The Spiral Page 11

  Her lips meet my stomach as her teeth grate on me, gentle little nips as her fingers dig into my backside and then she slides away again. Back and forth. Long fluid strokes as one hand leaves my ass and begins to fondle my balls. It makes me desperate to come, enough so that I shove hard and true, angling her head for long rampant thrusts into her throat. She gags once, changing her position so she can handle more of me. One, two, three heavy shoves. And then more, listening to her constant moaning and groaning beneath my hands, feeling the texture of her skin in my fingers and nearly crying at the memory of it.

  No. I shake my head and grit my teeth, winding her hair into my fingers. Not like this. I want to fuck her, make love to her, and feel her clamping around my cock when I come inside her. I want to remember that. Give her that moment, give myself that fucking heavenly moment.

  I pull her off, just stopping the imminent flow of come from leaving me and push her to the floor again. She yields immediately, not questioning or fighting. She just pushes my trousers off, helping me rid myself of the last barrier between us. She knows, doesn’t she? Knows how precious these moments together are. She understands me like no other. She always has. She knows the darkness, the light. She holds me together when I crumble, breaks me open when I close down. She knows me better than I know myself.

  Her legs open and draw me down onto her, as her mouth lands on mine with ease and we mould together. “Now,” she whispers, her lips and teeth clashing onto mine. “Make love to me, Jack.”

  I could come the moment I sink into her, our bodies joining with no interruption. We hardly move at first. We just wait, our mouths too desperate to kiss to concern ourselves with making love. This is making love, all of it. The need, the ache, the sense of closeness. I can feel her inside my mind telling me she loves me and holding me in this darkness, reminding me of summer’s warmth.

  The same warmth I haven’t felt without her.

  “I love you,” I whisper, feeling her hands twine into my hair and her feet hitch up onto my back for comfort. “Closer, pull me closer, baby.” She wraps her legs tighter, resting her hands on my face and staring into my eyes.

  The first gentle pull out and then forge back in effortlessly sends me into idyllic dreams. She moans aloud, tightening her hands on my cheeks and refusing to take her eyes from me. I wrap my arm under her, lifting her into me and resting my forehead on hers so I can gaze at her, pushing into her again, and again. I know those eyes so well. I’ve been lost in them so many times before, wished they’d come home so many times. And they’re vibrant again now, full of life and vigour. They beg with need, showering their wonder on me and saturating me with love once more.

  I slowly drive every inch into her, hoping for a miracle to bring us all home again. She isn’t real; none of this is, I know that, but I can feel her regardless. I can sense her in this madness as I grunt, my throat catching with the exertion as I forge in again. Perhaps I’m desperate to prove she is real, to verify this as meaningful somehow. Maybe I just want to prove that she’s alive, breathing, and here with me, loving me again as she lingers in the air. I can almost hear Lenon’s voice, hear the wedding bells ringing, sense the moment I fell in love with her. She is real. I can hear her groans of desire, feel her fingers biting into my neck as she pulls me into her. She is here. Selma is here, now, proving she still loves me as I fuck into her and wait for her orgasm to bridge our dreams together.

  She rises beneath me, her body suddenly gliding to a stop in the middle of this blackened delusion, her mouth trembling under mine as I keep pushing into her. It’s all I need to realise reality. Just her moment of quiet and it’s all tangible around me. Real. Every muscle tenses between us, every sinew poised and waiting for the heavens to open, gracing us with freedom. My body primes, come driving itself from the depths to flow into her. And finally she moans, a sound that wrecks my mind and nearly destroys it as all around us blurs into insignificance. There is only these seconds, the two of us, together again and fucking, making love, remembering, reminding. Both of us in the very spot where we made our child.

  Together again.

  I lie for a while, letting my body relax into her and sensing the last of my come find its way home as she brushes at my hair. Fucking perfect. I can’t find the will to move, and couldn’t care less what I should be doing or whether this is real or not. As far as I’m concerned, this is the only thing I should be doing. Madness or not. If I have my way I won’t be doing anything but this for a very long time. Selma is home. She’s here with me, still stoking my hair and holding us together.

