Chapter 23: Desperate

We'd been driving for hours. My eyes burned. My hands ached from gripping the wheel. The sun was setting again, casting long shadows across the streets.

Ashley sat in the passenger seat, looking just as wrecked as I felt. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She kept scanning the sidewalks, the bus stops, anywhere there might be women.

"Maybe we should check the grocery stores," she said, her voice flat with exhaustion. "People have to buy food, right? Or coffee shops. Or… I don't know, the mall again?"

I shook my head, turning down another street. "It's useless, Ash. She could be anywhere. She could've switched ten more times by now. She could be on the other side of the city." She could be gone...

"Well, unless you have a better idea, this is what we're doing," she snapped, her frustration finally boiling over.

I didn't answer. I just kept driving.

We slowed down whenever we saw a woman walking alone. I'd lower the window, let her see us, hoping for some flicker of recognition. Most of them just looked confused or uncomfortable. One woman flipped us off. Another crossed the street to avoid us.

"We're gonna get stopped by the police at some point," I muttered. "Two people in a car, circling the neighborhood, slowing down next to random women. We look like fucking creeps."

"I don't care," Ashley said. "We have to find her."

My phone rang. The sound filled the car through the speakers, making us both jump.

Unknown number.

My heart stopped. I pressed the button on the steering wheel to answer.

"Hello?"

There was a pause. Then a woman's voice, uncertain and slightly nasal. "Is this… my husband?"

The tone was strange. Condescending almost, like she was annoyed at having to ask. But there was anxiety underneath it too. Confusion.

"Emma?!" I nearly shouted.

Another pause. "Yes. Emma. That's me, right? And you're my husband. Cal…"

"Calvin," I finished for her, my hands shaking on the wheel.

"Right. Calvin." She said it like she was testing the word. "I knew I was someone else. I've been trying to remember all day. It took me forever to remember this number. I felt like I had to call. Tell you where I am." Her voice wavered. "Am I going crazy?"

"No," I said quickly, desperately. "No, you're not going crazy. Please don't hang up. Where are you?"

She sighed, like the whole situation was deeply inconvenient. "I'm at 2847 Green Avenue. Apartment 3B."

"We're coming right now," I said, already turning the car around. "Stay there. Don't go anywhere. Don't touch anyone."

"Okay," she said, drawing out the word like she wasn't entirely sure why she was agreeing. "But like, hurry up, okay? This is really freaking me out."

The line went dead.

I looked at Ashley. She was already typing the address into her phone.

"Got it," she said. "Fifteen minutes."

I pressed down on the gas.

We pulled up to the address in twelve minutes. I'd run two red lights.

The building was old, brick, with a buzzer system that looked like it hadn't been updated since the seventies. I pressed 3B, my finger trembling.

After a pause that felt like an eternity, the door buzzed open.

Ashley and I rushed inside. The lobby smelled like old carpet and something vaguely floral. The elevator was broken, according to a hand-written sign, so we took the stairs. The walls were painted a dingy beige, the kind that used to be white. Numbers on the apartment doors were mismatched, some brass, some plastic.

"Please let this be her," Ashley whispered.

"It has to be," I said, though my mind was racing with complications. What if she wasn't alone? What if she had a boyfriend? A husband? Kids?

We reached the third floor. 3B was at the end of the hall.

I knocked.

After a moment, the door opened.

The woman standing there was in her early thirties, wearing tight yoga pants and a cropped tank top that showed off her toned stomach. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her makeup was perfectly done: sharp eyeliner, glossy lips. She had that look. The kind of woman who knew she was hot and used it. Her expression was confused, annoyed, like we'd interrupted something important.

"Emma," I started.

Her expression changed instantly. Confusion and annoyance melted into something feral. Her eyes went dark, her pupils dilating. She let out a moan that was almost animalistic and launched herself at me.

"Oh fuck," she gasped, her hands grabbing at my shirt, my face, anywhere she could reach. "Oh god, oh fuck, I need you. I need you right now."

She was all over me, her body pressing against mine, her lips on my neck, my jaw. Her hands slid down to my belt, fumbling with it desperately.

"Emma, wait—" I started, but she wasn't listening.

"Please," she whimpered, grinding against me. "Please, I need you to fuck me. Right now. I can't… I can't think, I just need…"

I looked at Ashley, who had backed up against the hallway wall, her eyes wide.

"I'll… I'll wait in the car," she mumbled, then turned and practically ran toward the stairs.

Emma grabbed my shirt and dragged me inside the apartment, slamming the door behind us.

The place was exactly what I expected. White furniture, decorative pillows with inspirational quotes, a gallery wall of black-and-white photos of herself. Everything was pristine, coordinated. The kind of place that looked like it came straight from an Instagram feed.

"Are we alone?" I managed to ask.

She didn't answer. She was already tearing at my clothes, pulling my shirt over my head, her nails scratching down my chest. She dropped to her knees, yanking at my belt, my zipper.

"Emma—"

She freed my cock and immediately took me into her mouth, moaning around me like it was the most pleasurable thing she'd ever experienced. No hesitation, no buildup. Just pure, desperate need.

"Fuck," I gasped, my hands going to her head.

She was relentless, taking me deep, her throat opening up, her hands gripping my thighs. She pulled back just enough to gasp for air, a string of saliva connecting her lips to my cock, before diving back down. The sounds she made were obscene: wet, desperate, primal.

I was already rock hard, the shock and confusion mixing with arousal. She wasn't talking, wasn't herself. Just moaning, grunting, swearing under her breath between desperate sucks.

