Kapitel 47: Kingston's Confession
He pulled the car into the driveway and backed it into the garage.
"I have to get my keys. Then I should go," she said, closing the car door.
"You don't have to go. Please. I think we should talk. Please tell me. I know you were a Marine. I'm sure you saw terrible things and had to do terrible things."
"I wish it were that easy to explain. You've lived this white picket fence life in a big house with a BMW parked in front of it. My past, my hell, is like an anchor I haul around with me every day. I doubt you have known real tragedy."
"That's not fair. You might think you know me because you've looked at a few framed pictures, but you don't. Do not assume to know my past. Did we have money? Yes. Did I live a pretty great life? Yes. But there has been unbearable pain that has happened to my family. You don't hold the monopoly on pain and suffering. Just because I have never slept in the dirt in some faraway country doesn't mean I haven't experienced my hell. It's not all about you all the time. I don't carry it with me because I know what's done has been done. I, you, no one can change the past or who they were. All we can do is be a better person tomorrow than we are today," he said. "You can wait here; I will get your keys. I don't want you to be here any longer than you have to, and I'm not going to beg you to."
He left her there in the garage. She had never seen this side of him—raw, hot-tempered, and sexy. She walked through the garage into the house. He stopped short and almost knocked her down. She pulled his neck down until his face met hers and kissed him. It was a kiss that said, "I love you; I trust you."
"Buttercup, that is the most beautiful thing to say."
"Why don't we go upstairs and have a conversation? I think you're right. I have to stop carrying this on my own. My mind won't ever let it go, but I can at least stop keeping it all to myself," she said.
"That is a great idea."
He picked her up, and she wrapped her arms around her neck and legs around his waist. They just looked into each other's eyes the entire way to his room. She kissed him and slowly slid off him.
"I'll be right back," she said, walking into the bathroom.
He made the bed, which was disheveled since they left quickly this morning. He smoothed out the comforter and plumped the pillows back up. He was standing at his side table, taking off his watch.
"Dean," she said.
He looked up. There she was, standing in the bathroom doorway. She was back in his shirt, with only the two middle buttons done up. He approached her and grabbed her with one arm around her waist. He pulled her quickly towards him. She bumped into his body, and he looked at her.
"You don't have the slightest idea how beautiful you are. Do you?"
He cradled her cheek in his hand. She closed her eyes and put her hand on top of his. She felt the warmth of his hand and the smoothness of the skin. She wanted to stay like that and continue to soak in the emotion she felt.
She felt him press his lips gently against hers. She met his kiss with slightly parted lips. The kiss was soft, slow, and sensual. The endorphins rushed through her brain. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed at this moment. It was just her and him. No past, no future, only the present. She gently pulled away from him.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I want you to do something for me that's never done before."
"Really, and what would that be?"
"Make love to me, Dean. I crave to know what it's like. I yearn to be more than just close to you; you were not my first, but I want you to be my last."
His heartbeat had never been so fast. The energy surged through his body like lightning.
"As you wish," he said.
He ran his fingers slowly down her chest, in between her breasts, and down to the two buttons. He unbuttoned the shirt. It slid lightly from her shoulders. It slid down, uncovering her arms, and fell to the floor. He could not understand how a woman could be as exquisite as she was yet not feeling worthy of love. He took his clothes off, and they embraced. Flesh against flesh. He slowly slid his hands up and down her back, over her scars. He grabbed her by the ass; it was tight, firm, perfect. He picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around him. They stayed that way for a long moment, kissing and enjoying the feeling of him, hard and warm, pressing against her lips, soft and wet.
He lay her on the bed like she was a porcelain doll. He stood at the foot of the bed; he soaked in all her beauty. He wanted to remember every curve, every dimple. He started to massage her legs. They were smooth, soft, and toned. Perfect. He worked his way up and spread her legs slightly to rub the sensitive skin inside of her thighs. His fingers gently brushed against her as if by accident, but it was intentional.
She shuttered with every touch, growing warm and wetter. She moaned faintly, and her hips started to move. He slid his body between her legs. He kissed her from one pair of lips to the other. He kissed her mouth. She held the back of his head and kissed him hard, the passion pouring through their bodies like a raging river.
