SHUDDERVILLE FOUR Read Online Free PDF

cool.” He slowly twirled his beer bottle around in its puddle of condensation, lines in his brow deepening. “So now? When I’m fucking some chick? You know what she’s seeing in her head? She’s seeing her ex-boyfriend who dumped her, the guy she’s still in love with.”
    Sophie frowned. “What do you mean she sees him?”
    “Like, in real time. Like, now . Like what he’s doing now. She sees her greatest desire. Whatever she’s been praying for. For some of them, it’s their ex-husband. For others, it’s an old flame. She’ll see him wherever he is now, what he’s doing, picking his nose and reading Sports Illustrated . But the point is, she’ll see him.”
    Sophie sat a little straighter. “So when you’re making love to someone, she can see her greatest desire?”
    He cracked a smile. “This one chick, all she could visualize was Brad Pitt. I think he was having a fight with Angelina. An argument. A marital dispute. She told me about it afterwards verbatim.”
    “And by greatest desire—you mean whatever it is she wants the most? The answer to her prayers?”
    He darkened. He pushed his plate away and licked his fingers. He stared at her. “Yeah, right? And it’s not just who they’re sexually attracted to. Some women see money, or mansions, or diamonds, or the kids they lost custody of. They’ll see all these other things when they’re supposed to be focusing on me. It’s messed up. That’s not what I asked for. Some of them come begging for more—just so they can spy on their exes or whatever, see what he’s up to. Like I’m some kind of private detective or something. Like I give a shit.”
    “So it could be anything ? Her greatest desire?”
    He eyed her suspiciously. “Why?”
    She turned away, ashamed, and burst into tears, the staccato sound of her weeping stabbing at her heart.
    He shook his head. He realized how vulnerable she was. “Yeah, I get it,” he said.
    Her sobs gradually subsided. “You do?”
    He nodded. He had scraggly, greasy hair and coffee-colored cheeks crawling with acne. “You’re thinking about your daughter,” he said. “You want to know where she is and if she’s okay. That’s your greatest desire. Right?”
    She experienced a surge of gratitude. “Would you do it?” she asked softly.
    He made a face. “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “You’re a nice lady. I don’t fuck nice ladies.”
    “You could,” she said, irritation creeping into her voice. “I’m not that bad-looking, am I?”
    He frowned. “It’s got nothing to do with your looks. You’re hot enough.”
    “Then why not?”
    “I just told you.” He became a blank space, like a face with no eyes.
    She said, “Then I’ll never see her again.”
    He sat very still with his hands on the table. She watched his powerful muscles ripple with tension. He stood up and grabbed her. She let him. She let herself drift away. She wanted to see Jayla.
    Hector pushed her down onto the kitchen floor and kicked the chair away. He tore at her clothes, tugging down her jeans and ripping off her underwear. He rearranged her body beneath him, pulling her legs toward him, pushing himself inside of her and failing, and then trying again, wetting his fingers and inserting them inside her, and then sliding his penis inside her; pushing, pushing, friction; it hurt a little, and then it hurt a lot, him grunting above her, losing all sense of who she was, this woman lying on the floor beneath him—who was she really? He lost all focus and no longer saw her as a person; he kept working his hips harder and harder, pushing his penis into and out of her, over and over, grunting and groaning, making noises, closing his eyes while she gazed up at him and—what? When do I get to see my daughter? Is this a joke? Were you lying to me? Is this how you get women to fuck you? Her legs were sore, and her back hurt from lying spread-eagled on the floor. Was this rape? Was he raping her?
    But then something changed. She began