Robbie's crying silently, tears streaming down her perfect cheeks in glistening wet lines. Her pink lipstick is smeared on her face, and her hands are bleeding from her fall. I have the strangest urge to take her in my arms, brush her hair back and tell her that everything's going to be okay. But what a joke that is. What a lie. I refuse to lie to Robbie Carrell.
“Go home and watch TV. Text your friends. Act like a teenager. I'm a grown man, Robbie. And a dangerous one at that. Find a boy your own age to have a crush on.” I turn away and start across the lawn, watching as Audra's door creaks open. Robbie sees the vehicle; I can tell when a small gasp comes from her throat. I suppose it might be because in the four years that I've lived here, she's never once seen a woman at my place. Or maybe it's because Audra's foot emerges, pale and perfect, dressed in a black peep toe pump, leading up to a shapely calf and a dress that's so scandalously short that we get an eyeful of her creamy thigh and rounded hip before she tugs the black fabric into place. Audra Holiday. I reach down and gently slide my fingers past my erection, convincing myself that it's all for her and not at all for Robbie Carrell.
“Luke.” Not a question, just my nickname, a nickname I haven't allowed a single other person to call me in over ten years. I can hear the tears in Robbie's voice, but I don't turn to look at her, continuing my walk up the driveway until I pause by Audra's side, my body erupting into violent need and barely restrained desire. She doesn't look at me, not even when my hand comes out and curls tightly around her arm, tight enough to bruise her milky skin. I lean down and my breathe stirs Audra's ruby red hair.
“You, my dear, are in serious, serious fucking trouble.” I jerk her forward, enjoying the way she stumbles in her heels. I hear a few tentative footsteps behind me, relieved when they stop short of the porch steps.
“I see something in you, Lucas Carter,” Robbie states as I open the door and push Audra inside. I almost glance over my shoulder, a modern day Orpheus turning to glance at his love, Eurydice. Only I don't love Robbie. Lucas Carter loves no one. Like fear, it's an emotion I'm no longer even capable of. Without even a polite goodnight, I slam the door in my neighbor's face.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” I walk in a circle around Audra Holiday, enjoying the way she trembles beneath my gaze. Her kelp green eyes stare at the floor by her feet as I close in on her like a starving tiger stalking its prey. When I step in suddenly and bring my lips within millimeters of her ear, she gasps and reaches her hands up, pressing her fists against my chest. Like Robbie. I shake the thought off. No. No. No. Not at all like fucking Robbie. Robbie's touch was like the brush of a rabbit's fur, innocent and undemanding. Audra's touch is full of desperation and unspoken pleas. “What the fuck have you done?” I ask, forcing my mind away from my neighbor. I can't think about her. It's simply not an option. I'm not eighteen anymore, and my chance for happiness and a normal shot at life and romance is gone. Hah. Romance. I don't even know what that word means anymore. I once thought I did, but the girl who inspired it within me is long dead. Robbie can't be my surrogate sweetheart. I'm an adult, a corrupt, broken, bloodstained creature with blackness in his chest, taking up that space where his heart should be. Robbie is a child. Isn't she? Isn't she?
I take my anger and confusion out on Audra, snaking a hand around her waist and jerking her body against mine. My cock screams in agony, fighting against my slacks, desperate to find his place in a warm body, sating the demon. Always sating the demon. I'm not likely to fuck with a corpse lying three feet away, not an old, rotting one anyway. Besides, I'm not certain I'm in the mood to simply fuck Audra Holiday. This bitch has seriously screwed up my life.
“Do you know what I like, Miss Holiday?” I ask, when it becomes obvious she's not going to answer my previous question. My lips trace along her jaw, my breath fogging against her mouth. I flick a strand of Audra's blood red hair away from her face. “I like order. I like neatness. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, you know?” Audra's body continues to tremble, her shivers cutting through the air between us, bringing goose bumps up along my arms. “I like starch, Audra Holiday. I like hospital corners. I like bleach.” I take a step back, fisting my hand in her hair and dragging Audra over to the couch where the still lump of Mark the Rapist lies. “What I don't like,” I growl, feeling my self-control slipping. “Is this.” The word hisses from between my teeth. “A body. A corpse. A rapist lying on my Italian silk fucking couch.”
“You seemed fairly keen on getting rid of him this morning,” Audra whispers, and I snap. My hand wraps around her throat and her body slams into the wall. I get into her face, my erection withering away beneath the hot burn of my rage. My fingers dig into Audra's pale flesh and my mouth gets up close and personal with her ear again.