Archive for the ‘Michelle and Danny Santos’ Category

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 13

April 18, 2014

Republisher’s Note: Even if you haven’t read one word of the rest of the story, read tonight’s. This is basically the conversation they must have had off screen somewhere after Carmen revealed Drew slept with Danny.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH  Chapter 13 - An Illusion of Control

“I can’t take it back.” My voice is heavy with regret. He nods and looks away. “Danny, I can’t take it back, just I like I can’t take away what happened that night on this beach. I can’t take away his death, or the fact that Drew was here and I never told you.” I seem to have lost the capacity for tears. My throat is sore, but my eyes are drying.”We have both made so many mistakes, done so many things that we can’t — ” and I look up at him, needing him to look at me and he is already gazing straight at me. “We can’t just take it all back.””If we could,” he says softly.”If we could, I never would have killed your brother, but then would I have met you? I wouldn’t have called the FBI. You wouldn’t have slept with Drew. So many things, Danny, we’re only human, we make mistakes. You do. I do. And last night, I made a mistake, I said something in my grief in my guilt that I didn’t mean. You have to know how much I love you.”He shakes his head back and forth. I don’t know what to say then. I am at a loss.

“I know you love me,” he finally speaks, “but it hurts because when you said that last night, I felt it. I believed it. I still do.”

And then the tears return. And I am once again helpless to stop them.

“I love you so much.” His voice is so soft, its nearly a whisper and I can hear the tears choking his voice. “Michelle, I love you….” I love you too, I think, but do not say. “I would give anything for you, to be with, do anything and I look at you sometimes and I think, it’s not the same for you. I wonder: when is she gonna leave me? When is she gonna walk away? When is she gonna realize that she doesn’t really love me? I question that you love me every single day of my life, of course I believed you last night. How could I not?”


He is quiet and so I am. The moments pass by and the air around us goes thick with words spoken and unspoken. Finally, he sits down in front of me, his hands gripping fists of sand. I look up at him, but his gaze is directed downwards.

“Danny, Aunt Meta told me something once.” My voice is surprisingly steady. Perhaps he looks up because of this. My eyes are clear and I see his face without the veil of tears.

“She told me that its better when a man loves a woman just a little bit more. I never forgot that, thought it made sense and besides it’s always been the case for me.” I smile slightly, not in joy or bitterness, just in acknowledgment.”I’ve known Bill since we were practically born and everyone thought we would be together someday, marry, have 2.5 kids, the picket fence, the dog in front of the fireplace. The whole nine yards, you know?”

He nods, but I can see the confusion in his eyes still, he is listening. He is listening to me.

“It worked in theory, you know, because Bill always liked me better. I was in control. I made the decisions; I had the final say. But then we grew up and I didn’t like him that way, and maybe he still liked me, but I was in control. I had the final say and so the scenario changed. I knew a few other guys, but Jesse was my first real boyfriend and it was the same with him. I was in control. He loved me just a little bit more. And that was how it should be. And I believed that that is how it was with you.”

I look down, my gaze trapped by the gentle patterns he is making in the sand. “I love you, but I wanted to believe that you loved me just that little bit more,” and a silent tear slips from my eye, “because that meant I was in control. I couldn’t be hurt … not really. Not completely.”

I stop and let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve never talked about this; I’ve never wanted to. It’s been easier – so much easier – to just keep it locked away.”

“Michelle?” his voice is quiet, just the slightest tremble in the word. I shut my eyes tight, a few more tears spilling forth and then I open them, looking at my husband.

“My mother loved my father so much. She was already a forgiving woman, but for him, she went the extra mile she was willing to forgive him just about anything. She loved him so much. His late hours, his dedication to his patients that often superseded the needs of his family, his affairs, his alcoholism…. she forgave him, she supported him, she accepted him completely.”

I laugh lightly and look up into the sky. The stars are so bright, the moon glowing like a beacon and I think that I can feel my soul being cleansed the same pristine color as I speak. “I never told you this, I don’t like to talk about it, but I was conceived out of one of my father’s affairs.”

I glance at him quickly to catch his reaction – his expression does not change. He looks reflective, he is listening to me. Truly listening to what I am saying and hearing what I mean, what is behind the words.

“So Maureen Bauer is not…” he begins.

“-my birth mother. No, she’s not. Claire Ramsey is my birth mother’s name. Basically, she was a lousy mother, so lousy that after my mother — Maureen, that is – forgave my father, they petitioned the courts for full custody and it was granted and Maureen adopted me. I don’t know even know what Claire Ramsey looks like now. I saw her picture once. She wasn’t my mother.”

I look away again as I ask him, “do you know how my mother died?”

“A car accident, right?”

I look at him,” technically yes. My mother died in a car accident. But do you know why she was in that car?”

“No,” he says softly as he shakes his head.

“She had just found out that he had an affair with Lillian Raines, one my mother’s best friends. I was upstairs in my room, covering my ears, trying not to hear their fighting. Her cries, the pain in her voice. His useless, stupid defense. Lillian was sick, Lillian needed a friend. Lillian needed comfort.” I laugh and it comes out harsher than I intended, as do my next words, “just like Drew.”


My eyes follow the sudden tightening of his hands, but I don’t take the words back. I couldn’t if I tried. “It hurt me so much, because it wasn’t just a drunken, one night stand, not to me. Just like my father, you slept with a friend when she needed comfort.”

“No,” and he looks up at me. “No,” he repeats with more vehemence in his voice. “Not because she needed comfort. I didn’t care about her. I cared about me – I cared about what you had done to me. It had nothing to do with her – and it certainly wasn’t the first or second or hundredth in a line of affairs. I am NOT your father. If I had believed once during that night that you cared about me just a little, that our marriage had even the slightest chance of working I wouldn’t have touched her.”

I close my eyes, nodding my head. “I know. I know that now, but then, that’s all I could think of, but I couldn’t tell you that. I couldn’t tell you all of it why it hurt me so much, Danny.”

“Why not? Why couldn’t you tell me? Why now?” There is so much confusion in his eyes, in his voice and I realize how much I have held back from him without ever meaning to, but I had.

“I couldn’t give myself to you completely. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t give you the power to hurt me like my father hurt my mother. I refused to allow that I could love you as much as you loved me – I needed that extra bit that you gave me. I needed my control.”

“But last night, when Nino,” and I stop, his face and then his lifeless body swarming before my eyes. I breathe in and out, trying to hold on to the words I need to tell my husband, trying to escape the horror of what I’d done. And then Danny’s hand is on my arm, he doesn’t take me into his embrace, but he touches me and that contact is enough to give me back my equilibrium.

“It’s hard,” I say shakily. “It just keeps hitting me, you know? What I did.”

He nods and the rubbing on my arm lightens until it is just a caress, a soft, soothing caress. Neither one of us speaks and the mood shifts slightly in the air. I find myself swaying towards him and our eyes meet. His are dark and smoky and I want him, I want to be with him with everything in me but I can’t.

