Beyond Repair (16 page)

It made zero sense.

To everyone who wasn’t him.

“I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That I’m not enough. That without the body and the face and
the glamour and the fame I’m not enough. I’m just a puny little geek pretending
to be something powerful and amazing, and I don’t know what will happen if I
just be that. All the time.”

“You know what will happen. You know or you wouldn’t be
here.”

“Tell me then. Explain it to me because—”

“I will love you for being just that. I already love you for
being that. The puny geek is the man I want, the man I love—that’s why I’m
closing my eyes. So I can see him, instead of the shell he’s operating. Now say
something with his voice, not Holden’s. Say something to me that he would say,
okay?”

“I think my heart is coming out of my mouth.”

“That’s good. Keep going.”

“I almost passed out while kissing your cunt.”

“Oh that…I don’t know if he would—”

“He would. He wants you to look like that, when he says it.
I want you to look like that when I say it. I want you to squirm because I’ve
just told you that you tasted like a sweet, ripe peach. I can still taste you
when I lick my lips.”

“Really? Really? I…that…”

“And now I’m going to make love to you,” he said.

He wasn’t lying. He was already somehow on the bed, even
though she hadn’t felt the mattress dip. She just knew he was there now—mainly
because of the hands hovering close to her hips but also the sense of him, oh
the sense of him. He swamped her before he’d leaned down. And after he had…

She came close to drowning. The heat of him alone was enough
to drag her down, but then there was the smell and the brush of his body and
the feel of being surrounded. He was everywhere all at once but better yet—he
was still saying things. He was stroking over her forehead and he was saying
things.

“I love you too, you know I love you too,” he said.

“How could I not?” she asked. “How could I not when you sent
me all those things? When you make me feel the way you do?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. It was in her
expression, she knew it was. She could feel it all pouring out of her, as he
did what she’d been dying for since God only knew when. Since the first time
he’d almost kissed her, she thought, but it seemed like it had happened before
then. She’d been waiting for years for him, and now he was here and holding her
and finally, finally…the snap of rubber and the last little frantic fumble.

Then that long, slow slide in.

She wasn’t sure what she’d imagined. Pain, she thought, lots
of pain and maybe some discomfort. They always told you to expect both, and
especially when the guy was big. They probably had extra warning sections for
the thing that he had, with diagrams that spelled out all the things that could
go wrong.

Yet somehow it wasn’t like that at all.

It was closer to being stroked into bliss. She thought of
the way his mouth always felt against her skin and the smooth slide of his hand
over hip, and
that
was how it felt. Like all those things, all those
sweet and tender things…only better. There was an edge to this that she
couldn’t deny—a feeling of being filled, of having him spread her open with
that gorgeous cock.

And every time she thought of that fact she climbed a little
higher. She got a little hotter, gasped a little louder. By the time he’d
gotten around to moving she was panting his name. She was saying words like
more
and
yes
, even though she didn’t really know what that would mean.

Not until he started rolling those hips—sort of steady at
first but then less so. Soon he was practically shuddering on top of her,
unable to keep any kind of real rhythm. It didn’t matter, however. His jerky,
erratic thrusts were just as glorious as that glide at the beginning, only in a
slightly different way. The slow back-and-forth into her body had been an
awakening, there to prepare her for what was to come.

Whereas this…this was raw and real. It didn’t patiently
explain anything, or merely hint at pleasures to come. It gave it to her hard,
in guttural, grunted words. Some of them he even said out loud—and that was
definitely the best part. “Yeah take it, take it,” he told her, in a voice that
didn’t belong to him.

Though she hoped he had a good relationship with whoever had
loaned it out. She didn’t think she’d ever stop wanting to hear him say those
words, in that tone. So gruff and greedy, she thought, but then that was the
way everything was getting now. He wasn’t just losing a bit of his control. He
was losing a
lot
.

His whole body seemed to have tensed into one bunched
muscle, all hard and slick and sort of golden in the low light. And though he
was clearly trying to hold back, he wasn’t quite managing it anymore. Each
little thrust turned into something much firmer, until finally she had to say
something.

“Oh yeah, just like that,” she said, because seriously.
Seriously, why was he trying to go slower and softer when it felt so much
better to do the opposite? Every time he pounded into her that thick cock
seemed to hit some amazing target. And when it did, the pleasure was pretty
impossible. Low pulses seemed to thunder through her body, getting stronger and
stronger with each hard stroke.

