Title: The Long Journey Into Darkness
Author: Crazy_Girl_Mary
Email: crazy_girl_mary@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: The two main characters are Joss', but I'm not stealin' I promise I'll give them back when I'm done.
Summary: A female is on the run from a killer, and he's not going to give up until he has her right where he wants her.
Pairings: Female/Male. This story has a female character a human, and a male vampire from the Buffyverse, but names are not used anywhere in the story. I did this so the reader could envision any characters they wanted. So if you have a thing for Willow/Spike, hey man it's them. There were two characters I had in mind when writing it and some subtle clues you may pick up may lead you to that conclusion, if you want to know who they really are then you can email me and I'll tell you.
Category: Angst.
Spoilers: None, complete AU, just a girl and a vampire.
Rating: NC-17 parts for sexual content, brutal torture, and character deaths.
Author's Comments: This is my latest work, and I think the fact that I've progressed as a writer shows. I'm probably more emotionally attached to this story as corny as it sounds but I still desperately want to know any thoughts, feelings, praises, and most of all criticisms, so please please let me know!

Part I: Hell is called New Jersey


I left town. I know he'll follow. It's what he does, what he's good at, and it would be foolish of me to think any different. I even know it's only a matter of time before he finds me but that doesn't mean I'll just give in. It's impossible for me to even consider it an option. My only comfort is that if he's following me, hurting me he can't be following someone else, hurting someone else. He's almost in my control.

I have practically no money and no car so it's been buses and rattrap motels clear across the country. My current abode is sweltering hot, I'm not quite sure of the name because half the letters on the rusty old sign out front have fallen to the ground and laid there dying since their unfortunate plunge. The small room holds a squeaky old queen size bed, a small dirty sofa, a large fuzzy black and white television with fourteen channels, a flimsy plastic table and chairs, and a tiny pea green bathroom.

I've been here for three sleepless days and nights in New Jersey somewhere. Could this place be Hell? It's a definite possibility. And I've seen as close to hell on earth as you can be. The floor is littered with coffee cups, fast food wrappers, dirty clothes, and a few out-of-date magazines I lifted from the lobby; a shameful display of my existence. Seventy-two hours of boredom, silence, and infomercials. It might just kill me before he does but my eyes stay open at all times.

I click through the limited channels endlessly searching and stop at a movie. Late night TV is the worst. It's a little after one in the morning. I guzzle down some stale coffee and use eye drops in my sore eyes as the word sleep floats through my watery mind. Not a possibility. The room is bathed in shadows which flicker and move with the images on the fuzzy screen. I try to get into an action movie but it's impossible. The movie is lame to begin with and then they take all the curses and good stuff out and dub over and it's like what the fuck is the point?

I sometimes wonder what kind of person creates lame movies. It's lame to the general public but someone somewhere had a dream, someone somewhere worked their ass off to see their dream realized and thinks this lame movie is pretty damn good. Losers. I start to channel surf once more until a noise outside disturbs me. My eyes widen as I jump from the bed and run to the window. A dim flickering light illuminates the parking lot as a street mutt ambles between the random rusting cars.

Who owns them? Where are they running? What are they running from? Will they meet their doom because I've brought an animal, a beast here with me? I go back to the bed, turn up the volume, and wipe my face and neck with a damp washcloth. I'm in my underwear with a fan blowing right at me. Every window is open and every curtain pulled aside but it's no use in the middle of a chart topping heat wave. Is he hot at times like this? Does his cool ever falter? I try not to think about him and get back into this new lame movie I stopped at but it's no use. The cheesy romance is about a girl who gets a restaurant from her family, can't cook, and receives a luck changing crab in the kitchen and a rich blonde hottie who suddenly wants to whisk her away. Completely unbelievable and even I can't get sucked into this one.

I lean back and click through the channels again. If he is watching me he must love how restless and unhappy he has me. All cooped up in this shit hole for days has me going insane. Even boiling hot showers can't hurt him out of my thoughts, but how could they when the two things are so similar. I stop at an infomercial for a home fitness center because it's the only thing I can stand looking at. Young buff guys without shirts working out and sweating is a little better then late night televised mass, gospel music videos, Little House on the Prarie reruns, and Sponge Bob Squarepants. I pull the sheet up, lean back, guzzle more shitty coffee and watch with no real interest, without really seeing what is on the screen.