I grabbed her ponytail and pulled her off me. She looked up, her makeup already smudged, her eyes wild.

"Please," she panted. "Please fuck me."

I hauled her up and practically threw her onto the white couch. She landed on her back, immediately spreading her legs, her hands going to her yoga pants. I helped her, tearing them down along with her underwear. She was soaked, her thighs glistening.

"Yes," she moaned, reaching for my cock with one hand while the other went to her pussy, fingers sliding through her wetness. "I want you. I want you so fucking bad."

I climbed on top of her, and she guided me to her entrance. I pushed inside, and she screamed, her back arching off the couch.

"Yes! Oh fuck, yes!"

There was nothing tender about this. Nothing sensual. I fucked her hard, my hips slamming against hers, the couch creaking beneath us. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her nails digging into my back, drawing blood.

"Harder," she begged. "Fuck me harder."

I did. I pounded into her, and she met every thrust, her body writhing beneath me. She was babbling now, a stream of curse words and moans and desperate pleas.

"Don't stop, don't stop, oh god don't fucking stop."

I felt her tighten around me, her whole body going rigid as she came, her scream echoing through the apartment. But I didn't stop. I kept going, driving into her, chasing my own release.

She was still moaning, still clawing at me, when I felt myself getting close. I pulled out and moved up her body. She opened her mouth immediately, eagerly, and I pushed my cock between her lips.

Two strokes and I was done. I came hard, spilling into her mouth, and she swallowed greedily, moaning around me, her hands gripping my thighs. When I was finished, she let out a final, relieved scream, then went completely still.

I pulled back, panting, my heart racing.

"Emma?" I asked, my voice rough. "Are you back?"

She started crying. Tears streamed down her face, her chest heaving with sobs.

"I'm back," she gasped. "Oh god, Cal, I'm back. I was so lost. I didn't feel like myself. I was… I was vanishing. I couldn't remember anything. I didn't know who I was."

I collapsed beside her on the couch, pulling her into my arms. She clung to me, sobbing into my chest.

"I've got you," I whispered, holding her tight. "I've got you. You're back."

Emma pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her makeup was completely ruined, mascara streaking down her cheeks.

"At the festival," she started, her voice hoarse. "In the crowd. I must have swapped a dozen times. Maybe more. I was already tired, and every jump… I could feel myself fading. Little by little." She took a shaky breath. "I ended up in this old lady. She was there with her husband. I still knew what was going on, but it felt so much easier to just… go with it. Go home with him. Cook dinner. Watch television."

I stroked her hair, listening.

"I was anxious," she continued. "I felt like I had to do something. Call you. Find you. But it was so hard to focus. I'd try to remember your number and then I'd get distracted by something on TV or he'd say something and I'd just… respond. Like her. I tried calling once but he needed help with something and I just put the phone down and forgot about it."

"It's okay," I said quietly.

"Then yesterday, I brushed hands with her." She gestured at her current body. "Monica. In the subway. By then I could barely remember my old life. I just went with her day. Went to her apartment. Worked out. Ate her stupid kale salad. Texted her friends." Her voice broke. "And today I realized I was about to vanish for good. Just… disappear. So I fought. I fought so hard to remember your number. It took me all day. All fucking day just to remember ten digits."

"But you did it," I said, holding her tighter. "You found me."

"Barely," she whispered.

We sat there for a moment in silence, her body still trembling against mine.

"Who is she?" I asked, trying to pull her out of her thoughts. "Your host. Is anyone expecting her? Husband? Boyfriend?"

Emma shook her head. "Monica lives alone. She's very into celibacy. Well, not celibacy exactly. More like… sleeping around. Casual sex. No attachments. Men are trash anyway." She said that last part with a hint of Monica's disdain, then caught herself. "Her words, not mine."

I almost laughed. "That explains the… enthusiasm."

"Maybe some of it but..." She looked down at herself, "I needed to recharge so bad. As soon as I saw you it's the only thing I could think about."

"We should get going," I said. "Ashley's waiting in the car."

Emma's face went pale. "Oh god. Ashley saw me like that."

"She'll be fine."

"I jumped on you like a fucking animal, Cal. She saw me acting like a complete slut."

"Hey." I cupped her face, making her look at me. "It's okay. She'll just be relieved you're back."

Emma nodded, but she still looked mortified.

We got dressed quickly. I helped her find her clothes, which were scattered across the pristine white living room. Once we were both decent, we headed out.

Ashley was sitting in the car, scrolling through her phone. When she saw us approaching, she threw the door open and started to rush toward Emma.

"Wait!" I said, stepping between them. "Don't touch her. Skin to skin, remember?"

Ashley froze, then nodded. She looked at Emma, her eyes searching. "Is it really you?"

"It's really me," Emma said, her voice thick with emotion.

Ashley's face crumpled, and she started crying. "Thank god. Thank god."

We got into the car. Emma in the front passenger seat, Ashley in the back. I started driving toward home.

For a while, no one said anything. Then Emma spoke, her voice distant.

"It really felt like I was about to go. To the other side. Like I was dying all over again, but slower this time. Fading instead of just… stopping."

"But you didn't," I said firmly. "You're here. You're back."

Emma looked out the window at the passing streetlights. "Yeah," she whispered, but she didn't sound convinced.

I reached over and took her hand, careful to keep my eyes on the road.

She didn't pull away, but she didn't squeeze back either.

She just sat there, staring out into the darkness.

Hey there! This was chapter 23 out of 28. Expect chapters regularly.

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