I tear my gaze away, and hear his sigh as he drops his arm.

“What about Nino?” he asks shakily.

I am silent for a moment, searching for my train of thought. My mother. Nino. Control. My control. “When Nino called and he said that he was going to kill you, something inside of me snapped and I didn’t even realize it. I didn’t. But I do now. I realized it this afternoon. Cassie asked me if loving you, if the good times were worth the bad times and I knew they were without doubt, I knew.”

“And I knew that I said those things last night because I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to make myself not love you so much. I wanted my control back. See, that’s what snapped, that’s what I lost. Or maybe it was always just an illusion. An illusion that I’ve held onto for so long because when you slept with Drew, when you did that, it was my father all over again.”

“I get that, Michelle, I do. I get that now, but -”

“-Danny,” I have to cut him off, because he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t. It’s not about Drew. It’s not even about my father and his affairs. “Last night, what I said to you – it was because of the realization that I did love you, I loved you as much as you loved me. I would do anything, ANYTHING for you. I was just like my mother. And those words came from that twelve-year old girl who heard her mother’s heart breaking – not from the woman who loves you now.”


The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 12

April 17, 2014

Republisher’s Note: Michelle tracks down Danny.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 12 - The Long Walk into His Arms

The straps of my heels dangle loosely from my fingers as I make way to the spot where Mick died – where I killed him. I haven’t been here since the evening of January 8th, almost a year ago.

I pause, thinking of that date – January 8th. January 8th was my wedding day, I think in shock for a moment. Truly it was, yet I never think of it so. I glance down at my white dress, sparkling in the moonlight and realize that it was the July 2nd ceremony at Laurel Falls with just Danny and myself, Ray officiating, that is my heart’s wedding day the day I will remember fifty years from now.

I wonder what day Danny will remember if he’ll want to remember at all. I glance ahead at the upcoming turn of the path, wondering if I’m ready for this. Wondering again why I am so sure that he is here. Why would he be here? I’ve asked myself that question over and over during the drive the same question that Cassie had asked.

I just told myself the same thing I’d said to her. I just know. He is here.

And here I am and I am frozen, unable to take another step towards him but I must. One step at a time. The sand shifts beneath my bare feet and each one seems to ease the heavy ache I am carrying. One step and then another and this is the longest walk I have ever taken, but I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep on going because Danny will be there at the end.


His back is to me when I round the curve. He is sitting down; his head bent slightly, his fingers making angry dents in the sand. I pause in this moment to study him without his knowledge.

He is wearing his leather jacket and black pants. Sighing heavily, one hand rises and runs through those curls of his, grains of sand falling softly. I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say. I raise my foot to step forward, but find even that is too much for my cowardice to overcome.

“Mick really liked you,” his voice is emotionless and my first response is a helpless “oh” of startlement. Of course he would know that I am here. The connection goes both ways. “Did you know that?” he continues. “Did you know that he thought you were different too? I’d see him, meet up with him here and there – he was rarely at home. But those last couple of weeks, there was a new life in his step, a ready smile or smirk in his case.”

“He was such an asshole. I knew that of course, but he was my brother. I loved him. Just like you love your brother, right?” And then he turns and looks at me at last. “Right? You love your brother even if he’s an asshole?”

Everything in me wants to look away from the pain in his red-rimmed eyes. Everything, but I can not. I will not.

“I guess that’s family,” I manage to whisper.

“Yeah, family.” And then he looks away, back out to the undulating waves of the ocean. “He would talk about you, about your blond curls, that luscious mouth, a body that wouldn’t quit. He’d tell me how much he hated Jesse, hated the fact that Jesse got to fuck you on a regular basis.”

I wince at the vulgarity, but if he notices he doesn’t show it.

“He wanted you so much. He’d tell me his Goddamn wet dreams about you. And when I saw you for the first time I mean alone, when you were sitting at the table all by yourself, those curls wild and falling all over that place. You were wearing a tight sweater, I think it was red or pink,” he glances over at me and smiles – a genuine smile, “probably pink,” and then his smile fades and he looks away again. “Anyway, I looked at you and I thought of Mick’s fantasies about ripping your clothes off, awakening the wild woman beneath that Quaker girl front.”

He looks back down at the sand. “That’s what he called you. A Quaker girl. And I thought, I thought at first before you told me what really happened that night….” and then he laughs, “not that you really told me what happened that night.”

“Danny…” I begin, but he holds his hand up and I fall silent.

“I thought that Mick was onto something, about you, I mean. That maybe behind those angry words about Mick, that supposed dislike that you wanted him too or maybe just someone else, a lot of someone else’s. Maybe it was all just a facade. The way you would look at me some times, the way you didn’t react to my kiss. Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” And he looks at me again.

I nod helplessly. My mind drifting back to that day outside the diner. The way he walked up to me, the feel of his hand wrapped around my neck, the hard, yet soft brush of his lips against mine, the urgent pressure his thumb applied to my cheek, the amazing sensations that flitted through my body physical, sexual sensations that I had never come close to feeling before.

“I expected you to push me away, to hit me, to yell at me. I expected anger, disgust, but you didn’t do that, any of that. You just stood there and let me, more than let me, your lips moved beneath mine, soft and giving and I had to pull away because I – I was losing myself, I wanted to keep on kissing you forever and that wasn’t the objective. See, I just wanted to shake you up, but you shook me up because I thought that you would have let me go on kissing you.”

He looks away again and rises to his feet, his back to me. “But I thought, I thought maybe Mick was right about you. You claimed to not want to have anything to do with me, but your actions, the way you would look at me some times, the way you let me kiss you, touch you , didn’t say that didn’t reject me and I’d think, is this what she did to Mick? I mean, no wonder she drove him so crazy. You were driving me crazy.”

“Danny,” I try again and his stance stiffens, but I go on none-the-less. “It was different with you. It was always different – “

“-I know that.” And he turns to me. “I know that now, I knew after the night on the beach, Thanksgiving, the fear in your eyes, in your voice when you said that Jesse didn’t even know what he’d done to you. I knew that you were scared of him. And when you said that to me, when you told me something that you hadn’t even told Jesse, I knew then that it was me. The same way I felt about you, you felt it too, you just denied it a hell of a lot longer than I did.”

I take a step towards him. “Yes, I did. But I’m not now. I haven’t in a long time. I love you, Danny.”

“Yeah,” he turns to face me, bitterness drawn in his face. “You love me so much that you would give anything not to love me.” And then he laughs, a harsh, painful laugh.


I want to run to him. I want to just take him into my arms and hold him close forever, take away his pain. I actually step towards him and perhaps my intention is on my face because he turns from me quickly and his body shudders as he painfully whispers “no.”

And so I stop.

“Danny, I’m sorry.” And I can feel the tickling in the back of my nose, my throat, the prickling behind my eyes, the painful heat as the tears beg to fall. “I’m so sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it. I love you. I love you so much. I love you more than anything, more than anyone ever in my life. I would never give up what we have, what I have in you.”