Part II: The Jersey Devil


Shit! I fell asleep. I open my eyes and it takes a few moments to register where I am and for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A chill from the fan runs down my wet stomach and legs and two thoughts hit me like lightening as I sit bolt upright on the squeaking bed. One, the TV's off, and two, so is my sheet, which is completely off the bed and lying on the floor in a trail leading into the shadows across the room. Shadows which contain the small sofa and the man who wants me to suffer more then anything else in eternity.

My hands grip my knees. I feel naked and exposed in my black lace bra and underwear. Shouldn't I? How long has he been sitting there, watching me sleep? I glance at the clock, 3:37. I look back at the couch. When will he move? When will he speak? He's happy just to watch my concern and unease build but I know he will eventually. He knows I'm aware of his presence. He's probably delighting in the fact that I'm not running or fighting just waiting for him, but that's all I know these past few weeks. I'm suddenly hit with the thought that I don't want to run anymore; maybe he can make sure I never run again, he can end it all. I know he probably won't.

There's a sudden rustling of plastic then a sharp click as a small flame lights the shadows and glows in his eyes and lips as he lights a cigarette. The flame is gone as suddenly as it came but a small glowing tip remains. I wish I could bring myself to deny my attraction to him but I can't lie to myself. He is the physical immortal embodiment of all things sexy. He's all I've ever wanted and to think in a way he feels the same is undeniably hot. He doesn't speak, just finishes his smoke and stubs it out on the end table beside him. Is that symbolic of what he plans to do to me?

I jump a little as the alarm clock goes off filtering surprising music in to the room. An old romantic song comes on. How many disgusting romantic things can be on this late at night? I remember I set the alarm the night before this in case I fell asleep, but it's too late to save me now.

"Care to dance baby?" he asks standing. I don't bother to answer only watch as he emerges from the shadows. His black sheer shirt is unbuttoned and floating with the fans help. His belt, shoes, and socks have been discarded and his pale bare feet slowly pad along the blanket trail. His glittering eyes never leave mine but my eyes can't help but roam. His plain slacks are slung very low on his hips revealing the start of his hairline and accentuating his abs, and the pant legs slightly rest on the ground with each step. His hair is sloppy and sticking out like he just rolled out of a heavenly bed.

He stops at the foot of the bed and I unconsciously move away from him. "Not much of a dancer?" he asks smiling his evil grin, "Oh well, I still love ya!"

"You don't know what love is," I spit lightly, only because it's true and I have nothing else to retort. Then add, "And neither do I," because I'm being so honest at the moment and because I know if I don't say it he could.

"I guess we're from the same breed then, you and I," he says as his hands come down to the crisp white-sheeted mattress. He talks slowly with his movements as his knees come up and he slowly begins to crawl towards me. "We both hunt… and kill… and need… and want… and take… and have. We both have insatiable hunger for pain and pleasure."

My back is against the headboard, my knees against my chest and I can't inch away any more. But the worst thing is that I know I look like a terrified victim and the realization that I am one sucks.

"So… what's on the agenda for tonight love… pain or pleasure?"

I stare defiantly for a moment, "You mean I have a choice?"

"Sure, but what I want to know is do you have a preference?"

Can I answer that? There is no right or wrong answer only bad or worse. To answer either would surely result in receiving the specified but pleasure could not come without pain nor pain without pleasure. If I answer pleasure he might fuck me in ways I've only imagined but the later guilt, longing, desire, and self-loathing would be the most painful torture. If I answer pain he'll hurt me a million ways till sunrise but will it make me take pleasure the next time the false luxury of a choice is mine. To not choose will be my choice, I decide.