  “That was nice,” she says, letting her legs drop from my back and loll to the floor beside me. I rub my face against her breast, gently nipping at the nipple that happens to fall into my mouth. “You’re good at that.”

  “Hmm.” I can’t find words yet, don’t want to. Words might change the air around us, break whatever fucking spell we’re under. And it isn’t me who’s good, anyway. It never was. It’s always her—her and her ability to harness me.

  I eventually open my eyes, staring across her body towards the empty fireplace, then breathe in deeply, enjoying the smell of us in the air rather than the usual dust ridden barrenness. I smile, sliding my cock casually and remembering Lenon running through the room, his little hand swinging a sword around while he chased imaginary dragons.

  “I’ve missed this,” I murmur, kissing her ribs and then continuing to flick my tongue around her nipple. “Missed you.” She laughs lightly, filling me with more dreams and visions. The time she spilt white paint all over the kitchen when we first moved here, the way she always asked me to do her necklaces because she couldn’t fasten the clip, and the way she giggled when I tickled her. Christ, I love tickling her. If I could be bothered to move, I might do it now, but I can’t. I’m far too engrossed in the quiet and peace around me to attempt moving anywhere.

  The darkness of the room starts to brighten out, flecks of light beginning to filter then pour in from the window again. I watch them dapple the floor, flickering through the old stained glass, casting blue and amber tones at me and ridding the space of the murkiness that had fallen. I frown at the colours, knowing what will happen soon and closing my eyes again in hope.

  “Jack.”

  The sound of my name reverberates in my mind. It isn’t real this time. I can tell. She’s disappearing, leaving me. I tuck my head into the body beneath me, pulling in rapid breaths and trying to keep her here, hoping at least the scent will stay.

  “I don’t know why you keep saying that. It’s not like we really know each other,” she says, her hand running through my hair.

  Tears prick my eyes as I fight to keep them shut against her skin. Madeline. My hand scrunches into her skin, twisting it, hoping beyond all hope that I’ll hear Selma again, desperate to before she leaves me alone and in pain again. She shrieks, yanking herself away from my hold and rolling out of the way, my spent cock slipping out of her as she does.

  “The hell was that?” she spits, scrambling to her feet and backing away from me.

  I don’t look at her. I can’t. Instead, I sigh and brace myself on the floor, ready to get up and go to my room, to search for some fucking sanity.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, lifting myself wearily and looking anywhere but at her. The gun catches my eye, discarded by the sideboard. I walk to it and pick it up with every intention of putting it back in the gun cabinet so I can leave.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? We just made love, didn’t we? I’m confused, Jack. What the…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but stops as I notice her feet back away further. “Jack, what are you doing?”

  I don’t know anymore. Nothing is real here. I can’t work out what’s going on myself, let alone explain it to her. Brightness then gloom. Fog and mists. Darkness then dappled flickers of light. I just want Selma back, and Lenon, and this house filled with joy like it once was.

  I shake my head, trying to get the sight of her out of it or bri
ng the other Selma back into vision, but they blur, the two of them becoming one in my mind. I stare back at the brightly lit mahogany fireplace then flick my eyes up to the stained glass, searching for the dark again and wondering where she’s gone, or if she was ever really here. The sun blinds me, glinting off a heart shaped amber piece. I smile at it, blinking and remembering the bridesmaids’ dresses and colour of their bouquets.

  “Jack, put the gun down.” It was such a lovely day. People cheered around us and offered their congratulations, slapping me on the back and telling me I was batting above my weight. They were right, all of them. “Jack?”

  I turn, still smiling, but now at how similar she sounds. Even the huskiness of her concerned tone is the same. I don’t know why she’s concerned, but I look at her fondly, appreciating the apprehension regardless.

  “You need to put the gun down, Jack. Come on,” she says, her body hesitantly moving towards me. Gun? I search for it, wondering where it’s gone, only to find it in my hand pointing towards my chin. I fiddle with it, intending to move it but let the metal linger instead. “Please, give it to me, yeah?” I try to move my hand like she asks, but something stops me as I stare at her naked body. She’s so like Selma. “We can go for a walk if you like. Some fresh air?” I smile again. Warm, fresh air. She liked that, too. We walked a lot, especially in spring. She liked the bluebells.

