Ashes to Ashes - A short story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


My hatred of Connor has spanned over the course of fifteen years and has never relented; like a dormant volcano that is deceptively still categorized as active. All it needs is a spike of magma
activity to heat up its chambers and release a deadly lava eruption. I have conjured up thousands of ways to torture the son of a bitch, but not even my best laid plans for vengeance could compare
to the fated retribution that presented itself to me. ‘Ashes to ashes’ motherfucker!

Submitted: September 14, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 14, 2017

A A A

A A A


My hatred of Connor has spanned over the course of fifteen years and has never relented; like a dormant volcano that is deceptively still categorized as active.  All it needs is a spike of magma activity to heat up its chambers and release a deadly lava eruption.  I have conjured up thousands of ways to torture the son of a bitch, but not even my best laid plans for vengeance could compare to the fated retribution that presented itself to me.  ‘Ashes to ashes’ motherfucker!

It is the start of my graduating year of college; in great standings to possibly be the Valedictorian, and preparing a list of universities that I will be applying to for my Master’s degree.  I am feeling accomplished and empowered.  These are such awkward and foreign emotions to me, like trying to walk on a leg that has gone numb from sitting on it for too long.  You know your leg will work again, but unsure of how much pressure it can withstand until the deadened feeling wears off. 

My own doubt and lack of esteem has been a heavy weight tied against my body holding me down.  But, this sudden boost of confidence has severed those long-time binding cords and has released me from my own imprisonment.  To help aid in my new found assurance I decide to take a class the college offers in Self Defense. 

The class is being held in one of the dance rooms where the front wall is lined with floor to ceiling mirrors and thick mats are placed down over the wooden floors.  A sign-in book sits on a small table in the front of the room and I walk up to sign my name: Jo Winters.

“Hello Josephine,” a voice says behind me.

It sends a cold shiver up my spine, the tone of his voice saying my name has been etched in my eardrums and haunts my nightmares.  Everyone I know; even my parents call me Jo and always have.  He is the only person who refuses to call me anything but my given name.  If this were the only annoying part of him it would make his sudden reappearance a lot easier to deal with.

Slowly I straighten up and glance into the mirror in front of me.  There he is with his scruffy face practically beaming, flashing his deep smile lined boyish grin.  The wrinkles around his cornflower blue eyes crinkle; it’s the face of my own personal monster.  

I stand frozen, eyes wide, and unable to move.  His gaze is penetrating my soul; my heart pumps so loudly I am sure he can hear it.  It’s like I can feel everything and yet nothing.  He chuckles behind me, a cocky and snarky laugh that awakes my senses.  I abruptly turn and make my way to the back of the full classroom.

“I guess a ‘nice to see you’ is too much to ask for,” he questions after me.

My internal preservation is screaming at me to leave and get as far away from this bastard as I can, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of my retreat.  My mind begins to reel, this could be the exact opportunity I have been looking for to seek my revenge.

He quickly recovers, turns around, and begins teaching the class.  He has us sit down as he stands in a power stance; feet shoulder width apart and his hands behind his back.  He goes over the basics of what he will be teaching us in class over the next few weeks and I look over the faces of everyone in the room.  Most are women, but the class is speckled with a few random men and all gaze at him with astute attentiveness.  He was always so skilled at weaving people under his spell; everyone but me.

I have known Connor since I was a young girl; he was my older brother’s best friend and they were inseparable.  Connor’s home life was not the best so he practically lived at our house growing up.  When I was younger things between us were not bad, in fact I adored him.  We did have the usual brotherly/sisterly-like torments and teasing, but as I got older things dramatically changed.

Maturing as a pre-teen is awkward at best, but when you blossom and your body expands all over rapidly it can be a very difficult adjustment.  My tall, skinny child frame over a few months filled out into a plus-sized young woman’s build.  Turning into the “fat girl” in school was not an easy transition and then add Connor with his growing list of actions and comments; my teenage years with him were complete hell.

I distinctly remember the day that everything changed between us.  It was the end of summer break; the next day I would be going into sixth grade and they guys into ninth grade.  We spent the morning hours playing games in our pool when an awkward moment between Connor and I happened.  I had intercepted a football pass that Matthew threw and Connor tackled me, pushing me under the water and tried wrestled the ball out of my hands.  When we emerged he was holding me in his arms, bodies pressed together, and we were both panting for breath.  A certain gaze washed over his eyes; almost a glimmer, just that awe inspired look when you catch someone staring up into the night’s sky in wonderment. 

