… solipsubmissive …

This is a continuation.  You might want to go back to the beginning by clicking on this link: Part one.

“Hush.”

Her heart was pounding in her ears, the blood rushing to keep up with the adrenaline, to keep pace with the rapid pulse, as Zoe struggled against the hands that held her down.  She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could make a sound, his mouth descended on hers, stealing her breath with a kiss more cruel than caressing.  Still it shocked her into momentary immobility as she felt herself begin to respond.

An instant later, she realized what she’d done.  Zoe recoiled in horror and began struggling again, kicking and bucking against the body that pinned her, pulling with all the strength she had against the large hand that held both of her wrists in a single, strong grip above her head.  She turned her head to the side, finally wrenching her lips from his.  ”Who are you?” she managed on a choked gasp.

He chuckled softly, close to her ear, and pulled back.  She lifted her eyes, allowed them to rove up the front of the black broadcloth, to follow the glittering row of obsidian buttons, past the stark white square at his throat to his chin, strong and set and stubbled with a day’s growth of beard …

Zoe sat bolt upright with a gasp and clutched the covers to her chest with shaking hands.  Beside the bed, her cell phone rang with steady insistence, but she didn’t reach for it.  After the sixth ring, it stopped.  A moment later, the alert sounded that let her know the caller had left a voice mail.  She dropped her head into her hands.  ”Jesus Christ,” she muttered and looked at the window.  From the position and color of the rays slanting in through the small space between her curtains, she guessed it to be about 3pm.

She sighed, pushed back the covers and got out of bed, pieces of the dream still floating about.  No less than she deserved, she thought with a silent snort, after her nocturnal conversation with that priest.  Without bothering to pull up the sheets and make the bed, Zoe headed for the shower.  If she didn’t get to the market before it closed, she’d have no fresh produce for dinner.  Quite forgetting the message on her cell phone, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

Twenty minutes later she emerged, her dark hair piled on her head and wrapped in a towel, her skin flushed a becoming shade of pink from the heat of her shower.  She flipped upside down and unwound the towel, gave her head a cursory rub, then straightened and began gathering it into a knot at her crown, knowing she hadn’t time to let it dry.  She stabbed a couple chopsticks into the mass, then hurriedly pulled on a pair of sweats and her sports bra.  She was just reaching for her t-shirt when the cell phone rang again.  Tugging it over her head, she walked over to the nightstand, glanced at the display and winced.  Her agent.  She jabbed a finger at the button to answer it.  ”Hi, Gracie.”

“Finally!  I’ve been calling all day.”  The older woman launched into a rant about the many times she’d called, her voice rising and falling as she described the worry, the anguish, the despair, the need to know exactly where she was on the novel, and did she realize her deadline was approaching at an astonishing rate.

Zoe waited for an appropriate pause, then said again, “Hi, Gracie.”

The woman on the other end signed in exasperation.  ”Could you at least tell me when you’re going to go off the grid for weeks at a time?”

Zoe scooped her keys from the counter, grabbed her purse and nodded, then realized Gracie couldn’t hear her head move.  ”I’ll try to remember,” she said as she stepped into the hallway.

“Where are you going now?”

“To the market.  If I don’t get food, I won’t be able to write, and you’d have to find a new writer about whom you can worry.”

Gracie paused.  ”All right.  But call me tomorrow so we can discuss where you are on this project.  I need to narrow down the release date so I can start the promotional projects.”

“I promise,” said Zoe.  ”Bye, now.”  She found the off button with her thumb without waiting to hear a return good-bye and slipped the phone into her handbag.  She skipped down the stairs and popped out the access door, almost running into a rough-looking red-headed boy in the process.  She gave him a distracted smile of apology, and headed down the street, her mind already slipping into the scene she was currently writing.

As she’d feared, the fruit was dreadfully picked over, but she managed to find enough to make up a quick fruit salad.  She picked out some zucchini and eggplant for roasting, slipped them into her mesh bag, and paid for them.  The little old lady behind the register gave her a reproachful look, and Zoe realized it was a few minutes past the time they usually closed.  Sheepishly, she smiled, took her bag and slung it over her shoulder.   She left the market and headed for home at a jaunty pace.

She’d paid little attention to her surroundings on the walk to the market, but she’d managed to work out the scene she’d write that night, and now she looked around with interest.  Her daily walk to the market normally took place in the late morning or early afternoon.  The neighborhood was a different place at this hour.  The buildings and pedestrians cast long shadows, and everyone seemed in a hurry to end their day, to get home, no doubt to their families and evening meals.  Zoe looked wistfully at the whizzing cars as they passed, wondering if they all had someone to whom they were going home.

No sense revisiting her melancholy of the night before.  She fixed her eyes on the sidewalk in front of her, watching the way her elongated shadow stretched before her.  She felt the warmth of the setting sun on  her back, and realized it would likely dry her hair by the time she got home if she released it from the sticks that confined it.  She reached up and plucked them out, one at a time, then stopped to slip them into her handbag.  As she let them go, she realized there was another shadow next to hers, it’s head even with her feet, that had stopped as well.

Instant alarm hit her, but she forced herself to remain calm.  She took another dozen steps, watching as the shadow kept pace, then stopped again.  It stopped, too.  The cars continued to speed by, and there were no other pedestrians on this street.  Zoe bit her lip, then decided that if she was going to be a victim, she wouldn’t be a willing one.  Without warning she whirled around to face her pursuer.

The boy she’d bumped into outside her building stood there, his hands shoved into his pockets, his face in shadow because of the setting sun behind him.  For a moment, they stared at one another.  Zoe opened her mouth to ask why he was following her, but he didn’t wait for her question.  One moment he was standing a dozen feet away, and the next he’d taken off running down an alley between the buildings.

Perplexed, she watched him go, then turned and headed home.  With a little shudder, she picked up the pace a bit.

Continue to:  Part five