Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

He’d take me to such crazy dark depths that my body would sing and hum and flutter, and I’d like it. My dark saviour would make me like it.

My climax came hard and tainted with disgust. I’d spent years trying to destroy this side of myself – the dark urges for dirty pleasure.

The devil on my shoulder lost his footing as my senses tumbled back to themselves in the aftermath. The angel on the opposite side of me grabbed my ear right back and scolded my excitement as a broken girl gone mad. I clung onto the more regular dream futures of mine and willed the rest away, and they were there, real and true, just as always. A good girl wanting a good, regular life.

A nice boyfriend and a nice little home somewhere and I love yous whispered sweetly. A Golden Labrador and a job helping people, and a couple of kids who wouldn’t ever have to know the shit I’d known growing up.

That’s what I grabbed hold of as I buried deeper under the covers and fought again for sleep to find me. Happy dreams. Love. A brighter future.

But yet again, sleep didn’t stand a chance.

My eyes were already open when the alarm clock sounded time for college. I reached out and dismissed it, then swung my legs out from under the covers without so much as a five-minute snooze.

I showered and dressed and scraped my hair up into a messy bun, hoping that my most understated clothes would make me invisible to any prying eyes around campus with a sixth sense for nervousness, because I was buzzing with it. Rippling with it.

I could feel it beaming from my skin with its own tainted heartbeat. Feel it on me, in me, pulsing like serpent coils, tight and slimy.

I avoided my fledgling friend Carolyn, even though she reached out with a smiley face on social media. I sent back a ‘donuts tomorrow?’ message and she sent me a thumbs-up, giving me just the break I needed to make any bad decisions in solitude. I hid from my dorm friends and slipped back to my room early, jumping in for another shower and a whole new hair wash before settling on an outfit for my evening meet.

Decent. I wanted decent. But not on display decent. Demure. Like demure was in any way a fair choice for a sex-for-money hook-up on a beach after dark. Still, I opted for a navy blue dress, cleavage low but not too low, hem resting just above the knee. A fitted cardigan with all the buttons intact. Sandals for the sand, even though my toes would be freezing.

I styled my hair straight and parted it neatly. I dabbed on some light foundation in a bid to hide any inevitable blushes and opted for one coat of mascara and a thin sheen of clear lip gloss.

The mirror said I’d do.

I hoped the mirror was telling the truth.

The girls were in the dorm kitchen enjoying a mid-week wine when I crept on by. I was careful with the door catch and careful with the click of the lock as it swung closed behind me. I took the stairs down quietly, stayed close to the wall with a hand tight on the rails as I made it down and out into the open air. I was quick through campus, taking the eastern exit and heading out onto the pebbled little side street leading down to the front.

I checked my phone before the beach was in sight. Ten minutes to spare. Perfect. Long enough to scope out my surroundings, but not long enough for my nerves to snap and send me running.

I could hear the crash of the sea before I saw it, finally turning the corner onto the front and taking a long breath as my eyes fixed on the horizon. The moon was out but blurry through low clouds. The waves glimmered with the muted reflection, foamy waves rising high and eating up the sand.

It was a world away from the bustle of a summer’s day. Empty stretches of bare damp sand were impressive in their rawness. The pier was a little way to my left, a dark husk of life like a toothy mouth in the night light. I wondered if he was already under there, Mr Shadow. The setting suited him. I’d likely leave the meeting with no more idea what he looked like in the flesh than his shady profile image had granted.

It felt strange approaching the moment of destiny. My skin was goose-pimpled with more than the sea breeze, arms folded tight as my sandals slapped the tiled path beneath my feet. I avoided the descent onto the sand for as long as possible, relishing the sad glow of the street lights before the final set of steps before the pier.