Drawn
Through the peephole: curly dark hair, chocolate-gray skin, brown-nosed-a-bear goatee.
Detective Miguel Rubio. The man who'd saved her two nights ago.
Now there was a thought to turn a girl's stomach.
Who knew what kind of favor he'd expect for that good turn?
"What are you doing here?"
"Just checking in on my partner."
"Fine."
"Nobody's fine after what happened to you."
"*I* am," Angela said, as if shouldering an inevitability. "It's part of the job."
"Jesus."
Angela raised an eyebrow. Miguel had never looked at her the way he was looking at her now. Shocked. A little intimidated. Awed. And... sad. If she didn't know better, she might think he was actually concerned for her.
"Well, anyway-- can I come in? I hate doing this on the porch." She grunted and stepped back. "Thanks. --Oh, looks like you'll be moving again." He handed her an Eviction Notice. "Seventy-two hours; your lawyer could fight that."
"He can't even pay the bill, apparently."
"Lemme guess, he fired his business manager."
"How'd you know?"
"Guys like that can't do a fuckin' thing on their own. Probably wears slip-ons because he can't tie his own shoes. Anyway, I was hoping maybe you'd changed your mind about Sinclair."
So that's why he was here. "Why would I change my mind?"
"Well, for one thing, you went back to see him."
"No." What happened that night wasn't any of Miguel's business. Even if he did get her out of a jam.
"Really. But you were there when he got jumped by those bikers."
"I was following him."
"But you left your car at home. What'd you do, take a taxi?" Miguel leaned in closer. "I think you were with him." He backed off to a less-imposing stance. "I just can't figure out why he'd abandon you there. Unless maybe he found out what you were up to."
"That's not what happened."
"Yeah, I know. They were there for him. Still, I didn't figure him for a coward."
"He didn't know I was there. I told you I was following him."
"What, were you *flying*?" He meant it to sound ridiculous, but of course that was exactly what she'd been doing.
"I took a taxi."
Miguel gave her a "yeah, right, whatever" look. "What do you expect to find out by following him around? You need to get back in there, babe. You ever think maybe he fired you so he doesn't have to feel guilty about fucking one of his employees?"
Miguel could be so crude -- and so clueless.
"I told you, it's over." She wondered if Miguel would know what she really meant; she hoped not. "I'm not doing this anymore," she clarified/misdirected.
"This is about Ricky, isn't it?" he fished. "Yeah. I know. You feel bad, you think you're cheating on him. But maybe if you talked to him about it, he'd tell you it was okay, if it meant putting a scumbag like Sinclair behind bars. Ricky seems like a smart kid."
Angela thought about the last time she was with Ricky. She'd left him at the hospital to go see Dino. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but looking back on it now... even if she and Ricky weren't together anymore, it was like she'd left him to go cheat on him. Even becoming Sapphire to protect Dino was a kind of cheating.
But even worse, she'd hurt him. If she hadn't had that Perfectua in an aspirin bottle Ricky wouldn't have taken it. He wouldn't have been so... unlike himself. He wouldn't have let her... *use* him the way she did. And he wouldn't have had that scare.
Oh God. It was just like before.
No. Don't think about that. It'll only make things worse.
Angela took a deep breath. No, she was done with Dino Sinclair. And done with Miguel. She didn't care if it meant she was a failure. She just didn't want to hurt Ricky anymore.
"Ricky doesn't want me doing this. That's the point."
"Yeah. I guess maybe I thought if I talked to Ricky, I could explain it to him, and then he could talk to you."
Angela shot him a hot threatening look. "You stay away from him."
"Yeah, well, I already went to see him. But he was busy." Before Angela could reply, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a manila envelope, and tossed it on the coffee table.
"Very busy," he added dryly.
Angela stared at the envelope. "What the hell is that?"
"I think I'll be leaving now." He looked uncomfortable. Angela couldn't remember him ever looking uncomfortable. Like he'd just done something slimy, and -- uncharacteristically -- he wasn't proud of it.
"What is it?" She called after him.
"You have my number," he said as the door closed.
She stood there for a long time. Staring at the envelope. Movie cliches told her what was inside -- photographs.
Seamy photographs.
Had Miguel paid some hooker to trap Ricky in a compromising position? Was he really that low? And how'd he get it to work? Ricky wasn't the fall-into-bed type. Did Miguel get some girl to play the damsel-in-distress role, maybe use some oops-I-spilled, let-me-help-you scheme to get him out of his clothes? Oh God, did they drug him?