He is almost upon me now. His inching hands have halted stitches away from my curled legs and his knees are closely following. I would tell him to decide but I think its quite clear what he wants. Me, and I'm not bragging. It's no gift. If I believed in the greater power of God I would curse him for my shitty existence but I have no one to push blame on but myself. I have weapons all over the room but I don't hold one in my hand. If I have deep down inside wanted to kill him I would have been holding a stake for the past three days, or maybe even attempted to end it before leaving town. Maybe I would have succeeded and I'd be back at the place I barely call home. But I didn't do any of that and I don't want to face the reason why so it's buried deep inside my beating heart where even I can't find it to dredge up now.

"I guess not," he says as his right hand caresses my thigh, "Well I'll make sure there's a little bit of both in there for you honey." His thumb curls under the small string of my panties and his other hand follows suit. I'm sure he's gonna rip them off right then and there but his fingers gently run along the string sides and then his eyes flicker as his hands wrap around my hips and he pulls my body underneath his. His knees are on either side of me and he sits on my hips to pin me.

Shit. The option to run is pretty much gone now. Not like I was about to run out into the night in my underwear anyway. The only way I'm leaving this room now is with him that's clear. And if he doesn't want me to leave then I'll leave in a body bag. He really must be the devil. I realize I hate myself more then I hate him, I'm the one who can still look into his eyes and deny his death after all he has done. Why? Because he's completely irresistible. Because I'm weak and he's strong. Because I'm the type of girl who needs to be punished and I always attract the guys who are more then willing to give me what I need. He's the King of punishment.

His hands slowly run up my sides while his thumbs gently glide over my stomach. Does he like what he sees, what he feels? I mentally spank myself for giving two rats asses whether he likes my body. I like it, and that doesn't stop me from subjecting it to numerous needless pains. I made hurting myself a hobby, peircings and tattoos and that's still not enough I need a good beating every once in a while, or a good slicing. I have a special knife for that. A serrated one that pulls as it glides through. The result is a jagged scar here and there not a smooth clean cut. They never bleed enough to clean me of my sins like his torture promises. His left hand leaves my side and comes up to touch my lips. His fingers try to gain entry but my lips won't part for him, ever.

He smiles lightly and glides his palm and fingers down my chin, between my breasts, over my bra, and down my stomach until he reaches my belly button. His fingers play with the small bar there and he tugs on the small chains hanging from it. If he likes this he's in for a real treat when he continues. His finger then traces the small features of a star copied from Van Gogh's Starry Night portrayed on my hip. My first tattoo, I got it when I was fifteen.

I have hands, I suddenly remember. Where are they? I can't see them. I wiggle my fingers and realize they're next to me. I'm stiff as a board. I hate the way men make me feel, powerless, cheap, at their employ and disposal. I amaze myself even with the fact that I am so strong yet I can make me so weak. I know ways to hurt him, and ways to get him gone at the very least for tonight but I allow him to prod and touch. I bet he's so happy that he can get the best of me and I desperately long to prove him wrong, beat the shit out of him, make his body beg for me, or make his anything beg for anything but so far I do nothing.

I realize he's smiling at me as he stares into my eyes. What is he so happy to see? Can he see how I've given up? Can he see my weakness? Probably, but he knew I was weak the moment he met me and he was always quick to tell me, why should now be any different?

I'm just beginning to wonder why he's so quiet and almost gentle when his eyes turn to the evil side and his plush dead lips part to speak undoubtedly cruel words. "You know I could make this completely painful for you while still making it awfully enjoyable for myself. But by the look of your body I think you'd enjoy the pain just as much as if I made you soaking wet first." So he sees the scars along with the peircings and tattoos.

I wonder what my expression is because I can't really feel anything. Am I actually going to speak? Yeah, I am. "Truthfully, I had almost forgotten you were there. If you can't keep my attention now, I'm more then willing to wager you couldn't make me soaking wet with a fire hydrant let alone that skinny little body of yours." His smile is deep and vibrant and I hate how he can make me hurt with his words but I can't return the favor. Why won't he lash out and hit me? Why won't he lose control?

