Hansel 2(An Erotic Fairy Tale)(13)

I turn off the shower and step out on unsteady legs.

I lift my arm so I can feel the pain of the gash there. I’ll need to try to do some stitches in a few, or else it’ll just keep splitting open, getting blood everywhere and drawing a bunch of unwanted attention.

I scrub a towel over myself, and again, Leah flits through my head. The ache I feel for her is intoxicating. I feel ripped apart by the force of it, even more so than with Shelly.

Christ. I toss the towel in the hamper and walk into the kitchen, where I pop the top on a beer and drink the whole damn thing. I find a First Aid kit on the couch and poke around for the needle and statures I put in all my kits.

My fingers shake like crazy as I sew the wound.

When I’m done, I sit there holding my stomach. Fucking adrenaline. Fucking alcohol.

I get up and pace the apartment, feeling lost. Feeling like I lost something, and I’m not even sure what.

Leah, I guess.

She was here. It still blows my fucking mind. I was inside Leah, and I didn’t even know it. What the fuck does that say about me?

I need Leah. I want her so much. I want to dominate her. I want her to hurt me. I need her to hurt me. I want to get off on Leah, not a fucking substitute.

She’d never know I knew she wasn’t ‘Lauren’, so it wouldn’t be emotional. Just sex.

I wonder if she’s already gone. Fuck. What if she is? And if she’s not?

Maybe I could arrange something.

For a limited duration, maybe just a week or two. I can pleasure her. She said she’s scared to let go. I could train her to let go without that fear.

I want to touch her. Need to fuck her. These thoughts have been there in my head, banging around, shouting, since I saw her in the parking lot, but most nights I’ve been drowning them with liquor.

Today, I feel…different. Like seeing her again is more urgent. I feel reckless. Like it wouldn’t be so bad to bring her here for sex. She’d have to hurt me, of course, but so what? She did it before. It would be deceitful, pretending I don’t know she’s her when in fact I do. But she deceived me, too, right? She came here in a mask. She found me and she came to me, but she didn’t tell me who she was. She signed on for this—for being my submissive. She’d have gone ahead with it had my dumb ass not thrown her out.

I could call her back anytime. I’ve got her number and her hotel room; I got it from Ray as soon as I got back to my room Monday night. Back when I was still considering going to her and offering an apology for the fuck and chuck act. Back when I was still considering telling her to go the fuck back home.

I guess that’s why I haven’t knocked on her door yet. Not because I’m not sorry, but because I can’t give her up so easily. I can’t face her as Hansel, all grown into what I am. I’m a monster, and if I see her face to face, I’ll have to tell her that.

I might not even need to tell her. She probably knows.

She’s probably gone back to Georgia.

But if she’s not…

I want her back in bed. More than want, I need her. Need the pain and pleasure. Leah. Now that I’ve had her, only Leah will do.

It’s sick and selfish, but I’m feeling sick and selfish.

I call Raymond, telling him to arrange things so I’m here at my city place a few more days.



*



Leah



I wake up with puffy eyes from crying, and the events of the night before come crashing back over me.

Hansel.

Lucas.

Shelly.

My shock and sadness are ridiculous. I remind myself of that as I hold a small bag of ice on my eyes, as I shower, as I dress and pack my bags.

I have no claim to him.

He told you all the subs are you.

And Leah, he was drunk. So drunk he could barely walk.

A horrible thought pierces me: Later in the night, he called me “Shelly.” Does that mean what he told me in the car was meant for Shelly, too?

But he called me Leah, my inner optimist argues.

But he said he loved someone named Shelly.

He was drunk. I can’t take anything more away from the ordeal. Hansel likes to drink, he likes to fight, and someone named Shelly really hurt him. That’s all I know for sure.

Fitting, I think as I stuff my clothes into my suitcase. My mom’s sister Shelly was murdered, so the name seems to be a sad one all around.

Before I leave my room, I call Raymond. I find out ‘Edgar’ is doing fine. He might have a mild concussion—or so Raymond thinks—but he’s up and about.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him. I’m actually leaving town today.”

There’s a funny little pause during which I assume he wonders what the fuck is up with me and ‘Edgar’. Finally, he clears his throat. “Have a safe trip.”