Even if he did somehow get Ricky into bed with some floozie, did Miguel think that would matter to Angela?
It was anger at Miguel's flaccid ploy that drove her to rip open the envelope, spill the contents, and start rifling through them.
It was shock that got her to stop.
Ricky was on someone's bed. It looked like a girl's room.
There, a girl, stripping him. Straddling him.
Fucking him.
Angela didn't recognize the girl in the photos at first. The long dark hair threw her. But the build, and -- a closeup -- the face...
It was Becky Robinson.
Dressed up like her. Pretending to be her.
Pretending to be Sapphire.
Angela was crushed. She fell back on the couch. The photos slipped from her fingers and scattered, landing on the couch, the floor, the coffee table, her lap.
If there was any doubt that Becky had replaced her in Ricky's life, this erased it.
But it didn't erase the memory of how she'd lost him in the first place . . .
< < Sapphire whipped the oversize tee off before the door was even closed. A moment later the sarong hit the floor.
At least in this neighborhood nobody looked at you funny no matter what you were wearing.
The big handbag opened to reveal an uneven blue glow. She was done for the night, and yet... It had been so hard to take them off in the car. Especially when they'd served her so well, and were whispering for her to indulge them in an intimate conversation. Now their absence was like screaming.
Oh, hell.
Clunk. Clunk. Shoes hit the floor. Toes uprighted and slipped into them.
Scritch. Scritch. Wristbands slid past slender fingers.
Finally, the crown.
Oh yeah. That's better.
A sliver of guilt asked why she couldn't just put them away.
Shut up. No one will know. Besides, it's good for me. Keeps me sane.
Especially the way her moods were messing with her lately. Up, down, cool, freaked. Maybe she needed a higher dose of Xanax.
Maybe she just needed a dose of something else.
Her eyes went to the dirty orange light ekeing in from the parking lot through the lone window, drawing a foreboding pattern of iron security bars on the curtains.
She'd have to check out those bars next time -- she couldn't be going in and out as Sapphire through the front door. And dressing in the car was begging for trouble. "Sapphire, spotted fleeing the scene in a brown Corolla." That was stupid. She'd been lucky.
A mix of frustration and relief crossed her face. The patrol had been fruitless. And yet, she had accomplished something.
She'd broken through the Xanax haze. Thanks to the sapphires, she felt *alive*.
But she still felt some small measure of disappointment. Her 'celebration' would be a party of one. As always.
The bathroom door opened. "Hey."
Party of two. "Ricky!"
She ran across the room, as best as she could manage in towering heels with her balance mostly unaided by the sapphires' energy.
Her bear-hug nearly knocked them both over.
"So it went okay."
"It was terrible. But I'm so glad you're here."
"What happened?"
"Nothing! Totally dead."
"And that's terrible?"
"Well, yeah. It's not like bad stuff isn't happening all the time -- I just couldn't find it."
"Well, there's a silver lining in that cloud. You're home safe."
"And you're here with me. It means a lot to me that you're here to support me."
"I'm not here because I like what you do. I'm here because I don't."
"Well, I'm still glad that you're here."
She kissed him deeply. His mouth opened; her tongue found his.
After more than a minute, he broke away. "Angela, slow down."
She slowed down by grabbing his beltloop with one hand...
...and rubbing his package with the other.
Her voice was husky. "Come on, you don't really mean that." He was growing. Good. She'd had enough frustration for one night.
He pulled back, but her grip on his pants was firm; he only succeeded in pulling her toward him.
"Oh, my baby's shy," she cooed. "Let me help set the mood." She relinquished her grip on his member just long enough to flip the light switch.
The room was bathed in a flickering blue glow.
"Angela, what are you doing? What's gotten into you?" He put his hands on her shoulders to push her away; she reached up and grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands lower and stepping into him, forcibly smashing his open hands into her outthrust chest.
"Oh come on, Ricky, you did your research. You know how I get after a mission. You know what I *need*. Don't tell me you came all this way, you sat here in the dark in my bedroom, just so you could give me an 'attagirl' handshake."
"Angela, you're not yourself."
"Of course not. I'm Sapphire, superheroine extraordinaire. And I'm *all* *yours*, tiger!"
Ricky held up a hand to stay her advance. "Stop that. It's the stones making you act like this. Don't you think you should take them off now?"
