The Reaper (Eastward Prison)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER

SIX

HANNAH

“I've looked better, huh?” Jack said as Hannah came into the room and sat by the chair next to his bed. He was awake, his bruises turning yellow now from the deep purple they had been. Days had passed. She had come to do her shift, and gone, and slept, and dreamed of him. Dreamed vividly of being with him. His hands on her body, her name on his lips. Her world, suddenly and forcefully revolving all around him.

He was smiling at her. She felt a thrill. To have a man like this, looking happy to see her, smiling at her, like she was his partner… Hannah felt lucky.

“Yes”, she agreed with him, nodding and smiling at him. “You have looked better. You don’t look terrible, though,” she said playfully, it sounded flirty. She was surprised at herself. But not surprised, either.

“Who did this to me, what happened to me that night? I wish I knew!” Jack sighed. He was awake, alert, frustrated, understandably so. “Am I being moved to a normal hospital soon?”

“No, you know they can’t move you-”

“Hannah, I don’t know anything, remember?”

She snorted. “Wrong phrase, sorry, I mean, you have heard them saying, you are here under special protective custody-”

It was his turn to snort and roll his eyes.

She came closer and sat next to him on the bed. She looked at him, his handsome, healing face. She gave his forearm a quick stroke, turning from being surrounded by him to facing him, what was becoming her usual spot. The doctors were even surprised he couldn’t remember yet.

“I really don't know what happened to you, Jack, you got up to go to work I guess and that's the last time I saw you, until I found you…” she repeated. She had told him this, the doctors had told him this, he remembered this, he was obviously just wanting to go over it again, determined to find answers, perhaps a clue that would unlock his mind further.

“What did I work as?” he asked out of the blue.

Hannah shrugged. “You never really talked about work very much.”

He huffed a little, he looked like a young boy who’d been told he couldn’t go out and play. It was cute. “That seems strange to me, why wouldn't I have talked to you about it?”

She stroked his forehead affectionately, ran her fingers through his hair. He liked that. “I don't know, I mean, I guess you must have worked with some pretty dangerous people, maybe you were just trying to protect me.”

He stilled, his body going tight under her hands. She had said too much, she was sure of it.

“Dangerous people? Like who? Maybe I am a dangerous man, is that it?” he said with a low voice.

She shook her head, she had said too much, he’d start making connections, she thought she could feel it under her touch, his heart missing a beat. She didn’t say anything more.

She looked down at him. But he wasn’t looking at her with suspicion. His pupils were big and black, his lips open ever so slightly, his breathing shallow.

Maybe he hadn’t been joining the dots in his mind after all. Maybe the heat she had thought she felt was something else entirely, not him unravelling the web of half-truths she was trying to spin. She was beginning to feel something else, too. The worry melted away. She felt liquid heat ebbing into her. She saw in her mind an image of them both, what she had been dreaming about in the lonely long nights. Them in bed together. She felt a quiver of anticipation shoot through her.

He reached for her hands, retrieving them from his head. He held them in front of them both, catching her, pulling her in closer. His eyes were dancing and dark. His voice was low. A little half smile curled his lips. He looked every inch the Reaper that he was. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? What was he thinking of, remembering? She had no business mixing with the likes of him, and yet, here she was, and it both terrified and thrilled her.

He brought his hands to hers, then guided her hands to his body. She stood and moved closer to him. He was clearly feeling bold, confident. It was disarming, she let him steer her close. He was wearing a cotton hospital gown. He wanted her to feel him. She wanted this, too, she’d dreamt of it, so she did.

Gently. Her hands skimmed over his chest and he watched her firstly, looking for reactions maybe, then he closed his eyes as if he were searching for something in his mind, trying to remember, trying to remember her touch. The thrill sent a shiver through her that she didn’t bother to disguise. He saw it, his eyes darkening, his jaw slackening. Was her touch too tentative? She was feeling, searching, unsure how much to feel, how hard to hold him. She wanted to feel him but she was afraid of what she might find, what she might make him remember.

