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Elf on a Shelf: Part 1
Elf on a Shelf: Part 1
Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was;
Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to
the Podcast at Steamy
Stories.
Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see
Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of
the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large
liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope.
Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded
adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed
shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on
their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man
in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children;
because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift
uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the
children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped
would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry
bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him.
When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey
walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a
look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what
was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because
apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved
hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from
his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully
and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols
when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in
Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she
asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help.
Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to
choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring
out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers
and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly,
she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called
out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the
answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the
crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been
quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand.
"Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and
crouching down near the girl.
"We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese,"
the weary woman holding her hand said quietly.
Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s
Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten
excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua
lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl.
"Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic.
Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating,
"'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced.
"But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai
me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she
and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language.
As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to
sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the
turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search
for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it
certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things
that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things,
Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't
even miss the air.
Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a
newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift
over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang,
she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence
frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into
the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so
she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd.
When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd
cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to
look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his
sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large
dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces
and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors'
kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked
at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't
believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his
voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around
her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she
hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd
told her he wanted to kill her.
Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even
larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not
merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line
last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as
they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as
you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but
rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up
restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at
him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong.
Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was
long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared
it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom.
Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking
where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous
club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place
where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had
looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel
shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for
help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter
immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach
returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go
back there.
After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally
answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he
didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him,
but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by
him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went
horribly wrong.
Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's
senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered.
"Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman
held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and
Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him.
"Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;"
"You're an elf!"
"Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;"
"Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with
the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion.
Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body,
showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe.
"I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get
home and get changed;"
Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him,
"Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old
Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the
screen.
Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting
"Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!"
"Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered,
poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call.
A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the
restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a
bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out
after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate
several decades ago.
With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from
her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted,
sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main
dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and
she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't
feel much better.
She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began
loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses,
impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a
dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food
since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the
plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee
James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her
plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right
after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner.
Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance
floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of
themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she
found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand.
"Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there.
"I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better
than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as
they reached the edge of the dance floor.
"Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she
murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as
Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again,
but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing
again?
"Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear,"
he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane
striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it."
"I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It
covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at
the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked
blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to
kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair.
Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure
to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should
consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said,
stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found
herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee;
he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always
sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also
took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still
full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it?
"He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill
me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she
was dancing with Lee James again.
"Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking
perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me
off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home,
Honey; penthouse view of the city;
"Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad
place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was
the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with
them tonight?
"Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up.
You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide
open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt
and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I
can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy.
"I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away,
trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less
drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and
thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense
of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked
her hair.
"Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to
take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep
that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently
opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle
squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked
harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that
down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?"
"Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just
about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but
somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone
who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special;
just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then,
someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something
about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it
just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and
clouded her thoughts.
Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she
was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed
strangely clear.
"I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the
pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't
heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a
confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all
through her at the same time.
"That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more?
Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that
aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the
hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what
happened."
"She was screaming; Zach gritted.
"Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in.
People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you
become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked.
"since her."
"oh my god."
"Shut up," Zach grunted.
"Oh my god;
"Yeah, that's not shutting up."
"The great Z-dog has been taken down;"
"Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking
care of h;"
"By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed.
There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a
forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can
do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually.
"Yes, sir," Terry choked.
"Anything else?"
"Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her.
Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she
goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around."
"Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss
this further?"
"Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in
relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on
for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?"
"No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;"
"Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things
in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow,
ow!"
"You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that
sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled.
"Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked.
"I didn't think so. You'll be back here
Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question.
"Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just
needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by
the way, not;"
"You were just going," Zach said, as the voices
moved to another end of the room below her.
"Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up
like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door.
Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the
floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the
man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal
even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to
choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a
little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of
him?
She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices
had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that
opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in
Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any
indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her.
Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was
in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the
right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped
up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered
was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance
floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here?
A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the
room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a
cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey
shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes
and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft
bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat.
A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair
across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to
breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of
her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he?
"You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated,
quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for
these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to
me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the
crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done."
Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at
her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw
set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and
leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like
they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things
straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm
some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but
you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather
than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because
some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost
3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons
every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we
clear?" he asked.
Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck
and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier.
"While you are here, you will do as you're told. You
will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he
said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are
the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol
because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not
happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked.
"Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice,
Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd
nodded and winced.
"You will follow your doctor's orders to the last
goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you
and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader.
And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me
here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or
any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will
personally make you regret you were ever born."
"Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more
tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them
off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands
together and several of his knuckles cracked.
"You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name.
You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using
his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my
own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're
nothing to me. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," she whispered.
Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth
into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of
the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the
spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her
eyes lingered.
"I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I
haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?"
"I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my
skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her
mouth with a paper towel.
"Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They
feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that
aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look
down at his underwear loosely covering her hips.
"Are you complaining?" he asked quietly.
Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir,"
she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my
things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much."
"I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he
said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes
wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She
felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her
made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles
out of the cup and took the tray downstairs.