And then I do step forward and although the shifting of the sands is slight, he hears my approach and his body stiffens. Again, I stop. “Danny, I am so sorry. If I could take it back,” and then the tears break free and I am crying, trying to speak over the sobs building in my throat. I step to him and reach out, my hand brushing against the leather and he shrugs me off. “Go home, Michelle.”

“No, Danny, look at me. You’ve GOT to look at me.”

He shakes his head slowly and it is too much. He needs to meet me halfway. It’s not as if he is perfect. Damnit, he’s made mistakes too and the frustration that has been building in me all day, the remaining anguish and guilt from the docks, all of it rushes through me. He has to look at me.

“LOOK AT ME!” I scream and he does; he turns to face me and there are wet tracks on his face. He angrily brushes them away and looks at the space above my head. “Danny, I love you! I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean what I said.”

His eyes close, “you did -” his voice is hard and I interrupt frantically, “no, I didn’t. I was crazy, I was stupid, but I didn’t mean what I said.”

And then he finally looks at me, his eyes as hard as his voice is no longer. His voice shakes and the tremble is from anger and pain and I don’t know. I don’t know. “You did. You were at your mother’s grave. You wouldn’t lie when you were standing on her grave. You wouldn’t do that. You were upset, right? Right?”

“Yes! Yes! But that doesn’t mean -”

“- it does! Michelle, it does! You weren’t thinking of protecting me or my feelings, you were speaking from the heart. You don’t want to love me. I make you miserable-”

“No!” I close my eyes. I try to breathe, try to control my emotions, try to find the words to make him understand. “No,” I repeat quietly. “You’re wrong. I was wrong. I do love you,” and I pause and then he jumps in.

“Yes, you love me, Michelle” and his voice is bitter and the way he says my name is like a curse, “but,” and he steps towards me, towering over me, his eyes meeting mine completely for the first time that night, “you wish to God that you didn’t.”

I shake my head back and forth as he steps away. “Go home, Michelle,” he mutters again, his voice dead once more and he turns away.

“What do I have to do? What do I have to say to convince you? I was wrong! Okay,” and I reach out and grab his arm, pulling at it with all my strength, forcing him to face me. “I was wrong!” and the tears are garbling my words. He jerks his arm back and I fall to the ground, on my knees. I fall down on all fours, my breathing ragged, my heart broken.

“What do you want me to say?” I demand of the ground and he doesn’t respond. I push myself back up and gaze at him. I kneel before him on my knees, desperation awash in my gaze. “Do you want me to beg you for forgiveness? I’ll beg. I’ll do whatever you want. Just believe me.” The tears continue falling and they are hot, so hot and so thick that I can barely see. “I love you. I love you, Danny. I was wrong. What do I have to do? Tell me, just tell me and I’ll do it.”

He looks down at me and the pain I know that is on my face is mirrored on his and his voice is hoarse and husky and filled with more anguish than I’ve ever heard.

“Take it back. Make it so that you never said those words to me. Take it back, Michelle.”

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 11

April 16, 2014

Republisher’s Note: More positive Cassie stuff tonight as Michelle looks for Danny.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 11 - For Us

I call Pilar first. She hasn’t seen Danny and as far she knows he hasn’t been to the house. I swallow my pride and speak to Carmen as well. She too doesn’t know where he is.I set the phone down with a sigh. Lost and confused I turn to Cassie, “I was so sure he would be at his mother’s house.”She sits down next to me, “okay, but now you know he’s not there. So where else would he go?” She is trying so hard to be my voice of patience and sanity, but the knowledge that Danny is out there suffering because of me and I don’t know where he is, I can’t help him, is tearing me apart.I look at her, shaking my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t think and then the tears overtake me again. “What have I done?” I cry out, my voice hoarse. I drop my head, the sobs now controlling my body. I wrap my arms tightly around my waist, my eyes sealed shut and I see his face in the graveyard under the soft light of the moon I see the anger and the pain God, how could I say those things when he was in so much pain when I was the one causing him that pain?

I tear open my eyes and Cassie is kneeling before me. Her face is blurry before my tear-filled eyes, “I caused him so much pain. I hurt him so much. How could I have done that to him? How could I have hurt him so badly? I love him.”

She rises up and wraps her arms around me, “Michelle,” her voice is soft, a soothing comfort,” it’s gonna be okay. I promise, it will be okay, you just have to find him. And when you do, he’ll understand. He will.” She pulls away and looks at me straight in the eye. “You just have to find him.”


I try the lighthouse, but there is no answer. I call Rick, catching him in his car and he swings by for me. Danny’s not there.

Ray. Abby. Bill. Matt. Josh. Jim. I call them all and then after I have exhausted our friends, I call Bernard and the other underworld figures I know by name. Following that, I resort to dialing every number in Danny’s address book.


No one has heard from him or seen him. I throw the phone down after hearing the hundredth no and glare at Cassie. “Just have to find him, right?” As the only witness to my pain and frustration, she is bearing the brunt of my roiling emotions. “Damnit!” I cry out and that heavy ache begins to grow in my chest, a tight pressure that just builds and builds. And the tears are sliding down my cheeks again, my world falling apart inside of me. I fall onto the sofa, deplete of anything other than pain.

“Michelle?” Cassie’s voice is hesitant as she sits beside me, “maybe you should call the police?”

I turn to look at her, “what are you suggesting?” I ask angrily.

She backs away slightly, “he might have gone drinking, and then a cop pulled him over for DUI. Wasn’t that his reaction the last time he….” her voice trails off.

“Left me? Walked away from me?” I close my eyes and dampen my anger. “No, he wouldn’t do that. Drink and drive, I mean. He just -” and then I stop abruptly, sitting up sharply. “Oh, God.” I get up and grab the fallen phone.

“Michelle? What?”

I swear to God I’ll kill her. And him. I’ll kill them both and then the phone drops from my suddenly slack hand before I’ve even finished dialing Drew’s number.

Nino’s face, his malicious leer forming between the bruises, flashes in my mind and then Mick. Mick. I have killed. Twice, I have. I press a shaky hand to my mouth, breathing in shallow gasps. I remember the sound of the bullet ripping into Nino’s body, the impact as he fell onto the concrete. The horrified shock on Mick’s face as death overtook him, the sand flying up around him .

And then suddenly my breathing catches. I drop my hand and look up at Cassie, my eyes wide.

“I know,” I whisper softly.

I know where he is and my guilt is suspended as the certainty blooms within me.

I know where he is.


I gaze at my reflection in the mirror. I left the curls alone today, my hair pulled back on both sides with butterfly combs. Danny always preferred my hair natural. My eyes are bright – partly due to the make-up, partly to the anxiousness, fear and hope running rampant through my body. I chose red lipstick. I don’t know why, I often wear pink, but my fingers seemed to reach for and turn the tube of Scarlet Dreams without thought. So lips of Scarlet Dreams it is.

