Soultaker

CHAPTER NINE

Jordan Harper staggered into her apartment and threw the door shut behind her. She shuffled into the kitchen on legs that felt like those of an old lady. Heavy and weary. Stung by Bridget’s betrayal, she’d been unable to sleep all night. She’d nonetheless managed to show up for her morning shift at Mondo Video.

In retrospect, she should have stayed home.

Robbed of her patience by exhaustion, she’d snapped at several customers and a few of her more annoying coworkers. This culminated in a bitter exchange with a snide old bitch. A dispute over late fees ended with Jordan screaming at the woman, calling her a “miserable, skeleton-faced cunt hag from hell.”

Thus had Jordan’s less-than-illustrious career at Mondo Video come to an end. Not that she cared. She didn’t give a shit about her job or anything else connected to this rotten town. Showing up for work today was just the kind of thing Jordan did, fulfilling her obligations. She felt nothing but contempt for slackers. But how could she reconcile that with her behavior today?

She poured herself a glass of juice and shut the refrigerator. “Christ, give yourself a break, girl.”

Okay, this talking to herself shit was a bad sign. But the sentiment was dead-on. This was just a setback, and a minor one at that. The loss of the Mondo Video job was your basic blessing in disguise. It meant there was one less thing tying her to Rockville. Even last night’s public embarrassment was a blessing. She didn’t need duplicitous people in her life. She was better off without those backstabbing bitches.

She sipped her juice and contemplated her immediate future. As recently as yesterday evening, she’d planned to be in Rockville for another year, long enough to get her associate’s degree from RCC. But fuck that. She was spinning her wheels here. Her first-year grades at RCC were impeccable. It was time to start sending out applications to real universities, maybe get enrolled at a good school by the fall semester, somewhere far away from Rockville.

“Sounds like a plan,” she muttered.

And thought, Stop that!

Bailing out of Rockville was clearly the way to go, but there was some shame in it, too. She felt a bit like a whipped dog running away with its tail tucked between its legs. It was the sort of thing she would normally rebel against. But not this time. Enough was enough. This time running away was absolutely the right thing to do.

It was too much to think about right now. She was tired. She yawned and stretched. What she needed right now was rest. The future could wait a few more hours. She dumped out the rest of her juice, dropped the empty glass in the sink, and shuffled out of the kitchen.

She heard the dim noise of a television as she moved down the short hallway toward her bedroom. Alarm surged through her until she realized she’d probably forgotten to turn it off before leaving this morning. She’d been in a mental fog, so it was a reasonable explanation-but when she entered the bedroom, she saw that she was wrong.

Bridget Flanagan was on her side in Jordan’s bed, her head propped in the upturned palm of her right hand. Her other hand aimed the remote control at Jordan’s television. A white comforter was pulled up over her breasts. Her bare shoulders made it clear she was nude beneath the comforter. Jordan gaped at her a moment before her gaze went to the small pile of clothing at the foot of the bed-Bridget’s skirt, blouse, and panties.

Jordan cursed herself for being so stupid. The door to her apartment had been unlocked when she came home. She’d been too tired to notice. Probably she’d left it unlocked this morning, too.

Bridget dropped the remote and sat up in the bed, holding the comforter up over her breasts. “There you are! I was hoping you weren’t at work today.”

Jordan felt numb as she said, “I was. I got fired. What are you doing in my bed, Bridget? What are you doing in my apartment at all?”

Bridget pouted. “I’m here to see you, silly.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she tried to fake emotion. “I feel real bad about last night. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Bullshit. Put your clothes on and get out of here.”

Bridget pouted some more. “I was just afraid. Please don’t be mad at me, Jordan. You made me think about a part of myself, my sexuality, that I just wasn’t ready to deal with.”

Jordan smirked. “And now you are?”

Bridget nodded. “Yes. I…I want you, Jordan.”

Jordan couldn’t believe it. There was just no end to this chick’s head games. She hated that she’d been so blind to Brid-get’s true nature for so long. She was a user. A manipulator. An emotional sadist. “You make me sick, Bridget. Get out of here before I throw you out.”

Bridget smiled. “You don’t want to do that…” She let the comforter fall away, exposing her breasts. “Do you?”

Jordan knew she should say something. Keep focused. But she stared at Bridget’s full, firm breasts and imagined touching them. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes fluttered. Christ, she was too tired to think straight. She imagined how she must look to Bridget and felt a fresh surge of anger, directed both at herself and the evil bitch in her bed. “Get out!”

Bridget laughed. She threw the comforter back and stretched out on Jordan’s bed, her long, lean body aglow in the morning sunlight slanting in through the window blinds. She lifted her legs off the bed, stretched her feet to their fullest extent, and wiggled her toes. She lightly trailed the fingertips of one hand over her smooth, concave belly, the glint of pink nail polish a sensual contrast to tanned flesh. She met Jordan’s gaze and winked.

“I don’t feel like leaving just now, Jordan.” She pinched one of her nipples. “Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth on this?”

Jordan wavered for just a moment. She saw herself caving in, submitting to this degradation. Although it would be the fulfillment of a fantasy, it would absolutely be a degradation. And knowing this strengthened her resolve.

She went to the bed and Bridget sat up, puckering her lips, anticipating a kiss. She yelped when Jordan grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her out of the bed. Bridget shrieked and struggled until Jordan drove a fist hard into her stomach, and then she was gasping for air. Still holding her by the wrist, Jordan scooped up Bridget’s clothes and pulled her former friend out of the bedroom.

“What are you doing, you bitch!?”

Jordan dragged the struggling girl down the hallway. “Throwing out the trash.”

Bridget tried to twist out of Jordan’s grip, but to no avail. They arrived at the front door moments later. Jordan pulled it open and shoved Bridget through it. Then she threw the skimpy, silky clothes-which felt so nice to the touch-out after her. She threw the door shut, turned the lock, and leaned against it. Bridget screamed and pounded her fists against the door.

“You’ll pay for this, you fucking whore!” came the muffled voice from outside. “I’ll kill you! You’re gonna die, Jordan! Die!”

Jordan closed her eyes and tuned out the rest of it.

So she didn’t realize that Bridget’s screams had turned to cruel laughter.