After lunch the boys disappeared and later in the evening I was sent to find Connor and let him know that dinner was ready.  I found him sitting with his head in his hands under the large oak tree and he quickly dried his eyes when he heard me coming.

“Are you alright,” I questioned softly and cautiously, as I had never saw him cry before.

He looked up at me with teary and conflicted eyes.  But, then a look came over his face very much opposite of that earlier in the day.

“Of course I am you fat, disgusting hippo,” Connor seethed out between clenched teeth and then hopped up off the ground, “It’s just the sight of you walking over here that has made nauseous.”
From that moment on I was a confined prisoner in my own home because of him and the worst part was my family knew nothing about it.  No one did, he was so stealth and guarded about his bullying, and he made constants threats to make sure I wouldn’t reveal this secret side of him to anyone. 

Everyone loved Connor; he had what seemed like an effortless charm about him.  But for all his pretend, wolf in sheep skin social graces; he was always in second place with Matthew around.  The catcher to Matthew’s pitcher, the running back to his quarterback, and the second place runner up to his homecoming king; that was until their second tour in Afghanistan together when Matthew didn’t make it back home.  After the funeral I never saw Connor again until today; almost two years later.
 
I left the class immediately and spent the next several days trying to gather information on why he is at my college.  I surprisingly learned quite a bit, it seems quite a few women on campus have their eyes on Connor and have done their own research into where they might “bump” into him.  

He is working part-time job with campus security, teaches the Self Defense class one night a week, and on the weekends he fights in local MMA events.  I also discover that he is set to fight in a match over the weekend in a town nearby.  Despite my better judgment I decide to attend, anything I can learn about him and who he is now can better help me devise my plan for revenge.

I arrive at the event location, which was nothing more than a huge barn with a large burley man standing at the door collecting twenty dollars for admittance.  Inside there are long wooden stands that line each side around a makeshift boxing ring in the center.  I take a seat and blend into the crowd around me.  Several sleazy looking guys in cheap suits walk around taking bets from the patrons. 

Connor is in the third and final fight of the evening – the main event.  He walks out with a bikini clad woman who lays a passionate kiss on him before entering the ring.  He ducks under the ropes then takes off his robe and begins bouncing around throwing air punches with his taped up hands.  His tanned body is rock solid and his tight six-pack is the topic of conversation with two women who are sitting in the row behind me. 

The first two fights have not prepared me for the brutal violence of this battle; the sound of their punches echo loudly throughout the barn and not even all the hoots and hollers can drown out those punishing sounds.  Within minutes both are bleeding from their eyebrows and lips.  

Thankfully, it’s not a long fight; five minutes in a glazed look washes over Connor’s face.  I know that look all too well, it happens right before he goes into his hardened zombie, black hearted mode.  He jumps up and power kicks the guy in his face; the opponent falls to the rings matted floor and Connor starts punching him in the head until the referee runs over and pulls him off the poor, defeated man.

After the fight the crowd moves into a smaller building attached to the barn.  I try to walk out the way I came in, but am ushered into the other room with everyone else.  There is a no-name rock band playing on a small stage and a long wooden bar is set up selling drinks.

“Why the hell not,” I think to myself as I stand in a never ending line.

After twenty minutes in the queue I finally reach the bartender.

“Drink,” he states, but I am not sure if it is a question or a demand.

“Well, what are my choices,” I reply in an unsure tone as there are no signs up anywhere stating what the options available are.

“Beer or Whisky,” he responds quickly, as he busily sloshes around drinks he slides to people standing beside me.

“What kinds of beer do you have,” I question and then instantly regret my decision, as I hear the people behind me grumble at the amount of time I am taking to decide.

“Beer,” the bartender unenthusiastically replies.

“Then beer it is,” I respond sarcastically and throw the guy five dollars not knowing if it would cover the cost, but he hurriedly pockets the five and gives me a quick wink.

“You should have gotten the Whisky,” a familiar voice states from behind as I attempt to take a sip of beer, “The Whisky is cheap, but as least it’s not leftover slop beer they mix together.”

I set down my beer and turn around to see the swollen, bruised, and taped up face of Connor.  He has a glass of Whisky in his hand which I take from him and swallow down the contents in one gulp.  It burns all the way down my throat and hits my stomach in a fiery ball.  He just shakes his head at me.