He started kissing her down her neck, on her shoulders, up and down her arms. He put his mouth on her erect nipple. He flicked it gently with his tongue, caressing her breast. He nibbled and sucked. She moaned louder. She was aching for him, yearning, begging for him in her mind. He slid his hand down her chest, over her stomach, till he found her mound. It was smooth as silk. His thumb found her clit. He rubbed it, then slid his fingers into her.
She raised her knees and parted her legs. He glided them slowly back and forth. He felt her tighten around his fingers with each stroke. He began to move them faster; her breathing became shallow and hard. She grasped the heavy comforter, which formed a ball in each hand.
"Yes, just like that. Oh God, please don't stop Dean, I'm going to..."
She was loud. She couldn't finish her sentence. Her back made a perfect arch. Her muscles contracted around his fingers; then he felt a warm rush of liquid.
She collapsed back onto the bed. She was breathing heavily, her toes tingled, and she felt as if all her energy had exploded out of her and filled the room around her. She couldn't speak, her breaths becoming moans of exhaustion.
"Are you good?" he asked.
"No. I am great."
He gave her a couple of minutes to compose herself. He propped himself up on his hands like he was doing a push-up. He was looking down at her.
"I love you, Allie."
He hovered over her and looked into her face. Before he moved any further, she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him over onto his back.
"So, it's going to be like that," he said.
"That's exactly how it's going to be."
She straddled him. She sat there for a moment; he was pressed against her. He was hard and fully erect. She rubbed herself against him slowly. His eyes rolled back into his head. Then, they were closed. She rose to her knees and held him. Allie took his soft, velvety tip against her lips. "Oh Christ, that is one of my favorites."
"Feel me."
He reached down and played with her pussy. You're wet for me.
She slowly drifted down, and he entered her with ease.
"God, I missed the feeling of your hot, tight cunt."
She sat on him, not moving, just feeling him inside her. Then, she started to rock back and forth slowly.
He ran his hands down her curves. Her perfect hourglass figure. His hands made their way around her back, and he grabbed her ass softly. He controlled her pace. She liked not being in control. She wanted him to move her just how he wanted. He guided her up and down; she had her hands on his chest. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped up towards the ceiling. She was biting the corner of her bottom lip.
He watched her for what he wanted to be forever. He was making this memory so he could recall it whenever he desired. Watching her only made him more impassioned. He knew he couldn't keep himself contained much longer. He moved her faster, and it took him deep into her with each pass. He could feel her tightening; she could feel him hard and pulsating; he twitched inside her, and she could feel it.
"Do you like that baby? I love the way your cock grows even larger inside me."
"I like it, but I want to pound into you. I need to smack your ass. I need it."
"As you wish. Turn around, baby, and present that ass to me."
Wow. He sure knows how to talk dirty.
She was now on all fours, shaking her ass at him. "Like This?"
"Just like that, beautiful."
She felt him pushing against her hole. "Don't be shy, Dean."
"OK."
She felt her ass sting before she even heard the crack. She yelped. He started moving a little faster. "Pound it like you promised."
He grasped onto her hips and started slamming into her. He moved at a speed that was one of the best times.
She lifted her leg. They both felt the places he was hitting were now brand-new spots.
The sound of the smacking skin, a spank every now and then.
He was about to cum, she was about to cum. They focused their gaze on each other. His eyes sparkled like emeralds; he saw the storm in hers. She felt him, and he felt her. She ground her hips. The feeling was intense, fervent, and pure. She clenched her thighs on his hips.
"Dean!"
He sat up and held her close to him. They were moving together in a rhythmic motion. She buried her head in his neck, her fingernails raking his back. It was painful, but that made it more erotic for him. He couldn't hold back any longer. He came deep inside of her, and she met his orgasm with her waves and spasms of pleasure.
When it was over, they stayed pressed together and didn't move. She just wanted to stay there, him holding her tight. They were both breathing heavily, and she wanted to feel him as long as possible. When he grew soft, she rolled to the side. They lay there, her head on his shoulder. They were both sweating, the ceiling fan slowly cooling them off.
"So now what?" he asked.
"I will tell you my secrets, and you decide if you still want me to meet your parents."
She was playing with his hand, interlacing fingers and then releasing them. He stopped and held her hand up, looking at the back of her left hand.