I run my hands down my dress, curving over my body. I hadn’t intended to grab this dress, but again my mind wasn’t in control when I picked it. I suppose it was my heart. It is the white dress — snug and fitted — that I wore to Laurel Falls, the day we renewed our wedding vows.

I close my eyes for a minute, lost in remembrance of our wedding day.

The sun was shining so brightly, golden rays blushing through the green leaves, creating patterns upon the branches and tree trunks. We were getting married again – renewing our vows. I was filled with a happiness and peace I’d never before known. I looked up at him — my husband — and that same joy, that same serenity was all around him.

“When we got married the first time in front of everybody and we kissed, I was fighting it but I just realized that I was falling in love with you and I know it’s gonna last forever.”

I had to smile, remembering his vows on that day, how handsome he looked, how I knew somewhere inside of me that this man would love me forever.

“I want to promise my love for you before God right here.” He said quietly, speaking of love as he hadn’t that day so long ago.

“Me too, me too. And you know what’s so great about this? I am already yours and I always will be. We just get to say it again!” The joy, the thrill of being with him, in the setting of my childhood dreams was almost more than my body could take. I had never known, never dreamed such happiness was possible.

” Just us,” he intoned quietly.

And I had to agree, “just for us.”

And he repeated my words, “just for us,” with a smile beaming on his face.

“For us,” I say to myself softly as my eyes open and I face my reflection once more.

For us.

Danny Proposes March 19-20 2001

April 15, 2014

UPDATE: This clip should have been in the last episode guide post.

Mon., March 19, 2001 – At Bauers: Michelle is walking around the house talking to the baby. She tells him things will work out now that they have his Daddy back and she will do all she can for him. There is a knock at the door, it’s May. May claims to be there to bring a baby gift. It’s three of her favorite children’s movie (including The Red Balloon, but not The Wizard of Oz that they were sold out of).  May says she likes Michelle, and Danny is a nice guy caught in a bad situation but the danger is real. She hopes now that the baby is here, Michelle is motivated to cut a deal for her and Danny. Danny comes in having overheard the conversation. Danny: “What kind of deal?” May congratulates Danny on the baby and tries to lie about why she is there. Danny doesn’t let up. Michelle tells her she has to tell Danny the truth. Michelle tells him that she is FBI and that she is trying to find out info on Danny and the other families. May introduces herself as Mary Murdo, FBI special agent. Danny tells Mary she put out for her government. All of his instincts told him that her bimbo act couldn’t be real. She says she really likes old movies and most of all she told him was the truth. She tells Danny that they have to get down to business, federal business. She tries to gets tough. Danny tells May she doesn’t have anything on him. She tells him she does. He tells her to prove it or get out of there. Michelle tells Danny to listen to May. Danny doesn’t want to, but Michelle thinks May can help them. May says she has been authorized to cut him a deal. She can offer him immunity in exchange for his testifying. But she assures him she has enough to send him to jail. She reminds him that his parents are dead and he could be next. She tells him there is a contract out on him and she wonders why he isn’t taking the threat seriously. She asks him to at least meet with her boss. She gives him a phone number and tells him to think about it and get back to her soon. May leaves. Danny says May set him up and he will not help her. Michelle wants him to think about her offer. Danny says he gave his grandmother his word not to betray the other families. Michelle says he should at least talk to May’s boss. Danny says this only proves he will never have peace. Michelle strokes Danny’s shoulder. Danny is worried and says either way he loses. He can either be killed for ratting out his family or spend the rest of his life in jail. He wishes his child had a father he could look up to. Michelle says they will come through it as a family. Danny only wishes he had her faith. (Part 1) (Part 2)

Tues., March 20, 2001 – At the Bauers: Michelle is watching the baby sleep. Danny is talking to her about May and the feds. Michelle tells him that May doesn’t want him to go to prison; she wants to cut him a deal. Danny asks Michelle how long she has known about May. Michelle tells Danny the whole story and how May had probably already gotten into the computer. Danny hopes May had so many headaches trying because there was nothing illegal on it. He tells Michelle he only used a laptop at the house to do anything the feds would find suspicious. Michelle asks if the laptop is still at the house but he tells her he brought it there and he will go destroy the hard drive so there will be no record. Michelle doesn’t think May has a case and that is why she needs Danny’s testimony. Danny says even without a case the Feds can still destroy their lives. Danny says the Feds have a lot of leeway with the RICOH statutes, and they can seize his assets. They can seize the clubs and the shirts off their backs just to apply pressure. Michelle says that doesn’t sound fair. Danny says that is the way the federal government works. Michelle offers to put everything in her name since they are divorced but Danny says it doesn’t work that way. Michelle says it is just “things” and they will survive. Danny says it is like a house of cards, and the other families will see the pressure he is under. Danny says people turn against each other and the feds know this. They are just as ruthless as the mob but they will use the law instead of violence. They will pressure everyone he knows, including Michelle’s family. They will all be buried in red tape and everyone they care about will be in a living hell. The feds will go after Michelle the most trying to get her to talk. Michelle says she is worried about them finding out he the truth about how Carmen died. But she promises she would never tell. Danny says she doesn’t realize how sneaky they can be. Michelle tells him she knows how to get them to leave her out of it and asks him to marry her. Danny says he would love to marry Michelle again for many reasons but not for that. Even besides that it is possible that they will still make her testify but he doubts it, since the prosecutor will see her as a hostile witness. Michelle thinks they can beat them at their own game. She holds out her left hand and says her finger is empty. He tells her it does look naked. She tells him that it is a shame that the unwed mother of his illegitimate son has a naked finger. Danny tells her that they are still married in God’s eyes and he has always felt married to her. Michelle says she also feels married to him but would like it more official. Danny agrees to marry her ASAP. She tells him that was such a romantic proposal so he tries again. He kneels at her feet, takes her hands and asks her to marry him for the fourth time. She says she would marry him 100 times and they kiss. Danny looks at Robert. He and Michelle are holding hands. Danny wants to protect Michelle and his son. She tells him to take it one step at a time. She suggests leaving town. Danny says they are beyond that and he doesn’t feel that is any longer an option. The first step is for him to meet May’s boss and find out what she knows. He can let them think he will cut a deal until he can get the info he needs. He thinks he can buy time to figure out his next move. Danny thinks all May could possibly have is maybe wiretap information or some conversations. He goes upstairs and destroys the hard drive of the computer. He comes back down and calls May. He tells her to set up a meeting. She tells him she will be in touch and hangs up. Michelle thinks this could be a blessing in disguise. Danny hopes so because he thinks it could be the biggest mistake of his life.

(Proposal – Bare finger)

Michelle wiggles her bare finger.

Danny “What’s that about?”

