The Bad Ones (13 page)

“Please
what,
Dulcie?” he demanded, finally letting go of her hair. He was holding onto her thigh with one hand, but with his free hand, he pushed his way under her shirt. Shoved the fabric up her torso so it pooled at the top of her chest. She had small breasts. Petite. They fit perfectly in his cupped hand. Were made to feel his sharp teeth.

“Please make me come,” she finally whispered. He bit down on her nipple and she shrieked. “
Please.
Please, only you … only you can ...”

She was begging. Actually begging him. Con almost felt bad for her, but served her right. Letting other men touch her. Of course they couldn't give her orgasms; they all belonged to him.

“Poor little Dulcie, can't get what she needs,” he chuckled as he slid his hand between their bodies. He briefly spread his fingers around either side of his dick, just for a second, then twined them through her slickness. Tap danced in her heat.

“No, never,” she agreed, her hands moving to squeeze her breasts.

“Let's see if I can give it to her,” he whispered, then he pinched his fingers together.

Con could feel her orgasm from the inside out. Felt her tremors all along his dick, milking him. Forcing him to pump harder. She shrieked and her hands clawed at the table cloth, shredding it in places. Her entire body seized, coming in fits and starts, causing her spine to arch, her breasts to tremble. It was like she was pulsing in time to his thrusts, and he couldn't stand it. He squeezed her breast as he came, causing her to cry out again, but this time in pain.

She was breathing heavily, he eventually realized. His forehead was pressed against her breast bone. She'd completely drained him, he couldn't remember the last time he'd come so hard. He could feel his legs shaking, so he scooted her up and followed along, stretching them out fully onto the table so he could take his weight off his feet.

When he looked at her face, Con wasn't entirely surprised to see she was crying. She was staring at the ceiling, struggling to catch her breath, and the tears were streaming down her face. He wondered if it was because he'd been so rough. Or because he'd been gone for so long. If she was happy or sad or regretful about what they'd just done.

Instead of asking, though, he just crawled over the length of her body and gave one long, slow lick up the side of her face, capturing as many tears as possible.

“One more question,” he was panting, as well.

“Anything,” she replied, still staring at the ceiling.

“Did you kill anybody else while I was gone?” he whispered. She shook her head.

“No, Constantine. I was waiting to do that with you.”

“
Good girl, Dulcie.
”

“You can't even tell,” Con muttered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dulcie nod.

“I know. Amazing what time can do.”

They were standing on the abandoned train tracks, staring at what was left of the cardboard shack. It was mostly crushed, half of it blown away. The ground all around it was lumpy and uneven, covered in weeds. There was no sign that three years ago, they'd brutally murdered a person and buried his body there.

How tragic.

After Con had gotten off her, Dulcie had assured him she was crying happy tears. She'd been hollow for three years. He'd filled her void. Then he helped her clean up the mess. They had to get a whole new tablecloth – the cut from the broken champagne glass had gone deep and she'd bled all over the place, not to mention all the claw marks that were now in the fabric. He made her sit down and she just instructed him on how everything had to be done.

“Why did you want to do this here? In the restaurant?”

“Because I hate it here, but next time I'm walking across this floor, all I'll see is you fucking me on this table, and it won't seem so bad anymore.”

“Well, then. You're welcome.”

They drove back to her place and using an old first aid kit she had, he bandaged up her hand. Then they had sex again. Afterwards, they talked for a long time. He told her about school. She told him about her life. They took a shower together.

And then he asked her to show him.

By the time they got to the train station, the sun was just starting to rise. Dulcie led the way, her footsteps sure and quick. It was obvious she went there a lot. She was back in her cut off shorts again, but she'd pulled on a large black sweater that hung so far down, it covered the shorts completely. She almost looked like she was walking around without any bottoms on, and it took him half the walk to realize she was wearing
his
sweater. The one he'd given her on that fateful night.

She's a romantic.

