Princely Bastard (9 page)

Reluctantly, I hang up—and only then do I realize I’m crying. I’m crying like a baby. I also realize something else. The shower has stopped and Aimee is standing in the bathroom doorway wearing a towel. And she’s crying, too.

“I need you,” I tell her, desperately wanting to make both our tears go away. I want them to go away forever. “I need you so fucking much.”

She doesn’t say a word back. She just drops the towel, and my mind goes blank while looking at all her beauty. Nothing exists but her, and her body—and everything they represent.

Awkwardly, I tumble off the bed and just as awkwardly I move toward her. At the same time, she rushes toward me—and our bodies meet—and she kisses me, with my hands clawing at her everywhere.

We kiss and kiss and kiss. I don’t even breathe—or want to.

Suddenly, she falls to her knees—and I suck in air as she rips down both my pants and boxers, which is just before she takes me into her mouth.

I gasp at this—as if I was punched in the stomach, and I stagger in every possible direction.

“Aimee!” I howl. I howl this so loud that the whole fucking motel must hear it—and half of Los Angeles, too. “Aimee!”

Faster and faster, she moves up and down me—impossibly fast. Not even that guy’s hands and feet this morning were moving like her. She sending me way past crazy, and I almost lose it.

Though at the last second I pull away. Barely.

“Do it,” she begs. “It’s okay.”

“No!” I scream at her. “It’s not okay!”

Not waiting for a reply, I reach under her arms and lift her into the air—and I throw both myself and her against the nearest wall.

The whole thing shakes—the entire building. And I shake, too, as she guides me inside her. Then I cry out in agony as I slowly push myself into her, inch-by inch, with her cries even louder than mine.

“Fuck!” she hollers when I can’t push anymore. “Fuck!” She also wraps her legs around me and pulls me somehow deeper into her. She pulls me until I can feel her bones pressed against mine.

I want to come. I want to come right now. But I don’t. Instead I grab her thighs and start forcing her up and down me, with both our bodies spasming.

We start moving as well—and banging into things. The TV falls and smashes onto the floor—and so does a table. Still we keep moving—into wall after wall.

Suddenly, for some reason she grabs hold of something—the shades, and she rips them off the window as I swing her into the door, where I start pounding her. I pound her so hard that the door seems like it’s coming off its hinges.

“Harder!” she screams, even though I must be hurting her. “Harder!”

“I can’t!” I tell her, but I do what she wants, and I can hear the wood crack.

“Almost!” she calls out. “Almost!”

Shrieking, I grab her flesh and slam into her with everything I have left—and she shudders and shakes—setting me off. I explode inside her over and over, before collapsing onto my knees, knocking over both the end table and a lamp.

Afterward, with everything spent, I just hold her, while caressing her body—her back and legs and hair. I’m touching her everywhere at once.

“Aimee,” I whisper into her ear while chewing on it. “Aimee.”

She doesn’t say a word back. She just flings me against the carpet, and my head knocks against the floor. Then she starts bucking on top of me. She also digs her nails into my chest. She digs them so hard that blood seeps out. But I don’t care. I don’t want her to stop. I want her to dig deeper. I want her to rip me apart.

Faster and faster, she pistons on me—to the point that she’s nothing but a blur. I can’t see—all I can do is feel. I feel her destroying me.

Again, she comes—and she pounds her fists onto my chest. She pounds them so hard I can’t breathe. But I don’t care. I don’t care!

Finally, she falls on top of me—and I put my arms around her. And she clasps my head. She also kisses me. She kisses me while biting down on my lip.

WE’RE IN THE shower—the two of us, with burning hot water pouring down onto our tattered flesh.

Once more I’m inside her—with her legs draped around my waist and her back against the wall. Though this time we’re barely moving. And I realize I can’t get enough of her and know I never will. I want to stay right where I am, where it’s safe—I want to escape in her.

I even try telling her these things, but the words just won’t come out. She can’t talk, either. We’re just making sounds—sounds that aren’t even close to human.

But she understands me. Somehow I know she does.

I AWAKE FROM a sudden burst of light.

And I sense I’m lying on top of the bed, with Aimee lying next to me. I further sense that the same gray-haired guy who tried to kill me this morning is smiling down at us—holding the same gun he pointed at me earlier.

“Sorry to disturb you, Your Highness,” he jokes, in that accent of his—which causes Aimee to groggily wake.

“What?” she mumbles, while trying to cover herself with the sheets. “What’s going on?”

“You two are just about to show me the sights,” the man tells her, in a voice as friendly as it can be.

This causes Aimee to become fully awake, and fully frightened. And so am I.

“You gonna shoot us?” I ask.

“If I were,” he replies, “I would’ve done it already. Get up, you two—we’re late, we’re late, for a very important date.”

“Fuck you.”

“Pardon, I didn’t quite hear you.”

“You heard me. Fuck you. The only reason you’re not shooting us right now is because you don’t want to move the bodies. Actually, you can’t move them—especially mine.”

“Move!”

“No.”

“You fuck!”

As he says this, he flings the handle of his gun at my face, which I block before throwing a punch. Though it misses, and he grabs my nose and yanks me out of bed and onto the floor.

“Some fighter you are,” he growls. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in the neighborhood I grew up.”

“I did pretty good this morning,” I growl back.

“Fuck up!” he howls, before slamming the heel of his shoe into my groin—causing me to gasp in pain and clutch what’s left of me. Then he adds, “I’ve had just about enough of you. You know, your mommy was a whole lot more cooperative.”