"A fire hydrant huh? Is that how they do it where you come from?" he asks smiling then he slowly leans his face down staring passionately into my eyes until he disappears from my view. A chill races up my spine as his mouth makes contact with the juncture of my breasts. Shit on me! His hand inches back and he clicks off my bra like an expert. He pushes it above my breasts with his tongue and begins to lick, suck, and nibble my nipples with his blunt teeth. He's answering my challenge with force and I try to focus on the unsexiest thing I've ever known. Brussels sprouts. Nope, still feel him. How about the unsexiest person? Drew Carey. I almost laugh but then his hand comes up to cup my crotch over my panties and I feel my ass jump off the bed towards him.

While still holding one breast and cupping my panties his face emerges to smile smugly at me. "Exactly how much were you willing to wager dear? I mean if you're short on the cash we could always play for sexual favors."

I smile, "You would have to trap a girl into sexual favors wouldn't ya."

"Now you know that's just not true." His thumb rubs me softly as he speaks, "How many times have you wanted to fuck my brains out?" he asks. I'm sure I'm frowning this time. "But you never had the balls to do anything about it." His fingers crawl up and curl around the top of my panties, "I, on the other hand, am the take charge type. The minute I wanted you I set about getting you. And really, I would rather take you then receive you but sex is always better with two active participants." He pulls them down my thighs roughly in one strong tug. "Are you willing to make it better?" he asks smiling. He's so sure he knows what my reaction will be that I just can't give him the satisfaction.

My hands are suddenly reattached to my body and they roughly and suddenly pull my panties back up, "Nah," I say cockily and slam my knee up into his balls. As the pain flickers in his eyes I push him off of me and he rolls in a ball on the bed. My bra is still around my arms so I clip it as quick as I can and slide into my heeled boots. He's had plenty of time to recover now and I'm afraid to turn around and find out whether he is still rolled in a ball on the bed or whether he is lurking right behind me ready to break something when I turn around. Oh well. I turn around and he's lounging on the bed like a big sexy cat. "I really like that one baby," he comments referring to the Celtic cross on my lower back, "Reminds me of home."

"I'm sure," I snap. I'll never be his home. I grab my coat, which is draped over the chair by the door. I wrap it around me and tie it. Then I'm out the door and not looking back. Fuck him if he follows. I'll kick his ass.

Part III: 20 Questions from a Paying Stranger


I walk across the parking lot and down a block to a 24-7 convenience store. They really are convenient. And it would be even more convenient for him to follow me into the deserted store and eat all the employees. Asshole.

I pour a coffee and walk out without paying. No one tries to stop me and they wouldn't have been able to get anything off me anyway. My money is back at the hotel. I'm walking down the street quickly, watching the random cars. Keeping a particular eye out for a car that he would drive, like I can distinguish. A small bright blue Jaguar slows to a crawl next to me. I'm pretty sure that's not him, but I have no idea who it could be. The black driver's side window comes halfway down and I see the top half of a young man's head inside. Not him.

"How much?" he asks. His voice is almost shaking and nervous. I'm only confused for a moment then I look down at my outfit. The boots, the short coat with nothing underneath. The neck is even parted and my bra is showing. 'Don't I look like a cheap whore?' I think and smile. I glance at the guy. He doesn't look particularly ugly in the darkness and I could always slap him around a little and take the money. It's not like he can call the cops. "Two hundred for the whole night," I answer.

"There's only three hours left of the night," he says unsurely.

Yeah, that doesn't seem very reasonable I suppose. "Four fifty for the 15 hours." I don't have anywhere else to be. And then at least I know he won't be back at the apartment when I get there. His eyes glance over my body once more and he agrees. I hear the lock to the passenger door pop and I walk around, sure to swing my hips a little more then usual as I pass the headlights. Then I climb in and frown as the jacket rides up to my underwear. Oh well, I'll play the part.

He speeds away from the curb and with a small remote in his hands he takes the mute off the CD player and hard rock music blasts from the speakers. He really knows how to handle his car. I look over at him and realize he is much younger then I thought, at the most twenty-three, and he's not bad looking at all. He's much calmer now and he turns from me to the road periodically but doesn't seem nervous as I scan his features. He has tousled blonde hair like a surfer, but his skin isn't deeply tanned by the sun like one. He has on a loose gray tee shirt, and loose dark blue jeans with a pair of brown leather flip-flops.