“What does all this mean?” she finally asked. Con turned to face her, but she kept looking at the makeshift grave.

“It means we can do whatever we want,” he said, and it was like letting out a breath he'd been holding for too long. Dulcie was wrong – he'd had it much worse. At least at home, in that town, she'd been able to keep to herself. In school, he was always acting a part. Always pretending to be somebody else. He didn't have any drawings he could disappear into, no spare time to visit old ghosts.

“And what do we want?” she pressed. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to face him.

“I want you,” he stated bluntly. She simply nodded. “I want to do whatever the fuck we want. I've got a lot of money, Dulcie.
A lot
. We can go wherever we want, do whatever we want. We can … we can be as strange as we want. As awful. As fucking horrible as we goddamn want.”

She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she was finally smiling at him.

“That sounds like
heaven.
”

“But we have stuff we have to do,” he became serious. He grabbed her hand and began leading her back towards his car.

“Okay,” she replied, and now it was his turn to smile. She didn't ask him what, didn't question him. He said it, and that was it, she was going along with it.

“I have to stay in town for a while. Once we leave, I don't want anything left that could bring us back. Agreed?”

“Completely.”

“You never told anyone what we did, right?”

Dulcie smacked him across the back of his head. It was comical; she almost had to jump to reach.

“Of course I didn't!”

“Alright! Alright, calm down, tiger. C'mon, let's go back to my place,” he said.

“Your shitty apartment was a million degrees. Let's go back to mine,” she suggested.

“I'm staying in the big house,” he corrected her. She winced.

“I'm sure your dad won't appreciate me just waltzing in, with my trailer trash roots and my lack of a college education,” she pointed out. He narrowed his eyes and picked up the pace, forcing her to jog.

“I don't think you'll have to worry about him.”

*

The Masters house was easily the biggest residence Dulcie had ever been in; though really, she'd grown up in a trailer, then moved into an abandoned warehouse. Almost anywhere was bigger than those two things.

“You like living here?” she asked, her eyes wandering over everything as they moved up the stairs and through the house.

“Not really,” he replied.

“Then why stay here?”

“Because it's secluded from town.”

“You're only like three miles away from downtown,” she pointed out, stopping behind him as he opened a set of double doors.

“I like privacy,” was all he said, standing to the side so she could move into the room. She stood at the foot of an enormous bed, taking everything in, then turned as he walked up to her.

“Planning something bad? Why do you need so much privacy?” she teased. He smirked, then leaned close to her, clenching his fingers in her hair.

“Because next time I fuck you, I'm going to make you scream, and I don't want anyone to hear it.”

She shivered at his words and it made him laugh. Then he kissed her on the temple and walked out of the room.

They'd brought Chinese food with them and they headed into the kitchen. They stood around the large island and ate out of the cartons. She watched him while he picked through his food, setting aside all the onions. She picked out all her peas.

They may have been weird, psychically bonded, sociopathic soulmates, but most hated foods and favorite movies and the items they couldn't live without, those things were still foreign.

“Why do you think we're this way?” she whispered later on in the night. They were laying in the huge bed in the master suite. The room that should have belonged to Mr. Masters.

But Dulcie already knew Mr. Masters wouldn't ever be coming home.

“I don't know. Chemical imbalance,” Con offered. His voice was heavy with sleep. They were both on their sides and facing each other, but his eyes were closed. Dulcie was wide awake and she let her eyes wander over his features. Memorizing them, in case he disappeared again.

“Are we crazy?” she pressed.

“
Yes.
”

“I thought crazy people didn't know they were crazy.”

“We're evolved,” he switched tactics.

“If this is evolution, I fear for the world,” she managed a laugh. He sighed.

“You really wanna fry your brain? How about, what are the chances that two people like us were born in the same town, around the same time, and went to the same school? Maybe it was something in the water. Maybe our mothers did the same kinds of drugs. Maybe we're just blessed. Maybe we're cursed,” he told her.

