In the Shackles of Love by Patrick S. (books to read in your 20s .TXT) 📖

The entire world turned grey as Eliot Hardy drove his girlfriend home. Low clouds blocked the afternoon sun, colors withered, and even the raindrops slicing through their headlights seemed bleak, as dull as if they were ashes falling from a toppled urn.

Neither he nor Renae felt dampened by the weather. If anything, they were more chipper now than during their meal, where conversation had flowed without a hitch or embarrassing outburst. They sat with their hands linked on the bench seat of the pickup, in comfortable silence.

Eliot kept glancing at his date, astonished at how beautiful she looked: her short hair, slightly wet, clung to her neck like golden tassels; the fullness of her cheeks was accented by two rosy bruises from the chill; a pale blue dress was all that covered her lithe figure. She could have easily hopped out of the pickup and signed a six-figure modeling contract with any agency on planet Earth. Even after a month of dating, her exquisite charm still made him shiver.

He was twenty-four, but felt more like a hormonal teenager whenever he was around this seductive woman.

“So I’m going to call you Squiddy from now on,” Renae announced.

Eliot frowned and said, “Huh?”

“Squiddy. Because you’re soft and squishy, like a squid.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

“Is this a ploy to get me in shape? You know I hate the gym.”

“Anyone who’s seen you with your shirt off knows you hate the gym.”

“You calling me fat?”

“Baby, you’re skinny

fat, which is like the worst of both worlds. Like, if you were buff and

fat, at least you’d be strong.”

“Hey, who helped you carry the bucket of water out to your chickens the other day?”

“It was a five-pound bucket. Let’s see you pick up a bale of hay and throw it onto a truck.”

Renae lived with her sister on their family farm, where they managed a hay field and two beet fields. Eliot had spent half a day there last week, and his arms still ached.

“Anyway, why would you want to call me Squiddy? My name’s Eliot.”

“All couples need nicknames for each other.”

“Oh? Well, in that case, I’ll call you...Siren.”

She pinched his arm. “Now you’re naming me after seductresses who murder people in the depths of the ocean?”

“No. I’m naming you after a group of incredibly sexy women. And besides, you just called me skinny fat. I think I deserve some leniency.”

“Did I mention that I love

your skinniness? And your fattiness?” She scooted closer and gave his neck a quick peck. Shivers ran the entire right side of his body.

“Pull over,” she whispered into his ear.

Already blurred from thick rain, the highway almost swam into an impossibly smooth abyss as Eliot guided his truck to the shoulder. He was shocked to feel tears glossing his vision, forming sheerly out of reaction to Renae’s breath against the hairs of his face.

He had barely put the vehicle in neutral when she brought his face around and kissed him. Kissing Renae was almost as intoxicating as a chugging a bottle of whiskey. It was as if, when their lips touched, her entire body became electrified, and she was somehow able to concentrate that energy to her mouth, her hands. She pushed herself close, wrapping her arms around his neck, her mouth more lively than ever.

With greedy, trembling hands, he felt along the curve of her spine, across her arms, her waist, her legs. The thin dress moved over her body, and he could feel goosebumps lingering wherever his touch went. It was her warmth as much as the tension in her body which brought their passion alive: it felt like he was caressing a woman so perfect and polished that she would break if he pushed too hard.

When the kiss ended, either after a few seconds or several minutes, she had her left leg over his right. His hand was halfway up her chest, and their breathing was stuttered, agitated.

At just a few inches away, her light blue eyes were radiant. Her lips were slightly parted, and he could see the heavy pulse of her heart in her throat. So alive. So tender.

“You know,” she whispered, “I don’t think your skinny fatness is the only thing I love.”

“What?”

Her hand came up and pressed against his cheek. “Eliot, don’t freak out, but I think I love you.”

He looked but could find no hint of the sarcasm she carried earlier. Words fell from his mouth before he was consciously aware of them.

“Renae, I...I love you...too.”

She kissed him again, then pulled back, sliding across to the passenger’s side. A smile grew. “Well, Squiddy, I guess this takes us to a new level.”

“Why yes, my dear Siren, I think it does as well.”

Eliot punched Renae so quickly that she didn’t even notice his fist until it collided with her cheek. Her entire body spun, and her head hit the window with a sickening thunk

that knocked her out before her surprise could elicit any sound at all.

She slumped sideways in her seat, head on chest, a small rivulet of saliva dangling from the corner of her mouth. A stream of blood wormed its way down her forehead from somewhere in her scalp.

