Warlord Metal – Vicious Truth
Disclaimers: See Part I for disclaimers to this story.
Additional Disclaimers: Here’s the tough stuff, folks. Sexual violence, non consensual sex, heavy drug usage and a hurt/comfort twist. Also, there are pretty heavy scenes regarding the BDSM lifestyle. These scenes are NOT the norm. They are NOT safe and sane! They are simply a plot device. Be warned.
Part VIII: Vicious Truth
| My Empty Room © Queensryche |
|---|
Empty room today, And here I sit – Chalk outline upon the wall. I remember tracing it A thousand times the night she died. Why? Why? There’s no sleep today, I can’t pretend When all my dreams are crimes. I can’t stand facing them. Now who will come To wash away my sins, Clean my room, fix my meals, Be my friend? |
1997
The techno-goth music was loud, the bass causing her eardrums to vibrate as she moved through the crowd of teenagers and adults towards the bar. Jordan’s only concession to the gothic nature of the club was the jet black hair. Her clothes, of course, were all black as befitted a heavy metal aficionado, her naturally light skin seeming to glow against the dark backdrop. She was all of fourteen, having just had her birthday three weeks prior.
Jordan sidled up to the bar and ordered a soda. It arrived and she paid for it with the last of her cash. Better pick something up, Jordie, or yer gonna be in some serious pain. She took a sip from the straw before turning to size up the crowd as she leaned against the bar.
The club’s interior was painted black, floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Every shiny surface was chrome and chain and mirror. Behind the bar, the mirror was etched with an intricate design of fake cobwebs. The few wall sconces holding dim lights looked like brushed silver, gleaming dully.
It was a standard Friday night, the mix of minors and adults about equal at the Erato Nightclub. To her right was the dance floor, a mass of people moving as one to the beat of a Joy Division song. On the left and before her were tables and chairs, filled to capacity. There were plenty of people who appeared attached, groups of twos and threes sprinkled throughout the establishment – runaways escaping the chill of winter, schoolkids trying to be risqué. There was even one massive group of about ten laughing uproariously at a table in the back corner. However, a few others could be seen – adults sitting alone, scanning the crowds, cruising, searching. Hunting.
As was she.
Warming up some from the heat of the collective crowd, Jordan unzipped her thin, corduroy jacket and removed it, revealing a cropped tank top and little else. She sighed in relief as the material was removed from her arm. She’d just gotten the tattoo finished a few days ago and the abrasive cloth brushing against it had been agony. Her step-father, Louis, had paid for it – Lucifer – payment for a job well done. The teenager peered at her arm, the red eyes glaring back at her. Who sees who?
“Nice tatt,” a voice commented from beside her.
Jordan looked up into grey eyes. “Thanks,” she grinned. She allowed her vision to ramble up and down the woman beside her suggestively. “Just got it done last week.”
The woman nodded. She appeared to flush a little at the frank gaze she received and she tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear. “Mind if I…?” she asked, reaching out towards the tattoo.
“No. Go ahead. It’s still a little tender, but it’s healing up fine.” The woman slipped a long hand around her upper arm and Jordan could feel the backs of the woman’s knuckles brushing the side of her breast. As the woman appeared to study the colored skin, the teenager studied her.
She appeared to be in her mid twenties, dressed in gothic clothing as everyone else. A long black skirt, slit up the side, revealed dark stockings and long legs. The white ruffled collar of her shirt was opened to her bosom, the black leather collar gleaming in the lights of the club. A leather cuff adorned her right wrist, an intricate silver bracelet on her left. There was a delicate chain connecting the bracelet to a ring on her finger.
Cuff, collar and a slave bracelet…. Looks like ya got a custy, Horny Jordie! To test her theory, Jordan’s presence seemed to fill the immediate area. Her confidence made it appear that she was towering over the woman who was actually the taller of the two.
In response, the woman seemed to shrink away. But she didn’t release her grip on Jordan’s arm. Rather, her thumb moved slowly in teasing circles, just on the edge of the irritated flesh. Grey eyes peered at her, gauging.
Bingo! Play your cards right, Jordie, and Lucifer’ll leave ya alone tonight! Her voice pitched low, the teenager asked, “Like what you see?”
The woman blushed again, dropping her gaze.
“Don’t look away when I’m talking to you.”
Grey eyes snapped back to the youth. The woman swallowed nervously, but there was another light in her gaze. Imperceptibly, her breathing rate increased.
Jordan kept her mask on, a sovereign authority that made people believe she was far older than she was. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said with a raised brow. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”
The ruby lips parted and a whispered, “Yes,” was uttered.
Nodding thoughtfully, the teenager reached to her side and picked up her drink. She took a long swallow of the soda, foregoing the straw, her emerald eyes never leaving the woman before her. Jordan set the glass back down and reached for the woman’s free hand, drawing it towards her mouth. Cold lips pressed into the woman’s palm and the teenager watched her prey’s eyes flutter closed. She stepped closer, those same cold lips lightly brushing an ear. “How badly do you want it?” she asked.
The woman shivered, her hand clutching Jordan’s arm, but didn’t answer.
Deciding to let it slide for now, the teenager pulled back a bit. She moved her arm from the woman’s grasp and slowly slid onto her barstool. “Maybe you should tell me what you want. And then I’ll tell you what I want.” Give it to me, babe.
For a few moments, the woman stood still, apparently debating with herself. Chewing her lower lip, her dark brows furrowed in thought, she drifted closer to the regal teenager, a moth to flame. But still she was silent.
Jordan sighed in exasperation. Time’s a wastin’, Horny Jordie. Either shit or get off the pot. “You don’t do this very often, do you?” she finally observed. At the woman’s headshake, she pursed her lips. “Here’s the deal, babe. This is the negotiation phase – you tell me what you want and we see if we can work out a… compatible transaction.”
“I understand,” the woman said, her voice low and her skin flushed.