“Go sit down at that table over there,” Connor commands and nods over into the distance; there is a small table setup in the dark recesses away from the crowds of people.

“I am not going over there,” I respond sternly and cross my arms in a self protective stance.

“Jesus Christ, just take a fucking seat Josephine,” Connor shouts at me in a frustrated tone, “You didn’t come here because you love watching MMA fights.  So please sit.”

I walk over and sit down at the set of mismatched chairs and small wobbly table.  Connor walks over with two glasses of Whisky and then takes a seat across from me.  He grabs his glass and leans his chair onto its two back legs.  He swallows a large gulp of the amber liquid which makes him wince and he rubs at the cut on his lip.

“So say what you need to say,” he states breaking our silence, as he sweeps his hand through his wet and messy light brown hair.

“Do you really want to have this conversation around all of these people,” I question in an upset tone, although being around a lot of people is actually ideal and safer for me.

“I don’t give a shit about these people or what they think.  So have at it,” Connor replies and throws his arms open wide as if for me to bring on my best at him.

For a quick moment I just stare at him and it brings back such feelings of nostalgia.  Thoughts of Matthew and him together flood into my mind; not all memories of Connor are bad ones, my brother always brought out the best in him.  Recollections of holidays together, summers vacations, and playing army in the woods with them.  I was always the little sister under foot, following them wherever they went, and wanting to make their duo a trio.  

I absentmindedly rub my finger across an old faded scar on the side of my neck.  One day I was climbing the large oak tree in our back yard with the boys and almost fell out, but somehow at the last minute I was able to catch myself on a lower branch and then dropped to the ground.  Somewhere in the plummet a jagged twig cut a large and deep gash into my neck.  Connor was the first one who reached me and he took off his shirt and pushed it against the open flesh to stop the bleeding.

“I remember when that happened,” Connor recalls, staring straight ahead like he is caught up in the memory himself, “I was sure you cut an artery and you were going to bleed out, there was so much blood.  I was terrified you were going to die right there in my arms.”

A horrific look of pain crosses his face, but that quickly fades with a shake of his head bringing him back to our conversation.  

“But, here you are, you survived and you’re looking quite grown up and…beautiful,” Connor stutters out in an almost proud manner.

I can only stare at him in amazement.  Sitting there all cocky in his v-neck grey t-shirt and worn black leather jacket, as if he doesn’t remember or maybe just doesn’t care about anything he has ever said or done to me.

“Really,” I question him, aghast in disbelief, “You say that to me like I am suppose to believe a word you say?  How fucking dare you?!  Growing up you treated me like I was the ugliest and worst creature to ever walk the earth and I say creature, because the way you talked to me it was as if I was a horrible sub-human beast – not a flesh and blood human being!”

Connor doesn’t say a word or even attempt to mutter a response.  He just sits there blank faced as if he isn’t listening to a word I say.  This only lights a fire of fury inside my stomach which is already ablaze from the chug of Whisky earlier.

“You can’t just treat a person as you did me and not leave a mark on them Connor and you left a scar on me bigger and deeper than that measly cut on my neck.  I hemorrhaged daily from the wounds you created that never seemed to heal and cried myself to sleep every night for years,” I spit out at him as I try to wrangle back in the tears threatening to spill out of my eyes.

He lowers his head in a position to make sure he can’t catch a glimpse of my face; which is washed over with years of painful torment spilling out of every pore.  I take a moment to gather my emotions and hold back the urge to break down and cry.  

“Why are you here Connor?  Why this town?  Why this college,” I question, once I am able to talk again.

With his head still lowered and in a soft and unusual wavering voice he responds.

“I am here at your brother request.  As he lay dying in my arms the last thing he said to me was that I was to look after you and I intend to do just that – for Matthew!”

Connor finally raises his head and reveals his tear stained face.  The look of sorrow cuts into my soul.  

“I can’t….”

Unable to bear anymore I run out of the building and straight to my car.  As soon as I shut the door a floodgate of tears comes pouring out of my eyes that slowly turn into screams and eventually my fist hitting my steering wheel.  Once I calm down, I put the keys in the ignition and pull away.

I attend the next several weeks of Self Defense classes, but Connor does not attempt to talk to me and I completely ignore him.  His cuts and bruises on his face heal and reappear from his fights one week to the next.  Any plans for payback are placed on hold; right now I need to focus on the present and my future – not my past hurts and torments.