Michelle “This is a bare finger pal, where there should be a gold band.”
Danny “It does look kind of naked.”
Michelle:  ”Yeah, the naked finger on the exhausted, postpartum body of the unwed mother of your illegitimate son.”

Danny: ”That doesn’t sound good.”

Michelle: “That’s because it isn’t.”

Danny: “We’re still married in God’s eyes. I still feel married to you.”

Michelle: “And I to you, but if it’s all the same to you I’d like it in writing all nice and official. My finger is feeling a tad insecure and that kid over there needs a last name.”

Danny: “OK, let’s do it. Let’s get married again as soon as possible.”

Michelle: “Oh what a romantic proposal, I may faint from joy.”

Danny: “That was kind of lame. I admit that. (gets down on one knee and kisses her knee) Michelle Bauer Santos Bauer Santos Bauer Santos Bauer will you marry me for the fourth time.”

Michelle: “I’d marry you 100 times, Danny.” (Part 1) (Part 2)

An alternative version, I think it has a little more of this conversation:


I don’t understand why the Bauer living room was used so rarely (I haven’t found one scene with Joie in it yet) and so frequently during Nancy’s run. Not that object to it being used in Nancy’s run, it’s one of my favorite sets, but I find it odd.

I’m glad Danny told Michelle about the threats, things only work out for them if they didn’t keep secrets and that Michelle soon reciprocates about May. This version of Abuela is evil, but she’s not lying. She did try. She only betrayed Danny because it was the easiest way to save her own neck. This early Robbie/ Michelle scene is just SO beautiful.

Paul Anthony Stewart does a wonderful job with this scene. I understand why Danny is furious, but honestly it’s his own fault his go to when he thinks he’s lost Michelle forever is to get drunk and grab the nearest willing woman. The fact that Danny is slowly turning over a new leaf is shown in the way he can now with all honesty say “Those cops happen to be our friends.” He can completely mean the friend and the our part now which he never could have a year ago.

And THERE is the first on screen mention of Gus Aitoro. Even just standing there Danny can’t help touching Michelle putting a hand on her shoulder and moving his finger back and forth. It is a nice conversation around the proposal. This attitude that Michelle wants it to be legal makes FAR more sense then the ridiculous storyline around their next wedding where Michelle isn’t sure if she wants to make it legal, especially because all along they ARE married in the eyes of church because they never get an annulment.

Danny’s argument to go to jail makes sense, but is partly just his guilt complex at work. I’m glad he’s got Aunt Meta to talk with here. From now until the end is really the only time Danny really has someone older and wiser to turn to. There’s a Mike Bauer sized hole in the overall Manny storyline. Mike Bauer would have added so much as an older, serious man of the world, but on the right side of the law for Danny to confide in.


The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 9

April 15, 2014

Republisher’s Note: Sorry I flipped the order on these two, that’s what I get when I worked ahead.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 9 - The Desolation of His Heart

The door slams behind me, its sound a distant thud in my mind. I take off his overcoat and let it drop to the floor. I don’t care. I walk from the living room to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I wonder if I’m hungry. Before I’ve even answered the question, I’ve closed the door and walked out of the room. I suppose Danny is upstairs in bed.

I don’t want to face him. Not yet. I can’t.

I enter the living room again and note that the fire has burnt out. Without thought, I start it up again and then curl in the chair by its slowly simmering warmth. I listen for the sound of his footsteps. They do not come. He must not want to see me either right now.

Good, I think as my lids shut. The fire crackles before me, the wind howls outside. Life swirls around me, but inside I am dead. Dead like Nino. Dead like Mick.

I am dead.


The chill in the room wakes me. I glance over at the fireplace, surprised that Danny didn’t keep it going. This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen asleep down here, studying, reading; normally he covers me up and makes sure I’m comfortable. Sometimes, he picks me up and carries me to bed.

I stretch and rise to my feet, yawning widely.

“Danny?” I call out and glance at the clock on the mantle. It’s just after six; he should still be home. “Danny?” I call again as I head up the stairs, wondering idly why my mind is such a blank. As my hand trails along the banister, I notice bruising around my wrist. Pausing, I inspect one wrist and then the other nearly identical marks on each one.

“Why…” I begin and then in a rush everything comes flooding back .

The phone ringing, if you want to see your husband before he dies I suggest you come down to Dock 17. Rummaging through the drawer of scarves and ties, looking for the gun.

Nino smiling, his face bruised and bloodied.

The look on his face as he stared at my body. You first. My finger pressing down on the trigger. The sound of bullets hitting into flesh. Danny on the ground bleeding. I killed a man because I love you.

Throwing a bucket of dirty water onto bloody concrete.

Danny knocking me to the floor in answer to my desperate sexual need. Mick’s eyes. The feel of the spring flowers tickling my face as I lay on my mother’s grave. This is about Drew being there that night. You lied to me.

I wish to God that I didn’t love you. I see the woman that I thank God every day is in my life. I see the one who has brought me peace, who makes me feel whole.

If you want to see your husband alive The sound of bullets hitting into flesh. My mother’s grave. You lied to me. I wish to God that I didn’t love you. I see the one who has brought me peace.

“Danny!” I cry his name as I run frantically up the stairs. “Danny! Danny!” and then I am at our bedroom door and my flight stops as I see what he has done.


Drawers are open, clothes spilling out. My dressing table is covered with spilt powder, my perfumes, makeup, hairbrush and accessories scattered across the top and falling onto the floor. The sheets are ripped off of the bed, pillows all around the room. The closet is opened and three of our four suitcases are falling haphazardly from their position.

I step into the room slowly and my eyes continue to gaze at the ruin before me, unable to comprehend, unable to admit to myself what this means.

I think of last night, my words, his words at my mother’s grave

I killed a man because I love you. That is what I have become because I love you.

“You wish you didn’t love me? You wish is that what you see when you look at me? Someone you love despite yourself?”


“When I look at you, I see the woman I love. I see the woman that I thank God every day is in my life. I see the one who has brought me peace, who makes me feel whole. I see the woman I love with everything in me. Everything good I have ever been, everything good I am capable of being I see when I look at you. And you see a man you wish you didn’t love.”

“Sorry to disturb you. Sorry to disturb your life.”

I crawl onto the bed and try and swallow over the lump forming in my throat. The tears are scalding hot down my face, burning my skin. I stretch out across the bed, burying my face within the folds of the crumpled, displaced sheets desperately trying to find a trace of his scent, his presence.

“I wish to God that I didn’t love you.”

“I see the one who has brought me peace.”

I wish to God that I didn’t love you.
I wish to God that I didn’t love you.
I wish to God that I didn’t love you.
I wish to God that I didn’t love you.

I open my eyes and look about the room, seeing the desolation of his heart in its horrible chaos.

