Candys break up lll
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The Darkness Of Candy's Room free porn video
The rain pelted out an angry, broken rhythm against the roof of his car. It eerily echoed through the gloomy darkness that seemed to penetrate every dirty crack of the lifeless street.
"Forte? Crescendo?" he asked himself, unable to remember which word accurately described the increase in loudness, of the eerie melody being pounded out on his car.
"Who gives a fuck," he thought as he reclined the car seat, stretched his legs and exhaled the cigarette smoke from his lungs.
He watched, unamused, as the smoke changed color, when the headlights from an approaching vehicle lit up the interior of his car.
"Make her wait a bit longer," he thought to himself.
She had been staring out her window, waiting for him to arrive, and watched as he pulled up on to her street. She gazed down at his car for a few minutes, anxiously waiting for him to get out and go to her. She pulled the curtains tight when he lit up the cigarette.
The spark and flame from her lighter lit up the window through the thin curtains of her room. He pictured her, naked, sitting crossed legged on her unmade bed, as she sucked in the small pillows of smoke, rising from the crumpled aluminum foil through a stained, glass pipe.
"This is the last time I use," she would desperately lie to him every time he visited her.
"I don't care," he always painfully lied back to her.
He took one last drag of his cigarette, flicked the butt out the window and made his way to her apartment. He pressed the familiar, well-worn button with faded numbers on it.
"1208. Her birthday," he could never stop himself from thinking that, when his finger touched the button, no matter how hard he tried to.
How fucking cruel life is.
The tinny, crackle of the buzzer was followed by the metallic click of the front doors unlocking. He rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor in silent desperation. His cock twitched at the thought of her. She was barely twenty three years old, and wasting her life away as an exotic dancer at a rundown strip joint.
**
He thought back to how out of place she looked, the first time he saw her on the stage. She was beautiful, vibrant, smart and full of life, as she danced in front of half broken strangers. He got up his nerve and asked her for a private dance. She smiled and led him by the hand to a small, dusky room at the back of the bar.
"I'm Candy. You may touch me where ever you want to, while I dance for you," she smiled as she pushed him down on the well-worn couch and straddled on to his lap.
He remained silent and lifted the laced bra over her small, perky breasts. She threw her head back and moved her hips to the music. Fittingly, she had picked, The Black Crowes, 'She Talks To Angels' for the dance.
"It's my song," she smiled, her voice soft and somber.
He was caught off guard by the sadness in her eyes. He had seen the same sadness in another girl's eyes, a life time ago. The sadness behind her smile tore open old wounds in him. She shivered when she saw how he was affected by what she had unwittingly revealed to him.
She stopped moving and stared hard in to his cold, dark eyes, and then cautiously edged her lips closer to his. Waiting and watching if he would turn away or tell her to stop. He slid one hand over her bare breast. She covered his hand with hers and squeezed it, as her lips gently brushed against his. She pressed her mouth harder against his and parted her lips.
She tasted like cherries in his mouth.
She gasped when she slid his hand in between her spread legs and rubbed it over her moist slit.
He bit her lip and softly growled, "Whore."
She shivered and nodded her head, "Make me cum, please," she desperately pleaded.
She released his hand, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He forced two fingers inside her and rubbed her clit with his thumb. She rocked her hips to the rhythm of his thumb. Her arms tightened around his neck as her body shook and a long, low moan escaped from deep inside her.
She held on tightly, long after she came and the song was over. Slowly, she released her grip and slid off his lap.
"Twenty dollars," she coldly informed him as she pulled her bra back down over her breasts.
He took a hundred dollar bill from his shirt pocket and placed it on the small, round table that was bolted to the dirty floor. He stood up and walked passed her in silence.
When he reached the door he stopped and said, "Your address, give it to me."
She waited a long time before she warned him, "You're going to hurt me, and I'm going to hurt you."
"Your address, whore," he demanded.
She lowered her head, hesitated and finally surrendered, "89 Raimer Avenue, apartment 1208."
He was familiar with the area; it was rundown, sordid and seedy. The last place on Earth someone as delicate as her should be.
**
He stepped out of the elevator and made the two lefts he had made so many times before. He had a key to her door, but he knew it would be unlocked. It always was. He turned the tarnished, peeling brass knob and slowly pushed the door open.