After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him
feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She
would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a
treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't
see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he
came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before
going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those
few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned
over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded
underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her.
Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she
replied.
"I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he
grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out
which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he
painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over
her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing
about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about
the color of his underwear, that was his fault.
Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as
if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally,
rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're
clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could
have these. It would get you back on schedule;
Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as
if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged
her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The
movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare
shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck
throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck
of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent
of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid
from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the
tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading
her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she
blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his
mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left
the room.
That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor
watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and
some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach
pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of
boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked.
Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift
thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it
up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something
otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to
wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she
trailed off.
Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time,
Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a
huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the
bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents,
Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey
trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally
cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when
he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells.
"What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at
it.
"I wasn't laughing. I was smiling."
"Why were you smiling, then?" he asked.
"I guess; I just like you; sir," she said,
glancing over at him.
Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he
forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah,
well; fool me once," he sneered.
Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way
she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said;
you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling
down her cheeks.
Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What
did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night
trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were
dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they
were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I
could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like
a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached
over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot
taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you
texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the
love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him.
Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to
pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I
didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head.
"Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said,
emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year
thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you
watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go
into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels
about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked
you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!"
Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak
to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a
glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing
the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there
anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He
didn't deserve to take care of her.
So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the
air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her
crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and
called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8
minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down
from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she
used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but
they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her
gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might
have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her
balance.
Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going
down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked
horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it
more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it
before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the
bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted.
Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the
apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean
and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not
already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch,
made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his
hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the
rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still
was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking
away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair.
Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she
stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every
painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked
the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working
perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive,
grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to
find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the
street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she
cried, breaking down into tears.
A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully
shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should
try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down
and breathing into her hair.
"I want to go home," she whispered.
"Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured
into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I
scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to
hurt or frighten you like that."
"It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her
head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's
peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or
dark places. Even if you weren't there;"
"I was there," he confessed. "I was always
there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me,
and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what
you were doing; unless I knew you were safe."
"Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd
done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster
hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something
that was so; wonderful."
"You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You
were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything
wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me."
"Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking
up into his eyes.
The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the
moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you
that; but it was never meant for you."
"You mean, you meant to send that message to someone
else? To hurt them like that?"
"Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet
her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like
that anymore."
"I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered.
Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed
and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you
home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the
place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're
hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can
go in the morning. Please."
At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg,
and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment
without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered.
To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for
Literotica.
View all episodes
By Steamy Stories
3.6
2525 ratings
Elf on a Shelf: Part 1
Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was;
Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to
the Podcast at Steamy
Stories.
Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see
Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of
the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large
liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope.
Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded
adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed
shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on
their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man
in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children;
because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift
uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the
children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped
would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry
bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him.
When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey
walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a
look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what
was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because
apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved
hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from
his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully
and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols
when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in
Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she
asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help.
Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to
choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring
out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers
and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly,
she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called
out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the
answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the
crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been
quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand.
"Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and
crouching down near the girl.
"We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese,"
the weary woman holding her hand said quietly.
Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s
Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten
excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua
lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl.
"Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic.
Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating,
"'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced.
"But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai
me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she
and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language.
As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to
sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the
turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search
for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it
certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things
that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things,
Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't
even miss the air.
Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a
newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift
over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang,
she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence
frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into
the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so
she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd.
When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd
cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to
look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his
sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large
dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces
and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors'
kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked
at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't
believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his
voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around
her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she
hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd
told her he wanted to kill her.
Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even
larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not
merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line
last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as
they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as
you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but
rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up
restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at
him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong.
Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was
long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared
it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom.
Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking
where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous
club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place
where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had
looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel
shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for
help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter
immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach
returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go
back there.
After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally
answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he
didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him,
but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by
him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went
horribly wrong.
Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's
senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered.
"Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman
held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and
Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him.
"Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;"
"You're an elf!"
"Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;"
"Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with
the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion.
Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body,
showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe.
"I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get
home and get changed;"
Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him,
"Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old
Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the
screen.
Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting
"Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!"
"Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered,
poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call.
A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the
restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a
bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out
after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate
several decades ago.
With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from
her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted,
sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main
dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and
she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't
feel much better.
She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began
loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses,
impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a
dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food
since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the
plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee
James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her
plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right
after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner.
Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance
floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of
themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she
found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand.
"Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there.
"I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better
than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as
they reached the edge of the dance floor.
"Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she
murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as
Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again,
but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing
again?
"Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear,"
he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane
striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it."
"I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It
covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at
the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked
blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to
kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair.
Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure
to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should
consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said,
stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found
herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee;
he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always
sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also
took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still
full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it?
"He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill
me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she
was dancing with Lee James again.
"Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking
perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me
off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home,
Honey; penthouse view of the city;
"Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad
place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was
the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with
them tonight?
"Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up.
