Ghosts of Halloween: A Dark Why Choose Romance

Two Years Ago

I take a drag of my cigarette, watching Harlow as she smiles at that loser boyfriend of hers. They are holding hands, and I immediately hone in on which of her hands he’s holding.

The left one. Figures.

She’s wearing a tight sweater and jeans that hug her ass, and when she runs ahead, excited about something she sees in a shop window, his eyes drop, and he openly checks out her delicious curves.

And then she whirls to him, raising her right arm, the matte black fingers peeking out of her orange sleeve, and the loser’s expression tightens, his open desire replaced by disgust.

The stupid fuck. I’ll rip his throat out.

Because she fucking sees it. Harlow’s smile drops, and she hides her prosthetic behind her back, forcing another smile onto her face, this one fake as hell.

I wonder if I could get away with murdering the little shit right here, in open daylight, but quickly decide that no, I can’t, unless I want Harlow to visit me in jail. No, she’s been through hell. I will not put her through any more.

But I will get him. Just need to be patient. I drop my cigarette butt and crush it under my shoe, imagining it’s his face. Yeah, no, that won’t do. I need to actually kick his teeth in.

He takes out his phone and turns away, taking a call. Harlow stands with her back to him, her fake smile vanishing now that he can’t see. She sighs and hugs herself, looking around until our eyes meet across the street.

I wink and wave, determined not to give her more grief today, and she smiles hesitantly, raising her right arm to wave back… before she checks the movement and waves with the left one. I cross my arms on my chest and shake my head, frowning at her. She shrugs to show me she doesn’t understand, and I raise my left arm, prompting her with my other hand to raise hers.

Harlow’s eyes widen, and slowly, she mirrors my movement, raising that cool, state-of-the-art prosthetic Noah got her last year. As she waves to me, I smile and nod, and she laughs under her breath, relaxing. I bask in the warm glow of her brown eyes until her jerk of a boyfriend finishes the call and turns to her. Harlow’s immediately on guard again, tugging her sleeve low to hide the black fingers.

Motherfucker.

I clench my jaw, wondering why she goes out with this stupid fuck. She deserves so much better. Someone who would hold her right hand, and then take that prosthetic off her and kiss what remains of her right arm to show her how beautiful and perfect everything about her is.

I’m that guy. I would do this and more, and she’d never wear that tight expression again if she was with me. What does it matter that I’m Noah’s age? I’m only six years older than her, and Harlow’s twenty. Granted, I’ve watched her since she was sixteen, and it might have been creepy then, but she’s all grown-up now.

Who cares what Noah thinks of me? He’s no better. We do all jobs together, after all. Working with me is what allowed him to buy that bionic arm for her. He should get off his high fucking horse already and stop warning me off his little sister. Because while I’m forced to stay away, sleazy shits like Michael here get to make her feel like trash.

But Noah’s happy she’s with him. “He’s from a good family, Jack. Policeman’s son. She’ll have a good life with him.”

Like hell. I can give her better.

When the jerk says goodbye to Harlow and rushes away, she sighs again, shoulders slumping, and glances at me.

And fuck, but it feels like she’s begging me with her eyes. My princess is drowning out there, and I’ll be her fucking lifeline if it’s the last thing I do. She needs me.

I’m done waiting for Noah’s permission.

I cross the street, raising my arm to stop a car heading my way, and run over to Harlow. She beams when I join her, and I have this urge to just hug her, breathe in the scent of her hair, and claim her for all to see.

Instead, I stick out my right hand, and when she hesitates, I lean closer to grip the palm of her prosthetic and shake her hand.

“How are you, babe? Still going out with that loser?” I ask with a grin, because I can’t fucking help myself.

Harlow laughs and bumps my side playfully, shaking her head.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that, right?”

I smirk and lean closer, my mouth just a breath away from her cheek, my voice dropping to that special murmur I reserve just for her.

“For you, I will be anything.”

I wait for a beat until her eyes widen and cheeks color, and she gasps softly, unsure how to answer. That’s when I pull away with a grin, pretending like nothing happened, even though I see the effect my proximity has on her.