  “It’s Maddy, Jack. You still with me?” I narrow my eyes. I don’t know that either. Nothing makes any sense anymore. Maddy? Who’s Maddy? Selma. Where’s she gone? I don’t know if I’m with either one, or both. Is this Selma, or is Selma Maddy? Why has she come back?

  Who is this in front of me?

  The gun moves, its texture running along my chin then up to my mouth. It would all be so easy if I just pull the trigger, or if she had done it earlier. I’d be with them then. We’d be together and happy again, like I was ten minutes ago. There wouldn’t be this constant confusion, and I wouldn’t be alone anymore either. I’d be whole.

  “Am I going mad?” I ask, not knowing what to think as my vision swims a little and she moves again. “You’re not you, are you?” She looks at me, her lips quivering and reminding me of our first time together.

  “No, no, you’re not mad, Jack. You’re just tired,” she says, her feet getting closer as I watch her light skin glide in front of me. Madeline. But she smiles like Selma, and moves like her, talks like her. “I’m not surprised really. You gave up your bed for me, didn’t you? Slept on the sofa? Very chivalrous. Just give me that and we’ll get dressed. I need to see my car anyway, or you could show me around the woods?” The woods. Yes. I’d like a walk in the woods. I could see the treehouse, imagine Lenon in it. Hear his laugh again. “I saw some on the west side of the house.” Yes, they’re my favourites, too. Tall redwoods, forever reaching over the house and protecting it from harm.

  Not that they ever fucking did.

  I grip the gun tighter again, pressing it inwards and feeling the rim cut into my lips as I imagine the fucking dogs upstairs. “And I need another kiss, anyway. Don’t you? You can’t do that to me and then not kiss me again.” Kiss. I suck air in deeply, tasting her on my mouth over the taint of the metal and smelling the air still filled with love around us.

  Her hand is on the gun before I know what’s happening, wrangling it from my hold as she spins her body round into me to point it away from us. She backs up, forcefully, shoving my body backwards into the fireplace, causing me to grunt at the impact. Pain ricochets its way along my spine, giving her the chance she needs to snatch the gun from my hand, but somewhere in the commotion the gun shoots loudly into the air. Everything stops as she falls back against me—sound, time, even the house becomes eerily noiseless. Everything’s silent, but for her small whimper and the sound of it hanging in the air.

  I freeze, unable to see what’s happened or to whom as I close my eyes and plead with God not to do this again. She whimpers, her body fully collapsing into my arms without trying to stop herself falling. My heart hammers in my chest, rattling the sound around my mind as I haul myself back to the present.

  “Madeline?” She doesn’t answer. There’s no sound at all as I grab her and lower her to the floor. “Madeline? Talk to me.” Still nothing. Panic swells as I slap the gun from her hand and kick it away, furious with its presence. “For fuck’s sake, talk to me.” She whimpers again, then starts sobbing quietly as I shove at her body. “You okay? Where did it get you?” She mumbles something and tries to roll herself away. I don’t let her. I keep searching her skin for any sign of blood, prodding it and poking her, lifting and turning. I’m nearly fucking hysterical trying to find the injury, desperate to ensure that whatever is here, or whoever is here, stays here, with me. “You can’t leave me. Talk to me.”

  “I’m alright,” she mutters, curling herself into a ball and starting to push me away. I carry on checking her, hardly hearing her speak or believing what she’s said. I’m too consumed with the thought of her dying. “I’m fine, Jack. Get off me,” she says again, sniffing back tears and gently pushing me again. I half step away from her then carry on inspecting again, still convinced she’s injured. “Jack, I said I’m fine. Just leave me alone so I can get up, will you?”

  “But you’re not. The gun fired. It hit you. You... I heard you...” I’m frantic to correct whatever I’ve done. Fraught. My hands still fuss at her, lifting her and moving her over to the chair as she tries to push me off her again.

  “I said I’m fine. Stop. It shot over there somewhere. I just bashed against something.”