He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 10

April 13, 2014

Republisher’s Note: Michelle has driven Danny away. This a bit of strange fanfic because Michelle and Cassie remain close friends. That didn’t really happen on screen and as a general rule most Manny fans aren’t that found of Cassie it doesn’t happen in many fanfics either. If you like her, you’ll love this.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 10 - Only the Love

I am still wearing his shirt. My hair is not brushed. I haven’t eaten. I am a mess. And I don’t care.
“Michelle, let me make you some soup?” Cassie’s voice comes from a distance. I shake my head. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want anything.She begins to speak again and then stops. Out of the corner of my eye I see her slump back onto the sofa. We we’re supposed to meet for lunch today. Of course I didn’t show up. And so she came here. And I told her everything. My voice emotionless dead. She just listened and I just talked and talked. If she was shocked that I killed another man, she didn’t say. She already knew about Mick. She already knew why Danny and I originally married.The joys of bonding during rescue missions.At last I look up at her.

“He’s gone. He left. He didn’t even leave a note. Why should he?” And then I am crying. “How could he do this to me? How could he leave me?!” And then she is beside me, holding on as I cry, incoherent words stumbling from my lips and then everything boils down to one word, why?

She pulls back and looks at me, pushing my hair back. “Sweetie, I know you’re going through a lot right now, I can’t even begin to guess….” but she trails off and looks away. She can’t even meet my eyes.


“Michelle, when you told him that you wished you didn’t love him, you just, well, you ripped him apart, you broke his heart, you basically said I don’t want your love, I don’t want you, but hey I can’t help myself. You struck away his belief of your togetherness.”

“But I love him. He knows I love him.”

“Michelle,” and she looks at me again, “yes, you love him, but you told him that if you had the choice you wouldn’t. You rejected him. You said he wasn’t worthy of you. No, you didn’t exactly say that, but you broke his heart.”

And then the tears overtake me again. “I didn’t mean -”

“-I know. I know that. And I’m sure he realizes that too, but still, it’s gotta hurt. Michelle, tell me this: Do you honestly wish you didn’t love him?”

I shake my head, but my words belie the action, “but things would be so different. I’d be happier. It’s because I love him that I’ve done the things I have.”

“Michelle, you can’t blame Danny for your actions. And what you did last night you were protecting him. Almost any woman in love would do the exact same thing. That’s love. You look out for that person, you want them safe. When Hart died, he died because he took the bullet that Dinah meant for me. And Michelle, if I had had the means, I would have killed Dinah if it would have saved Hart’s life.”

I look up at her, and she meets my gaze steadily despite the sheen of tears there.

“Cassie, I’m sorry…”

“No,” she shakes her head slightly and brushes a falling tear away. “This is about you. Now, I’m asking you again: Do you really wish you didn’t love him? Think about it. Would you really give up all of the joy and the love that you have known with him because of the bad times?”

“Well,” I close my eyes, my head hurts. I can’t think. I’m so confused. I see Nino and Mick and Danny and everything is swirling together in this cacophony of noise in my brain. And then her voice reaches in, calm and clear and restores some sanity.

“Are the good times good enough that they are worth the bad times? Ask yourself that. If you had the choice, would you give up every happy moment with him, if it meant that you wouldnt have had to experience any of the bad? Is the good worth the bad?” Cassie sits back and looks at me, the clarity of her gaze demanding an answer.


“Michelle, if the answer is no, than he was right to walk away. But if the answer is yes, then get yourself cleaned up, girl, and you go find him and you tell him that. You tell him that you were crazy with grief and guilt and panic and whatever else last night and you weren’t thinking and you were wrong. You were so wrong to say what you did.”

I close my eyes, my head shaking back forth. Suddenly her hands are on my shoulders and she is jolting me out of my refusal.

“What is your answer?” And her voice is firm. I turn my head to the side. “Michelle, yes or no? Is the good worth the bad?”

I slowly open my eyes and look at her. “Yes,” and then my eyes close again, tears seeping from beneath my lids, “yes.”

“Okay,” she lets go of me and stands up. “Get up.”

“I can’t -”

“Oh, yes, you can. You get up, you get ready and you go and find him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” And her foot is tapping on the floor, the rat-a-tat-a-tat pounding in my brain.

“Because he hates me. Because he left me. If he loved me, he wouldn’t have left, he wouldn’t have walked out like that. When he comes back here, I’ll talk to -”

“– Michelle! Listen to yourself,” she interrupts me, refusing me my self-pity. “I know you are upset, but think about Danny. No, think about your relationship. If you don’t go to him, the distance between you is going to grow. And if he does come back, a part of him will always wonder, always think that you don’t really want to be with him. You don’t really love him.”

“Cassie,” and my voice is withering. Who the hell does she think she is? “He knows that I love him. He knows that.”

“Why? Because you told him that you love him despite wishing to God you didn’t? Is that how he knows? Is that how you want him to think of you loving him?” She sits back down next to me and her voice is softer. “Michelle, I’ve been in love before and I’ve seen people in love before, but the only other couple I’ve seen who love each other as much as you and Danny do is my sister and Josh.”

“When the two of you are together, there’s like some invisible connection between you. That doesn’t come along everyday. Most people live their entire lives without feeling anything even remotely like that. But you have it. Now, when you’re so young, when the both of you have the rest of your lives to be together – whether it be a year or sixty you have true love, the kind they write fairytales about. Do NOT throw that feeling away because of your pride.”

I look at her and she looks so sincere, but I can’t.

“It’s not my pride,” I say softly, she doesn’t understand.

“Then what it is?” And her voice is so quiet, she is trying so hard to help me, but she doesn’t understand. I look away. I stand up and turn my back to her and when I speak, it is barely in a whisper.

“It’s my shame.”


Cassie is quiet as am I. I walk over to the fireplace and gaze at the pictures on the mantle. One of my father and mother. Rick and Abby. Aunt Meta. Bridget, Dylan and Peter. Carmen, Pilar and Ray. Alan-Michael and Lucy. And our wedding picture — our secret smile captured on film. I reach out and carefully pick up the gilded frame, my finger tracing his face, the smile on his lips.

Move in closer, the photographer cajoled as we stood away from our guests, wrapped in each other’s arms, posing for posterity.

A huge grin lit Danny’s face, okay, and a slightly self-conscious smile curved my lips as the photographer commanded, okay, now hold hands. Danny and I clasped hands rather awkwardly and the cameraman demurred, nah, nah, nah, not like this.

“Okay, not like this,” Danny repeated as we tried a different handhold. The photographer stepped over to us and re-arranged our hands, laying one on top of the other, “like this, both hands,” he explained.

With laughter in his voice, Danny commented, “I guess we should have skipped Psych and taken, uh, wedding reception 101.”

I laughed at his joke as the photographer stepped back and we leaned our heads in close, smiling broadly as the camera snapped. “All right, now, I want you to look into each other’s eyes, come’on.” Danny’s smile dimmed slightly, but obediently he turned to look at me, “look into each other’s eyes,” the photographer repeated, and smile your secret smile.