He looks over and smiles, "There's a case in the door next to you if you don't like the music."

I look through the CD's and pick out Linkin Park. Not really because I like that the best but more because I know the hard beats will drown out any conversation and maybe keep me from drifting off. I continue to sip my hot coffee. I'm still dog-tired; this boy will be lucky if I don't fall asleep in the car.

We haven't driven very long when he pulls into a small hotel parking lot. He flashes a smile at me as he turns off the engine and climbs out of the car. I follow and can't keep from pulling my small leather jacket down on my legs. He clicks on the alarm, (who wouldn't really?) and then he pulls a key card from his pocket. He uses it on the glass side-door of the hotel and it opens to admit us to a small stairwell. I can tell by the small sitting area in the stairwell that this hotel is high class. "Can you believe they charge you twenty bucks every time you're late? It registers in your card and they add it to the bill."

"Yeah," I say smiling as I continue to glance around. I follow him up the stairs.

"I've been late every night this week," he's not mad as he says it, almost like he's doing it to be rebellious. It's cute how pathetic that sounds. That's what's rebellious to him? I guess picking up prostitutes is different. When we reach the third floor he opens the door and lets me enter the level first. His room is only the second door and I follow him inside. I had thought he had got the hotel for a night with a prostitute but if he's been here all week I damn well hope not.

He shuts the door behind him and puts his keys down on a table inside. I'm taken aback. The room is pretty nice. A one-way window covering the whole opposite wall looks out over a small park with a lake. The bed is in the center of the room on a rotating platform, interesting. An entertainment area is to the right with a loveseat and big screen TV, and a bar and bathroom is to the left. He claps his hands together and the nervousness has seemed to return. What is this good ol' boy doing picking up prostitutes?

"Do you have an STD?" I ask blatantly.

He looks shocked, "No." I can tell he's being truthful.

"A wife?"

Even more shocked, "No." Totally truthful.

I'm considering what other horrible things must be wrong with him when he speaks unsurely, "I've never done this before."

I look blankly. Great, I'll have to show the little rugrat the ropes. "I mean, um, picked up a hooker," he finishes.

That means he won't be too demanding. Good. I'll have him wrapped around my finger. He's obviously from out of town too.

"What made you? Far away from anyone who could tell the folks?" I ask.

He smiles at this, "Pretty much," he says, "My father is a pretty powerful guy. This wouldn't really be good for the press hounds."

"But if he wasn't you would be picking up hookers all the time? That's not a very good way to live your life." He looks slightly bruised.

"No I wouldn't, and I don't think being a hooker is a very good way to live your life either."

I smile lightly, and untie my jacket. Enough back talk baby. His eyes drop with my coat and I step out of my boots next. He looks a little more nervous. I grab his shirt and guide it over his head. His body is nice for being a little on the skinny side. He thinks I'm going to fuck him right here and now, right. Like I'm going to let this little rich boy get his money's worth. Fuck that. "Want a drink?" I ask huskily as I walk behind the bar. I see the small refrigerator loaded with wonderful little things and correct that to little really rich boy.

"Yeah, um whatever you're having."

I grin, "Not much of a drinker either? You might just be on your way to sainthood honey." Why am I being nice? I'll make him regret having what I'm having. Maybe he'll pass out before he gets his pants down.

I get out two tall glasses, orange juice and vodka. Screwdrivers. The vodka is high price, which usually equals high proof, and this case is no different. I fill the glass with half orange juice and half vodka. I stir them a little with my finger and make sure he's watching as I tongue and suck the juicy finger. Then I lift my glass and take a sip. It burns its way down my throat, and I remember how much I love vodka for all its pain and truth. He downs almost half the glass in one chug and it doesn't seem to have fazed him at all. Okay, so he has enough balls to prove to me he has drunk before. But that doesn't mean he can drink with the best of them.

We quickly finish our drinks and I pour a few shots, when I'm feeling the buzz and know I'm on my way to a drunk I put the stuff away and excuse myself to the bathroom. I wet a washcloth and try to rinse the sweat off my body a little, it was only a few hours ago that I showered and despite the sweat, the heat, and the encounter I still have a soapy clean smell. Not like I'm trying to impress. I don't bother to wash my mouth out because I won't be using it, at all.