A cold shiver shot through him. It was eerie how everything looked black and white in her apartment. Almost as if colors ceased to exist, as soon as he stepped through her door.
The rustle of her bed sheets greeted him. She got up from her bed and made her way to him.
She was high again. Heroin Chic, she called it. The dark circles under her eyes jumped out at you, against the contrast of her perfect porcelain skin. She had told him that her customers called her a junkie, and that she was popular. They needed her to be a junkie, so that they could feel better about themselves, and that she felt sorry for them, for needing her in that way.
She slowly walked towards him, a half smile on her pale, red lips, and extended her right arm. She had cut herself again. The thin line on her slender arm looked blacker than black, against her ghostly skin in the dimly lit apartment.
"This is the last time I use."
"I don't care."
He took a step to his left, to head to her bathroom. That's where she kept the gauze, tape and sterilized wipes he had bought for her.
She grabbed his arm, shook her head and softly said, "No, you need me more."
She got up on her toes and kissed his lips. Then held on to him, to steady herself as she got down on her knees and caressed his cock.
"It's been too long for you," she whispered as she looked up and smiled. "You're safe now. Please don’t be sad. I'll always look after you."
She slowly undid his zipper and pulled his cock out. She rubbed her lips over the swollen, purple head as she stroked the thick shaft with both her hands. She pulled the skin back and held it in place as she kissed and slowly licked from the base of his shaft to the tip of the head.
He moaned at the sensation of her warm, soft mouth working his cock. She opened her mouth and sucked on the head. He trembled and gasped as his body stiffened. Her fist pumped his shaft, long and slow, as she continued sucking. She slowly took more of his length in to her mouth, till he touched the back of her throat. She pushed forward and his cock slipped down her throat. He held his breath and shut his eyes tight. She forced more of his cock down her throat.
The pressure of cum building up at the base of his cock hit maximum capacity. He grabbed her head and held it tight against his pelvis as he thrust the remaining length of his throbbing cock down her throat. She went limp, total surrender of her body to his need. He pumped hot cum down her throat. She swallowed each spurt of the hot, sticky liquid and waited for him to release her from his grip.
Slowly he pulled his cock out of her mouth. She coughed and took a deep breath as she looked up at him.
"Hurt me, as much as you need to," she whispered as she stood up and kissed his lips.
She took his hand and led him to her bedroom. She undressed him and neatly hung his custom tailored suit over the bedroom door. She sprawled herself on to her bed and extended both her arms to him. He eased himself on top her. Her heart quickened when she brought his hand to her throat. He squeezed her throat and pushed her neck in to the mattress as he covered her mouth with his.
"Tell me her name," she said in a barely audible wheezing voice.
He pulled his mouth away from hers, released the grip on her throat, grabbed her hair and forced her on to her stomach.
"She wasn't a whore like you! I told you to never mention her again!" he sneered as he pinned her wrists in to the small of her back and pushed his knee in between her legs, forcing them apart.
"You said she looked like me. Did she have my smile?” she asked in defiance as she winced at the pain shooting in her wrists from being squeezed tightly together.
He grabbed a fist full of her hair with his free hand, close to her scalp, and pushed her face in to the pillow.
"Maybe you'll shut the fuck up if you can't breathe, whore!" he snarled.
She let her body go limp, conserving what little oxygen that filled her lungs. She knew he wouldn't let her breathe again till she was in a panic. She wasn’t afraid of him, he would never hurt her. She liked being treated rough. She tried to turn her head and inhale when her lungs started to burn. He pressed her face harder in to the pillow. She kicked her legs and squirmed in a panic.
He yanked her head off the pillow. She inhaled deeply and coughed as she exhaled. She took a few more deep breaths and let her body relax.
"Did she have my hair?" she asked in a morose voice.
"Shut up, whore!" he growled as he reached for one of the empty beer bottles on her night table.
She relaxed every muscle in her body and exhaled slowly.
"Yes, fuck me with the bottle. Hurt me, make me feel, please," she desperately begged him.