It didn’t take long for her to start to lose it too. She was
already shivery with arousal and near beside herself. Mouth all filled with
filthy words and hands like claws on his shoulders. Once he really went at her
it was game over. Those claws became a kind of helpless clinging to him. She
had to mush her face into his throat as the pleasure took over her vocal cords.

“God, fuck me, please fuck me,” she panted, only it sounded
like something else when she did. It had this weird sobbing note of
helplessness to it, as though he was driving her to a place she didn’t want to
go. She was certain she didn’t want to go to it.

Until he took her there.

He pressed his face to the side of hers, breath coming out
of him in one glorious gasp. Body practically bucking, fingers in her hair…and
that was it. Her orgasm burst through her, hard enough to make her do all kinds
of crazy things. Somehow her hands were trying to pull out his hair. She could
feel her pussy almost sort of clenching around him—which only made everything
worse.

Now his cock seemed twice its usual size, despite already
being as big as the Empire State Building. All she could feel was the thick
weight of that hard length, as her body tried to shudder and spasm around it.
And somehow, the more that happened the greater the intensity. The higher and
brighter the pleasure, all of it building to some impossible crescendo that she
just couldn’t take.

It made her wonder what she’d been doing all these years,
with just a vague little finger stroking over this and that. Everything was so
much better like this—in every way conceivable. There was the feel of him
inside her, and this all-consuming orgasm. But then she had his arms to contend
with, as they held her so tight to his body. And the hand he touched to her
face, when they were done.

How had she ever done without that hand on her face?

More to the point…how was she ever going to do without it?

She didn’t mean to wake him. She had just wanted to have a
little look at him before any of this melted away again, and somehow that had
turned into weird things like touching his ears and tracing the shapes of his
tattoos and now he was staring at her from underneath hooded eyelids.

She could feel him staring before she glanced up to double
check. His gaze was practically burning a hole through her body. Or was that
just the embarrassment? It sure seemed like the latter once she saw him and
realized what she’d been doing. In the strange silence of three in the morning
with him fast asleep, it had kind of seemed as though she was just solidifying
him in her mind. She was just making sure he was real and not going anywhere.

But now that his eyes were on her, half-amused and half
something else that sort of made her shiver, it was a different story
altogether. Her hand on him wasn’t something innocent and curious. She wasn’t
simply memorizing parts of him. She was practically fondling him. She was
fondling
him
.

That seemed really bad. People definitely weren’t supposed
to do that.

Though if his reaction was anything to go by she was wrong
on that score. The second he registered what she was doing his hand went into
her hair. And she didn’t think it was there to push her away. It seemed
encouraging, in fact. Kind of like he was leading her toward certain things—like
the curve of his erect cock not five inches from her parted lips.

She didn’t mind obliging. Even if that wasn’t what he
wanted, she didn’t mind. They had passed that point completely now—the one
where they were unsure what the other person might want and not quite daring
enough to do things. She knew they were, and it shifted things. Suddenly she
could look at him as she poked out her tongue to lick the tip of his dick.

And he could say yes. He could tell her more. He could offer
the same thing in return without asking. She felt pretty sure that this was how
they wound up tangled together on the bed, licking and sucking at various parts
of each other. She took his cock in her mouth and he made these glorious, long
swipes over her spread pussy and nothing was weird. Nothing was wrong.

Instead it all seemed like a delirious dream of everything
sex could possibly be. She’d always wondered how frantic lust would feel, and
this was it in glorious Technicolor. She wanted to bite, so she bit, she wanted
to moan, so she moaned, and when really filthy words rose up in her throat she
said them.

“Lick my clit,” she told him. “Oh yes, lick it just like
that.”

Only it wasn’t in a voice she’d ever heard before. It was
breathy and desperate and so horny. Christ, she had no idea she could be this
horny—and better yet, he sounded the same. He wanted her to suck harder and
press against him more firmly.

“Rub yourself all over my face,” he said, and so she did.
She did without thinking twice about it. She opened her legs wider and rocked
her hips, and when that wasn’t enough she used her hand. She spread her
slippery lips with two urgent fingers, wanting more, wanting him to lick at her
faster and more deeply—anything, just anything to get more of this sensation.

It was just like the first time, almost too intense to bear.
The buzz of it seemed to set her teeth on edge and dim the world around its
edges, but somehow she couldn’t get enough. Her orgasm rose and fell through
her body like a tidal wave, and still she wanted to swim through this glorious
ocean. He flooded her mouth with his come, and still, and still.

Her first words to him when her breathing calmed enough to
speak and he gathered himself enough to sit up were
more please
.

And he gave it to her. He laughed, of course. But he gave it
to her. It occurred to her as he drew her into his arms that he would always
give it to her. That she just had to ask and it would be hers. She could see it
in his eyes as he took her—first slowly, tenderly, and then with more urgency
once he realized.

Urgency was what she needed.

Urgency was what she
liked
. She didn’t care about
bruises or being hurt. She only wanted that sweet ache again—the one that
happened when he really
fucked
without thinking. When he grabbed her
hips and grunted and let her have what she knew he longed for too. He longed to
lose himself in her, she was sure. Passionate sex wasn’t enough. Only handfuls
of her hair and demands he didn’t want to make and falling all the way into her
was enough.

Or at least, that was how it felt to her.

Like falling into someone and never wanting to come back
out. When he grabbed her, she grabbed him back. When he told her to turn so he
could fuck her like that she was already moving before the words were out. And
when he gasped out that it felt amazing—to rut like that against her, holding
her hips and her hair and feeling her back arch to take more of him—he was only
echoing all the things she wanted to say.

It was unbelievable, the difference it made to be taken in
that way. Not just because of the shift toward something more greedy and
grasping and animalistic, but in the sheer physical sensation of it. The feel
of his cock rubbing so insistently over that good, good place inside her…one of
his hands pressing between her legs at the same time…

It was barely a minute of this bliss before orgasm pushed
and shoved through her. And oh God, did it push and shove. She tried to moan,
but her teeth were so tightly clamped together she couldn’t manage it. Instead
she just had to hold on as he wrenched her in two.

Then patiently put her back together again. Oh he so
patiently put her back together again. As soon as the insane, impossible
pleasure was done, he turned her and spread her out on the bed. He cupped her
face in his hands. He said her name, so sweet and wondering she had to believe.
How could she not? They had lost themselves in each other, and come through to
the other side. They had done all those things without shame or worry, and
opened up to each other in ways she never thought she could. They could do
this, they could really do this. He could be Bernie and she could be Alice and
they could live happily ever after, they could. She was sure of it…

And then she went downstairs to get a drink of water, still
basking in the afterglow, and saw the shadow just outside the door. She heard
an unfamiliar voice calling through it.
Holden Stark
, this someone
called, in that proprietary way of all paparazzi. As if they knew him, as if
they were friends. She wanted to shout at them—
That’s not even who he is,
he’s not really Holden
. But of course that wasn’t the problem. The problem
was that as soon as he saw her, as soon as he took her picture…

She would not be Alice.

* * * * *

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when he
finally came down to find her. It seemed like just a few moments, though she
knew it couldn’t have been. Her leg was aching from holding it in one place for
so long, and even if it hadn’t been, there were other clues. The man was gone,
for a start. He’d grown tired of banging and hollering through her door at
nothing—either that or he’d seen her through the frosted glass and gotten
scared.

Normal people didn’t freeze like this. They didn’t act as
though life was a big kid’s game, and if they only stood still no one could tag
them. No one could say,
Hey, Enid, you’re it
.
You’ve been caught. Now
you have to stand by the wall and close your eyes and try to catch all of us.

Now it’s your turn, Enid.

She didn’t want it to be her turn. Was it so bad to not want
it to be her turn? It didn’t seem like too much to ask—to just have this, to
just go this far, to not have to say anything more. To be Alice, instead of
Enid. That wasn’t so bad, was it? She’d paid so much already. It didn’t seem
fair to have to pay more.

But when she turned and looked at him, she knew this extra
cost was there. He didn’t seem concerned, as she might have hoped. He seemed
confused. He seemed like he already had some idea, though she wasn’t sure how.
The man hadn’t said her real name—not yet at least. And there were no other
signs.

She was sure there weren’t, until she put a hand up to her
face.

Her face was wet. Tears were running down her cheeks in
great rivers, though she hadn’t felt it happen. She didn’t even know she was
shaking until his voice suddenly stopped being all far away. The roar that
seemed to be muffling him died down just long enough for him to ask why she was
shuddering like that.

And then it rose again, louder than before.