When I open the door and look out the room is pretty dark because he's closed the massive curtains. I'm a little disappointed because I've never fucked in front of a huge window like this and I was looking forward to the whole world watching, but I'm sure he wasn't thrilled with the idea. I see him sitting on the side of the bed and walk over slowly. I sit close by his side and see he's holding a few condoms in his hands. Good, I mean I'm on the shot, but I don't want any diseases and nether does he, smart boy.

I take the string of condoms and tuck them in the side of my underwear. Then I stand, and pull him up with me. He's probably shocked at my strength. I pull the covers up for his sake, I'm not shy, and push him roughly onto the bed. He actually laughs as I mount him. I guess the alcohol did loosen him up a bit. His hands grip my hips and pull me over his crotch but his pants are still upright. I smile and undo his belt. Then unbutton and unzip his jeans and pull them down a little. I stand up above him on the bed and he stares up at my crotch and ass happily. I jump off the bed and land between his legs facing away from him. I bend down all the way and shake my ass a little as I grab a foot in each hand. I grab his pant legs and slowly start to stride away pulling his pants off.

Then I turn back smiling. A hooker probably wouldn't bother with a show, but he doesn't know that and I have to entertain him all damn day or at least for a good part of it. I walk over to the radio and find a hard rock station much like what he was listening to in the car before I changed the CD. I smile and start to swing my hips and shake my head with the rhythm. My hands start at my thighs and run along my smooth body and over my breasts. I don't think about this kid, or the man I associate with sex or anything but moving to the music until the song ends and a DJ starts to aimlessly ramble.

I glare at him and slowly begin to pad over to him. Yeah, this guy's not half bad at all. He's staring at me lustfully now, and I can tell by the tent he's pitching in his boxers he's more then hungry. I lift his legs and slide him further down the bed so his legs are no longer hanging off. Now he knows I’m really strong, maybe even knows I could kick his ass and take his money.

I kneel between his legs and lean my head back so my hair drapes along my back. My hands easily find the clasp to my bra and I unhook it and release my full breasts from their prison. His tent heightens and I fling the bra to the floor. Then I grip the hems of his boxer legs.

Oh, if he could see me now! I try to push him to the back of my mind but it’s no use. I begin to slowly pull on the fabric and the waistband gets caught on his hard on, so I curl my finger around the front much like he did to my underwear only a few hours ago, and lift the waist over him. Then I slowly slide the shorts down his legs and move from between his legs to take them off.

His grin is wide and small at the same time, and he licks his lips as I wrap my hand around him. I jerk him until he’s as hard as he’ll get and precum runs down onto my hand, then I stand up and remove my underwear for his watching eyes. I grab one of the condoms he’s brought and have it on him in seconds. He doesn’t look at all drunk and I’m actually a little relieved he’s not going to pass out because I need this as much as he does. I doubt this seemingly inexperienced young man will be able to take my mind off him, but there’s always that chance that he will surprise me, people do that sometimes. So I straddle his hips and lean my head back and he holds my hips and slides my crotch up and down his length.

Then I adjust my hips and slowly slide onto him. We gasp and moan together and I’m sure when he tells this story to his preppy friends they’ll be all too happy to let him know that whores never enjoy their job and whores never get off. Maybe that is what I am after all. Maybe I don’t deserve the release I crave and need. And maybe he isn’t the type to brag about this to his buddies, or maybe he doesn’t have any buddies. I begin to slowly move up and down on him and he guides me with his hands but I need no help. I’ve known for a while now how to please a man and more importantly myself. My hair tickles my breasts, which are jumping with each movement, and they drawl his attention because he grasps my nipples with his fingers and makes me skip a movement.