He pushed the long neck of the bottle between her ass cheeks; she lifted her hips off the mattress and sobbed. He forced the bottle deep in to her ass. Her head involuntarily shot up off the pillow.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she grimaced at the burning sensation invading her insides.
He pushed harder on the bottle and held it in place.
"Fuck," she softly sobbed as the pain slowly subsided and began to be replaced with a building pleasure. "Don't move it, please. Just like that, keep it in me, just like that."
He didn't move the bottle and placed gentle kisses on her shoulders and back, "Anything for my whore," he whispered to her.
She slid her hand under her belly and found her wet slit. She rubbed her clit ever so slowly and moaned softly. Her moans got louder as she got closer to an orgasm.
Her voice had a distant tone to it; she whispered to him, "I want to cum with you inside me, please."
He released his grip on her wrists; she moved her hands to the bottle and slowly pulled it out. She rolled him on to his back and straddled herself on top of him. There were tears in her glazed over eyes. He had never seen her cry before. She had come close to crying on many occasions, but never did she shed a single tear in front of him.
Maybe he was getting through to her.
She rocked her hips, sliding her wet pussy over his cock as she grabbed it and placed the head against her soaked opening.
“Look at me,” she softly sobbed and asked, "Do I have her eyes?"
It took him a split second to realize what was different about the question she had asked. This was the first time that she had compared herself to her, and not her, to herself.
She took the full length of his cock deep inside her. Her sad gaze never strayed from his.
“Yes, she had your eyes,” his voice cracked as memories of how he had lost her painfully flooded back to him.
A tear escaped from his cold, dark eyes and rolled on to his cheek. She had come to believe that he wasn’t capable of shedding tears. The single tear looked out of place on his hard, cold, chiseled face.
Maybe she was getting through to him.
"Tell me her name," she said again as she started to fuck him.
“Angel, her name was Angel,” he replied as he thrust his cock upwards in to her.
She placed her hands on his chest; his heart was pounding hard, so hard that it scared her.
“Shhhhh, baby, I’m here,” she whispered, trying to sooth the cruel pain he carried deep inside.
She wanted to ask if the tear was for Angel, or for her. She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. She couldn’t pretend that she had any doubt, that it was for her.
“How did you lose her?” she asked in a soft voice.
Her heart raced out of control, she was terrified of what the answer might be. Deep inside she thought she knew the answer already. She had to hear it; she needed to hear it from him.
He rolled his head to the side and fought back the urge to scream out at the top of his lungs, how much he had grown to hate the world. Instead, he gripped her hips and pulled her tighter to him, he needed to feel his entire cock, deep inside her. He lifted his eyes to meet hers.
She caressed his lips with her long, delicate, trembling fingers and sobbed, “Please tell me.”
The cold, diamond hard look, returned to his dark eyes as he replied to her plea, “The same way I’m going to lose you.”
She broke down as his words rumbled through her. She brought her hands to her face and sobbed uncontrollably. Time stood still for the both of them. She pulled the broken pieces of what was still left inside of her together, and continued to fuck him. He needed her, and she could never deny him what he needed.
“Cum with me, cum with your whore,” she whispered, fighting back sobs as she bucked her hips harder.
They fucked each other with a desperate urgency. She stopped the slow churning of her hips and clamped down on his cock with her pussy. He lifted his hips and filled her quivering insides, with sticky, hot cum. She came on his cock, while it twitched and filled her.
She collapsed on top of him, placed her cheek on his chest and listened to his heart beat. She listened to the pounding in his chest slow down.
He fell asleep, with her on his chest still listening to his heart beat. She drifted off in a deep, lifeless sleep. Only to be startled awake by a terrible dream. She was woken up by something that wasn’t there. His heart beat. She couldn’t hear it anymore. She had never felt more alone, sad or desperate. Her senses slowly came back to her. She held her breath and with eyes shut tight, she pressed her ear tight against his chest and listened for his heart beat.
She exhaled and squeezed him tight, when the thumping of his heart filled her ears.
“I have to go,” he told her, his voice was calm and lucid.
“I know,” she smiled as she rolled over and shut her eyes.