She'd never thought of it that way. Jesus, what were the chances? What if he'd been born in Arizona? How would she have gotten through life, never knowing the kind of person she could really be? Con would've been just fine. Maybe lonely, but he'd always accepted what he was; she'd needed him to rip down that black curtain in her brain.

Is this love? What if we're just feeding off each others darkness? What if we're just making each other worse?

“Maybe we're sick,” her voice fell back into a whisper. He groaned and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close so she was pressed against his chest.

“If this is a sickness, then I don't want a cure,” he whispered back.

“You're very clever for a sociopath.”

“Well, cleverness
is
a trademark of being one. Now shut up and go to sleep before I give your mouth something better to do.”

Falling for Con, well. It was all downhill, really. Just a descent into darkness.

It was like getting to be a teenager all over again, only the way she wished it had gone. They drove to the lake and went swimming. Laid in the grass and looked at clouds. Spent hours talking about absolutely nothing; all those normal things two people did when they were falling in love.

But at night, they would walk down on the train tracks. About six months before Con's reappearance, the hobo camp had gotten cleaned out by the highway patrol. It wouldn't be long before tents popped back up and people were making their homes in the station, but for the time being, the pair had the area to themselves.

They explored the old train station, walked up crumbling stairs and peeked into long abandoned offices. On the top floor, there was a walkway that overlooked the grand entrance to the old station. Con pinned her against the banister, made her sit on top of it while he fucked her slowly. It was a long fall to the marble floor beneath them – death, if he dropped her.

She wasn't scared.

This is so not normal. This is beyond normal. This is
perfection
. When will it break down? My life could use a little explosion.

“You should get out of work tomorrow,” he was telling her as they walked down an aisle in the local grocery store.

“You realize you say that every day,” she pointed out. They were in the candy section and she dug around in one of the bins. When she pulled out a lollipop, she peeled off the wrapper and popped it into her mouth.

“That's because I hate it when you leave every day,” he replied.

“If you say anything else sweet, I'm going to kick you in the nuts.”

He shoved her hard enough that she slammed into a display of chips.

“Shut up.”

Sometimes Dulcie wondered if they would've had as much fun together in high school as they did right then. Con had never seemed like he wasn't having a good time, but still. It just felt so right, standing next to him. How had he denied them this feeling for so long? Sometimes, thinking about it made her angry. Those were the times she left marks on him. Constantine had a set of scars on his back that would most likely never heal.

“How long are we going to do this?” she asked, moving into a new aisle. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and followed along.

“For as long as I say,” he responded. She groaned.

“But why? Why do you want to stay in this small place? In that big house?” she wondered out loud.

“Because. I like watching you be uncomfortable. Have patience, Dulcie,” was all he would say. Was all he
ever
said on the subject. She glared at him.

“It's
boring
here,” she grumbled. He stepped up close to her.

“
So find something fun for us to do.
”

Dulcie stared up at him for a moment, hypnotized by his blue eyes. Then she handed over her candy and winked at him before skipping out of the aisle.

They didn't need anything from the store – Con had groceries delivered to his house, and Dulcie's little mini-fridge was pretty well stocked. She mostly ate at the restaurant, anyway. They'd been walking across the street when she'd noticed a familiar looking figure heading into the shop. On a whim, she'd altered course and gone into the building, as well.

She found him in the cooler aisle, looking at ice cream. He was wearing a pale orange polo shirt and pressed khakis. He was laughing at something the woman next to him was saying, so he didn't notice as Dulcie walked up and stood next to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Con enter the aisle, but he didn't walk all the way down it. He stayed down by the frozen pizzas, not even looking at her once.

“... babe, there's no such thing as diet ice cream,” the guy was assuring the woman.

“But it says right there!
Diet.
”

“
Excuse me.
”

Dulcie leaned in front of the man, inappropriately close as she opened a cooler and reached inside. She pulled out a push-up ice cream pop, then turned to face him. Peeled off the wrapper as she watched the color drain from his face. Watched the recognition flash in his eyes.