  I look where she’s pointing, needing to see the bullet myself to ensure it hasn’t gone into her. Her finger leads towards the damn spiral.

  “You sure you’re not hit?” I ask, turning to see her body curled up in the chair. She nods, her full lips still trembling a little as she stares back at me and wipes her eyes.

  “It was just the noise, it shocked me.” I look her over again and then spin back to the spiral, needing to see the bullet. I don’t know why, but I need to. Fucking gun. Stupid.

  “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

  I snarl at the sound of her, annoyed at her directness in the middle of whatever the fuck this is. My fingers scrub my brow, unsure how the hell to answer.

  “I didn’t,” is all I can say. I don’t think I did, anyway. Or maybe I did. I’m not fucking sure at the moment.

  “You held a gun to your mouth.” Mmm. I finger the carpet on the bottom step, scouring for a bullet and glowering at the thought of the fuckers upstairs. “After we’d made love. Aren’t you slightly concerned by that?” I shake my head at the steps, stretching to reach the third, fourth and fifth ones. “I mean, why? Was it that bad?” I twist my face to her. Bad? She was exquisite, always has been. Maddy. Christ. I turn back again, choosing the task of finding the bullet rather than trying to explain it to her.

  “I’m sorry if it wasn’t… I wasn’t…”

  My foot hits the bottom step as I let her talking ease me on, all the time trying to keep my head level and calm, but the blackness of the carpet hinders my sight, everything blending into it effortlessly just as a damn bullet hole will.

  “Where the fuck is it?” I mutter, irritated.

  “Why don’t you go up the stairs?” I freeze, hardly able to breathe at her question as I hold onto the curved bannister securely. “And don’t give me that shit about it being unsafe. We’re past that now. What’s up there?” I snarl into the air away from her, hiding my true feelings on the matter and glaring at the sweep of the steps in front of me.

  “I told you, it’s unsafe. That’s all.”

  There’s silence behind me as I grip the spindles and lower myself to look at the carpeted steps, running my fingers across them. Still nothing. I look around, searching the rich brown woodwork, then skimming my eyes across the panelling behind it. Why can’t I find the fucking thing? I have to find it, see it for myself. It’ll tell me everything’s okay, that I’ve not let anot
her woman down.

  Chapter 10

  Madeline

  I don’t know what’s happening as I stare at his limbs hovering around the stairs. His climb is so slow, nothing like his movements everywhere else. He’s normally so strident with everything he does. His walk is fast, persuasive even. In charge. But now he hesitates with every inch he moves forward, checking meticulously for whatever he’s looking for. The bullet, I assume. Why, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. We’re both alive, thanks to me.

  I let my teeth chew my nail as I grab a rug off the back of the chair and pull it around my shoulders. What the hell just happened? It’s insane. Pointing guns, then making love, then pointing guns again. It’s like the whole place is enchanted with dark magic, making me, or maybe even us, do things that are in no way normal. I felt that when we made love here, beneath my feet. And we did make love. It wasn’t sex. We were connected by something. It was powerful, something I’ve never felt before.

  I tried to laugh it off when he talked to me as if he knew me better than he does, tried to blank it out and just enjoy what was happening, but it was impossible to deny. Something was mystical about us together, potent and yet so fragile I hardly dared believe it was real. And now I think about it, as I watch his naked form scrabbling about, it started with me dancing in the ball room. Why did I do that? That’s nothing like me. It’s whimsical, something I would have done as I child. Not something that grown up Madeline would ever do, or Maddy for that matter, certainly not with Lewis still in my mind. And where did the clouds come from?

  I tip my head over my shoulder to look at the sunlit sky outside. There’s nothing out there but bright blue and a huge yellow globe shining through the glass at me, sending shards of orange and blue across my skin. They’re the same colours he had floating on his skin when he held the gun to his chin, brushing it around his face as he did. I wasn’t scared by that, which mystifies me. I felt calm despite his strange behaviour, as if I knew he didn’t really want to do it. It was only in the last few minutes that I panicked a little, choosing to grab for it when something in his eyes changed.