He got dressed and dropped another hundred dollar bill on her beat up dresser. It landed on top of the messy pile of all the other bills he had dropped there, after each of his visits. He stopped at her bedroom door and turned to look at her. Waiting for her to say something, hoping it wouldn’t be the same answer as all the other times. Hoping she would agree to his offer of moving in with him and getting help to battle her addiction. He heard her sob; he lowered his head, clenched his fists and stepped out of her bedroom.
“I’m not her,” she softly sobbed to him.
She had lost count at how many times she tried to say that to him. But somehow couldn’t get the words out. The thought of hurting him tortured her.
He turned to look at her but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.
“I know,” he replied and walked away.
He lit up a cigarette when he was in his car and stared at her window high above him. The rain and wind was still playing the same eerie melody on his car. Secretly he was hoping he wouldn’t see her window light up from the spark and flame of her lighter. He took a long drag of his smoke, and prepared himself for the inevitable flash of a spark, and the dancing, flickering flame, to tell him she was taking another hit. To tell him that she was one more high closer to her last.
Her window remained dark.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a street light reflected off the smudged glass of the front door of her apartment. He turned to see who was leaving or entering the building.
It was her. She had a blanket draped over her slender shoulders. It covered only half of her beautiful, naked body. She stood motionless for a brief instant on the dirty curb of the sidewalk. She smiled when their eyes met, and stepped on to the shiny, black pavement. Her bare feet splashed the water up around her ankles with each step. The droplets of water caught the light of the street lights and sparkled like diamonds in midair for a brief instant.
He smiled; it looked like she was walking on water to get to him.
She made her way to his car through the silent, gloomy darkness. He unlocked the passenger door for her. She opened the car door and squinted when the interior lit up. She slid in to the seat and closed the door.
He removed the key to her apartment from his key chain and handed it to her. She took it, rolled down her window, and let the key slip effortlessly from her fingers on to the road.
The engine of his car roared through the quiet, still of night, as they left behind a time and place where souls get sucked in to a void. A place where any proof that you once might have existed is erased forever. A place where no matter how few your happy memories were, they didn’t mean a thing.
The angry roar of his engine echoed and boomed through the cold, empty, lifeless street. A thunderous testament to the living proof that chains can be broken. That broken hearts and souls can be mended. That two lost souls can find solace, comfort, forgiveness, and finally, love again.
She nestled up close to him, rested her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes.
"Forte? Crescendo?" he asked himself, unable to remember which word accurately described the increase in loudness, of the eerie melody being pounded out on his car.
"Who gives a fuck," he thought as he reclined the car seat, stretched his legs and exhaled the cigarette smoke from his lungs.
He watched, unamused, as the smoke changed color, when the headlights from an approaching vehicle lit up the interior of his car.
"Make her wait a bit longer," he thought to himself.
She had been staring out her window, waiting for him to arrive, and watched as he pulled up on to her street. She gazed down at his car for a few minutes, anxiously waiting for him to get out and go to her. She pulled the curtains tight when he lit up the cigarette.
The spark and flame from her lighter lit up the window through the thin curtains of her room. He pictured her, naked, sitting crossed legged on her unmade bed, as she sucked in the small pillows of smoke, rising from the crumpled aluminum foil through a stained, glass pipe.
"This is the last time I use," she would desperately lie to him every time he visited her.
"I don't care," he always painfully lied back to her.
He took one last drag of his cigarette, flicked the butt out the window and made his way to her apartment. He pressed the familiar, well-worn button with faded numbers on it.
"1208. Her birthday," he could never stop himself from thinking that, when his finger touched the button, no matter how hard he tried to.
How fucking cruel life is.
The tinny, crackle of the buzzer was followed by the metallic click of the front doors unlocking. He rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor in silent desperation. His cock twitched at the thought of her. She was barely twenty three years old, and wasting her life away as an exotic dancer at a rundown strip joint.
**
He thought back to how out of place she looked, the first time he saw her on the stage. She was beautiful, vibrant, smart and full of life, as she danced in front of half broken strangers. He got up his nerve and asked her for a private dance. She smiled and led him by the hand to a small, dusky room at the back of the bar.
"I'm Candy. You may touch me where ever you want to, while I dance for you," she smiled as she pushed him down on the well-worn couch and straddled on to his lap.