Under Hannah’s hands, he felt good. Hard muscles, warm. She couldn't help her hands going further, running down, over his ribs lightly, and running down his abs, under the covers. His eyes flew open and his hands came down on hers to stop her.

“Hannah, I'm naked under here.” His sudden modesty surprised her and she froze. Maybe he knew it, they weren't together really, maybe he remembered she wasn't really his girlfriend. That she was lying to him.

“I'm... sorry,” she said, retreating rapidly, embarrassed, almost ashamed.

He sighed. “I know we were together, I know you mean so much to me, everything just feels… strange. I can't remember anything. I'm so sorry, I can't remember you.” He looked anguished by this, genuinely.

She smiled sadly. So it wasn't that he knew they weren’t really together, he just didn't like the strangeness of it all. She felt a surge of sympathy. She wanted it to be okay for him. She wanted to comfort and reassure. She felt a surge of relief for herself, as well, though. Temporary victory.

“I want to remember, I want to know all about us, I don’t know what questions to ask, where to begin. And I know I’ve got to remember myself, not just ask you and have you tell me the answers.”

He licked his lips and continued. “I hope I never put you in danger, if something like this ever happened to you… I couldn’t…”

She was touched by his thoughts, his concern.

“I worry that it will happen again. I worry that someone will come for me again… in the night sometimes, I think there is someone watching me, through the glass.”

She paused. That sounded frankly terrifying. She looked back at the glass window into the corridor, the blinds semi open.

“It’s an old prison, Eastward holds a lot of secrets. A lot of people have passed through here…”

“Sometimes I wake up and I’m not sure if I dreamt it, or if it really happened. But sometimes I’m sure someone is watching me.”

Hannah blinked. “Well, this is a secure prison hospital, we have guards, no one could get in here and hurt you.” She stroked him, skimmed his chest again, determined to reassure him. “They are just dreams, you are on really strong painkillers, your brain is trying to heal…”

“Yeah…” he trailed off.

“I know it will be okay, your memories will come, the doctor's here are good, everyone is looking out for you,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.

“I know, I know I'm in good hands,” he said, suddenly more quiet, distracted by something.

He licked his lips and then added, “Hannah, you touching me, just now…”

“Oh sorry, did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay, I’m…” He looked down into his lap, she followed his gaze, and saw. He was hard. His erection tenting the blankets proudly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed. He tried to sit up and adjust himself under the covers.

“No, don't apologise,” she breathed. She leaned closer, looked again.

“Well, we were talking about important things there and then… Hannah, you touching, on my chest… Fuck.” He tried to sit up further.

She felt heat, in her face, in her stomach, in between her legs, she glanced down and yes, the bedsheets still protruded upwards.

“I know I’ve felt that before, with you, I just know it,” he said, reaching for her face. He cupped her cheek firmly, his fingers lacing into her hair. “I know it’s stronger than I’ve felt with other women in the past. When we kissed the other day...” he trailed off. He tilted his chin up to her now, inviting a kiss. This was music to her ears, yes, yes, could he feel it?

She felt drawn to him, that pull she couldn’t resist. She leaned down and kissed him, with her mouth open, their tongues finding and flicking each other’s, their lips consuming each other. Yes, this was it, she felt sure, this was right. She put her hands on his cheeks, too, into his hair, holding him firmly, unwilling to let go. She felt his teeth lightly bite her lower lip, and she groaned.

“Jesus,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual, more gravelly. His eyes fixed on her and meltingly dark. “Fuck. I wish I could remember being with you.” He looked at her then. “I actually think I do remember being with you, I think I remember… Hannah, I hope this is okay to say… I remember coming, you orgasming, and me, too, together…”

Her thoughts rushed about, arousal coursing through her body. She realised she was breathing and sighing wantonly. “Yes.” It had happened in her dreams, too, of course.

“Sorry, Hannah, I’ve just got a raging hard-on that I can’t seem to do anything about-”

“Can’t we?” she asked suddenly. Her impulsivity shocked her. Head first down the rabbit hole, fully committed.