“And what you want is...?”
There was a long pause. “You,” she eventually responded. Her following words were in a rush, as if she was fighting to get them out before she lost her nerve. “I want you to… um… be in charge, to force me.” Grey eyes looked away, her face crimson, the voice lowered in shame. “To have your way with me.”
Fingers touched the woman’s chin, guided her head back around to look at the teenager. Is she a candidate? “What are the limits?” Jordan asked.
The woman looked slightly surprised. “No limits.”
Emerald eyes widened. Ahhh, the night is good. “No limits?” The eyes narrowed and wandered over the woman again. No wonder she’s so submissive. “Public sex? Showers? Scat? Bleeding? No limits on any of it?” She doesn’t look like a kid, though. Twenty-something?
The dark head shook. “No limits on any of it.”
Jordan inhaled deeply and tried to puzzle this person out. She’d been hooking for Louis for about four months. Usually, she brought him home money, though he was always on the lookout for new ‘adventures’ as he called it. The teenager had only found one person in that time who was willing to roll over and accept whatever another could dish out, regardless of the dangers and consequences. And those were the only kind that her step father would accept. Her mind shied away from the memories of that last encounter. “What about safewords?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“No safeword. I can take whatever you’ve got.”
An eyebrow raised at the subtle challenge. Got a live one here, Jordie! a voice crowed. Tonight had been a tough night. She hadn’t made much money and Louis was waiting at home. A whisper deep inside said, Don’t do it. She doesn’t deserve it. Jordan stomped the voice down. It’d never done her any good when she was a kid; it wouldn’t help her now. She turned her gaze to the bar crowd, appearing aloof as she scanned the patrons. “You got a car?”
Eagerly relieved that her search appeared over, the woman nodded, a smile coming to her face. “Yes. It’s in the parking lot.” She, in turn, looked around their immediate vicinity. “Do we have to leave just yet?”
Time to play the game. Flinty eyes gazed on the woman at odds with the seductive grin playing across Jordan’s face. “No. Not just yet.” She pushed away from the bar. As the woman moved to join her, she pressed a hand against the white clad shoulder. “Stay.”
The woman froze at the command, trembling.
The teenager stepped behind the woman, head tilted to one side as she regarded the long form. Very nice. Lucifer likes ‘em tall. The palm slid from the shoulder, meandering down the back, across the swell of hip and further down the thigh and calf. Jordan, squatting beside the woman felt a familiar tingle at the sight of the shapely leg peeking from the opening of the cloth.
Startled, the woman jumped a bit as she felt the hand slide back up the inside of her leg, pausing to knead the firm thigh. Another jump when the teenager found her garters and snapped a strap before finishing its path and brushing the moist panties.
Jordan rose again, removing her hand from the damp cloth. Oh, yeah. She’s a hot one. The smallest whisper was heard, Stop this! This isn’t right! It was ignored. The ebony haired teenager rose and pressed her body against the woman’s back, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand pulling dark brown hair aside. She had to tiptoe, but was able to breathe into the woman’s ear. “What’s your name, babe?”
The woman swallowed, her belly cramping with the familiar sensations of mingled dread and arousal. “Sylvia,” she said hoarsely.
“Sylvia.” The name rolled off Jordan’s tongue. There was a pause, the beat of the music seeming to surround and invade the pair. “Lose the panties,” the teenager ordered.
“B… but…. I can’t!” the woman gasped, grey eyes rolling to see behind her. The hand on her waist slid up and harshly tweaked her nipple and she gasped again.
“Let’s not use that word. I want your underwear off,” Jordan growled, knowing full well that the woman couldn’t comply. Not without removing the stockings and garter belt first.
Sylvia swallowed, panic fluttering her heart. “The garter belt…. It’s over my panties,” she whispered, half afraid there would be reprisals at her refusal. And half hopeful.
Appearing to consider this, Jordan’s hand gently caressed the breast it had just pinched. Time to up the stakes. “Get my jacket and come on,” she said, dropping her hands from the woman’s body and stepping away.
The woman retrieved the clothing and obediently followed.
The teenager led her prey into the bathroom, ignoring the couple making out in the corner by the door. She moved down the line of stalls, all without doors, and ushered the woman into the last one. Jordan took her jacket from nerveless fingers and draped it over the stall wall. Pushing the woman’s back against the partition, she pressed against her and nibbled at her neck. “Grab the top of the wall,” she murmured.
Sylvia did as she was told, stretching herself out and pushing her breasts forward into the teenager against her. There was a soft snick as theyouth pulled away, and a stiletto was suddenly caressing her cheek.
“Don’t move.” The woman obeyed and Jordan idly traced a path across the smooth skin. A part of her mind wondered what kind of person could get a kick out of being the submissive. It was always a puzzle to her. I sure as hell don’t like it. But that thought brought memories of Louis and his friends, flashes of pain and blood and screaming, and she shut them down. Not now!
The stiletto’s long and torturous trail roamed over the woman’s body. Her eyes were closed tight and she quaked, but her hands never left their position on the stall and she made no moves to pull away. Her breathing quickened as the tip scratched across the material of her shirt, circling her nipples and tickling her ribs.
Jordan concentrated on the task at hand. She had to admit that this was a turn on, this absolute control welded over another person. The effect it had on the woman before her was erotic and the teenager could feel her own heartrate speed up in response. But it’s not for you, Horny Jordie. Back to the task at hand, she quietly asked, “You got friends here?”
“No,” Sylvia gasped. The edge of the stiletto was moving down the thigh of her dress. The blade slid underneath the dress at about knee level and drew itself upwards. The woman shivered at the feel of her stockings catching on the tip before whisking away. And then it was past the material, pressing inexorably along her inner thigh, the woman’s muscles shaking in tension.
Using her knee to widen the stance, Jordan slowly caressed the woman’s panty clad center with the point of the sharp instrument. The resulting whispery moan brought a rush of arousal and she unconsciously licked her lips. Using her other hand, she guided the stiletto into the leg opening. “You did say no limits?” the teenager husked.