He remained silent and lifted the laced bra over her small, perky breasts. She threw her head back and moved her hips to the music. Fittingly, she had picked, The Black Crowes, 'She Talks To Angels' for the dance.
"It's my song," she smiled, her voice soft and somber.
He was caught off guard by the sadness in her eyes. He had seen the same sadness in another girl's eyes, a life time ago. The sadness behind her smile tore open old wounds in him. She shivered when she saw how he was affected by what she had unwittingly revealed to him.
She stopped moving and stared hard in to his cold, dark eyes, and then cautiously edged her lips closer to his. Waiting and watching if he would turn away or tell her to stop. He slid one hand over her bare breast. She covered his hand with hers and squeezed it, as her lips gently brushed against his. She pressed her mouth harder against his and parted her lips.
She tasted like cherries in his mouth.
She gasped when she slid his hand in between her spread legs and rubbed it over her moist slit.
He bit her lip and softly growled, "Whore."
She shivered and nodded her head, "Make me cum, please," she desperately pleaded.
She released his hand, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He forced two fingers inside her and rubbed her clit with his thumb. She rocked her hips to the rhythm of his thumb. Her arms tightened around his neck as her body shook and a long, low moan escaped from deep inside her.
She held on tightly, long after she came and the song was over. Slowly, she released her grip and slid off his lap.
"Twenty dollars," she coldly informed him as she pulled her bra back down over her breasts.
He took a hundred dollar bill from his shirt pocket and placed it on the small, round table that was bolted to the dirty floor. He stood up and walked passed her in silence.
When he reached the door he stopped and said, "Your address, give it to me."
She waited a long time before she warned him, "You're going to hurt me, and I'm going to hurt you."
"Your address, whore," he demanded.
She lowered her head, hesitated and finally surrendered, "89 Raimer Avenue, apartment 1208."
He was familiar with the area; it was rundown, sordid and seedy. The last place on Earth someone as delicate as her should be.
**
He stepped out of the elevator and made the two lefts he had made so many times before. He had a key to her door, but he knew it would be unlocked. It always was. He turned the tarnished, peeling brass knob and slowly pushed the door open.
A cold shiver shot through him. It was eerie how everything looked black and white in her apartment. Almost as if colors ceased to exist, as soon as he stepped through her door.
The rustle of her bed sheets greeted him. She got up from her bed and made her way to him.
She was high again. Heroin Chic, she called it. The dark circles under her eyes jumped out at you, against the contrast of her perfect porcelain skin. She had told him that her customers called her a junkie, and that she was popular. They needed her to be a junkie, so that they could feel better about themselves, and that she felt sorry for them, for needing her in that way.
She slowly walked towards him, a half smile on her pale, red lips, and extended her right arm. She had cut herself again. The thin line on her slender arm looked blacker than black, against her ghostly skin in the dimly lit apartment.
"This is the last time I use."
"I don't care."
He took a step to his left, to head to her bathroom. That's where she kept the gauze, tape and sterilized wipes he had bought for her.
She grabbed his arm, shook her head and softly said, "No, you need me more."
She got up on her toes and kissed his lips. Then held on to him, to steady herself as she got down on her knees and caressed his cock.
"It's been too long for you," she whispered as she looked up and smiled. "You're safe now. Please don’t be sad. I'll always look after you."
She slowly undid his zipper and pulled his cock out. She rubbed her lips over the swollen, purple head as she stroked the thick shaft with both her hands. She pulled the skin back and held it in place as she kissed and slowly licked from the base of his shaft to the tip of the head.
He moaned at the sensation of her warm, soft mouth working his cock. She opened her mouth and sucked on the head. He trembled and gasped as his body stiffened. Her fist pumped his shaft, long and slow, as she continued sucking. She slowly took more of his length in to her mouth, till he touched the back of her throat. She pushed forward and his cock slipped down her throat. He held his breath and shut his eyes tight. She forced more of his cock down her throat.
The pressure of cum building up at the base of his cock hit maximum capacity. He grabbed her head and held it tight against his pelvis as he thrust the remaining length of his throbbing cock down her throat. She went limp, total surrender of her body to his need. He pumped hot cum down her throat. She swallowed each spurt of the hot, sticky liquid and waited for him to release her from his grip.
