Identical (20 page)

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.