Sylvia swallowed, feeling warm steel against her nether parts, pressing gently against her erect clitoris. “No limits,” she gasped in agreement, fighting the urge to rub herself against the sweet, dangerous pressure.
With a quick, precise movement, Jordan twisted the blade and tugged, severing the offensive material. The woman could feel cool air against her center, the severed cloth brushing against her pubic hair.
“Problem solved,” the teenager murmured. Just as slowly, the stiletto retreated, spreading a humid warmth in its path. And then it was gone. “Open your eyes.”
Peeling her lids back, Sylvia saw the stiletto glistening wetly before her.
“Clean it.” Emerald bore into smoky grey. As the woman delicately began licking the blade, Jordan growled in appreciation. Take her now! a voice demanded. Another whined, No! Lucifer’ll kill ya! She closed her eyes and wrestled with her desires. Louis’ voice echoed in her head, Either bring home money or bring home a babe tonight, Horny Jordie.
Sylvia watched the play of lust cross the pretty face, watched the eyes close, wondered if this youth could give her what she so desperately needed. She finished her chore, enjoying the salty taste of her juices mingling with the metallic tang, enjoying the fear coursing through her veins.
At the stall entrance, there was a gasp followed by a giggled, “Sorry!”
The knife disappeared in split seconds and Jordan glared at the intruder. “Back off!” she snarled. “We’re busy!”
The interloper rolled her eyes and grimaced. “Chill, sweetheart! I’m going!” She could be heard grumbling to a companion as she moved out of the doorway.
Jordan sighed deeply, her mood broken for the moment. Probably just as well. She pushed away from the woman’s long form, dropping her knife back into her pocket. That was nice. Gonna have to try that again someday when I’ve got more time. She could hear the music outside of the bathroom, recognizing the opening strains of one of her favorite songs. “C’mon, Sylvia, let’s go.” The teenager scooped up her jacket and handed it to the woman, turning away.
Obediently, Sylvia followed.
The Type O Negative song was slow and seductive. I’m gonna meet them some day, she mused. No matter what Lucifer says! The megabass voice of the lead singer could be heard through the beginning piano strains. Leading her prey out onto the dance floor, Jordan found a relatively quiet corner. She took her jacket back and tossed it to the ground, turning to face the woman with her arms crossed. “Dance for me.”
Sylvia appeared surprised at the command. Her heart fluttered. With nervous anticipation, she glanced around the dance floor, watching other couples moving in time with the music, seeing the tables of spectators watching the floor, watching her. Jerkily, she began to move, her embarrassment at dancing alone causing her to lose the beat. And then there was sudden, sharp pain as Jordan stepped forward and twisted her arm behind her, turning her to face the tables.
“Look at them!” Jordan ordered.
The sharp pang in her shoulder warred with her increased excitement and she did as she was bade, grey eyes looking over the crowd. People in all manner of gothic dress and undress drank, laughed with each other, seriously conversed. Some were watching Sylvia and her tormentor with eyes of wariness, interest, avid curiosity and lust. She felt the teenager’s breath in her ear.
“Ignore them. They aren’t important. I am! Dance for me. Or this ends now.” Jordan applied a smidge more pressure on the trapped arm to make her point, knowing that the submissive in her arms would do as she was told to continue the potential for pain. And then she released her prey and stepped back.
Sylvia turned back around, a slow pirouette. She licked her lips, a passion glowing from her eyes before she closed them. There was a moment of stillness as she prepared herself. And then she was moving, following the words of the song.
As salty sweat drips from her breast.
Her hips move and I can feel what they’re saying, swaying.
They say the beast inside of me’s gonna get ya, get ya, yeah….”
I am your servant, may I light your cigarette?
Those lips smooth, yeah, I can feel what you’re saying, praying.
They say the beast inside of me is gonna get ya, get ya, yeah….”
Now close those eyes and let me love you to death.
Shall I prove I mean what I’m saying, begging?
I say the beast inside of me is gonna get ya, get ya, yeah….”
Let me love you to death.”
“What about Daddy? Does he know you like to be brutalized? In pain? Screaming?” Jordan reached inside the slit of the skirt and pinched the tender inner thigh of one leg, knowing she was leaving red marks on the skin.
The warm hand was still inside her skirt, moving in slow circles over the sensitized flesh. “No, I don’t have a father,” she murmured. That appeared to be the correct answer, because the fingers under her clothing reached up and caressed her opening, gathering moisture.
“You’re so wet, Sylvia.” Jordan caressed the hood of the woman’s clitoris, feeling her lean back. I’ve gotta get us outta here. Lucifer’s waiting.
Sylvia almost fell as the hand was removed and the body behind her stepped away. She teetered and regained her balance, opening her eyes once again. She blushed as she saw all the people that were avidly watching the drama on the dance floor, the warmth intensifying between her legs.
Jordan moved back around, licking her finger clean, trying to gain control of the voices whirling about her head, telling her what to do. She stepped away and picked up her jacket. “Let’s go.”
The woman swallowed in anticipation before following the teenager out of the bar.
Sylvia parked where she was told and shut down the engine. They were in a fairly well-to-do residential area of town. A place of BMW’s in every garage and the requisite ‘help’ working in gardens and kitchens during the day. It was nearly midnight, however, and all was dark and quiet. Lights could be seen in a few windows, mostly on the upper levels and with drapes tightly drawn.Jordan popped her seatbelt and opened the car door. “C’mon,” she said, stepping out into the chill air, her breath puffing into a cloud of vapor before her.The woman nodded meekly and followed suit.Keeping her senses on alert, Jordan eyed the suburban setting she resided in. It was a pretty sure bet that the others living here were all wrapped up in their own lives. No one would notice the neighborhood rebel returning home with the catch of the day. Fuckin’ sheep.
The teenager led her prey, not to the house they had parked near, but down the tidy little alley behind it. Her back still twinged from the beating received last month when she’d stupidly had her prey park in the driveway. Louis had not been happy.
Three yards down Jordan reached a high wooden fence. At the gate was a heavy cord and she yanked on it, opening the gate onto a well manicured lawn. The teenager quickly ushered her charge in before closing the gate and locking it with the padlock that had been hanging on a peg.
She took Sylvia’s arm roughly and hustled her across the yard to the back door of the Victorian style home. A light was on in the living room, shining dimly through to the kitchen window. Good. Lucifer’s still up. Wonder if he’s got any company. Jordan pulled her prey up the stairs, purposely putting her off balance so she stumbled, making noise on the wooden floor of the porch. The hand tightened on the woman’s upper arm, crushing the flesh, and the teenager growled, “Be careful.”
Sylvia’s arm ached under the viselike grip and her mouth was dry. She stood quietly as her mistress dug keys out of a pants pocket. Her blood was singing in anxiety, wondering what would happen to her once the door was closed. And then it was unlocked and opened and she was propelled inside the yawning darkness.
Pushing the woman before her, narrowed emerald eyes peered past and down the hall to the living room. Jordan locked the door behind her without looking, an automatic gesture as she saw a shadow moving at the front of the house. Make it look good. “Take off the skirt,” she ordered, eyes glittering in the dim light.
Not expecting the command, the woman hesitated.
Jordan was on her with lightning reflexes, a hand pulling the dark hair, yanking the woman down. She bent over and hissed into her ear, “I gave you an order.” With surprising strength, the teenager grabbed hold of the skirt’s waistband and tore it from the woman’s body. The sound of ripping cloth and buttons clicking on the floor echoed in the kitchen.
Tears were in Sylvia’s eyes, tears of pain and embarrassment and relief. She was bent double with the tattered remains of her panties brushing against her ass. Her mistress was standing beside her, supporting her, holding her by the hair as her center glistened wetly for anyone to see. It was exactly what she needed.
Jordan ignored the dark silhouette in the doorway, silently watching the proceedings. If Louis wanted to join in, he’d do so. Until then, his voyeuristic tendencies were to be indulged and he was merely a fly on the wall. Shit. If that were the case, I’d have taken a flyswatter to his ass years ago! The teenager shook off the thought. Get to work! Before he gets to work on you!
Sylvia jerked forward, the resounding slap of flesh on flesh ringing through the air. Her hair was pulled tightly and a stinging erupted on her rear. She was spanked again, her other buttock receiving a similar warming. And then her mistress’ hand was caressing the sensitive skin. Despite herself, the woman moaned and pushed back into the touch.
“You like that, huh?” Jordan asked, dipping a finger into wetness. When there was no answer, she pushed Sylvia away, causing her to stumble and fall against the refrigerator. “Answer me, dammit!” she yelled, apparently furious.
The woman held a hand to her rib cage, already feeling the bruise developing from hitting the refrigerator door handle. Her grey eyes were wide and she peered fearfully up at the ebony haired youth. “Yes,” she whispered. “I like it.” Relief flowed through her as her mistress appeared mollified.
Jordan fought down the nausea that was developing. Quit being a wuss! Beat the bitch and get it over with! The whisper was back, making itself a nuisance, stirring up the already boiling mess in her gut. Stop now. Make a stand. Violence isn’t the way. The rage that welled up from her constantly warring interior took over and she stepped forward.
Even as the teenager approached, Sylvia tried to straighten. She saw the sudden flash of fury in emerald eyes and raised her hands to protect herself on reflex. Her wrists were plucked out of the air and pressed against the freezer door on either side of her head. The woman could feel refrigerator magnets poking into her shoulders and back, her mistress pinning her to the appliance.
The woman squirmed beneath Jordan, exciting her. “That’s it, babe. Fight it,” she hissed. The struggles intensified on command and her arousal increased as they wrestled, despite the disgust at herself. Whaddya expect from yerself, Horny Jordie? Fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. Granted, he ain’t your real dad, but you are what you eat.
It stopped being a fight when a thigh pressed into slick flesh. Sylvia groaned aloud, her center throbbing with the contact. She clutched the appendage between her legs, rubbing against the coarse cloth. Her mistress was growling, chewing hard on the tendon beneath her ear, humping her in return. “Yesss,” she whispered.
In the doorway, the silhouette had not moved. Not now! Gotta get her downstairs! Panting, the teenager pulled away. She smiled ferally at the whimpered moan of frustration. “Patience comes to those who wait, babe.” With a rabid fierceness, she devoured the woman’s mouth, swallowing the groan as she bit down on the soft lower lip. Retreating, she released one of the woman’s wrists and grasped the ring in her collar. Roughly, she pulled Sylvia towards the basement door. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us,” she promised, stepping down into the darkness and drawing the woman with her.
The silent shadow followed.
Jordan released Sylvia’s other wrist and hit the lightswitch as she passed at the top of the carpeted stairs. She moved swiftly down the steps, tugging the woman behind her and keeping her off kilter.
The stairs opened to a mid sized room. On the left wall were a washer and dryer. A utility sink on the far wall shared space with a solitary toilet and what appeared to be a makeshift shower – nothing but the showerhead hanging from the ceiling over a drain in the concrete floor. To the right was a doorway, gaping blackly. As was the door in the remaining wall next to the stairs. It was to the second door that Jordan dragged her charge.
Stepping inside, the teenager flicked on another light. She pulled Sylvia through what appeared to be a small family room – an entertainment center sat beneath the stairs and comfortable chairs and tables were placed strategically. There was another door here, this one closed. And on either side of it were bamboo wall hangings.
Sylvia was roughly deposited on a couch and she felt her mistress’ hand leave her collar. Grey eyes watched the ebony haired youth go to the stereo system, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it into an armchair. The CD selection was perused, a case chosen and pulled out, the disc put into the player.
As the strains of Mozart’s ‘Magic Flute’ filled the room, Jordan schooled her features to not reflect her distaste. How Lucifer listens to this shit is beyond me. Having heard the same music through every abusive encounter with her step-father and his friends only served to have the teenager further shut down on some of her deepest emotional levels. The whispered voice was finally silenced.
Sylvia swallowed in nervousness as her mistress turned to her, a manic gleam in her eyes and a smile that was almost a snarl. The woman’s belly was a-flutter and she could almost feel herself soaking the sofa cushion beneath her.
With slow, seductive movements, Jordan went to the closed door, pulling her keys from a pocket and unlocking it. The door swung open onto darkness and she held out her hand to her prey. “Playtime.”
The woman saw not a teenager, but a strong youthful angel of darkness with red eyes glittering from her arm. As if possessed, she rose and walked to her vampire / mistress, a part of her realizing that this was it. There was no going back from this point. And the emerald and red eyes mocked her, promising her that things would never, ever be the same.
Sylvia took Jordan’s hand and allowed herself to be led into the darkness.
Present
Sylvia’s scream amid the harsh voices and laughter pierced her consciousness. Jordan bolted straight up in her bed, the scream still echoing on the edges of her mind. Hands were on her body trying to pull her down and voices were whispering to her. The redhead scrambled away in terror until she fell off the edge of the mattress and scuttled away to crouch on the hard wooden floor.
Wild eyes looked around, trying to place herself. A mattress on the floor, the smell of rain and candles, pale blue eyes watching in shock and a whispered voice trying to soothe her. It was a dream! A fucking nightmare! The relief that welled up inside caused a lump to form in her throat and the guitarist could feel the sting of unshed tears. No! Don’t cry! Lucifer hates that!
Sonny slowly eased forward, continuing her litany of calming words. Her lover was cowering nude before her, all disheveled hair and panicked eyes. The teenager slid off the mattress and scooted closer. Her first attempt at brushing the redgold tresses away from Jordan’s face were rebuffed, a hand reaching out to swat hers, the body flinching away. Refusing to be daunted, the dark woman forced past the feeble defenses. Soon, she was seated on the cool wooden floor, rocking her lover in her arms.
It had been the tossing and turning that had originally awakened the teenager. Her usual tricks to calm Jordan down during a nightmare hadn’t work, however. The blood curdling scream that had erupted had scared the daylights out of both of them. As Sonny held and caressed the woman in her arms, she could only wonder at the depth of pain that had to be buried inside. What happened to you, love? What can I do to let you know it’s safe to deal with it? That I’m here for you? Knowing there would be no answers from her broken lover, she whispered calming words and rocked her, swallowing the desire to cry in sympathy and frustration.
As the terror from the nightmare faded, a bone deep weariness invaded her. Jordan stopped fighting off her lover’s assistance, too emotionally weak to put up any more of a struggle. She relaxed into the embrace and enjoyed a modicum of peace before the voices could reassert themselves again.
Long minutes passed. As the redhead gained her composure and woke a bit more, she began to pull away. Sensing that the nurturing moment was now over, Sonny stopped rocking and loosened her arms. “You okay?” the teenager asked softly, brushing a wisp of hair aside so she could see her lover’s eyes.
Jordan looked away, embarrassed, struggling with her mask. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She sighed deeply, noticing the foul taste in her mouth and dryness of her eyes. That’s right! You tied one on last night, Jordie, Louis’s voice echoed in her head, as it had for years. “I need a drink of water,” she mumbled, pulling further out of Sonny’s grasp.
“Okay.” The long hands gave her a final caress. “I’ll get it. You get back in bed.”
Nodding, the guitarist crawled back to the mattress and sat down on edge. She rubbed sleep from her alcohol puffed eyes and glanced around. Jordan couldn’t remember getting home the night before. Obviously, the dark woman had gotten her upstairs and undressed. The clothes she’d been wearing were sitting in a neat, folded pile nearby. If I did that, I’d have to be drunker than I thought. She rooted out a cigarette and lit it.
Sonny approached from the tiny bathroom and handed her lover a glass. “Here ya go, sexy.” She smiled at the brief look of thanks as the redhead took it from her and had a long swallow. The teenager climbed onto the mattress herself, curling up on her side behind Jordan and propping her head up on an elbow. The skin of the shorter woman’s lower back pressed firmly against her own torso, and she gently ran her palms along the available flesh.
The water was cool against her parched throat. She drained the glass and set it down on the floor, sighing again at the comforting sensations on her back. Eyes closed, she enjoyed the caresses for long moments, no sound in the room except their even breathing.
Sonny had laid her head down, peering up at the guitarist’s profile as she smoked. I wish it could always be this way, she thought wistfully.
Deep in the abyss of self disgust, Jordan mused, I wish this was real. But, as usual, the voices she lived with were there to torment her, deny her, tell her what the reality of her world was. The redhead took a deep breath, breaking out of her reverie. Turning to glance at the bedside clock, she surprised a strange look on Sonny’s face. Her emerald eyes narrowed, her mask firmly in place. What the fuck was that?
The dark woman dissembled, shuffling the feelings of tenderness and love away. “What time’s your appointment with the lawyers?” she asked, scratching the smooth skin beneath her fingers.
Jordan studied her for long seconds, suspicious. “At eleven.” She looked at her clock. “I’ve gotta get ready. The next bus outta here is in half an hour.”
With a startled look, the teenager said, “Bus? You can’t ride a bus, Jordan.”
“Why not?” the redhead asked in irritated puzzlement. She rose and padded to her clothing stacked nearby.
Pale blue eyes rolled in exasperation. “You’re the guitarist for Warlord, sexy. You get on a bus, you’ll get mobbed.” Sonny sat up and reached for her own clothes. “Remember what you told me about that little store in New York.”
Jordan sniffed at the t-shirt she had worn the night before, smoke and whiskey and sweat making her nostrils twitch. She tossed the offending item into the corner meant for dirty clothes and rummaged in another pile of material, pulling out a shirt. “Well, how the hell else am I supposed to get there? Call a fucking limousine?” she asked sarcastically. Vague memories of the bars she’d been at plagued her and she could remember feeling surprised at just how many people wanted to buy her drinks. Well, duh, Jordie. You need a clue.
“No, silly,” Sonny said with a slight grin. “We’ll just call a cab.”
Freezing in the process of pulling her shirt on, Jordan stared at the younger woman. “Whaddya mean ‘we’ll’ call a cab?”
Here it comes. Sonny shrugged, buttoning up her jeans. “I’m coming with you.”
Jordan’s breath caught in her throat and her pulse quickened. No! She’ll find out! Another voice, the one that sounded like her step father, spoke up with a snide tone. Well, hell, Jordie. Isn’t it about time she did? Found out exactly what kind of animal she’s been sleeping with for over a year? Exactly what kind of damage you can do? The guitarist shook her head and continued pulling her shirt down over her torso. “You are not going,” she intoned.
A dark brow raised. “Yes, I am. You can ban me from the meeting, of course, but I will be there when you get out.”
Stomping on the panicked babbling voice, the redhead gave her lover a stern frown. The dark teenager stood before her, her hands on her hips and reflecting the look back at her, determined. The whisperer said, She should be told. And for once, Jordan listened to the quiet little voice, agreeing. Maybe that’ll send her packing. Nothing else has. There was a dry chuckle. Oh, yeah, Horny Jordie. If that doesn’t do it, nothing will.
Sonny raised her chin in defiance, knowing what her lover’s response would be, knowing she’d have to put up one hell of a fight. Knowing she’d probably have to get a separate cab and meet the guitarist at the White Horse offices. Her mouth dropped open in surprise at the response.
“Okay.”
The dark woman watched her lover stooping to pull her boots on in shock. That was too easy, she considered, a trickle of fear mixing with the elation of winning the goal.
Sonny sat in the meeting room with Jordan, two of the White Horse lawyers and the vice president, Jonathon Allen. “I still think we should wait for Tamara to get here,” she murmured to her lover.The redhead shrugged. “What’s gonna happen’s gonna happen. Ain’t nothing she can do about it.”Pursing her lips, the teenager refused to respond to the doom and gloom.”Well, I’d like to thank you for coming in, Jordan. Sonny,” Allen said with a smile. “We just want to go over our bases here before they call you in for a court appearance.”
Jordan nodded. “I understand. Have you been in contact with the Mueller’s lawyers?”
Lawyer Number One nodded and handed over some papers. “Yes. They’re suing you for half of your income on the sales of this album as well as any future recording projects you might be involved with.”
“Also, I believe a lump sum is asked for,” Lawyer Number Two mentioned, rooting through a manila folder. “Ah…. Yes. Three hundred thousand.”
Sonny looked dumbfounded. “Three hundred thousand? Plus half her royalties!? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”
“And what happens to my contract with White Horse?” Jordan asked, ignoring the teenager’s outburst.
The trio of men looked from one to the other. “Uh, well, that depends on the public relations aspect,” Allen finally allowed.
The guitarist regarded him coolly. “Give me some examples here, Jon.”
The VP blew out a breath, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, if the Mueller family insists on going to court and refusing a lump settlement, we can count on quite a bit of bad publicity.” He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “Frankly, Warlord is too new a band to handle that kind of negativity. Granted, your first CD has been going like wildfire but, until you have a successful second recording, you’re still considered a flash in the pan.”
Sonny stared blankly at the executive, her mind refusing to wrap around what she’d just heard. “So… what? You’ll drop the band because of this?” she questioned, her brow furrowed in growing anger.
“No,” the guitarist answered for the men. “They’ll drop me. The band can go along just fine.”
Realizing that the redhead was taking everything in stride, Allen nodded, relieved. “Yes. The contract was signed by each individual member. The remaining members of Warlord will still be on contract for the required four recordings.” As the storm clouds gathered over the dark woman, he held up his hand and smiled winsomely. “That doesn’t mean we’ll have to resort to that, however! We could still get a settlement out of court !”
“You can’t do that!” Sonny insisted in a loud voice. “You can’t just throw her to the wolves out there! She’s the best thing Warlord has got!”
“Sonny…” Jordan growled warningly.
“No!” The teenager turned to her lover. “You can’t let this happen without a fight, Jordan!” She lowered her voice, trying to sound calmer. “If you have to go to court, we’ll find the best lawyer around. This has got to be a mix up. I know that the charges were dropped against you! You shouldn’t have to pay guilt money to a greedy family! You didn’t do anything!”
Emerald eyes flashed and the rage boiled just beneath her surface. “You got a copy of the original police report?” she asked of the lawyers. At their nod, she waved her hand, asking for it. A rather thick folder was removed from a briefcase and shoved towards her.
Sonny studied her lover as she flipped through the file, concern on her face. She’s just gonna roll over on this. She thinks she deserves it! She doesn’t!
Looking through the file brought back a rush of memories howling through her mind. Oh, yeah, Jordie! Wasn’t this fun? Oh, man! They’ve even got the photos here! She glanced up at the lawyers, noting that they looked away quickly from her manic gaze. Betcha it’s been the talk of the company for the last week! Deep inside, the swirling maelstrom of buried memories reared its ugly head.
“Jordan,” the dark woman began, preparing to state her case.
“Shut up,” the guitarist snarled. Irrational rage, screams of pain, blood and leather. Laughing voices, crude speech, begging whispers.
Shocked, her lover became stared at her.
Jordan laid the file open on the table in silence, spreading the glossy eight by ten color photos. Watching eyes, smeared crimson on white cloth, grunts of rape, pain. “Remember how I told you that I’d hurt you?” When there was no answer, she snapped, “Do you remember!?”