But, I can feel his invisible presence all around me on campus, like a dark shadow looming in the distance or the hair standing on end feeling when walking into a haunted house.  I have to constantly shake off the sensation that at any moment I will turn a corner and he will be standing there; begrudgingly watching over me at the ghostly request of his fallen friend.

It’s the last night before Christmas break, all my midterms are completed, and I am in the mood to celebrate.  My roommate and I decide to attend a party off campus that she heard about from a friend of a friend.  We both spend hours primping and preening ourselves, picking out the most revealing and exciting outfits.

I pick out a high-waist hunter green pencil skirt that hugs all the curves of my thick waist and thighs, tuck in a simple white collared button down, which I barely button up so it reveals my cherry velvet plunge bra underneath.  I finish off my outfit with a layered red necklace and stiletto heels.  A halo of long and loose plaited blonde hair encircles my head in a very bohemian braided updo.  I am ready to have some fun and forget about the lingering feelings of the last few months!

We arrive at the party and it turns out to be a total bust, but my roommate meets a guy she seems to be hitting it off with.  I heard about a frat party on campus that has to be livelier than this place, so I decide to return back to school.  As I get on the bus two guys follow me on and sit a few rows behind me.  I don’t recognize them and they seem too old to attend college; they must just be townies looking for something better to get into as well.  I shrug off my mixed emotions as we arrive back on campus.  I get off at the first stop a block from the party and the men stay on the bus.

I can hear the music thumping and people laughing before I enter the house.  This is exactly what I am looking for tonight.  A few hours and many drinks later the party slowly starts to fizzle out and I decide to walk back to my dorm room.  There is a drunk bus making the rounds, but it had just picked up a group of people ten minutes ago and will not be back for a while.  So, I bundle up in my winter coat and start making the trek across campus.  

When I reach the halfway mark of the sports complex arena I hear footsteps behind me, I turn around to get a glance of who is following me and see the two guys that were on the bus earlier.  I begin to pick up my pace, but as I do I snag my heel in a crack on the sidewalk.  So, I stop and pull my stiletto out of the crack and place it back on my foot.  By the time I do that the men catch up to me and they flank me on either side.

“Are you ok,” the taller man on my right asks.

“Oh, I am fine just a heel issue, but I am good to go now,” I guardedly respond as my suspicions start growing about their true intentions.

I look over to the shorter and quiet man to my left, whose is already starring in my direction.  He smiles at me with a closed lip mischievous grin.

“Well, my buddy and I were planning on having a little personal party and were wondering if you wanted to join us,” the taller guy questions as he places his hand in the small of my back.

I instantly stop walking and they both stop and turn around to look at me.  My eyes dart searching for the closest panic button post, but the nearest one is about a block away.  I could make a run for it if I ditched my heels.

“Fuck no, I am not interested at all,” I reply bluntly and forcefully, “So if you don’t mind I am going home alone and you two can go have fun with yourselves.”

They stand there stunned for a moment and I quickly make my way around them, but the deterrent doesn’t last long.  They make a short job of catching up to me and this time the tall one links his arm into mine.

“My friend thinks that wasn’t a nice way to talk to us and urges you to reconsider your answer,” he states putting an emphasis on the word ‘urges’, “Believe me you don’t want to see him if he gets angry.”

I look down at the shorter guy as we continue to walk briskly along; he looks up at me smiling revealing a grin missing his two front teeth.  My heart begins to race and I am already struggling for air because of the pace we are keeping.  I am tragically out of shape and partially drunk which is not a good combination to go speed walking in.

“Yeah, I think I’d rather fucking die,” I retort then try to make a break out of the taller guys grasp.

But, as I try to run they both make a tackling movement towards me which pushes me head first into the brick wall we were walking beside.  Everything goes black.

As I start to come to my hearing comes back first.  I keep my eyes closed and I can hear the sound of someone breathing beside me – heavy, quick breaths.  A sharp throbbing suddenly shoots into my head and my eyes painfully flutter open.

“You’re ok Josephine, just stay calm and keep still,” the familiar voice says to me.

Slowly my eyes begin to focus and a dimly lit room comes into view; the only light I see is hanging above a pool table that is in the middle of the room.  I glance to my side where Connor is sitting in a chair, his eyes look wild and his pupils are dilated.  He winces as he nervously wrings his bloody and bruised hands together.  I sit up quickly, too rapidly and I grab my head as a deep ache sets in. 