"You have beautiful hands. Your fingers are long. I never realized how big your hands are."
"I can palm a basketball. I can't hold it for long but can do it."
"You know a ring would look perfect on this finger."
"Have you ever done the dead man's hand?" she asked.
"I can't say that I have."
"I learned it at 6th grade camp," she said. "Put your hand up against mine."
They put their hands together.
"Now squeeze the fingers. Run your fingers up both sides," she said.
"Oh wow! That is so weird." "Are you trying to change the subject?" he asked. "Would you like to talk about meeting my parents?"
"Maybe, not yet," she said.
"Okay, then let's discuss when you want to take ownership of the Challenger?"
"How about I tell you a little bit about me first? " she said, playing with his fingers again.
"As long as you're ready, I am listening."
She took a deep breath. She had the words stuck in her throat, and she did not know how she was going to choke them out. Her heart was racing. She was so nervous that her eyes started to swell with tears. He saw one streaked down her face and roll over her nose. We wiped it away.
"Hey, hey," he said, lifting her face by the chin. "You don't have to do this if you are not ready. It has been a very intense and emotional day."
"No. I'm going to do this now," she said.
He held her close to him. He kissed the top of her head.
"I love you. You're my Princess Buttercup."
"I haven't had a nickname in years."
"What was one of them?" he asked.
"Caretaker."
"Wow, that's cool. How did they come up with that?"
"My name, Alexsandra, means defender of men. I mentioned that to someone in one of my schools; the person had never heard the name before. He started calling me Caretaker. I take care of business and keep everyone safe," she said.
"Kinda makes Buttercup sound mundane."
"I like mundane. I have had enough metaphysical for one lifetime. I left Caretaker at the airport for my last flight out of Camp Lejune. I left a little bit of me everywhere I went. Every drop of blood I lost that fell into the dirt, sand, or sea is now a part of those places. I didn't come home whole. None of us did. Some left more pieces of them over there than they brought home."
"What did you do in the Marines, Allie?" he asked.
"I... was... a... scout sniper. One of the first women to go through scout sniper school. I didn't start out doing that. You had to move up in rank before you could apply. So, when I made it to Lance Corporal, I was accepted. Before that, I was an armorer. I spent all my free time between the weight room and the range. I remained a scout sniper till the day I was discharged."
"So, you've..."
"Killed people? Yes," she said. "My first deployment was checking out destroyed and abandoned towns, ensuring they were clear of insurgents. I often sat on a roof with my spotter, watching my team's 6. We did some patrol shifts in a few places we were stationed at."
"Sounds brutal."
"What I did was brutal."
"You did what you had to do, what you were trained to do," he said.
"That didn't make it any easier because I chose to do it," she said. "So, are you going to ask me?"
"Ask you what?"
"How many people have I killed? That's why I stopped telling people what I did. As soon as I would say I was a scout sniper, they would ask how many people I had killed. That is one of the worst questions you can ask. We didn't kill people for the highest body count. I wasn't an executioner. I was there to save lives. Taking lives was an unfortunate aspect of it. No one asked me how many lives I saved, just how many lives I ended."
"I wasn't thinking of asking, but you're the one who brought it up," he said.
"I have 73 confirmed kills. I've had to take down men, women, and even children; they were mostly older boys trying to make their fathers and mothers proud, God proud. A way of telling to get the fuck out of their country. It was a very necessary evil.
These kids are toting guns that would throw a grown man off his feet. I had a teenage girl in a C4 vest. She couldn't have been more than 15. That's the only girl I had ever taken down on my own. Women are a different story. Some of these women were the most vicious transgressors I had ever encountered. Crueler than some of the men.
My nightmares are primarily about children. Most people forget their dreams, but I have them so often they have stuck with me. I can hear the pop; I can feel the recoil. I woke up before with pain in my shoulder pocket. The doctor once said it's called recurrent posterior shoulder instability. I've done my share of physical therapy, and most of the time, it's okay, but sometimes the way I sleep can aggravate it, or if I have stress for too long on my rotator cuff. It's either a dull ache or a lightning bolt up my neck. Sometimes I think it's psychosomatic. If I think about it too much, it will start to ache. So, I try not to think about it, and that's why I don't want to talk about it," she said.