Swallowing, scared, instinctively not wanting to go through this door that was yawning open before her, Sonny nodded.
“Meet Sylvia Mueller,” the redhead said harshly, holding up a photo. The sound of flesh on flesh, ripping cloth, metallic taste.
The face of a woman staring dully out of the picture was almost unrecognizable. The skin was blue and red and mottled, one eye swollen completely closed, the nose broken and bloated. There were marks around her throat, almost black in their color and stains of blood trickling from her scalp and ear.
Sonny winced and looked away. And then a strong hand was grasping her neck, pinching the nerve there and causing pain, forcing her to look back at the pictures. No no no no no….
“And this is Sylvia Mueller.” Another vivid picture, a hand and forearm that was abraded from ropes and sliced up. “And this.” Cigarette burns on thighs. “And this.” Bleeding, oozing welts on thighs and buttocks. “And this. And this. And this.” With each photo, Jordan held her lover’s neck, forcing her to witness the destruction of another human being. The smell of burnt flesh and fear and death and decay.
“No!” Sonny whispered, trying to shake her head in denial.
“Yes!” the guitarist insisted. “I’m the one responsible for this! I’m the one who did the damage!” Her grin was feral and an insane light seemed to glow from her green eyes. “I put her in a fucking mental institute, Sonny! She’s a fucking vegetable!”
Wide blue eyes rolled to catch sight of this woman, this stranger that was smiling at her from the depths of hell. “But….”
“No buts, Sonny.” Jordan released her and leaned forward, forcing the dark woman to lean back and away. “I enjoyed it,” she hissed. “Watching her scream and bleed and beg. It was one of the best things that ever happened to me.” Grey eyes reflecting nothing, and nothing, and nothing….
Horrified, the teenager tried to fight back the wave of nausea at the magnitude of the redhead’s statement. Her head was shaking numbly, a part of her refusing to believe the evidence she saw, the confession she heard. Feeling her stomach roll, she stumbled out of her chair and ran from the room, tears flowing freely down her face.
There was quiet in the emotionally charged room.
You go, Jordie! I’m impressed! Chip off the ol’ block! Jordan took a deep, calming breath, fighting the beast back down and returning it to its cage. It was the only way to get rid of her. Now she’ll be safe. The whisper returned. Will she? Or will you be safe?
Shaking off the voices, the guitarist looked up at the three men still in the room. A redgold eyebrow raised at their open gaping. She began gathering up the photos and putting them back into the folder as the two lawyers looked away and shuffled papers, flushing.
Allen cleared his throat cautiously. “Um, Jordan. That’s not quite what the report said.”
Jordan shrugged, a nonchalance evident that she didn’t feel. “It was something that had to be done.” Now she can have a life. Deep inside of her soul, she curled up into a little ball. And you can come back to hell, where you belong.
There was a knock on the door and her lawyer, Tamara Hampton came in, a puzzled look on her face. “What happened to Sonny? She just ran out the doors and wouldn’t stop when I called her.”
Jordan sat hunched over the bar, nursing her drink. She’d been here ever since the meeting was concluded at White Horse, not wanting to go home. Not knowing if she had a home to go back to. Horny Jordie, the Wonder Whore! Shoulda known better than to hook up with the kid anyway, an oily voice stated. She wasn’t your type.“Got that right,” she muttered darkly, tossing the remainder of her whiskey down her throat. She rapped her knuckles on the wooden counter, gaining the attention of the bartender. Pushing the glass away, she ordered another.The older woman studied the redhead carefully as she removed the empty glass and put it in the sink. The kid apparently had an amazing tolerance level. She’d already had seven doubles and it didn’t look like it was affecting her in the least. Shrugging and shaking her head, the woman poured another and settled it on a fresh napkin before the kid.Jordan took a swallow, enjoying the burn down her throat, and glanced around for the first time in an hour.
The Egyptian was a small establishment, lesbian owned and operated. Being a Monday night, things were pretty quiet. The television over the bar was showing the game, though it wasn’t apparent that anybody was paying attention. Beneath it, the relief bartender/cook was slouched on a stool and playing the video poker game, the soft bells and music at odds with the roar of a television crowd as a team scored.
Further past the bar was an alcove that held a pool table. There were three women smoking cigarettes and enjoying a game, chattering and laughing among themselves. The only other occupants of the main bar were the couple that were behind Jordan at a small table against the wall, engrossed in conversation.
The guitarist was antsy. She needed something, something to help her forget the fiasco at the meeting, the pain and fear in Sonny’s eyes, the memories welling up from inside. But she’d left her stash at home and didn’t know anyone here. And the alcohol wasn’t touching her. With your tolerance, it’ll take so much booze, you’ll die from alcohol poisoning. There was an idle thought that perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but Jordan dismissed it. Like you deserve to ‘get away from it all’, Jordie. Schyeah, right!
Seeing the pictures at the meeting had opened up memories inside, memories that she’d thought were locked up forever. Hell! I thought the whole thing was done forever. Disjointed flashbacks kept occurring, derailing her train of thought, interrupting a perfectly good pity potty session.
Heavy leather restraints around the thin wrists, the flash of metal as the chain was attached, hanging the woman from the ceiling. Louis watching, directing.
“Well, hey there, sexy!” a voice insinuated itself into her musings.
Jordan turned her head and watched a woman settle down on the stool beside her. The mask fell into place and she grinned at one of the many women she’d bedded over the years. “Hey, babe, how’s it going?”
The brunette tossed her hair back with a smile. “Pretty good. How’s fame treating ya?” She waved the bartender over to give her order.
Shrugging ruefully, the guitarist said, “It’s been a roller coaster.” Unnatural rage overcoming her. The heavy strop rising and falling, over and over and over. The drink was delivered and she told the older woman behind the bar, “Put it on my tab.”