He blinked. “Can we?”

It hovered there between them, like a curtain, a thin line, and it would take not much to cross it. She had thought about it with him. She had wanted to, she had thought it would entitle her further to him. His touch on hers, as a lover, like a fingerprint, like a signature. Her skin would forever remember him. But then, it might mean he would remember never being with her before, and then all of this would fall away from her.

Hannah stilled suddenly. His question. She should show more moderation, more control. She felt she’d pushed too far, too soon. She had never really imagined the physical side of this. She’d just needed him there, a threat for Roper, looming over him, her back up plan, her trump card. But now things were getting physical, she was feeling things she’d never felt before. She was throwing rationality out the window at a rapid rate. This was her place of work, after all. And here she was, her panties getting wetter and wetter.

She had to back down, retreat. “Sorry, you are recovering…” she stammered, looking away, pulling away, she tried not to feel embarrassed. She was pulsing with desire, she felt guilty, like she shouldn’t. But when he phrased it like that, it did give her a reason to think twice. To slow things down. It was almost like he knew he was a dangerous man, and he was trying to warn her. Her core panged and pulsed like it had a heart beat of its own.

He was right to warn her. The Reapers were a dangerous group. She knew she shouldn’t like that, want that, crave that. She did, though. She found all of this arousing. She had claimed this dark, mysterious stranger. Dangerous, possibly so dangerous. Possibly someone who could hurt her. She bit her lip.

She was scared he’d see her guilty desire, the thoughts racing through her head of how wrong this was, how it crossed so many lines, yet how right it felt. She broke their gaze, broke the moment, pulled away.

“Sorry,” she repeated.

“No, you misunderstand me. You want to…” he asked between gritted teeth. She saw movement under the sheets. Was it his hands? Was he touching himself? She was sure she recognised the action, she was sure she could distinguish it. Him gripping his cock, pumping lightly.

“Why wouldn’t we?” she countered, very aware she was playing with fire.

His mouth dropped open just a little bit. He was aroused, no doubt about it. He was curious. A hint of surprise. He almost expected her to say no, he’d expected his arousal to be out of place, inappropriate, unwelcomed. It wasn’t. He had felt embarrassed, in front of her. He didn’t need to, she wanted him to know that.

“Did we… often?” he asked, his voice husky now, his pupils dilated.

She blushed, feeling the desire shooting through her, it hadn’t ebbed since seeing his erection under the sheets, since hearing his breathlessness. She couldn’t deny it, she wanted to play. It seemed like he did, too. They were both teetering on the edge, hesitating though. Aware that this was a big step to take, so early on.

“Hannah, talk to me.” He tried to cajole her.

“The doctors said I shouldn’t tell you anything… that you should try to remember for yourself,” she said, breathlessly.

“Yes, but I remember this, us, being together, I just told you, I remember us coming together… Were we good together?” he asked.

“We were good together.” She smiled, the lie as smooth as honey in her throat.

“Well, I’m not sure anything else matters then,” he said with a smile.

In that moment, of coursing desire, she realised it did matter. It did matter to her, what he had done. What future was there for them if he had to go back to prison? In that moment she realised it mattered because she wanted a future, she wanted there to be a time when he could leave this hospital, they could walk down the street together, and get a coffee, and come home, to the same home, their home, curl up on a sofa they had chosen together. To be together. To face the world together. To face oblivion night after night, together. Not just to go there once again, a few more times and then… what? Nothing more? A longer path shrouded in mystery. No, the fog was clearing and she wanted to see the path winding on and on, over the horizon. Jack was a Reaper, and if he had done bad things, she wasn’t sure she’d want to face the world, side by side with him. There were prison visits and court appearances to add logistical hurdles, yes. But it was bigger than that. What he had thought was okay, acceptable behaviour, to be a member of the Reapers in the first place, wasn’t in line with what she thought was acceptable behaviour. How could they shatter stars together if their worldview wasn’t the same? They could not.