“I … uh … you ...” he stuttered. Dulcie smiled and turned to the woman next to him.

“How can you possibly diet when something
so good
is staring you in the face?” she asked, then slowly took the ice cream into her mouth, as deep as it would go.

The innuendo was not lost on anyone, and his wife made a choking sound.

Dulcie had slept with the man over a year ago. He was from a neighboring town, but he had a cabin on the lake outside of Fuller and was good friends with some of the locals. One of those kindhearted souls had taken him to Dulcie's restaurant for a fun evening. Then she'd gone back to his cabin with him for even more fun.

He was a total freak in the sack and after their first romp in the sheets, he'd wanted to piss on her. Dulcie was fine with a bit of kink, but she had some hard limits, and urine was one of them. Mr. Kinky didn't understand the word “no”, though, and he'd struggled to hold her down and tried to force her to endure it. She'd broken a lamp over his head, knocking him unconscious. She'd stolen his wallet, then left him a lovely note informing him that if he dared to call the cops or call her work, she'd show up at his home and piss on his trophy wife. Fair was fair, after all.

He didn't look like a freak now. He looked like he was going to vomit all over his loafers.

“Excuse me, do we know you?” his wife snapped.

“No,
you
don't,” Dulcie replied, her eyes never leaving the man. She tried to recall his name, but couldn't. Once she left them, they all pretty much stopped existing to her.

“Look here, we don't want any trouble,” he finally managed to get out, though he stammered a little.

“Mmm, you so sure about that?” she whispered, then gave the side of her ice cream a long lick.

“Look here, you tramp -” his wife began to bristle.

“Shut up, Marcy! She's just some townie, trying to freak us out. Let's get out of here,” he urged, turning and trying to bustle the woman out of the aisle. A memory flashed across Dulcie's mind. His hand around her neck, him calling her a whore. Him telling her to beg, telling her to scream his name.

“It was great seeing you again,
Ted!
” she yelled out as loud as she could.

There was silence for a second, then his wife went nuts. The words “not again” were shouted repeatedly while she beat him with a head of lettuce. Green roughage flew all over the place.

Dulcie turned around and walked back up to Con. He didn't say anything, just fell in line beside her as they walked out of the aisle.

              “I'm pretty sure you just ended their marriage,” he warned her. She shrugged and took a bite of the push-up.

“You said to find something fun to do,” she reminded him. He let out a loud laugh.

“How much money did you get off him?”

She'd told Con all about her little scam.

“Pffft, he only had like eighty bucks. A total waste.”

“You know what was really impressive, though?” he started, pulling her to a stop. A gaggle of store employees jogged past them, hurrying to the fight that was happening in aisle three.

“What?”

“Your skills with that ice cream,” he commented, staring at her mouth. She smirked at him and worked her tongue around the top of the dessert. “You've been holding out on me.”

“You never asked,” she pointed out.

“That's all it takes?”

“Of course.”

“And what if I asked you right now?” he challenged.

“I'd say it's cold here, let's move over by the hot case.”

He had that look in his eye, like he wanted to bruise her. It made her pulse leap and she licked her lips, tasting the chemical orange from her treat. She wanted to taste him.

“
Constantine!?
”

Dulcie groaned.
Frannie
. Since Con had come back, she hadn't seen the other woman. She'd begun to think maybe it was a sign, that her luck was changing. Con was her dark little rainbow, spreading peace over her world. But no. Apparently not.

“Hi, Frannie,” he said politely, his politician's-smile making an appearance. No hint of the big bad wolf in that grin.

“It's been so long! How are you?
Move,
Dulcie, jesus, I'm trying to talk to my old friend,” Frannie demanded, shoving her out of the way. The ice cream fell out of her hand and smacked into the floor.