"But what fun would that be?" She stood in a classic power pose, feet shoulder-width apart, hips and shoulders squared up, chest puffed out, hands on hips. "You can't tell me you haven't been looking forward to this."
She'd seen his drawings -- even the ones in the sketch pad she wasn't supposed to know about. The ones that showed her being naughty. He couldn't play innocent with her now. She knew his fantasies. And she was ready to fulfill them.
"It's not that. It's just... I don't know."
He was always so damn afraid of hurting her. She wasn't a china doll. He had to learn to let go sometimes. It was up to her to teach him.
"Stop calling me Angela. When I'm wearing my crown you'll address me by my *proper* name!" He voice was commanding, almost threatening.
"You don't really want this. They're doing this to you. You'll regret this later."
His words said no. But his eyes said yes. He wanted this. He'd wanted this for a long time.
He'd backed himself into the bed. She stepped right up to him, her feet between his, her pelvis pressed him, her soft breasts pressed against his firm young pecs, her body's aggression at odds with the sweet, calming, almost pitying look in her eyes. Don't you trust me? Don't you love me?
Yes.
Then fuck me.
A condom found its way onto his waving dick, and his dick found its way between her waiting thighs.
She held still for a moment, milking him inside her, reveling in her own fullness. His hands planted to either side of her holding his weight up off her, she had to fondle her own breasts.
Mmmmm...
She pitched her hips up toward his; with that, he slowly pulled out, pausing before resheathing himself within her.
More...
Her hands turned around, fingers spreading and running over the surface of his hot chest, delighting in the jagged spasms she caused in him when she hit a particularly tickling spot.
Yes, lover. Feel me beneath you. Feel how wet I am for you. Feel how tight my cunny wraps around you. Feel how full your cock makes me.
She pinched his nipples to spur him on faster, then turned her hands to her own stiff nubs, dragging her nails across them, snagging and tugging at her scant blouse, gripping and squeezing her own flesh as Ricky pumped more deeply, more urgently...
But soon she wanted more. Her hands reached down, grabbing his ass and bidding him to stop. Before he could protest, she rolled them both over. Now she pinned him, knees against his sides, arching her back so her could see and paw at her ripe tits as she ground down on him.
Yesss...
When she opened her eyes to look upon her mate, the room seemed bright. No, it *was* bright. The sapphires. They'd never done this before. Flickering still, but now with an almost white light. A diffuse light, as if the whole room were radiant with the energy of their act. Celebrating it. Focusing it.
Why hadn't this ever happened before? Was there something wrong with the sapphires? No, something *right*.
She'd never enjoyed it before. Not like this. There was no conflict, no fear, no humiliation, no doubt. This was a different lust. A passion of power, not weakness. This was Union.
And she wanted more. She leaned back, driving more quickly, more deeply. And Ricky responded with an increased energy of his own.
She felt like a goddess.
He began to squirm beneath her. Withdrawing his hips. Like he wanted to stop. But then she squeezed, and he resumed rutting. His pace frantic. His breath quick.
But his eyes showed fear. The same denial of pleasure she'd felt so many times in so many bad situations. But how could that be? He wasn't wearing the sapphires, she was. And they'd both wanted this. Needed this.
Don't be afraid. You shouldn't be afraid of anything that feels this wonderful.
Again, he cocked his hips and fell still, changing the angle of penetration just enough to be disappointing.
What was wrong with him? He didn't come over here just to be a *tease*, did he?
Oh no. He wasn't going to get away with it. He'd brought her so close to the edge, the blissful orgasmic end of thought right there, and now he wanted to pull her away from it. She was just a passenger now, something primitive within her taken control, driving them both back toward heaven...
You'll see. When we reach it. So beautiful. So right. So powerful.
She felt his hand, trembling, reaching for her. Caressing her cheek as she bounced up and down. A moment of tenderness in the glorious fury of approaching climax. She seemed to be building forever. When would it come? Was he close?
His hand continued up, to her forehead. She felt his fingers graze her tiara.
Yes, of course. It was how she always finished. Disconnecting. A final surge. Sexual overload.
She leaned her head down toward him.
Do it.
Nggnghgh!
Followed by a sudden emptiness. A Leaving.
Though he was still with her, she was suddenly alone.
She felt faint.
No. Not like this. Let me see him first. Hold him. Bring him back.
She willed herself to remain conscious, focusing on her heartbeat, and the sound of Ricky's breathing.
Rapid and shallow, but slowing. Deepening.