“I was just talking to her!” I somehow blurt out.

“I’m talking about your real one!”

“Fuck you!”

“Get up!”

“Fuck you!”

“If I have to,” he says as he starts pistol-whipping me, “I’ll cut you up into little pieces and carry them out one at a time.”

Again and again, his gun flies into my head, and there’s not much I can do about it but cover my face with my hands. I’m finished.

Suddenly, Aimee jumps on top of him—and tries to strangle him. But he easily breaks her grip and tosses her into a wall—and turns back to me.

Without knowing how, I’ve gotten to my knees, and I try to grab the man just like I did this morning. However, he steps away prior to kicking me in the face. He kicks me so hard that my head flies back onto the carpeted floor.

“You know what they say,” he utters—“‘fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’”

He afterward again kicks my head, over and over—and I’m feeling the whole world slipping away. And this only stops when I hear a smashing sound, and when the man collapses on top of me.

Right then, I wipe some blood from my eyes and see Aimee holding what’s left of a lamp. She’s also grinning a bit.

WITH AIMEE MENDING my head as best she can, I quickly dress. I also stare at the unconscious man at my feet, and wonder if he really did kill my birth mother.

She stares at him as well, and mutters, “Maybe we should . . .”

“Should what?” I ask.

“He’s just gonna come after us again.”

“I’m not a killer—and neither are you!”

“But—”

“—But nothing!”

“How’d he know we were here?”

“It, it’s probably my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“That call to my mom—they must’ve traced it. Come on—we’ve got to get out of here.”

“And go where?”

“San Pedro.”

“What’s in San Pedro?”

“You’ll find out. Let’s just go.”

Hurriedly, I finish dressing, and so does she, and we head out the door.

But abruptly she stops.

“What?” I cry out, as she rushes to the Walgreens bag in the corner of the room.

“Just leave it!” I yell.

“We need it!” she yells back—and she grabs the bag and returns, and, after I grab her hand, we run off toward a bus stop about a quarter of a mile down the road.

I’M TIRED. I’M so fucking tired. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.

All I want to do is collapse onto the side of the road and cease. And I only keep running because Aimee’s holding my hand.

But even that’s not enough, and I start to slow, more and more.

Then, from behind us, I hear sirens—police sirens, and I spin around and see three cop cars enter the motel. Though at least they’re not chasing us.

So, we both come to something of a halt, just as the bus approaches.

“Shit!” I scream—and I rush off as fast as I can, dragging Aimee with me. I also glance at her and see that she looks as tired as me. But she keeps pushing forward somehow, and we’re now just a short distance from the bus, which has stopped to pick up a couple of passengers.

“Wait up!” I holler as loud as I can.

But the driver doesn’t seem to hear—the doors close and the bus begins to move, just as we get there.

Seeing this, I double over, out of everything. But Aimee doesn’t give up. She lets go of my hand and runs up to the vehicle, and she knocks on the back window hard—and the bus comes to a stop.

Which makes me realize something. I realize she’s stronger than me. She’s a lot stronger.

AIMEE SITS ON my lap and presses all the goodness of her body against me—and I’m happy. In spite of everything I’m happy.

“This goes to San Pedro?” she asks as the bus rambles forward.

“Nah,” I tell her while looking out the window at the streets—streets that look exactly the same. “It goes to Metro Center. That’s the hub in downtown. From there we’ll catch a night bus to San Pedro.”

“And what’s in San Pedro?”

“A fight. Hopefully.”

“I don’t want you to fight no more.”

“Me, neither.”

“Then, don’t.”

“Should I become a fashion model instead?”

“Yes,” she says with a big smile, before kissing my neck. “Become a fashion model. You’re beautiful. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“I was gonna say that to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I will.”

I then put my arms around her and softly kiss her head. And I want to tell her how much she means to me. I want to tell her so many things.

But she falls asleep.

Amazingly, she’s now even more beautiful. She looks like an angel. She
is
an angel. Which makes me realize I can’t keep putting her through this. I just hope I can follow through on what I know I have to do.

chapter nine

Aimee

I WAKE UP, with Mark nudging my arm.

“What?” I mumble.

“We’re here,” he says.

So, I reluctantly get off him, and, after grabbing the Walgreens bag off the bus floor, we head toward the exit arm-in-arm, with Mark’s head snuggled against mine.

He then leads me down the steps onto the sidewalk, right in front of Metro Center, and I see that everything’s real quiet. There are hardly any people around or cars, or any sounds whatsoever. It’s actually a whole lot quieter than I would’ve expected downtown Los Angeles ever got.

Quickly, Mark drags me down the street, while glancing at the signs on top of the bus stops. Eventually we find the right one—on the corner of a dark side street, where nearby stands a solitary man in shadow.

“You don’t happen to know when the San Pedro bus comes?” Mark asks.

“It left about five or ten minutes ago,” the man replies, in a voice sounding oddly familiar.

“Shit. Do, do you have any idea when the next one comes?”

“They usually run about once an hour this time of night.”

“Mark” I interject, while pointing at the big building next to us, “do they have bathrooms in this place?”

WE COME TO a set of restrooms, and Mark points to them as he stops.

“You’re coming with me,” I say to him.

“Why?” he asks, with lots of suspicion.

“There’s something I want to do to you.”

“
Aimee
.”

“Not that.”

Now, it’s my turn to do the dragging. I drag him right inside the men’s room.