Laughter danced at the edges of our grins as I repeated in bemusement, “secret smile?” and a slight chuckle emerged from Danny as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine.

“All right, right there. Beautiful!” the photographer congratulated as he took his shot.

“Michelle?” Cassie’s voice is soft behind me. “Pride or shame doesn’t matter. Only love. You love him. Let him know that you love him, that you would always choose to love him. Give him that security, give him that much. You have it. You know how much he loves you. Give him the same confidence. Nothing else matters. Only the love.”

“Only the love,” I repeat quietly and turn to look at her. “It’s so hard. I don’t know how to face him. I don’t…” I trailed off and the tears were in my eyes.

“Do you love him?”

My gaze returns to our secret smile and I nod. I love him so much. So much.

“Then you do know how.”

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 8

April 10, 2014

Republisher’s Note: Michelle and Danny deal with hard truths.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH – Chapter 8 - He Must Understand

“You’re not a bad person. You’re not.” And he kneels before me, taking me into his arms. I curve into him, my arms wrapping about his neck as he rains kisses upon my head, upon my face, murmuring “love you, you’re good. You’re wonderful. I love you so much.” He says and I cling to him, I cling to his words, needing to believe him. He sits back and I fall into his lap and he is cradling me, holding me as he strokes my hair as he comforts me.

I look up at him, needing to believe him. “I’m not bad, you don’t think I’m bad?” He shakes his head and wraps his arms tighter around me. I bury myself within the haven of his arms, speaking quickly, quietly.

“I had to talk to my mother. God, I wish you knew my mother. I wish she were here. I wish she were alive. I had to tell her. I never told her that I killed Mick. I never told her how I met you. I had to tell her. I told her about Nino, and about Mick. I told her that her daughter is a killer.”

“No,” he says immediately and his voice is firm and hard and there is just the slightest tremble in the word. He is fighting something, something inside. I know. I know him too well. I pull away and then I am out of his arms kneeling across from him before he can stop me.

“You do think I am.” It isn’t a question, nor a statement. It’s an accusation. “You think I’m a killer, a murderer. You think I’m a bad person.”

“No, I do not,” and he reaches for me again, but I pull away further. “Michelle,” he begins and then just stops. He looks down, away from me, his entire frame sighing in frustration? In anguish? In what? I don’t know. I don’t know him. I don’t know him at all.

“That night, that night I killed your brother, I’ve pushed aside. I’ve ignored. I’ve pretended that it didn’t happen -”

“-Michelle,” he interrupts me and I hear that trembling in his voice again. I cannot define it. Is it fear? Why is he afraid? Why would he be afraid?

“But it did happen. Danny, it did and I’ve spent so long pretending -” again he interrupts me.

“-Michelle, I don’t want to talk about this now.” And the tremble is still there.

“Why? I want to talk about it.”

“I don’t. I don’t want to talk about this right now. Let’s go home. It’s late, it’s cold. You’re sitting here in a shirt and an overcoat. You’re gonna get sick -”

“I don’t WANT to go home!”

“We’re GOING HOME!” And the tremble has become a roar and I realize at last that it is anger.


“You hate me,” I look away from him. “I killed your brother, of course you hate me.” I feel dead inside. And then I laugh, not dead – Mick is dead. Nino is dead. I hear the dirt shift and stand up quickly, moving so that he can’t touch me.

“Michelle, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I just don’t,” and he paused, “want,” again a pause, “to talk about this,” and he sighed and silence fell between us before he exhaled in a rush tonight. “I can’t.”

“You could talk about it earlier.” And I finally look at him and he nods.

“Earlier, I didn’t know that you lied to me. You’re hurting right now, you don’t need accusations, and you don’t need a fight. You just need to come home and try to get some sleep. We’ll talk about this later.”

And I remember. Yes, I lied to him. Drew. I never told him that Drew was there. “This is about Drew being there that night.”

He is quiet and then softly, “yes.” And it is his turn to not look at me. “Can we please just go home?”

“Why does it matter? Nothing is different. Mick is still dead. I still killed him. I still killed your brother. I still killed Nino. What does it matter if Drew was there?” And I am before him, that slight taunt is back in my voice. He keeps trying to shut me down, doesn’t he see that I need this? Can’t he see that I need to talk about this?

“It matters because you lied to me. I don’t want to talk about this!” And he steps back, his arms spreading out. “I can’t. Because I am so,” he paused and exhaled, the air shaded white before him. “I am so hurt and angry right now. On top of that, I was shot. You -” and he is silent once more.

“I killed someone again.”

“Yes. You killed someone again. And you’re right, I don’t know how it feels. And I wish to God that you didn’t either. And I’m trying to understand; I’m trying to put aside the fact that you lied to me. You lied when you thought I would kill you and you still lied. It makes me wonder – what else have you lied about?”


“What?” I stumble back, lost in a rush of pain again. “I didn’t. I haven’t. I didn’t – Danny, this was a long time ago. I was scared, I didn’t know what I was thinking. I was trying – I haven’t ever lied to you since then. I mean, not about anything like that. I haven’t. I wouldn’t. I love you. I just need you to understand that. Understand what happened to me, I don’t see why it matters. Drew being there made no difference.”

“It makes a difference. It makes a difference.” He is quite for a moment and then he looks at me, smiling – but his smile is full of anger and there is nothing wonderful, nothing real in it. “Okay, fine, you want to talk about it. We’ll talk about it. Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“I don’t know, I guess, you knew and you thought it was just me.” I find myself stumbling over words, avoiding that ghastly smile. “I was afraid if I changed my story that you would think I was lying, trying to protect Jesse. So I just stuck with what you knew. And I haven’t told you since then, because I NEVER thought about it. I ‘want to think about.”

“Okay. Okay, Michelle,” he says my name and I look back at him and thank God, the smile is gone and he is just Danny, his expression open, trying to understand. And so I must make him understand. I must help him, explain how I feel.

“-Danny, don’t you understand how hard this is? A year ago, I was a normal girl with a boyfriend, going to college. I had my whole life planned. And then your brother came along and that night on the beach changed me. But I couldn’t deal with it and maybe I would have if you hadn’t come along.”

“If I hadn’t come along” and his voice is a whisper, and there is pain in that whisper.

“Danny, I was a different person and maybe I could have dealt with that night and just moved on, but I became your wife, I became immersed in this world and I didn’t even realize it. A year ago, I never, ever would have done what I did tonight. I killed a man. I took a gun and I killed a man.”

“That’s not me! That’s not the daughter my mother raised. She’d be ashamed of me. She would think I’m a bad person,” and again that truth hits me.

“So, now this is all my fault?”

God, he doesnt understand.

“Is that what you’re saying?” and the anger is now riding alongside the anguish and his eyes are so dark, so full of hurt and a part of me wants to run to him and take away the pain. But I can’t. I can’t. He must understand

“It’s not your fault. I’m not saying that. I’m trying to say that it’s because I love you.”

