Thrive
Authors: Rebecca Sherwin
Thrive
Twisted #3
Rebecca Sherwin
Copyright © 2015
Rebecca R Sherwin
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, places, events and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Secrets
. Dirty little secrets. Filthy nasty secrets.
The world is full of them. Lies and deceit, self-obsession and narcissism. It’s why you keep secrets in the first place. A hint of a conscience tells you that what you’re doing is wrong, and self-preservation, the instinct to hide your sins from those around you and protect yourself from punishment, makes you tell those destructive tales of deception.
We lie, we keep secrets, and we hope we’ll never be caught.
Time.
A measurable but ungovernable variable. Hours, minutes and seconds tick by.
Time.
The continued progress of existence. Indefinite. Unpredictable. Uncontrollable.
We spend our lives looking at the clock, either willing it to speed up – to bring us closer to what we want. Or we wish we had more. We wish we had the time to go back and change the things we regret. We wish we had a few more minutes before we have to make a decision.
It moves too fast.
It doesn’t move fast enough…
When you keep secrets; when you hide yourself and your actions, it’s only a matter of time before you have to face your demons. Explain your actions. Atone for your sins.
It’s only a matter of time before your lies are exposed, one by one.
It’s only a matter of time before the truth reveals itself, and the world around you ceases to exist as you know it.
The time has come.
There is no time to fight for survival.
There is no time to beg for revival.
There is no other option. There is no choice.
What happens now?
It’s time to
Thrive…
One
I couldn’t ever remember a time in my life when I was this angry - when I would have gladly taken the life of another and not given it a second thought. As the rage and fury pumped through my veins and took away all the hurt, all the regret, all the love I’d ever felt, I came to life. I felt good. I squeezed a little harder, waiting for the dimming light in the eyes of Uncle Phil to guide me home…I wanted to feel the blood in his veins slow to a stop, until he was nothing but a body, with a faint heartbeat and a terror in his eyes that begged me to stop. And then I’d end it. I’d bring the mission to a close and celebrate the eradication of the man who had given it existence. Good old Uncle Phil, the dick, would be no more; then I would raise my hands in victory and stare with pride at the hands that had removed him from the world.
That was the plan.
And then I remembered…Skye.
~Curtis~
Uncle Phil? Who was Uncle Phil?
That was all I could think as I stood, frozen to the spot, and watched Curtis squeeze the life from my father. Uncle Phil. Uncle Phil.
I heard the strangled gasps from my dad and kicked myself into gear.
“Curtis!”
That scream didn’t sound like me. I didn’t realise how afraid I was until now.
Curtis had him pinned to the wall and he was staring into his eyes as I watched the light in my father’s dim.
“Curtis, no!”
I ran. I couldn’t feel my legs, but I ran. I slipped on wet rocks, I trod on the bottom of my dress and stamped it into an oil-coated puddle. I stumbled because I had no idea where the floor was; all I knew was that I had to get to Curtis. I had to make him stop. I reached him and hesitated. Who was this man? There was no warmth in the eyes I’d once relied on to keep the cold away. There was no doubt in those eyes. He wanted to kill my father, and he was going to do it.
I had to stop him.
I tried to locate the Skye who would have had the power to get him back when he’d gone to the place that tormented him, but I wasn’t her anymore. I had no idea how to deal with a rabid Curtis.
So I pulled. I grabbed the arm that held my dad still and tugged. I used all my weight to weigh Curtis’ arm down – to make him let go. It was working. His grip slipped.
“Curtis, let go,” I pleaded. “Let go, please. Please, let go.”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t move. He was lifeless except for the arm that trembled under strain and held the weight of two bodies.
A low sound vibrated in his chest. Time slowed down. The ringing in my ears took over all other sound, but I knew I was still begging, pleading.
The shake in his arm continued and I sensed my chance. I planted my feet on the floor, bent my knees and pulled. I fell to the floor and tumbled back as Curtis dropped his arm and Dad coughed and spluttered when he took his first breath.
When I let go, I saw the little crescent-shaped nail marks on his arms; I’d drawn blood to the surface of his skin and he hadn’t felt it.
Curtis bowed his head and cocked it towards me. His eyes closed, unable to look at me and I studied his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He dropped them to the ground where my palms were pressed flat.
“Go and find my car. Get in it and wait for me.”
I shook my head. “What’s going on?”
A hand reached for my shoulder and I looked away from Curtis to my father as he pulled me to my feet, still gasping for air.
“Don’t touch her,” Curtis growled. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”
I shook my dad off voluntarily. I didn’t want his hands on me. He was at my sister’s wedding, but the bridges between us were still in ashes.
Beth.
“I need my sister.”
“We’ll go get her,” Dad said, more confident now he’d recovered. “Come on.”
He held onto me again and gently tugged me away from Curtis.
“I told you,” Curtis seethed, taking a step towards us. “Don’t touch her.”
His left arm swiped out and caught me, sending me tumbling sideways. I watched in shock as his right arm pulled back and swung forwards, connecting with Dad’s jaw. He fell to the ground, groaning as blood began trickling from his mouth.
“Curtis.”
I scrambled to my feet and repeatedly tried to push him away. He wasn’t budging.
Hotel staff ran outside, followed by Beth and Jack. The world began to close in on me, as the chaos whirled and grew with each person who stepped outside and wondered how Beth’s wedding reception had quickly escalated into madness.
“What happened?!” Beth shrieked, raising her hands to her cheeks.
“Get him out.” Curtis grabbed my wrist and refused to let me free when I tried to pull away from him. “Get him out.”
He turned and dragged me with him, pulling me out into the driveway, crossing it towards the carpark.
I looked over my shoulder and told Beth it was okay.
It wasn’t okay.
Nothing about this was okay, but Curtis was gone. Unreachable. I couldn’t reason with him.
He snatched the keys from me when we reached his car, unlocked it and tore the passenger door open.
“Get in.”
“No.” I planted my feet to the spot and held on to either side of the gap so he couldn’t shove me in. “What’s going on?”
“Goddamn it, Skye.” A roar erupted from his lungs. “Get in the fucking car!”
His knees hit the back of mine and my legs buckled; in one fluid move, he caught me and threw me onto the passenger seat. Before I knew it had happened, he had moved to the driver’s side, got in and leaned over to strap me in with the seatbelt. I daren’t fight him.
I was trapped.
I’d been trapped in a car before…
Curtis started the engine and peeled out of the space, speeding out onto the driveway and sending a spray of gravel up to obscure my view when I looked out of the window as we sped past the commotion on the steps. The car got smaller and my head grew light. My chest tightened and I struggled to breathe.
“Curtis.” My voice sounded shaky and desperate. “Curtis, please. I’m scared.”
I was. Petrified. I had no idea where we were going or who the man driving was. His name was Curtis, he looked like the man I used to know, but he wasn’t.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered. “I’ll protect you.”
“From what?”
He didn’t answer.
The car entered a country lane and darkness surrounded us, the headlights the only source of light as he screeched round the bend, and the illusion that we were going to hit the trees head on before each turn had me gripping the heated seat.
The energy radiating from Curtis was dangerous. It told me my safest option was to keep my mouth shut, so I did. His hands were tight on the wheel, his legs trembling as his feet slid over the pedals. I hated driving. I hated being a passenger in a car. Every time I sat in one, I was filled with memories and the fear that I was seconds away from a crash and wouldn’t see it coming. I was worried now, but not about the road, or the car. I was terrified of the man controlling it.
Curtis pulled up in a car park of a hotel and I watched him take his first deep breath. He didn’t look at me, he didn’t speak; he climbed out of the car, slammed the door and crossed the space, heading for the entrance.
I had no choice. I climbed out of the car and followed him, keeping a safe distance. He entered the hotel, walking straight through the lobby to a ground room floor. A key on his set opened the door and he held it open for me. I stepped inside, keeping as far away from him as I could. I crossed the room to the window.
I heard the door close, but still I kept my back to him. There was a gulf between us that spanned much further than the time we’d been separated. I resented him for leaving, for turning up and running away, for being the one who permitted our exit the night Thomas died. I crossed my arms over my chest. I needed my bunny. I needed Thomas. He would have told me how to process what was happening. He would have kept me safe. I never thought I’d need saving from Curtis – the man who had once been my protector.
