Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Ty stands, holds out his hand,
but I am so messed up, all I can
do is laugh. He pulls me to my
feet.
What’s so funny?
“Nothing. Everything. You.
Me. Especially me. My head
feels like it came unattached,
and my body is all tingly.”
His grin is pure evil.
Excellent.
I know just how to fix that.
He picks me up, carries me
into his bedroom, half throws
me onto the bed. When he starts
to undress me, I burst into a new
fit of giggles. My jeans are so tight,
he can’t wiggle me out of them.
“Want some help, my macho
vampire?” I shed everything
and he does too, but before we
do another thing, he asks,
How ’bout another bowl?
Something to take you real,
real low.
He leers like a scary
circus clown.
Low as a girl can go.
True to His Word
He drops me real, real low.
I’m floating on a poppy sea.
Naked. Mellow. But a sudden
wind rouses the breaks and low
tide builds to major swells. Ty
kisses me, all fang, pure vampire.
“Hey. Take it easy.” But somehow
my body responds to the pain.
And Ty responds to that, clamping
one hand around both my wrists,
pulling them up over my head
and pinning me helpless.
It is then I notice the nylon cord,
one end tied tight to the headboard.
Ty’s voice is almost a snarl.
This
is one of my favorite games.
He wraps the rope around my wrists,
knots it tightly. Escape-proof.
I shake my head. “Don’t.” But he does.
Should I scream? Would anyone hear?
Would anyone care? The obvious
answer softens my plea. “Please?”
Haven’t you played this game
before? I guess I’ll have to teach
you the rules. The proper response
would be, “Please, sir.” Say it.
My heart yells, “No fucking
way.” But my brain, the part
that understands my daddy, makes
me acquiesce. “Please, sir.”
He flips me onto my belly, yanks
my legs apart. I don’t have to see
the restraints to know they’re there.
The ankle knots do not surprise me.
I am helpless. Exposed. And, strangely,
somehow I feel at home this way.
Say it,
he demands, like I should know
he means,
Please, sir. Punish me.
Deliberate, controlled, he punishes me.
I whisper into the pillow, “I understand.”
I Understand
Why Kaeleigh liked the feel of
slicing her flesh, releasing
bottled-up hurt. Leather snaps
against my skin, and I remain
still
as stagnant water, afraid I might
not play by his rules. This is
a new game, and the sick
thing is, I see quickly that I
like
it, might ask to play again.
The pain is fuzzy at the edges,
blurring toward pleasure.
Maybe it’s the hash,
the gentle
arms of opium. And now
new leather—human, Ty—
falls softly over the heated
welts, a soothing
balm of
sweat-beaded skin. But then
heightened pain, forced inside
me, stuffed inside me. Seared,
branded, likely marked,
a moan
escapes me and Ty surges.
After, knots loosened, a rub
of cool eucalyptus oil persuades
me I do want to play again. Soon.
Long Night
Unable to slip into sleep,
unable to fall into dreams,
unable to lie completely
still,
snared by tangled thoughts.
Sometimes, usually well after
the witching hour, Raeanne
comes to me, shares my bed
like
she did so long ago. She
listens to me, soundlessly,
doesn’t argue or judge.
Eventually, I slip into
the gentle
tide of unconsciousness. But
tonight she doesn’t appear.
I am left to wrestle memories
alone, comforted only by the
balm of
cool satin sheets. I force
my body to relax, feel it grow
heavy. Heavy enough to sink
into the satin balm.
A moan
bubbles into my mouth,
from I don’t know where—
some inconceivable place where
pleasure and joy are one.
Not Sure Exactly When
I managed to fall asleep,
but it must have been eventually
because I’m tugged like cement
into morning by the sound
of the telephone.
Daddy’s feet pound
toward the ringing.
Hello…? Hello…?
Okay, who the fuck is this?
Funny, I hardly ever hear
Daddy curse. He must be
really pissed. The thought
is confirmed by his footfall,
in angry approach of my door.
He bursts through and fear
swallows me down.
Do
you have any idea who’s
responsible for these hang-ups?
One thought immediately
crosses my mind, but I’ll be
damned if I want to get caught
in the middle of the brewing
storm. “No. Should I?”
He softens, but only a little.
I thought maybe it was one
of your friends. Or…
white
glare
…a boyfriend?
Like I would ever let a boy
call here! Like I would dare
say that. “None of my friends
would do that, Daddy. And I
don’t
have
a boyfriend.”
Well…it’s just that this has been
happening for several days. I
answer,
click.
Maybe it’s one
of your mom’s secret admirers.
“Mom’s admirers aren’t so
secret, Daddy. It’s probably
just a solicitor or something.
Anyway, doesn’t the number
show up on caller ID?”
Now why didn’t I think of that?
His voice fairly sprays sarcasm.
It’s a private number. Hurry
it up now, or you’ll be late.
The Clock Agrees
I’m supposed to meet Brittany
in twenty minutes. Still, I just
can’t seem to “hurry it up.”
Mostly because he told me to.
I slide out of bed, shuffle
to the bathroom, do my thing.
Brush my teeth and hair.
By the time I return to my
room in search of clothes,
Daddy is hustling toward
the door.
Come straight
home after work. Hear me?
Like where else would I go?
But, of course, despite
the serious resentment
that blooms immediately,
I say simply, “Okay.”
He is all the way into the garage
before calling over his shoulder,
And don’t answer the phone.
Do This, Don’t Do That
I seriously despise the man, would do just
about anything not to obey him, at
least if I thought I could get
away with it or even that
the sure consequences
would be sufferable.
But when Daddy
decides to make
you suffer,
it’s more
than any
one can
bear.
But He’s Gone Now
So I’m going to do the likely
less than intelligent thing and
dress exactly how I want. Not
hippie today. Frumpy? Slutty?
Hey, maybe no clothes at all?
Probably not a good plan.
Who knows if Brittany’s silver
bomber can even make it to
school without breaking down?
Speaking of that, she’ll be here
soon. Better shake my tail.
Where did that saying come
from, anyway? I slide into
a glam velour jogging suit. Not
frumpy. Not slutty. Just soft
and definitely not an outfit
Daddy would want me to
wear to school. Too casual.
(Although, really not casual
enough for a decent jog.)
Out the door, into the cold
morning, I’m glad I’m wearing
sweats, if you can really call
glam velour sweats. Up the
sidewalk, to the corner where
I’m supposed to meet Brittany.
(Wasn’t sure Daddy would
approve of that, either, should
he have been home to see me
climb into a half-dilapidated
Toyota.) Hey, maybe I defied
him twice in one morning.
Wouldn’t that be a coup?
As I wait for Brittany (late,
go figure!), my mind wraps
around that “shake my tail”
thing. Some deep place inside
my brain latches onto it and
doesn’t want to let go. Where
did I hear that? The voice I
don’t quite remember is low.
Feminine. Not Mom’s, though.
Too scratchy. So whose?
Brittany, Finally
And she’s not alone. Riding
shotgun is Joel, who I know
from drama. And in the back-
seat, next to my apparently
appointed place, is Shaun.
Ian’s little brother. Great.
Not that he’s not a nice kid,
but sitting back there next
to him seems somehow
incestuous. Oh, well. It’s
just a ride to school, right?
Oh, hey,
coos Brittany.
Sorry
I’m late, but I had to pick up
the guys. Joel was right on
time, but Shaun?
She giggles.