I’ve done this for years. Getting too close in her personal space. Flirting shamelessly, going overboard, and pretending like it’s all a big joke afterward. At first, I did that because she was underaged, and I didn’t dare touch her yet. Then, I did that because Noah would lose it if I fucked his baby sister.

But even though I couldn’t touch her, I still messed with her head. As I did just now.

“You have to stop that, Jack,” she says, her blush fading away as she gives me a stern look. “If Noah hears about this, he’ll be pissed.”

Not Michael, I notice. She doesn’t seem to think her boyfriend will be bothered by me, and that’s just fucking sad. If she was mine, she’d piss herself from fear at the thought of what I’d do to a guy who tried flirting with her.

“Noah’s not here,” I say, stepping too close. “And you’re cute when you tell me off.”

Harlow sighs and shakes her head before looking at me with a reluctant smile.

“Sometimes I wish you were serious, Jack,” she says quietly and then shrugs with a tired smile. “Never mind. What are you up to today?”All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

When I don’t answer, she looks up and startles, her eyes widening. Whatever she sees in my face must be disturbing. But I don’t care. Noah, Michael, and everyone else in this shitty town… They can go fuck themselves.

She wishes I was serious. I fucking am. And it’s time to let her know just how serious I’m about her.

“Break up with him,” I say, and Harlow’s lips part in confusion.

When my meaning registers, she sighs and shakes her head.

“It’s not funny, Jack. Stop this shit.”

“Am I laughing, babe? Of course, it’s not fucking funny. If anything, it’s a fucking tragedy you’re still with that loser. Break up with him.”

Harlow purses her lips, and those eyes that are usually so soft and inviting go hard. She’s pissed, but I don’t back off.

“You don’t get to tell me who I can and can’t date,” she hisses.

An elderly lady passes us on the pavement, giving Harlow a disapproving look, and I take her hand—right, of course—and drag her into a side alley, where we can talk in private. We stand in the shadow of a building, and now that we’re out of the late October sun, it’s cold. Harlow shivers, and I take off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.

For a moment, I think she’ll shrug it off to show me how angry she is, but she only huffs angrily and rearranges the jacket more tightly around herself.

“You’re right,” I say. “I don’t have a right to tell you shit. But I want it, Harlow. I want that right, which is why I’m asking you to break up with the loser.”

She sneers at me, which looks too damn cute, and huffs in exasperation.

“And what will happen after I break up with the only guy who even wants to go out with me? This is bullshit and I’m tired, Jack. You know everyone calls me a slut behind my back. Michael’s the only guy who wants me. He treats me with respect.”

I curl my lip, not even trying to hide what I think about the way he treats her.

“He tell you he loves you yet?” I ask with disdain. “Babe, that’s not respect. He’s using you. And he’s not the only one who wants you.”

“Would you just fucking stop?” she shouts, looking angry and hurt.

I frown. I clearly touched a nerve, but Harlow won’t let me talk or figure out what exactly is wrong. She pokes me in the chest, her brown eyes blazing, and I have to resist the urge to shut her up with a kiss.

“You’re always doing this! You keep leading me on, and when I think that it’s finally it, that maybe I have a fucking chance, you turn it into a joke! Do you have any idea how exhausting this is? It’s all a fucking game to you, but to me…”

Oh, fuck it.

I tangle my hand in her hair and pull on it hard, forcing her face up. She gasps, and I dive for her lips. I kiss her the way I’ve always wanted, bruising her mouth, marking it as mine. Harlow gives in with a whimper, her body vibrating with tension as she opens her mouth, and I plunge in, pressing her to me.

God, she’s fucking exquisite. I should have done this long ago.

But Harlow doesn’t kiss me back. After giving me this intoxicating taste of herself, she pushes me away and rounds on me, breathing hard.

“You have no fucking right, Jack! Stay away from me, or I swear…”

“You didn’t answer me,” I interrupt, breathing just as hard as she, my emotions all over the place. Out of control. “Did he tell you he loves you? Because I will tell you right now. I fucking love you, Harlow. I’m in love with you, and I’m asking you to break up with the fucker so you can be mine!”