As the tension mounts between us I quicken the pace and he’s meeting me easily with each furious thrust of my hips. His hands grip my hips tightly, his eyes are clenched and he’s lightly grunting and moaning but he’s holding back the screams. Probably doesn’t want to disturb the neighbors. I feel his hips lock and twitch as he comes inside the rubber, but he meets my strides even further trying kindly to return the favor. Obviously, my mouth doesn’t care about disturbing the neighbors as I scream the name I’ve been trying to push from my mind. We continue our uneven cramped pace for as long as possible then he collapses beneath me. I lie on his chest and catch my breath then I roll off of him and go over to the bar. I don’t bother with the orange juice this time, just pour a glass of vodka and began taking daringly large and quick swallows.

I turn around to see if he’s asleep yet but he has his hands behind his head and his legs casually crossed. I guess the alcohol is taking a late effect because he doesn’t seem at all shy anymore. “Who is that? Your boyfriend?” he asks lightly.

I frown and answer, “No, just a stalker who wants to kill me.” I pick up his discarded tee shirt from the floor and pull it over my head. It barely covers my ass.

He smiles lightly, “You’re being sarcastic?” he says almost not questioning.

“No,” I say seriously, and he frowns.

“I’m sorry to bring it up then,” he says lightly.

“Don’t be.” I say smiling. Shit, I’m being nice again. “I’m the one that brought it up when I screamed his name.” Looking at the clock I see it’s only around 6:30 in the morning. He’ll probably want another round or two and I don’t know if I’m up for that. I guess he could see in my face what I’m thinking.

“I’m tired as hell,” he says smiling, and his smile is so much like a child. “I’m going to go to sleep, and I’d just love it if you’d join me, but if you’d rather get some sleep at your own place I wouldn’t object to putting you in a taxi with all the money I promised.”

I’m a little shocked at his kindness, but I know there must be a catch. I really don’t want to go back to the hot hotel room, and I haven’t really slept in days, weeks even. The bed looks so comfortable, and with all this alcohol I’m really going to need to sleep. I’m safe here. He can’t hurt me.

“Okay.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. “Can I get a shower?” I ask slowly.

“Sure,” he says, “Can I join you if I promise not to try anything?” he asks. Again, that innocent smile’s got me believing he could do no wrong. I know if he does try I could get a handle on him so I comply and he keeps his promise. He even washes and massages my back and I felt nice enough to do the same. What is wrong with me? Maybe it’s been so long since a man treated my nicely that I can’t help but pity the poor bastard and maybe even myself. He’s fighting a losing battle. I don’t want to be treated nicely, I want to be punished but he’s not man enough for the challenge and he’s nice for now. He slides on a pair of boxers and gives me a bigger tee shirt. Then we climb into the large bed.

Will he be waiting for me when I get back to my hotel? Maybe so, and maybe this time he won’t let me get away so easily. I think he doesn’t really want to catch me, not yet anyway. The chase is too fun for him and he knows he already has me. Maybe I’ll use the money I’ve earned to catch a plane as far as I can go. No more uncomfortable buses. Then maybe he won’t be able to follow. I almost laugh out loud and the kid stirs next to me. He would follow me anywhere. I think he’s already proven that. The room is dark but I know the sun is up outside. He’s not at my hotel now, and he’s probably not anywhere near here either. This thought offers temporary comfort and I know I can get some of the sleep I desperately need in the bed of this paying stranger.

“Hey,” he says lightly from the bar, “You’re awake.”

I lift my head slowly and look around the room. “What time is it?” I ask.

He smiles. He’s obviously dressed and showered. “It’s about eight o’clock at night. You’re quite a sleeper.”

“I’m sorry,” I say and jump out of bed.

“No need to be sorry,” he says kindly, “I know you probably have to be somewhere, but I got some food here and I thought you might grab something before I drop you off.”

Who does this kid think he is, Richard Gere? But I can already smell the pasta and I am starving. I walk over and sit next to him to eat. After that I get a shower and by the time we’re in his car it’s almost 10:00 PM. I don’t want him to drop me at the hotel. That could be leading him into harms way so he pulls into an abandoned parking lot a few blocks away and I jerk him off so I feel like I didn’t totally cheat the poor bastard. When I began to care about rich kids I have no idea but here I am doing it. He gives me the money with a smile on his face and thanks me. I don’t waste time with pleasantries I just get out of the car and start to walk back to the hotel trying to prepare myself for a chance encounter.




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