Page 105 of Call Off the Dark

“I can’t do this.”

“And yet you are.”

“No, we did. Past tense,” she said. “But now we can’t. Present tense.”

“It’s kind of hot when you lecture me on my grammar.”

It was one of the few times she’d heard Isaac make a joke, and it caught her off guard so much that it made her laugh. She quickly stemmed the sound of her laughter, worried Wade would hear.

Isaac pressed his lips to her ear. “That’s so pretty,” he whispered. “I want to hear you laugh again.”

She shook her head, as if to say no, but really she just wanted to feel her ear brush against his lips again.

“Come into my bedroom and I promise I’ll make you laugh,” he said.

It was the promise of laughter that did her in. Here was a glimmer of light that might pull her back from the darkness. As she looked into Isaac’s eyes, she decided she was either going to move toward this consolation with him right now, or next time she wouldn’t shoot the gun at the sky. Next time she’d keep it aimed at her own head.

“Okay,” she whispered.

As it were, Isaac did not actually make Helen laugh in bed. It takes a certain kind of playfulness for laughter during sex, and Isaac wasn’t playful in that way.

He played in a different way. Just as they would settle into a rhythm of one kind and she began to feel sheltered inside one particular sensation, one particular emotion, he would change everything. She’d find herself in another position, experiencing a rush of something else.

This went on for some length of time until Helen finally realized tears were running down her face. Isaac was spooning her from behind, moving into her, gently, languidly.

Then, without warning, he moved and pulled her on top of him. He gripped her hips so solidly that she couldn’t move as he drove up into her, and it was suddenly too much, all these abrupt changes. They made her feel as if every emotion she’d ever had was going to start spilling out of her.

Helen put the flat of her hand against Isaac’s cheek. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, she lifted her hand away from his face, only a few inches, and brought it back to his cheek. A firm tap more than a slap.

“You can hit me,” he said, still moving up into her.

She shook her head. No.

“Hit me,” he repeated.

His voice sounded like a taunt. He moved into her deeper, hard enough that it was starting to hurt.

She tried to lift her body slightly, to give herself a respite, but Isaac didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he said, “I want you to hit me,” and as he thrust his hips up, he pulled hers down very hard.

She gasped at the pain and saw him smile in return.

So she slapped him hard across the face, and moments later, she watched him come.

They rolled apart, and Helen listened as Isaac caught his breath. She waited for him to say something to check on her. She planned to do the same, maybe apologize for hitting him so hard, though from his reaction it seemed obvious he’d liked it.

But instead, he drifted to sleep.

The blood rushed to her face. She didn’t mind that he had come first, and she was okay with hitting him—maybe even kind of liked it—so long as he liked it. But she knew he had seen her crying, and he hadn’t asked her if she was okay, hadn’t asked if he’d pushed her too far, hadn’t asked if she wanted him to pleasure her another way after he’d finished. No, he’d just fallen asleep, sprawled out on his back.

Her head felt heavy and sick. She could blame it on the wolves, blame it on the dark, or blame it on her entire life falling apart two years ago, but it wouldn’t change all these wrong turns. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Fine then, this is what she deserved.

Immediately, Isaac’s hand found hers and clasped it, preventing her from standing.

“Don’t go,” he said. “I haven’t taken care of you.”

“It’s okay,” Helen said, but her tone was sharp.

His hand moved to her stomach and slowly began to reach lower. She pushed it away, and he pulled his hand back.