Stay With Me

12. Innocent

Landon Watts' Residence. Philadelphia, Pa. July 18th, 2018.

Landon wakes the following morning naked with his usual morning wood. He sighs and stumbles into his office, flicking on the computer screen to see what his girl is up too. Same as every other day.

07/18/2018 8:40 A.M. - Master

Fucking Rogers asleep. A sheet barely covering his bare ass. Juliette no where to be found.

He grunts and switches to her bathroom camera, hopeful he'll see her in the shower, with her hand buried deep between her long legs.

Disappointment washes over him again when he sees the bathroom empty. He checks the rest of the house, every room devoid of her striking presence. Landon huffs and walks into the bathroom, slowly fisting himself. Looks like he's on his own, unless he watched one of the saved videos he has of her.

He grunts while standing in the shower. The water falls over shoulders and down his chest as he pumps his length, his hand moving faster and faster. He thinks about pressing Juliette against the cold tile and watching her nipples tighten and pebble — making the metal piercing through them stand out even more — begging to be sucked on.

He imagines sliding into her for the very first, the look of ecstasy on her face when she welcomes his cock home. He grunts and moans loudly, his dick pulsing in his hand while the water washes his orgasm down the drain.

Landon sighs and leans his back into the torrents. He dresses quickly after finishing his shower, but makes sure to take his time shaving and styling his hair. As he styles his hair — making sure it lays exactly right — he wishes he had had the chance to install the software onto her phone so he could locate her. Now he'll have to roam Philadelphia to figure out where she is.

Fuck he's going to have to miss work again — or go in late at least — but the compulsion to see her is driving him insane. And not knowing where she is has him losing his mind. Unless he watches hours of footage from the last two days, no doubt she told Rogers where she was going. He'd never let her fucking leave without her telling him exactly where'd she'd be.

But if he has to watch her be all lovey dovey with that fucking tool he's going to lose his mind. As if he isn't already.

Stepping out of the bathroom and down the hall to the kitchen for a protein bar and energy drink he notices a pair of bare legs out of the corner of his eye. Damn, that slut from last night never left and passed out on his living room floor.

Pain shoots behind his eyes, like a fucking ice pick to the brain. Images of a blonde — not Juliette — make him stagger as he leans against the wall. Blood, a lot of fucking blood. She was screaming, his hands squeezing.

Fuck. Landon starts hyperventilating as he walks into the living room. Bile rises in his throat, blood spatter all over his front door. The naked body of a woman, sprawled out on the floor. A pool of blood soaks her blonde hair. A shade lighter than Julie's. Her blood shot eyes bulges from her face, lips blue and two hand prints bruise her neck. Then there's the lack of a nose, which was crushed into the door.

Landon vomits, right in the middle of the floor. Bone fragments stick to the door, bones from her face no doubt. He heaves again and stumbles back towards the kitchen.

His hands shake as he splashes water into his face. His mind races, trying to figure out what to do.

"Gotta get rid of the body." He convinces himself. Like he as any fucking clue how the hell to do that and not get arrested. He can't go to jail, he's already so close to going there as it is. One more fuck up and his new address will be Curran-Fromhold Correctional. This is so much more than a fuck up.

He leans against the sink, his head down low between his shoulders. If the stupid slut would have just went to the fucking bathroom instead of snooping around, none of this had to happen. He woulda let her go, he had no intention of hurting her until she snooped into his office.

And fuck she knew Juliette. The look on her face when she had the balls to say that Juliette wasn't his. He snapped.

Now what the fuck is he supposed to do?! This isn't some bitch off the street. People from the bar saw her leave with him. They know who he is!

"Fuck!" He yells. He could lose Juliette over this. He rubs his hands over his face again, forcing the solution to come to him. The only thing he keeps coming too is he needs fucking help. There's no way he can dispose of a body that is literally swimming in his fucking DNA and not get caught.

Of course he had to strangle the woman he went fucking raw with, and then came so far up her ass she woulda leaked his seed for days. Now it could be his fucking undoing.

Pacing his kitchen he decides there's only one thing to do, call Mark. That's who helped the last time he got into a similar mess in college.

His finger hovers over the contact in his phone. If he does this, reaches out to Mark and his... associates... there's no going back. He'll run completely out of money to buy their services and silence. But there's a body — hours from rotting — in the middle of his living room floor. He doesn't have much of a choice.

"Do it chicken shit. Just fucking call him." Landon tries to amp himself up. Nodding to himself once, he presses the call button. The phone rings and rings and rings. He starts to wonder if the number he has for Mark is even still active. Did he die in the Snap? Then what?

He tries not to panic. But it builds inside him, festering like a infected wound. Finally a voice answers on the other side of the line. Landon takes an audible sigh in relief.

"What do you want?"

"Mark? ...Mark Butaney? Landon's voice quakes, but he forces his nerves down. He needs Juliette and the only way to ensure he can have her, is if he cleans up his mess.

"What is it Landon?"

"I need help."

Mark chuckles in annoyance "Of course you do, I didn't think you wanted to catch up over tea and cookies."

He swallows his pride and remains silent.

"Alright so what do you need?" Mark asks impatiently.

"Remember in college... that girl we..."

"Ah!" Mark cuts him off sharply. "Yes I remember."

"I need to know how you got rid..."

"Shut up Landon."

"But..."

"Who was it this time?"

"It don't matter, the point is I'm dealing with something and I lost my cool. It wasn't my fault."

"It never fucking is." Mark sighs and Landon can imagine his old college buddy shaking his head.

At least they were buddies, before they fucked that mousy chick from economics. It's not his fault she stopped breathing. So what if his dick was buried in her throat when she suffocated. It wasn't his fault then, and it wasn't his fault now.

He's a victim of circumstance. And in the end, Mark cleaned up Landon's accident. Swearing to remain silent and handle the situation. What else could Mark do, it was his DNA shoved so far into the poor girl he probably would've knocked her up if she wasn't already dead.

Landon shudders. Thankful he didn't get to finish that time, but it looks like Karma has come back to bite his dick off.

Landon sighs, "I just need to know how to do it."

"No."

"No?"

"No. You aren't smart enough for this." Mark states leaving no room for argument.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do then?"

Mark laughs, finding genuine humor in Landon's question. "I'll help you, but it's the last time."

"Thank you." He grovels.

"Don't thank me, it'll cost you. Big." With that Mark hangs up, leaving Landon standing mouth agape in his kitchen, trying to figure out what just happened.

All he can do is wait and pray someone comes to his rescue.