Page 3 of Massacre Monday

It makes me pause, my cheeks flushing with another bout of self-consciousness, reflecting on how my face must appear. He likely sees the tears. “I-I’m fine. But you…” Swallowing roughly, I wave a hand toward the ledge. “It’s not worth it. Life will go on. Things will get better, I swear.”

I have no idea if what I’m saying will work. In fact, the words are all lines I learned from movies and not ones I truly believe in my heart. In a torrid torment of anxiety, a terrible fear takes me captive.

What if thingsdon’tactually get better?

Oblivious to my inner turmoil, the man’s head tilts to the side. His mess of dark hair waves in the wind that riles up from the foaming rapids. With a sharp glance, he peers over his shoulder at the surging streams below, and I think of grabbing his ankles to hold him here with me. Only, I’m frozen in place…

The moon finally strikes his face, and I gasp. He has perfectly symmetrical features—not gritty and familiar, like Nico. No, his is more stone-like—cheeks carved from marble, a jaw chiseled from granite. Thick lips, a long, straight nose, and a brow furrowed with concern beneath the shadow of onyx hair.

But his eyes…

Despite the hardness of his visage, those mesmerizing light orbs seem to be filled with levity for a joke I’m not privy to. Yet…there’s pain behind them, too. He looks terrifying. And tender. If it were daytime, I’m not sure I could meet his gaze without shivering with trepidation.

When he twists toward me, I feel like a tiny creature beneath him on a lower shelf, while his figure looms over my body until my throat closes. “Do you really believe that?” His voice is a warm tenor laced with a veiled command, but beneath it is a bass of vulnerability humming low. He’s a contradiction in human form.

“Believe what?”

“Believe that things will get better.”

“Yes, absolutely,” I lie.

“So, what will you give me?”

Confusion tugs at my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“What will you give me to not jump?”

My mind scans everything in my pockets: a phone, an empty wallet stuffed with my parents’ credit cards, and my bike key. I can’t hand him that, can I? Guilt wracks through me. I’m holding back material items as if they matter right now.

He’s about to end it all, Pippi, and all you can think of is your motorcycle.

“Anything. Whatever you want.” My family has enough money to buy me thousands of Harleys. This guy doesn’t seem homeless, but if he needs financial assistance, we could help him.

We…like I have something to do with it. Will aiding him add to the shame that I’m still my parents’ little girl, asking for everything I need, unable to be on my own? Yes.

But if it’s to save a life, I can make that sacrifice.

“Okay. On your knees.”

My eyes widen as I choke on my saliva. He wants…ablowjobas his final request? I’ve never done that before. “What? No!”

“Fine. See ya.”

With a twirl, he faces the void again until I scream, “Wait! Don’t jump! I-I’ll give you a kiss.”

Ever-so-slowly, he creeps toward me while my heels get stuck in the stones. I’ll try anything I can think of to hold on to him. Verbally and emotionally, but physically…only if I must.

He cups his chin with a fist in contemplation, staring up into the dark night. “Hmm, not good enough. I’ve had plenty of kisses.” The air condenses when he peers down at me again. If I could only discern his face, maybe I could connect with him in a way that won’t have me sucking him off.

Everything inside me stills with bewilderment when he continues. “I want those plump lips all over my dick, to see you hating me with your eyes as you suckle on the tip, to cry some more of those pretty tears over your pink cheeks when I shove it in deep. I want you to beg me to come on your tongue, to plead with me to stay alive.”

As I slowly breathe through my nose, I wonder how I’d feel if he plunged to his death. Would I be sorry?

Yes. I know I couldn’t live with that image in my mind. Not to mention, the utter remorse I’d carry with me forever. Nausea riles through my belly, thinking of what I’ll have to do to perform… Here I was, earlier tonight, hoping for some experience. I didn’t carewhoit was, so long as I got some.

My eyes close as I sigh. Maybe I wanted to be touched tonight, but not like this. Not this kind of memory. What an idiot I’ve been.

Through gritted teeth, I mutter, “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.”