You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide
open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt
and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I
can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy.
"I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away,
trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less
drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and
thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense
of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked
her hair.
"Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to
take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep
that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently
opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle
squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked
harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that
down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?"
"Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just
about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but
somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone
who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special;
just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then,
someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something
about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it
just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and
clouded her thoughts.
Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she
was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed
strangely clear.
"I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the
pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't
heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a
confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all
through her at the same time.
"That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more?
Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that
aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the
hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what
happened."
"She was screaming; Zach gritted.
"Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in.
People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you
become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked.
"since her."
"oh my god."
"Shut up," Zach grunted.
"Oh my god;
"Yeah, that's not shutting up."
"The great Z-dog has been taken down;"
"Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking
care of h;"
"By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed.
There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a
forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can
do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually.
"Yes, sir," Terry choked.
"Anything else?"
"Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her.
Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she
goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around."
"Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss
this further?"
"Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in
relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on
for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?"
"No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;"
"Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things
in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow,
ow!"
"You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that
sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled.
"Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked.
"I didn't think so. You'll be back here
Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question.
"Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just
needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by
the way, not;"
"You were just going," Zach said, as the voices
moved to another end of the room below her.
"Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up
like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door.
Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the
floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the
man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal
even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to
choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a
little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of
him?
She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices
had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that
opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in
Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any
indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her.
Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was
in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the
right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped
up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered
was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance
floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here?
A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the
room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a
cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey
shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes
and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft
bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat.
A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair
across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to
breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of
her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he?
"You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated,
quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for
these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to
me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the
crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done."
Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at
her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw
set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and
leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like
they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things
straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm
some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but
you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather
than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because
some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost
3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons
every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we
clear?" he asked.
Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck
and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier.
"While you are here, you will do as you're told. You
will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he
said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are
the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol
because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not
happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked.
"Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice,
Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd
nodded and winced.
"You will follow your doctor's orders to the last
goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you
and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader.
And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me
here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or
any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will
personally make you regret you were ever born."
"Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more
tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them
off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands
together and several of his knuckles cracked.
"You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name.
You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using
his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my
own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're
nothing to me. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," she whispered.
Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth
into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of
the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the
spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her
eyes lingered.
"I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I
haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?"
"I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my
skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her
mouth with a paper towel.
"Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They
feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that
aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look
down at his underwear loosely covering her hips.
"Are you complaining?" he asked quietly.
Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir,"
she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my
things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much."
"I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he
said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes
wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She
felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her
made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles
out of the cup and took the tray downstairs.
After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him
feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She
would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a
treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't
see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he
came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before
going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those
few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned
over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded
underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her.
Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she
replied.
"I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he
grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out
which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he
painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over
her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing
about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about
the color of his underwear, that was his fault.
Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as
if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally,
rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're
clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could
have these. It would get you back on schedule;
Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as
if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged
her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The
movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare
shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck
throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck
of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent
of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid
from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the
tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading
her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she
blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his
mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left
the room.
That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor
watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and
some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach
pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of
boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked.
Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift
thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it
up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something
otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to
wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she
trailed off.
Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time,
Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a
huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the
bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents,
Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey
trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally
cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when
he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells.
"What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at
it.
"I wasn't laughing. I was smiling."
"Why were you smiling, then?" he asked.
"I guess; I just like you; sir," she said,
glancing over at him.
Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he
forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah,
well; fool me once," he sneered.
Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way
she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said;
you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling
down her cheeks.
Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What
did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night
trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were
dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they
were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I
could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like
a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached
over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot
taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you
texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the
love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him.
Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to
pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I
didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head.
"Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said,
emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year
thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you
watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go
into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels
about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked
you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!"
Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak
to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a
glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing
the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there
anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He
didn't deserve to take care of her.
So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the
air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her
crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and
called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8
minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down
from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she
used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but
they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her
gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might
have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her
balance.
Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going
down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked
horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it
more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it
before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the
bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted.
Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the
apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean
and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not
already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch,
made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his
hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the
rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still
was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking
away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair.
Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she
stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every
painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked
the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working
perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive,
grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to
find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the
street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she
cried, breaking down into tears.
A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully
shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should
try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down
and breathing into her hair.
"I want to go home," she whispered.
"Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured
into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I
scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to
hurt or frighten you like that."
"It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her
head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's
peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or
dark places. Even if you weren't there;"
"I was there," he confessed. "I was always
there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me,
and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what
you were doing; unless I knew you were safe."
"Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd
done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster
hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something
that was so; wonderful."
"You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You
were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything
wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me."
"Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking
up into his eyes.
The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the
moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you
that; but it was never meant for you."
"You mean, you meant to send that message to someone
else? To hurt them like that?"
"Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet
her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like
that anymore."
"I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered.
Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed
and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you
home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the
place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're
hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can
go in the morning. Please."
At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg,
and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment
without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered.
To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for
Literotica.
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