“Stop being a stubborn ass and just lay back down,” Connor yells and pushes me back down on a couch that I have been lying on.

I lean back into the cushion of the sofa and look down to see my white shirt stained with blood.  Connor hands me a couple of pills and a glass of water.

“Here take these Ibuprofen and drink up,” he states as I swallow down the pills and then he reaches up towards my head, “You have a small gash, but you will survive.”

I instinctively move my head away from his contact, the thought of his fingers touching my body is almost as repulsive to me as those two guys who attacked me.  He jerks his hand away quickly and his cornflower blue eyes wrinkle up into what almost looks like a painful cringe.

“I cleaned and bandaged your head before you woke,” he states cautiously, “I promise that I handled you properly with kid gloves.  And you also don’t have to worry about those guys.  They will never bother you again.”

“You didn’t kill them did you,” I question in a panicked tone, unsure of what the true rage of Connor could unleash.

“For fucks sake,” he spits out and leaps off his chair looking down at me with a shameful gaze, “No, I did not kill those bastards, although I should have for what they tried to do to you.  But, unfortunately they will live to see another day.  They just may live it now with a limp.”

I slowly get up off the couch and wobble towards the pool table as I try to regain my footing.  Connor walks up beside me with hands out wanting to help me steady myself, but I quickly look at him with a stare that silently screams – stay the fuck away!  He tilts his head and holds his hands up in the air as he cautiously backs away from me.

“I just want to go to my dorm room, I need to get out of here,” I say as I try to walk away, but as I do Connor grabs onto my arm.

“That is not a good idea; you need to rest a little more.  Stay here so I can make sure you are ok before leaving,” he replies in a resistant voice, unhappy with me wanting to leave.

I instinctively grab the closest thing which is a pool stick, swing it at him and crack him across the arm breaking it in half.  I take the broken half in my hand and start hitting him with it as he throws his arms up in defense.

“Josephine stop!  What the fuck?  Josephine stop,” Connor screams at me with every blow I take at him, “STOP! JO! JO! STOP IT!”

I pause when I hear him calling me Jo; he has never once called me that.  He takes the break of my swings to push me backwards and onto the couch, his hands are firmly holding my shoulders down and his knee pushes into my pudgy stomach.

“Get…off...me,” I gasp out breathlessly at him and he slowly releases his grasp on me.

I take a deep much needed breathe in.

“NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN,” I seethe out to him in heated breath.

Connor leans against the pool table looking hurt and confused; his scruffy face is as usual covered in healing bruises and cuts.

“Can’t you tell by now that you repulse me?  You are the only person I have ever truly hated,” I spew out and then take a deep breath in so I have the strength enough to drive my daggered words directly at his heart, “There is not a day that I don’t wake up and wish that it was you that died in Afghanistan and not my brother.  Matthew was more of a man than you will ever be!  I don’t know why he was ever friends with you; you were never worthy of a day of his love or respect!”

Connor’s head drops and his shoulders shake as he begins to sob hard and loudly.  After a few second he raises his head and reveals his tear drenched eyes.  He suddenly runs over and slides before me on his knees.

“You don’t think that I wish every god damn day that I could have been the one who died and not Matthew,” he cries out to me, his face a mess of tears and regret, “He is the only reason I know what love and friendship is and without him here there is no reason for me to live!  I have tried to put an end to my misery, but with everything else I do in life - I failed at that to.”

He turns over his wrist and shows me the long, matching scars that go up the length of his arm.  I have never seen Connor show much emotional depth before, my heart twist in confusion.  He is surely putting on a poignant show, but for the first time ever doubt spills into my mind that maybe this wasn’t all an act.

“Matthew knew the dark side of my heart and loved me anyway, he always had my back no matter how many mistakes I made,” Connor said then sniffed back tears, his gaze still facing down at the faded scars on his arms, “But, he did it I think because he knew in some small way that he played a part in my unbecoming.”

Whatever hesitation I had before of feeling sorry for Connor fades quickly away.  I see where he is going with this; he is going to try to blame everything on Matthew.

“You see he knew, he knew it before I even realized what was going on,” Connor cryptically reveals, then lets out a little pitiful laugh in the remembrance, “And when I finally understood myself I opened up to him about it.”

My eyes widen, is he going to come out to me right now and say how he was in love with my brother?