She could hear what it was now. She could hear that strange
high-pitched whine in the background of that sound—like a note of panic beneath
the thunder of a dragon’s growl. She could see the sidings start to peel away,
as though they’d never really been a part of the plane at all. They’d only
stayed on because they’d willed it.

Now they did not will it.

They flew off, to the far-off land they lived in.

“Alice,” he was saying. “Alice, can you hear me?”

But how could she answer? She was not Alice.

He must have been talking to someone else.

“Alice, you’re scaring me, honey. What’s wrong? Who was at
the door? If it’s someone from your past, you don’t have to worry. I’ll take
care of it, okay? You understand that, don’t you? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Oh, he thought she was Sarah in
Sleeping with the Enemy
.
That was what he believed—maybe that was what he’d
always
believed. He’d
imagined a terrible boyfriend for her, from whom she was running. A terrible
man who had hurt her, and that he would now protect her from. And he would have
succeeded, of that she had no doubt. He would have wrapped her in his big,
strong arms and sheltered her from all harm, and eventually killed her
tormentor in a perfectly manly way.

But he could not kill this one.

This one could not
be
killed.

God knows, she’d tried.

“I
am
the person from my past.”

“What did you…I don’t…”

“I am the person from my past. It’s me you’re talking about.
I’m the thing that will come back to haunt me—or at least I will be, if more
photographers come here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Al—”

“My name isn’t Al.”

“Alice then. Alice, I thought—”

“My name isn’t Alice, either. It isn’t Alice at all. I
changed it to Alice, because being Alice is easier, okay? Being Alice is
better. I like her more than I liked that other girl I was—in fact I like her
so much I don’t think I can bear to go back.”

She didn’t like the way her voice was rising and rising with
each word, but there was nothing to be done about it. Her throat was so full of
tears and feelings and other foreign things that she had to strain just to keep
talking. And then there was the roar to contend with. Oh God, the roar was so
loud now. She had to shout in this thin, high way just to hear herself over it.

Much to his apparent consternation.

“Okay, okay, hey it’s okay. You don’t have to go back, all
right? I get it, I get it—no matter what the reason for wanting to be someone
else, I get it. I want to be someone else too, remember? And even if your
reasons are nightmarish, I don’t care. I’m here for you to be who you need to
be, honey I—”

“Oh please don’t say any more!”

“But I…I don’t…”

“Don’t say any more, don’t be understanding. That just makes
it worse!”

“How? How in God’s name does that make it worse?”

“Because it doesn’t matter, Bernie. It doesn’t fucking
matter how understanding you are. It’s torture to know how understanding you’re
being. How good you are, how kind, how loving. And all of it irrelevant…all of
it meaningless. At the end of all of that some photographer will just take my
picture and I’ll be Enid again. That’s the real problem. You can walk a
thousand miles for me and at the end I’ll still be Enid. I’ll still be the girl
who survived—that’s what they’ll say. They did it before and it was unbearable,
it was unbearable. I can’t go back to that. I don’t want to be the girl who
survived. Who would want to be the one who survived?”

He was silent then, for a little while. He didn’t need to
be, however. She could still hear what was happening inside his head. She could
see it in the way his eyes suddenly seemed to be staring at something else—something
far-off and frightening. It was there in the way his whole body sagged just a
little, like a weight had been put in his shoulders. Like her weight had been
put on his shoulders.

He was figuring it out.

He was figuring it out, before she’d even had a chance to
properly say. She’d somehow spilled it all in the middle of that big wrenching
rant—or at least, she’d spilled enough. Apparently, those few crumbs were all
it took to reveal the truth…though she should have known.

Everyone knew. Everyone knew.

That was the problem—everyone knew.

Everyone had heard her name, including him.

“Are you…are you Enid Kazinski?

Now the whine was higher than the roar.

Probably because it was coming from her.

“My God, you
are
. You’re Enid Kazinski.”

“Don’t say any more. It’s hurting me. Don’t.”

“You’re the sole survivor of Flight 359. The girl who walked
through fire—that’s you? All this time, that was you? That can’t be you.”

“Let’s pretend it isn’t—just for five more minutes. Can’t we
pretend?”

“Honey, I can’t. I can’t, oh God, you let me go on like
this. You let me go on about myself and my stupid problems—you’ve spent all
this time taking care of me. You’re the sole survivor of a fucking plane crash
and you let me complain about my fucking movie star problems. Why did you let
me do that? Why did I do that? Jesus, I wish I hadn’t done that, baby. I’m so
sorry.”