The Broken Obsession part 3

 The Broken Obsession

Part 3

With Daniel's help, I lower myself carefully into the chair. My silk blouse grazes the white tablecloth, my crutches are against the wall like elegant, forbidden instruments.

Slowly and carefully not to hurt me, he lifts my broken leg and places my cast across the spare chair beside him. The long leg cast takes up space, unapologetic, stretching out as though it belongs here as much as I do. Guests at nearby tables can’t help but glance at my exposed toes on display. Their eyes linger, curious, hungry, some sympathetic.

“You have the attention of the whole restaurant,” he says with a smile, voice low and husky.

“I suppose I like making an entrance, I feel pretty sexy in pink.” I murmur, moving my good leg, the stiletto heel flashing under the soft light. I let the strong curve of my calf flex slowly, on display, while my cast lies long, stiff and pink.

Daniel leans in, his eyes flicking from one leg to the other. “Christy, you don’t even know what you’re doing to me right now.”

“Oh, maybe I know,” I almost moan, tilting my head. “The way you look at my legs… both of them. My strong one, alive, shapely. My other, locked, rigid, helpless wanting to be touched….”

His jaw tightens. “God, when you say it like that…”

Just then, my phone buzzes again. The vibration runs right up my broken leg. I glance down and this time the words are different, even darker.

You are not just a goddess. You are my goddess. One perfect leg in a 4 inch stiletto. The other bound, helpless in a pink cast. I ache because I remember the EXACT moment you became this broken goddess.

My throat tightens. I read it twice, then a third time. Daniel’s hand is still warm over mine, but the glow of the candlelight suddenly feels sharp, exposed.

“What is it, Christy?” he whispers.

I showed him my phone. His jaw tenses. “What the hell does that mean, ‘the moment you became this’?”

Another buzz. My heart beats so fast as the words appear.

I was the driver, Christy. The truck that didn’t stop. The one that left you beautifully helpless, unable to stand, unable to move your broken leg, crawling slowly off the road, dragging your right leg along.

The air seems to collapse around me. My heel freezes mid-dangle on my good foot. The restaurant chatter blurs. Daniel stares at me, horrified. “This can’t be real.”

Another message arrives before I can breathe, before my left hand stops rubbing and teasing between my cast and leg.

This is for Daniel since he doesn’t know. You were on that electric bike. I remember the way your skirt lifted in the wind, white silk tong flashing. You were laughing to yourself, hair flying behind you. Your legs WERE strong, alive. I watched them pump against the pedals. Then a small hit followed by the sound. The crack. You fall, trying to stand on that perfect leg while the other bent, broken. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t help. I only stared before I drove away.

I nearly dropped the phone. My cast feels suddenly heavier, as though the words have sunk into the fiberglass itself. Daniel grips my wrist. “Christy, don’t read this.”

But I can’t stop plus who is Daniel anyway, maybe he is part of all this. Another message floods the screen.

And now I sit so close. You are almost, almost perfect. Watching you bend your strong leg, your sexy strong calf,  your metal stiletto heel flashing under the candlelight. Watching your long, long cast stretch across the chair, helpless, pink, so beautiful. You don’t know what you do to me. You don’t know what you did to me that night when you left the hospital. The sound of your crutches on the pavement...

I can feel Daniel’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look away. My thigh and the hard edge of my cast press together beneath the leather of my skirt, my body betraying me with a pulse of wetness. His words wrap around me, voyeuristic, horrific, intimate, sinking in like teeth, like a vampire biting into the soft hollow of my neck.

“Christy,” Daniel murmurs, squeezing my hand, pulling me back to him. “Look at me, not at that.”

But I can’t help it. My thumb hovers, trembling, desperate for the next vibration, the next line that will strip me bare in front of him wearing only my long pink cast.

Part 4 to come