"Allie, I am so sorry you have to carry that with you on top of everything else," he said. "My mom always told us that if you tell someone your dreams, God will keep them for you."
"GOD is cruel. He created man with free will. Free will is what gives people the choice to send their kids out with C4 strapped to them."
"So, you're an atheist?"
"No, I am a person who believes that if you want to worship anything, go for it, BUT don't do things in his name. Don't kill in his name. Use your free will to better the world. Not destroy it. I am a person who feels that I will receive my reward for walking this earth because I try to spread kindness. I falter. I do believe in the soul. I believe we are absorbed back into the energy surrounding us."
He pulled her close. He wanted to absorb her pain, take it from her, carry it for her.
"Like you said, it was my job. It was my choice. I knew what I signed up for when I applied. I don't have many talents, but I was an expert shooter, and I still have perfect 20/20 vision to this day. How many people my age can say that? Not many."
"I need to ask you a question. No matter what you say, I will be doing this for the long term," he said. "Okay?"
"Well, now that you've built that up, go ahead."
"How bad is your PTSD?" he asked.
"Oh. Yeah. I do have PTSD, and it's looming. I am surprised I passed the psych evaluation for the police department. I told them a little bit of what I knew they wanted to hear.
Sometimes, it does shake me to the core. I was sucked into my hell by the time I left. I did some heavy therapy. I am a huge proponent of mental health. I volunteer twice a month at the VA. Or I when they have a resistant vet who thinks they can handle things independently. I have a way with people. Some have said they were convinced because I am pretty and made a good case. Whatever gets them into therapy," she said.
"They're not lying. You are stunning," he said, kissing her on the cheek.
She craned her neck and looked up at him.
"Now and then, I feel like a hypocrite. Even though I have done an immense amount of therapy, there are times deep inside a place of me when I am bleeding, screaming, crying. It drops me to my knees. Sometimes, I think about the use of saying something to anyone. Do people care, or do they just want to hear my story for the story itself?"
"I care. I want to know it all so I can hold you when you think you will fall on your knees," he said, stroking her hair.
"Makala is the only person I have ever talked to about this since I decided to stop telling people. As far as she is concerned, I have only killed men and a few women. No children. In fact, besides my team, commanding officers, and shrink, you are the only other living human being I have told. I don't think anyone could look at me with any respect if they knew. They were sanctioned, every single one, but it's not like policing, where you are told to negotiate with a person. If you see any threat to your team, react, and never hesitate. Your average person will never comprehend being in a hostile environment like war."
She finally released the lump in her throat and let the tears flow. She had tried to be stoic and hold it in but felt embarrassed. She wanted to tell her story and move on—with or without him—that was his decision.
He felt her tears fall on his chest like raindrops. He knew that she did not want him to see her cry. She was always told not to show her weaknesses because they could be used against her.
"My precious Buttercup, the day you don't cry is when you have lost your humanity. You are kind and show it in your own way, but it's always in your heart, eyes, and touch. I have seen it, I have felt it," he said.
"So, do you still want your family to meet your girlfriend, a PTSD-riddled murderer?"
"I think you mean a PTSD victim who, even though she had to kill, in my eyes, is a hero who has survived things few can. The Few and The Proud," he said. "Plus, it is badass to know your girlfriend is a Marine. It's also a huge turn-on. I love those uniforms you guys wear."
"Do you want me to get married to you in mine? I could pull it out of the back of my closet."
"Would you?"
"I have always thought if I ever did get married, I would do the white dress, as much as I don't like dresses on a normal day, for that day, I will. I won't look like a cupcake, though," she laughed. "You never answered my question. Do you still want me to meet your parents, knowing what you know now?"
"I would be proud to introduce you to Jesus Christ himself."
"I will go with you this weekend. If Bruss says, he won't mind picking up my slack on the Kasper case."
"I know he will," he said.
"Oh, do you know?"
"I do because I already asked him," he said, grinning like a Chesire cat.
"When did you do that? You've been with me all day."
"I pulled him aside when we were at Painesville. I was optimistic that you would come around, and I was right," he said. "Now, the important question is, do you know how to ride a horse?"
"I've ridden you, and you know what they say, save a horse."
"Ride the cowboy?" he said, laughing
"Gitty up."
They made love again before falling
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein