Chapter 4. The Gamekeeper
He was tired. So tired; but he could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them; saw the coverstone swing dangerously, saw the chain snap, heard his parents scream as they were crushed to death before his very eyes.
Daniel rubbed at his gritty eyes, trying to keep his focus on the road. Why that one? Out of all the horrible memories Daniel had, why did the Keeper have to choose that one to replay over and over and over again?
He pulled up at the house and sat in the car for a moment, just staring at the dark windows. She was probably asleep. Why had he come here? He already knew the answer. Need.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he was already knocking at the door. She answered, dressed in her nightie, the silky, navy blue material clinging to her curves.
She didn't seem surprised to see him; she didn't even ask why he was there. She just took his hand, so tiny wrapped around his much larger fingers, and led him to her bedroom.
"Oh, Daniel," She whispered as he sought refuge in her embrace; the warmth of her body and the softness of her caresses slowly filling the gaping wound that had been reopened in his chest. She did not shy away from his roughness, knowing exactly what he needed. He held her tight enough to leave finger sized bruises in her alabaster skin, and left her with little crescent-moon teeth marks. She held him afterwards, her gentle hands running through his hair as wetness leaked down his face.
"It's okay, Daniel. I'm here."