Her face goes pale, and she looks at me like I’m out of my mind. I’d curse myself for saying that, for going so far overboard, but it’s done, and it’s the truth. So I step closer, and when she doesn’t react, I cup her cheek in my chilled palm and lick my lips, suddenly nervous.

I just said I love her, and I’ve never said those words to a girl before. And it’s Harlow. If she tells me to fuck off right now, or even worse, if she laughs in my face, I’ll be fucking destroyed. Damn this girl.

I hate that she owns me so much.

“Please,” I say urgently when she still doesn’t react, just stares at me like I’m a fucking freak. “Please, just hear me out. I’ve pretended it’s a joke because of Noah, okay? He’d fuck me up if I even dared to touch you, but babe, I can’t do this anymore. It’s bad enough watching you fuck half the guys in town, but seeing you with him… It’s fucking wrong. Please, break up with him and come to the haunted house tonight. And I’ll tell Noah, okay? I’ll tell him I want to be with you, and we can…”

Harlow pushes my hand off her face and staggers a step back, shaking her head.

“You think I’m a slut, too. Don’t you, Jack?” she asks softly.

I growl, because if that’s what she got from my big fucking speech, that just means something is seriously wrong with her.

“Yeah, you’re a slut,” I say, angry that I bared my soul to her, and she ignored it like a bitch. “But unlike everyone else, I’ll call you that to your face. And then, I’ll still tell you I love you. I don’t care who you fucked, babe. I only care that you stay mine when we’re together. So how will it be?”

She stares at me a moment longer and then turns her face away. I glimpse a tear streaking down her cheek.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Please, don’t fucking cry,” I say, stepping closer, and when she releases a pitiful sob, I wrap my arms around her. “For Christ’s sake, Harlow, please. I went about it all wrong. I’m sorry, princess. Can we start over? I’ll do everything right this time, like a fucking gentleman. I’ll bring you flowers. Do you still like those pink chrysanthemums? I’ll buy you a hundred. Just stop crying!”

Her muffled sobs turn into a wet laugh, and I sigh with relief, stroking her shaking back. We stand like this, hidden in the alley, my precious girl slowly composing herself in my arms.

When she tries to step away, I growl and press her closer, burying my face in her hair.

“One more minute,” I murmur, holding her so tight, she probably can’t breathe. “Please, princess. Just one more minute.”

Harlow gives in with a sigh and settles into my chest as I breathe her in, letting her scent calm me down.

“It could be like this every day,” I murmur, unable to resist. “We would fight, I’d apologize and promise you flowers… And then we’d have makeup sex.”

She gasps softly, and I tighten my hold in case she wants to push me away, but Harlow stays put, warm and lovely in my arms.

“I would kiss every inch of you,” I say, my cock growing hard at the very thought of how it could be.

Me and her tangled in my bed, her lovely legs straddling my lap. Her mouth only for me to kiss, her cunt for me to fuck, all of her mine.

“And I mean every inch. I would make love to you or fuck you hard depending on what you’d need that day. I think, if we were together and I could take you home right now, I’d be very gentle. I’d make sweet love to you and treat you like a princess.”

Harlow presses her face to my chest, trembling, and I’m not sure if she’s crying again or laughing at me. If it’s the former, I gotta push her while she’s still vulnerable and make her agree. If the latter… At least I make her laugh.

“And that’s because it would be our first time, and I’d have to feed you my cock very slowly.”

Harlow’s quiet, and I grow confident she’s not laughing or crying anymore. Just shaking. Which might be good or bad, I’m not sure, but I keep going, turning myself on with my words.

Fuck, I hope she’s wet, too.

“If you tell your boyfriend to fuck off, I’ll show you. I’m not bragging when I say you won’t be able to take me just like that. I could hurt your sweet little pussy, so I’ll do my best to go slow when it’s our first time. I’ll be very caring, princess. I’ll make you come with my mouth, and when you’re ready, you will be a good little girl for me and take every inch. And when I’m inside you, I will look into your eyes and tell you how much I love you.”

When she tries to pull away, I hold her closer.