A dark eyebrow arched and the groupie smiled. “Heard you’re not available any more,” she said, fishing for information. “Something about somebody’s kid sister…?”
“Old news,” Jordan responded, taking a swallow of her drink and looking away. Visions of Sonny’s face, twisted in passion just before an orgasm. Sylvia’s grey eyes fearful and needing.
Sensing a recent rift, the groupie scooted a little closer. “I think I remember her. Dark hair, blue eyes?” At the agreeing nod, she looked down into her own drink. “Didn’t think she was quite your type, ya know?”
Steeling herself, Jordan muttered, “She’s not.” The voices in her head roared and sighed in a maelstrom. It won’t give up. It wants me dead. Goddamn this noise inside my head.
A tentative hand reached out, gently caressing the musician’s thigh. The hand became bolder when it wasn’t rebuffed. “Want company tonight?”
The redhead considered the question. It’s been a long time, Horny Jordie. You remember how to play the game? She covered the woman’s hand with her own and squeezed. “Yeah. That’d be nice.” You’ll never forget, Jordie. You were born and bred to play this game.
The groupie was able to refrain from crowing in delight. Barely. To bed Jordan Smith of Warlord now that she was famous? Definitely a major coup in the rock and roll world! “Ya know, I’ve got some stuff. Didn’t you like downers?”
The night was a blur of alcohol and music and flirting and drugs. Floating on downers, drinking shots of whiskey, dirty dancing at several different bars. Soft and rough, dark corners of heavy breathing and inadequate climaxes. Trying to forget. Trying to remove vivid flashes of pale blue eyes full of love. Trying to deny.Other flashes, scenes of violence and rape. Grey eyes pleading for relief from the pain, retreating into themselves. Unable to block them out. Unable to drive them away. Violation, desecration, penetration, complication. Angel bleeding from the tainted touch of her caress. Soul bleeding.More booze. More pills. More sex. Nothing works.And everything finally, mercifully darkens.
And White Horse still hasn’t recovered. The band might lose their contract or be sued over it, but everybody’s stuck together and told the label to shove it. No Jordan, no Warlord, no albums. I’m so proud of these guys! I told Jordan years ago that Warlord sticks together. Wait’ll she finds out just how tight-knit we really are!
I finally finished reading all the paperwork that Tamara gave me. She and I both realize that it’s an ethical no-no to give me the files, but after that scene at White Horse, she thought I really needed to read it. I feel so drained and exhausted now. I’ve spent quite a bit of time crying for my brave woman – I know she’s never allowed herself to.
She’s lied about some things to me, to us. Like, she’s only a few months older than me. All this time she’d been making it appear that she was oh-so-much-older… only to find it’s been by five months and nothing more! She had a fake ID when she joined the band. (Now I know how she knew where to get mine!)
And her name’s not legally Smith. Her step-father legally adopted her when she was three. Her last name had been his – Chizu. When everything went down in Boston, that was the name they had her under. When she ran away from her foster home, she took Smith.
I remember that night she found me walking home from that fiasco of a date. She told me then that her step-dad had molested her, took her virginity. She neglected to mention that it wasn’t just him…. It was his friends, some members of his family, even complete strangers! Oh, I wish I had the opportunity to throttle the bastard! He did so much more to her than she lets on…. He was heavy into sadism and trained her from the time she was little….
And the case was just one big convoluted mess – people pointing fingers, name calling. There was a lot of press over it in Boston. Chizu spent a lot of time and effort trying to get Jordan to take the rap. And she let him, refusing to testify against him. God, she was so messed up! It’s a wonder she’s survived this long with all that pain.
It’s no wonder she doesn’t want my love. She really doesn’t think she deserves it. And it’s on such a deep level, I don’t think she realizes. I don’t think it’s so much that she doesn’t want it, but that she doesn’t’ want to need. That’s what scares her silly, drove her to try a last ditch effort to get rid of me, get rid of the band. Get rid of everything she loved.
She loves me. I know it now.
And that woman she was reported to be with that night! I’d like to get my hands on her, too! Giving downers to her when she’d already been drinking. Grrrrr…. At least she had the presence of mind to call 911 before bailing from the hotel room…. Otherwise, Jordan would be dead now….
And she still may be. If her body can’t take over when they remove her from life support…. No. I can’t think like that. She’ll know I’ve given up when I talk to her if I go in like that.
All this information and confusion in my head…. I went to the mental health wing, to find someone to talk to. I can’t say that I really understand exactly what’s been going on within Jordan. But I’ve got to try. The lifestyle she was raised in…. I can’t even fathom! I’ve spoken with a counselor twice this week and I have another appointment day after tomorrow. And I’ve begun reading up on the BDSM lifestyle on the web and at the library. Some of it’s not pretty. But I need to understand! To know how she could have been involved with Sylvia Mueller’s destruction, to know why Sylvia responded the way she did.
I’ve been reading her a trashy romance novel I picked up at Borders. A lesbian one! Ha ha ha! If that doesn’t get her out of it to demand an action adventure, nothing will!
Well, I’ve gotta go. I’m up next and Lisa relieves me in a few hours. Except for a few hours at night, we’ve been sitting with her in shifts, keeping up conversation and stuff. Tom even smuggled Tinker in yesterday…. He’d heard that people in comas came out of it faster with tactile stimulation. (Tinker wasn’t too pleased! Giggle!) We’re hoping we can keep her mind alive – to bring her out. It’s worked for some, it’ll work for her. She’s too damned ornery to die.
I know it.
| Suicidal Dream (excerpt) © Silverchair |
|---|
I dream about how it’s gonna end, Approaching me quickly. Living a life of fear, I only want my mind to be clear. Chorus: My suicidal dream. Help me, comfort me, Chorus Dreaming about my death. |
*Note: Love You to Death, © Type O Negative
Reply with a Comment
Fields with an * are required, but will not be seen by the public.