“It's been a while,” Con agreed, ignoring the incident between the girls. “How've you been? You look great.”

Dulcie stared at their interaction, dumbfounded.

“Oh, stop. I don't. Do I? Well, not as good as
you.
You look
incredible,
” Frannie gushed. His smile got bigger and Dulcie watched as Frannie fell a little more in love with him.

“Thanks.”

“Enough about me. What are you doing here? And god, is Dulcie bothering you? Townies, I swear. C'mon, there's a great coffee shop next door, it just opened. Let me get you a cup,” Frannie offered, then linked her arm though his and began dragging him away.

“A coffee shop? Wow, Fuller's almost like a real town,” he laughed, and she cackled right along with him as they walked out the door together. He didn't look back, not even once.

What. The fuck.

Dulcie stomped the whole way home. She bypassed her elevator and took the stairs, wanting to burn off some energy. When she got into her apartment, she slammed the door shut behind her and locked it. The knob and the bolt, even put on the chain. Something she rarely ever did; she pitied anyone who would be stupid enough to try and rob her. But that afternoon, she wasn't in the mood for anyone to come inside.

She felt like she was going to explode, she had to do something with all the tension that was threatening to blow her apart, so she tore around the apartment. The bed was a mess, blankets scattered everywhere – they'd stayed the night at her place, but hadn't slept much. So she changed the sheets and made the bed, then tidied up other parts of the room. There was a wash basin set up on a counter top, so she cleaned the meager amount of dishes she had and left them out to dry. She was rinsing off a chef's knife when she heard what she'd been waiting for – scratching, on the other side of her door.

“Fuck off, I'm not in the mood for you right now!” she yelled. Deep laughter rolled straight through the wood and brick, almost filling her apartment.

“That's a lie, and you know it.”

She frowned and turned so her back was against the wall between the counter top and the door.

“I don't want you to come in.”

“I wasn't asking. Open the door, or I'll open it myself.”

She held the knife up, touching the tip of the blade with her index finger.

“
Go ahead.
”

The building was old, she didn't expect the door to put up much of a fight. She turned back to her wash station and went about drying the knife. There was silence for a solid minute after her dare, and she paused in her movements. Then the door almost exploded off its hinges as Con rammed through it, and she went back to drying.

“You can't honestly be mad at me,” he said simply, brushing his shoulder off as he moved to stand next to her.

“You didn't think that was possible? I spent three years being mad at you. I'm really good at it,” she informed him. He chuckled and put his hands flat on the counter top, leaning down so he was at her level.

“Dulcie, you couldn't be mad at me if you tried.
You're scared
. What are you so scared of, little girl?”

I'll show him scared.

She let out a yell as she stabbed the knife down in front of him. The blade lodged in the wood right between his index and middle fingers, and had gone so deep, it stood upright on its own. Con didn't even flinch.

“
Not her,
” Dulcie hissed. “You can do whatever you want, but don't
ever
play your little pretend act with her.
Got it!?
”

Almost stabbing him was fine, but telling him what do do? That was just going too far. His hand was around her jaw, his fingernails cutting into her skin, and he literally dragged her across the room. She cried out as he slammed her up against a window, the back of her head breaking out a pane of glass.

“If you're actually threatened by a girl like her, then I'm insulted. Then you're fucking stupid, and what's going on here between us isn't what I thought. Don't you ever fucking talk to me like that again,” he snapped, baring his teeth against the side of her face. She held onto his wrist, trying to relieve some of the pressure he was putting on her jaw.

“While you were off playing pretend for those three years, I was stuck here listening to her voice. Dealing with her insults, her jabs, her digs. Watching as she sucked the life out of her husband. A guy whose only mistake in life was dating me, yet she won't stop punishing him for it. I've had to listen as she spread rumors about me, about you. Had to deal with not getting hired in places because she had her father forbid it. So you know what?
Fuck you,
Constantine. I'll talk to you any way I fucking want.”