Slowly he pulled his cock out of her mouth. She coughed and took a deep breath as she looked up at him.
"Hurt me, as much as you need to," she whispered as she stood up and kissed his lips.
She took his hand and led him to her bedroom. She undressed him and neatly hung his custom tailored suit over the bedroom door. She sprawled herself on to her bed and extended both her arms to him. He eased himself on top her. Her heart quickened when she brought his hand to her throat. He squeezed her throat and pushed her neck in to the mattress as he covered her mouth with his.
"Tell me her name," she said in a barely audible wheezing voice.
He pulled his mouth away from hers, released the grip on her throat, grabbed her hair and forced her on to her stomach.
"She wasn't a whore like you! I told you to never mention her again!" he sneered as he pinned her wrists in to the small of her back and pushed his knee in between her legs, forcing them apart.
"You said she looked like me. Did she have my smile?” she asked in defiance as she winced at the pain shooting in her wrists from being squeezed tightly together.
He grabbed a fist full of her hair with his free hand, close to her scalp, and pushed her face in to the pillow.
"Maybe you'll shut the fuck up if you can't breathe, whore!" he snarled.
She let her body go limp, conserving what little oxygen that filled her lungs. She knew he wouldn't let her breathe again till she was in a panic. She wasn’t afraid of him, he would never hurt her. She liked being treated rough. She tried to turn her head and inhale when her lungs started to burn. He pressed her face harder in to the pillow. She kicked her legs and squirmed in a panic.
He yanked her head off the pillow. She inhaled deeply and coughed as she exhaled. She took a few more deep breaths and let her body relax.
"Did she have my hair?" she asked in a morose voice.
"Shut up, whore!" he growled as he reached for one of the empty beer bottles on her night table.
She relaxed every muscle in her body and exhaled slowly.
"Yes, fuck me with the bottle. Hurt me, make me feel, please," she desperately begged him.
He pushed the long neck of the bottle between her ass cheeks; she lifted her hips off the mattress and sobbed. He forced the bottle deep in to her ass. Her head involuntarily shot up off the pillow.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she grimaced at the burning sensation invading her insides.
He pushed harder on the bottle and held it in place.
"Fuck," she softly sobbed as the pain slowly subsided and began to be replaced with a building pleasure. "Don't move it, please. Just like that, keep it in me, just like that."
He didn't move the bottle and placed gentle kisses on her shoulders and back, "Anything for my whore," he whispered to her.
She slid her hand under her belly and found her wet slit. She rubbed her clit ever so slowly and moaned softly. Her moans got louder as she got closer to an orgasm.
Her voice had a distant tone to it; she whispered to him, "I want to cum with you inside me, please."
He released his grip on her wrists; she moved her hands to the bottle and slowly pulled it out. She rolled him on to his back and straddled herself on top of him. There were tears in her glazed over eyes. He had never seen her cry before. She had come close to crying on many occasions, but never did she shed a single tear in front of him.
Maybe he was getting through to her.
She rocked her hips, sliding her wet pussy over his cock as she grabbed it and placed the head against her soaked opening.
“Look at me,” she softly sobbed and asked, "Do I have her eyes?"
It took him a split second to realize what was different about the question she had asked. This was the first time that she had compared herself to her, and not her, to herself.
She took the full length of his cock deep inside her. Her sad gaze never strayed from his.
“Yes, she had your eyes,” his voice cracked as memories of how he had lost her painfully flooded back to him.
A tear escaped from his cold, dark eyes and rolled on to his cheek. She had come to believe that he wasn’t capable of shedding tears. The single tear looked out of place on his hard, cold, chiseled face.
Maybe she was getting through to him.
"Tell me her name," she said again as she started to fuck him.
“Angel, her name was Angel,” he replied as he thrust his cock upwards in to her.
She placed her hands on his chest; his heart was pounding hard, so hard that it scared her.
“Shhhhh, baby, I’m here,” she whispered, trying to sooth the cruel pain he carried deep inside.
She wanted to ask if the tear was for Angel, or for her. She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question. She couldn’t pretend that she had any doubt, that it was for her.
“How did you lose her?” she asked in a soft voice.