“And when you’re well used to my cock, I will pound you hard,” I say, my voice growing raspy, because fuck, I want her now. So fucking much. “And after you cream yourself all over my dick, I’ll come deep inside you, and then I’ll have you stand and watch as my cum trickles out of you. So if you want me, better make sure you’re on birth control, cause I won’t fuck my girl through a rubber. You’ll take every drop like my good little girl.”

When Harlow pushes me hard and staggers back, I have an urge to laugh and turn it into a joke, just as I always did in the past, but I resist it. I don’t laugh, don’t smile, only watch the deep blush coloring her cheeks. Her pupils are wide, eyes glassy, and I fucking know.

“You’re wet, princess,” I say, coming closer. “You want this. Well, then. You know what to do.”

I leave her there, standing with her lips parted, hand balled into a fist. As I walk away, I don’t look back, because right now, one look from her will have me running back and begging at her feet, and I’ve humiliated myself enough as it is.

And Harlow doesn’t need a weakling. She needs a guy who’ll take care of her and let her be the weak one for a change. I know how tired she is of being strong.

And so I leave her and go home, doing my best not to wonder what she’ll do now. I’ll know in the evening. If she shows up in the haunted house at 12 Sycamore Street, I’ll let her big brother beat me up and then I’ll take her home and fuck her senseless like she deserves.

When I get to my place, I slam the door shut and strip on my way to the bathroom, because my balls seriously hurt. I walked home with a fucking hard-on, unable to stop thinking about how that kiss tasted and imagining what might happen tonight.

She wants me. She fucking said so.

Sometimes I wish you were serious.

God, the way she said that… It gives me hope and also makes me want to slam my thick head into the shower wall. I should have done this long ago. Who cares if Noah comes at me with a knife? He can’t kill me, cause then his little sister would cry. And what’s a scar or two if I get to have her?

She’s fucking worth it.

I turn on the water and huff when the cold spray hits my back. It warms slowly, but I don’t wait for the temperature to get comfortable. I’m already working my cock, gripping it so hard, the barbells in my piercings press into the shaft, and it’s not enough.

Nothing will ever be enough. Only Harlow and her sweet little cunt.

If she shows up tonight, I won’t stay long with the guys. I’ll let Noah vent and then take her with me, leaving them to celebrate the latest job alone. Silas and Caden always go off to fuck in one of the decrepit rooms, anyway, so no loss.

And even though it’s Halloween, I don’t even consider taking Harlow to the party. No, tonight, I want my princess all to myself, spread open on my bed, her prosthetic off.

“Fuck,” I grunt when my cock pulses.

Just seeing her in my mind, vulnerable, unbalanced, truly naked without that prop that helps her pretend she’s normal and unscarred, does me in. Harlow is so exquisite, and when her defenses drop, she’s at her best.

God, how I’ll fuck her. She has no idea. I will kiss her all over, stroking my hands down her throat, pushing my fingers in her mouth, biting her nipples just enough to make her cry out. Her voice will get breathy, and she’ll call my name in that half-shy, half-wanton voice I heard a year ago, when she got drunk in the haunted house and I turned her on with dirty, dirty words.

My cock pulses in my hand, hard, swollen, ready to spill, and I work my hips, imagining it’s not my hand but Harlow’s cunt I’m fucking. She’s tight and wet, and so warm, and when I bottom out, she cries out in pain and desire, and even though the barbells hurt her, she doesn’t tell me to stop, because it feels too fucking good…

I come with a grunt, and as the water washes my cum away, I pant hard, grinning to myself. It’s fucking tonight. I know she’ll come. She can’t resist me, and I’m done giving a shit about anyone but her. I have no doubts. She’ll be there.

So when the night falls, and Harlow doesn’t turn up, I’m fucking livid. I’m ready to eviscerate her shitty boyfriend myself, so she has no choice but to be free of him. I drink and rage, and Caden laughs at what he calls my teenage crush… I’m all fired up and ready to drag her here myself.

But when the shit goes down and we stand over Noah’s body lying in a pool of blood, I can only think how fucking thankful I am.

Thankful she didn’t come and see her brother dying at my feet.