Connor lifts his cornflower blue eyes and stares directly into mine.  I want to look away, but I let his gaze pierce into my soul.  Gone are the pains and the pounding in my head, I and just focusing on breathing as I impatiently wait for his revelation.

“I told him I realized that I loved you Jo that hopefully one day I would marry you and then he and I would truly be brothers.  That it was all meant to be, as if it was fated,” he states and then his bruised lips close waiting for my reaction.

But, I can’t respond; I am completely and utterly speechless.  Of all things that he could have possibly said; to say that I am floored is an understatement.  It can’t be real; there is no way that it is the truth.  This is just Connor being an evil cunt and trying to mess with my emotions.

“You’re lying,” I state breathily, when I finally able to speak with my partially paralyzed lips.

“I am not Jo, I swear to you on the respect and love I have for Matthew that I am not lying.  Believe me when I say those are the only good and pure feelings I have in my life to promise to you on,” he claims and then takes my hand in his, “When I revealed this to him he sat me down.  He told me that he will only ever ask this one thing of me; that I fall in love someday and settle down, but it couldn’t be with you.  He told me he would never forgive me if I went against his wishes.”

My head begins to spin this is all too much for me to take in.  Maybe this isn’t real and I am still passed out and haven’t woken up from my blackout yet - I am dreaming all of this.  But, then Connor squeezes my hand that is still in his and it brings me back to reality.

“The last day of our summer break,” I mutter out loud, lost in thoughts that are slowly piecing together in my head.

“Yes, that was the day.  I realize now how ridiculous it was; we were so young and I had no idea if you would ever even love me.  But, at the time in the mind of an immature fool I didn’t think I had a choice,” Connor explains shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, “He was my family and I couldn’t risk loosing you both.  So I did the only thing I could think of – I went out of my way to make you hate me, despise me so much that you would never even think of loving me.  The only thing I have ever been truly good at in life is hurting people and deep down Matthew knew that and I think that’s why he said didn’t want me to love you, but I do – even now.”

Maybe Connor is not quite the monster I thought that he was, but these confessions do not acquit him of all guilt.

“Once I started the act with you it all just spiraled out of control, but I never did mean anything I ever said or did – you have to believe that,” he pleads with me, pulling my hand up to his lips.

I can only sit before him quietly as I reflect back on all of my nightmarish memories of him and I start to see them all in a new light.  Looks, words, and betrayals were all little torturous love letters sent from his broken heart to mine.  I can now see clearly all the ways he was trying to hide his emotions for me.  

Another revelation suddenly hits me, like a thunderous punch deep in my stomach.  Despite years of revulsion towards Connor; lying dormant below the surface was the fact that I have always loved him too.  Even with all of his depravities towards me, a small ember of feelings for him has always remained.

I lean forward and wrap my arms around Connor; he receives my touch at first with surprise and then with willing acceptance.  I back out of his arms and stare at him for the first time without the veil of hatred.  His blue eyes stare at me lovingly and that mystical look of staring into the night’s sky clouds over his eyes.  I can see him clearly without the fog of loathing; the storms have lifted and there is the Connor I once knew.  

I reach my hand up and gently stroke his face; he leans in and accepts the affection like an attention starved puppy.  He is in fact like those dogs that are rescued from fighting rings; controlled by fear and bread for violence.  But, just like those dogs – people can also recover with time, love, and affection.  Connor will not be a lost cause.

I move my head in softly kissing him on his forehead, then nose, and move my way down to his mouth.  Our first kiss is tender, but when we take a breath he comes back in stronger and voraciously.  I return his passion with equal fervor and run my hands down his solid chest. 

Connor reaches in and picks me up cradling me in his arms.  There is no strain from my weight in his grasp as he carries me down a hallway and then gently places me onto his bed.  He lies down beside me and pulls me into his strong embrace. Our legs intertwine and chests push up tightly against each others.  I can feel his pounding heartbeat against mine.  He gently takes his hand and strokes it down the side of my body and clasp firmly at my thick hips.  It ignites a fiery feeling deep in my core, the depths of heated passion I have never felt before.

“Tonight we burn down our past until there is nothing left but ashes,” I whisper into his ear then bring my mouth down and tenderly kiss his bruised lips.

A blazing reckoning will be had tonight and tomorrow we will wake up to fresh new horizons – hope and love fated by the stars above.

‘Ashes to ashes’ motherfucker.


© Copyright 2020 Hetty Burchill. All rights reserved.

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