The room was so quiet, almost dark were it not for the full moon that sparkled through the window. I wanted to believe Curtis was gone, but I could feel him watching me, studying me, as if asking himself if this was really happening.
It was.
I didn’t feel him approach me. I didn’t hear anything beyond the sound of rustling trees outside. He passed a phone over my shoulder and I took it from him without question.
“Talk to your sister, make sure he left.”
I nodded but said nothing. I pressed the home button with a trembling thumb and swiped to unlock the screen. I couldn’t call Beth. I couldn’t trust my voice to convey confidence and I had to make her believe everything was okay. I’d been pretending for years; this was no different.
I typed out a quick text.
The sound of the click as the phone locked was filled the small room. I turned my head to see Curtis folding his jacket over the chair in the corner.
“Turn around,” he mumbled, his dark eyes burning into mine.
I looked out of the window, catching his reflection in the glass as he unbuttoned his shirt and it floated to the floor. He had his back to me and as I made out the definition of each muscle, each line of sinew, I noticed his skin was covered in dark patches. Curiosity got the better of me and I turned around, choking on a breath when I caught a glimpse of his maimed body as he pulled a t-shirt down to cover it.
“Curtis!” I gasped, and he spun around to face me.
“I told you to turn around.” He dragged his hand through his hair.
“I’m not a puppet. Don’t talk to me like that,” I hissed. “What happened?”
He didn’t look apologetic or regretful. He really didn’t give a shit. He expected me to do what he told me to. Screw that.
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Right,” I hummed sarcastically, and shook my head. What had happened to him? “So are you going to fill me in on why I’m standing here?”
He laughed; void of humour, but full of pain. And then he turned and dropped to sit on the edge of the bed. His body was stiff and I could almost see the dark cloud that hung over him.
“Curtis?”
He was gone again. He didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure he even heard me. I had to think; I had to detach myself from the situation and figure out what he needed to return from wherever he’d gone.
Help me, Thomas.
I thought back to when Curtis and I were together and he would leave mentally. We were always in the gym training, but there were no punchbags or gloves tonight. Only us. I remembered it was the sight of me that used to send him to another world, and it was my touch that brought him back.
My touch.
I reached down and unbuckled my shoes, slipping out of them and setting them back against the wall. Keeping my eyes on Curtis, I approached him slowly, separated by the bed as he sat on the other side, still unresponsive. I climbed on the opposite side to him and crawled across the bed, kneeling behind him with my knees either side of his hips. I didn’t touch him at first, but I knew he was aware of my presence, close enough to him to feel his tormented heat. My hands hovered over him and I lowered them; his skin burnt my hands, melding them to the tense curves of his shoulders. I squeezed once, cautiously, and awaited his reaction. He shuddered and rolled his neck; he was trying to reject my touch, but I couldn’t let him.
“Shh,” I soothed, kneading and pressing my thumbs into the knots that had embedded themselves in his muscles. “Shh, it’s okay.”
His body began to relax and he sighed with confused relief.
“I’m here, Curtis,” I whispered, running my hands down his back and up again. “Come back to me.”
He shook his head and groaned.
“Don’t fight me. Come back to me.”
My hands trailed over his back, massaging him gently. He shook his head again, but I felt him returning from the place that held him captive. He moaned, incoherently mumbling my name.
“Shh.” I slid my hands under his arms, round to his stomach, feeling him tense when I scraped my nails over his chest and down.
Curtis dropped his head back against my shoulder and I breathed deeply, allowing my relaxed breaths to slow the heart that hammered beneath my hands. I tried to stay detached, but it was impossible. His body felt just like it did all those years ago, but harder, like there was a layer of armour beneath his skin. Time had punished him and he had been forced to erect walls that were impenetrable. I had to soften him, to bring him back to life.
My hands tickled a trail over his body, feeling his nipples hard against my fingertips. His breathing became heavy, escaping in hisses. His moans became louder, more guttural, full of the life I was afraid he’d lost. Both hands slid over the tight bumps of his abs, to the waistband of his trousers. He lifted his hips, trying to push me away, but my hand settled over the hard mass between his legs, stroking, coaxing slowly.
“No,” he growled, fisting the edge of the bed.