She pulled herself forward to be next to him. Kissing his cheek. Forcing her leaden limbs to embrace him.
He was so wonderful. They'd tried. Even as she lamented what could have been, what she'd been shown but not reached, she knew it was good. More intense, more rewarding even in final disappointment than sex had ever been.
Maybe there was nothing wrong at all. Maybe she only felt this way now because reality was so great a distance from the place they'd just achieved.
Ricky was still silent. She imagined what it must have been like for him. He didn't have the breadth of experience she'd had -- and with so much of it twisted and tormenting, she was very glad for that -- but still, he had to know that this was unusual. Amazing. Mind-blowing.
"Ricky?"
She looked into his eyes.
Sightless eyes.
And a terrible vision came over her, erected by sudden memory of her defeated rival and her frightening legacy.
The Black Widow. Named for the way she used the sapphires to draw the very life out of her conquests as she fucked them.
Fucked them to death.
Angela held her breath for an eternal terrifying moment.
He breathed.
"Ricky!" She leaned over him now, eyes desperately searching his face for any sign of recognition or awareness.
"Ricky!" She shook him, gently at first, then with increasing violent hope. "Ricky! Wake up! Please wake up!"
She stopped. She might hurt him.
She'd already hurt him.
No, the sapphires hurt him.
Why? Why now?
Because you wanted it. You reached it. You *took* it.
They might still be hurting him now.
Killing him.
Animal claws ripped at each other, tearing the sapphire wristbands away, throwing them across the room. Body rolled, kicking away the demonic shoes. Wide eyes searched the bed next to the fallen boy, locking on the terrible tiara, hand clutching, arm cocking, whole body hurling the hurtful headpiece away.
She backed away from him, afraid to touch him, afraid she might be hurting him still. Hands reached out to him, fingers desperate to feel his warmth but holding back for fear they were infected with the touch of death.
Still he did not stir.
"Ricky, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please wake up. Come back. I need you. I'm sorry. I didn't know. You tried to tell me, but I didn't listen. I couldn't stop. I'm sorry. Please. Please..." Words became sobs.
And then he gasped. Twitched. Wretched. Heaved with breath. No voice, just choking gurgle.
Angela crushed into him, fear of her touch overwhelmed by unbearable relief.
Ricky screamed. Struggled.
Pushed her away.
Was she hurting him still? Angela jumped back off the bed, huddling on the floor, ready to retreat further at the slightest sign of distress.
He flailed weakly, blindly, eventually righting himself only to roll and collapse on the floor. She heard him utter an awful sound: "Ggaaahhnh!"
Concern propelled her around the bed. But the look on his face stopped her dead.
Mortal terror.
"No!" Arms up, defensive, helpless. "Don't touch me!"
"Ricky, I'm sorry, I didn't know, are you all right?" A half-step toward him evoked a choked scream that drove her back across the room as powerfully as if her own Sapphire force had done it. She cringed in the opposite corner.
"Stay away!" he gasped. "Keep them away from me!" He rolled over, on hands and knees, wobbling, shaking, spasming. It was painful. Ugly.
"Ricky, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I thought it was okay, I thought it felt good, I didn't know I was hurting you, I thought it would be okay..."
He rose, suddenly but unsteadily, collapsing again as quickly; Angela gasped in shock. Again, limbs wheeling about, sliding and slamming for leverage. Finally, up on the bed. Up on his feet. Staggering toward the door. Tripping over something. His pants.
Crashing to the floor. Angela starting toward him, anxious to help her felled love. The blood-curdling yell slammed her back into the corner. "Nnoo! Away!" His breathing was labored, his eyes unfocused, arms spasming up, disjointed movements ultimately coordinating enough to get his pants around his waist. Back to his feet, finding enough strength and balance to reach the door, falling into it, throwing a hand up to the locks.
She called out to him from her corner, afraid to move. "Don't go. It's over now. They're done. They're gone. See? Off. It's just me. Angela. Please, Ricky, stay. I don't know what happened, but we can figure it out." Tears burned her cheeks.
He was standing on his own now, in the doorway, violent shaking subsided, breathing deep and regular.
But his eyes still looked at her through the lingering image of death.
"Just stay away."
"Ricky! Let me help you. Stay with me. Don't leave me like this."
He backed away, into the hallway, cringed against the far wall. "They've made you a monster."
Then he was gone.
A lonely girl's terrible wounded wail rose into the cold night.
And no one ever came to help her.