Her heart raced out of control, she was terrified of what the answer might be. Deep inside she thought she knew the answer already. She had to hear it; she needed to hear it from him.
He rolled his head to the side and fought back the urge to scream out at the top of his lungs, how much he had grown to hate the world. Instead, he gripped her hips and pulled her tighter to him, he needed to feel his entire cock, deep inside her. He lifted his eyes to meet hers.
She caressed his lips with her long, delicate, trembling fingers and sobbed, “Please tell me.”
The cold, diamond hard look, returned to his dark eyes as he replied to her plea, “The same way I’m going to lose you.”
She broke down as his words rumbled through her. She brought her hands to her face and sobbed uncontrollably. Time stood still for the both of them. She pulled the broken pieces of what was still left inside of her together, and continued to fuck him. He needed her, and she could never deny him what he needed.
“Cum with me, cum with your whore,” she whispered, fighting back sobs as she bucked her hips harder.
They fucked each other with a desperate urgency. She stopped the slow churning of her hips and clamped down on his cock with her pussy. He lifted his hips and filled her quivering insides, with sticky, hot cum. She came on his cock, while it twitched and filled her.
She collapsed on top of him, placed her cheek on his chest and listened to his heart beat. She listened to the pounding in his chest slow down.
He fell asleep, with her on his chest still listening to his heart beat. She drifted off in a deep, lifeless sleep. Only to be startled awake by a terrible dream. She was woken up by something that wasn’t there. His heart beat. She couldn’t hear it anymore. She had never felt more alone, sad or desperate. Her senses slowly came back to her. She held her breath and with eyes shut tight, she pressed her ear tight against his chest and listened for his heart beat.
She exhaled and squeezed him tight, when the thumping of his heart filled her ears.
“I have to go,” he told her, his voice was calm and lucid.
“I know,” she smiled as she rolled over and shut her eyes.
He got dressed and dropped another hundred dollar bill on her beat up dresser. It landed on top of the messy pile of all the other bills he had dropped there, after each of his visits. He stopped at her bedroom door and turned to look at her. Waiting for her to say something, hoping it wouldn’t be the same answer as all the other times. Hoping she would agree to his offer of moving in with him and getting help to battle her addiction. He heard her sob; he lowered his head, clenched his fists and stepped out of her bedroom.
“I’m not her,” she softly sobbed to him.
She had lost count at how many times she tried to say that to him. But somehow couldn’t get the words out. The thought of hurting him tortured her.
He turned to look at her but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.
“I know,” he replied and walked away.
He lit up a cigarette when he was in his car and stared at her window high above him. The rain and wind was still playing the same eerie melody on his car. Secretly he was hoping he wouldn’t see her window light up from the spark and flame of her lighter. He took a long drag of his smoke, and prepared himself for the inevitable flash of a spark, and the dancing, flickering flame, to tell him she was taking another hit. To tell him that she was one more high closer to her last.
Her window remained dark.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a street light reflected off the smudged glass of the front door of her apartment. He turned to see who was leaving or entering the building.
It was her. She had a blanket draped over her slender shoulders. It covered only half of her beautiful, naked body. She stood motionless for a brief instant on the dirty curb of the sidewalk. She smiled when their eyes met, and stepped on to the shiny, black pavement. Her bare feet splashed the water up around her ankles with each step. The droplets of water caught the light of the street lights and sparkled like diamonds in midair for a brief instant.
He smiled; it looked like she was walking on water to get to him.
She made her way to his car through the silent, gloomy darkness. He unlocked the passenger door for her. She opened the car door and squinted when the interior lit up. She slid in to the seat and closed the door.
He removed the key to her apartment from his key chain and handed it to her. She took it, rolled down her window, and let the key slip effortlessly from her fingers on to the road.
The engine of his car roared through the quiet, still of night, as they left behind a time and place where souls get sucked in to a void. A place where any proof that you once might have existed is erased forever. A place where no matter how few your happy memories were, they didn’t mean a thing.
The angry roar of his engine echoed and boomed through the cold, empty, lifeless street. A thunderous testament to the living proof that chains can be broken. That broken hearts and souls can be mended. That two lost souls can find solace, comfort, forgiveness, and finally, love again.
She nestled up close to him, rested her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes.
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