Eliot wiped the window free of fog with his shirt sleeve, looked for any oncoming cars. Nothing. The highway and surrounding dirt roads were deserted.

The day’s gloom deepened, although he could not be certain if it was real or imagined. Perhaps his nervous excitement was darkening shadows that weren’t there, imagining the weight of the clouds pushing down on him.

In any case, he had work to do.

He reached over and put his hand in front of Renae’s mouth. Her breathing was steady. In fact, except for the spittle and blood, and the slackness of her jaw, she was as lovely as ever.

He couldn’t bear to see blood on her perfect face. He took a napkin from the glove box, wiped it away.

“We’re going home, my darling,” he whispered.

As he pulled back onto the highway, he reached over and took Renae’s hand. It was limp, sweaty, but he interlaced their fingers and smiled, imagining the wonderful times they would have together. The future was bright.

#

Eliot had expected Renae to wake sometime along the journey to his house, but she remained asleep for its three-mile duration. Twice that pesky blood drooled down her forehead, and both times he wiped it away, unwilling to let her beauty be disgraced.

His house was a half mile removed from other homes, and the two-acre property was circled by evergreens, ash trees, and lilac bushes, an effectively blinding moat. A single road was guarded by a gate that swung inward for those who keyed in the proper code at the front terminal. The house itself was a two-story structure with sharply gabled roofs, large mullioned windows, and bright silver siding. Expansive flower gardens on either side contained rosebushes, creeping vines, sunflowers, and various tulips.

He pulled his car around the house and parked in front of a small shed with white siding. He turned off the engine and sat for a few moments, listening to the droning rain.

The sky was almost black; at ground level, steadily-growing puddles bubbled and frothed like pockets of highly-concentrated acid.

Neither of them wore coats; when their date began, the sky had been mostly clear. Grimacing at the inevitable chill he was about to face, Eliot opened his door and stepped out into the storm. He ran the few feet to the shed, pulled a keychain from his pocket, and unlocked both the deadbolt and knob lock, pushed the door open. Then, he ran back and retrieved Renae’s limp body, carrying her across the sill and lowering her to the concrete floor. One more trip, to close the pickup door. By the time he pulled the shed door shut and secured both locks, his white shirt and grey slacks were wet, as sticky as if the hairs on his skin were Velcro.

There were no windows in the twelve-by-fourteen foot shed, and he turned on a single low-watt bulb. A jaundiced ambience illuminated the room.

The trip through the rain had not brought Renae out of unconsciousness. He hoped that she hadn’t suffered any brain trauma from his punch. A brain-dead woman was of no use.

He moved to the center of the room, where a small rectangular door in the floor opened after two padlocks were disengaged. It pulled up to reveal a stairway descending into a lightless void.

He took Renae in his arms once more and carried her down the stairs, making sure not to bump her head against the concrete walls. There were eight steps, and after the first three it was almost impossible to see anything; there were no lights in this subterranean room. In fact, there was nothing at all: just four concrete walls forming a space eight feet in length and width, and a ten-inch hole bored down through the floor into the earth to a distance of about six feet. It was covered by a loose piece of plywood.

He lay her down and went upstairs to retrieve a battery-powered lantern, which provided a bright blue glow.

Eliot smoothed back Renae’s hair. She was so precious to him, he had known that for a while, but not until that kiss had he known it was love. That tingling in his heart, a nervous tremble in his hands, and the joy he felt when remembering their times together let him know it was real. Love.

He ached to be with her. They had not yet consummated their relationship, and now he was startled to feel just how much he wanted her touch, her lips, that final communion of their bodies. Even in the lantern’s acerbic light, which made the entire chamber warp, her smooth lips and distinctively toned body sent him into a state of arousal, and for a moment he considered taking her, right now, at this very moment.

No. That would be wrong. Their lovemaking, when it happened, should be enjoyed by them both. And Renae was in no condition to bask in sexual bliss.

He decided to let her sleep off the residual effects of his earlier blow. Later, when she awoke, he would speak with her over a few grilled cheese sandwiches and milk--her favorite snack.

Eliot took the lantern with him up the stairs, where he shut and padlocked the door in the floor. He trusted Renae completely, of course, but she might be delirious when she came to, and he didn’t want her wandering off and hurting herself. Best to keep her here, where she was safe.

He locked the shed door as well, then returned the car to its proper place in his garage.

The inside of his house smelled of cinnamon and lavender. He poured himself a glass of water and sank into his couch.

What a day.

He had started the day unaware that he would finally be in love with a woman. He had expected to return home alone, as usual, and spend the afternoon and evening