another vulnerability.

“You should watch the news.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “And if you still want that fight afterward, just go away. I’m done, Peter Carlsen.” Her words came out strangled, “You’re losing your time and energy on the past. I want a future for you, I want you to be happy, but I won’t fight for you and fight you at the same time. Choose. Stay or leave.”

“Nyssa…” His voice broke.

“Choose. Every day makes it a little harder for me not to hope but everything you do…those grueling workouts…You’re breaking my heart. And I need to protect myself. Either you stay and try – just try, or you go after your revenge. You can’t have it both ways.” She hesitated. “Whatever you choose, I’ll understand.”

Of course, she would.

“I’m sorry.”

She was already walking away so he didn’t even know whether she had heard his voice. He sat down on the bed, suddenly exhausted.

Stay or go. It was straightforward. It was no conundrum. Leave Nyssa or forget about Russ. Easy. It should have been easy. He had always planned to leave her. Revenge was all he had lusted after. What had changed? Pipe dreams of happiness, that was what.

Like there was happiness in his future.

“Happiness, you idiot.”

Easy. He got up and opened the cupboard. He reached for a sports bag and carefully folded a few days’ worth of clothes and toiletries. He opened the office’s safe and took two rolls of twenties out of the plastic bag full of money. He stuffed some in his pocket, packed the rest. He grinned at the dozens of passports and driving licenses he found. One thing about Nyssa, she never did things by halves.

Most of their fake identities came in sets. He only helped himself to the few that weren’t part of a pair: he didn’t want to burn an alias of hers just by having one of his on him. He had to parry for the eventuality of his arrest. He left most of their war chest in the safe. He locked a prayer for her in there as well. He hadn’t prayed in years but, now, he made an exception.

“May she be happy.”

Even if she wouldn’t ever forgive him.

He went to the door, put his hand on the handle and…He couldn’t do it. The house, the peace, the ocean, Nyssa…the damn mutt. He couldn’t leave. Something felt so wrong about leaving. He couldn’t leave things that way. He couldn’t. That’s when he heard her voice again, so real that he could have sworn he wasn’t imagining it, You should watch the news.

So, swearing, cursing, he turned on the TV. He watched a news flash, and his plans crumbled.

Stay or leave. What a joke…

To know what Viggo has just learned, read Chapter 11.1.