“Because you love me? What?” Now there is confusion. I must make him understand. He must understand.

“Because I love you, I’ve changed so much. Do you think that if I had a choice, I would be with you? Do you think I would live like this? Do you think that I would love you? I wish to God that I didn’t love you. I wish that I didn’t love you so much, that I didn’t love you at all. Tonight…. tonight would never have happened. I never would have killed a man….”

“You killed him to save me! He was gonna kill me, Michelle -”

“Yes, Danny, that’s it right there. I killed a man because I love you. I love you so much that I took another life. That is what you make me do. That is what I have become because I love you.” Why can’t he understand? I beg silently. I ask God, I ask myself, I ask my mother. “Why can’t you understand?” I ask him. He must understand.

“You wish you didn’t love me?” And I can hear the tears in his voice. I look at him and they are falling down his cheeks. “You wish…. is that what you see when you look at me? Someone you love despite yourself?”

“Yes,” I whisper softly. He understands.

“You see someone that you would give anything not to love? Not to want to be with?”

“Yes,” and I am crying too because he does understand. Because it is hurting him. Well, damnit, I’m hurting too. I am hurting. I am dying inside.

“It’s funny,” and he laughs, but there is no humor in the painful sound. “When I look at you, I see the woman I love. I see the woman that I thank God every day is in my life. I see the one who has brought me peace, who makes me feel whole. I see the woman I love with everything in me. Everything good I have ever been, everything good I am capable of being I see when I look at you.” And he laughs again. “And you see a man you wish you didn’t love.”

He turns away.

“Where are you going?” I ask his retreating form. He turns back to me and there is no emotion in his voice.

“Home. You stay here. You finish communing with your dead mother. Sorry to disturb you.” And his voice is fading as he walks further away from me. “Sorry to disturb your life.”

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 7

April 9, 2014

Republisher’s Note: During an intense conversation about how Michelle came to kill, she realized how similar Danny and Mick’s eyes were (being brothers) and flips out.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 7 - The Man I Love

I look at him and he keeps saying my name, but I cannot respond. I see his brother’s face, his brother’s eyes and I can’t speak, I can’t think. I am spellbound by horror, unable to deal with this revelation. I turn from him suddenly, my paralysis breaking in a heartbeat and I am out the door. I hear his voice calling after me; I hear his footsteps behind me and the fear of that night returns. I can’t let him catch me. He can’t touch me.

I reach the front door and grab his overcoat and keys. He calls my name again and I stop for a moment, hearing the need, the question, the fear in his voice and I remind myself that this is the man I love. I turn around and he is standing at the foot of the stairs, confusion etched onto every line of his face and in his eyes.

Oh, God, his eyes and I turn; blind once again to his need for understanding. The door blurs before me, but I manage to open it and am out; it slams behind me with a crack. I am in the car, behind the wheel, the keys in the ignition before he is even outside. Our eyes meet through the windshield and I turn the key, looking down looking away from him from his eyes.

My husband’s eyes. His brother’s eyes. The eyes of my first victim.


“I killed a man tonight. I shot him in the back, through the heart. And it wasn’t even self-defense, Momma. I was protecting Danny. Danny. I wish you could meet him, I think you would like him. I think you would.”

I sit wrapped in Danny’s coat, grateful for its enveloping heat and the scent of him lingers in its folds. I trace her name. Maureen Reardon Bauer. I trace the year of her death: 1992. I trace the words beloved wife, mother and friend. I retrace the word mother. Again. And again. I ignore the tears falling down my cheeks. I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour now, just talking, jumping from thought to thought trying to make sense out of this life I am living. My thoughts fly through time a year ago, tonight, when first I met Danny, when first we kissed, when Mick worked at the club, our honeymoon, our wedding day, the night on the beach. I think of Mick. I think of Danny. The eyes that they share.

The lust leaping within the darkness of his eyes. The leer in them, the savagery. He wanted me. He wanted to hurt me. Our wedding day as he spoke his vows, his eyes shining with an inner glow of peace and love. I didn’t realize it at the time, would not let myself see it – but it was love.

My thoughts turn. I must make Momma understand.

“His name was Nino. He was a jerk, a bully. He was gonna rape me. He was gonna kill Danny. I had to protect my husband. Right? I had to. You would have done the same thing for Daddy. Right? Or would you have? Would you have ever forgiven him? I’ve thought about that, because Danny cheated on me and I forgave him. The circumstances were different of course….”

My thoughts turn. The desperate, passion-soaked way his eyes – so dark and malevolent – would follow me across the crowded club. The jealous rage when I stood with Jesse. The desperate, passion-soaked way his eyes – so dark and vulnerable – gazed at me as I pulled away from his kiss in the lighthouse. The jealous pain within them when I broke down after breaking Jesse’s heart.

I see Mick in the club, in the alley, on the beach. His eyes, those eyes and then Danny. Danny. Danny.

My thoughts turn. The darkening of his pupils as his fingers pressed into my flesh, a sexual thrill lighting their depths. The satisfaction in knowing that he was causing me pain. The darkening of his pupils as I played with his lower lip. The tender yearning and need as I played upon his feelings for me.

“I wonder how things would be if I had met Danny first. Would I have left Jesse for him? Would I have given him the time? Would he have even noticed me? How can he love me when I killed his brother? If he killed Rick, I don’t think I could love him. But he loves me. He loves me.”

“And, God help me, I love him. But he has the same eyes as Mick, Momma. I never realized that. All this time, all these months, I never saw that.”

I see Mick’s eyes — the flare of vicious joy as the tears fell from my eyes. The light of drug-induced glee as I struggled to get away. I see Danny’s eyes — the smile lighting his face, beaming from his eyes when I ran to him in my bedroom, my lips molding to his.

The ecstasy in his eyes when we renewed our vows. His eyes. His eyes. The joyous desire in his gaze as we danced in solitude. The possession those eyes laid upon me when at last we made love. Danny’s eyes. Danny’s eyes. The laughter as he kissed me, his mouth tasting of chocolate. The determination to protect me from San Cristobel’s danger. My husband’s eyes. Danny’s eyes. His eyes. His eyes. The eyes of the man I love.


I wipe at my tears and push the straggling ends of my hair from my face. I hear a car in the distance and look up and then the engines sound fades. I wrap his coat tighter around me and lay down on my mother’s grave, curling my body into a ball. The grass and flowers I’d planted in the spring tickle my face. The wet dew mixes with my tears.

I know they’re not the same. Mick was mean and cruel. Danny is sweet and wonderful. And he loves me. Mick just wanted me; I was just a body to him. To Danny, I’m everything.

“I’m everything.” I repeat softly and I find myself smiling Danny is nothing like Mick. How could I think even for a moment? How could I? I turn to look at my mother’s name. I must explain this to her.

“Danny is wonderful. Momma, he’s so wonderful, nothing like Mick. Nothing. Mick was a bad, bad man. He tried to hurt me, he was going to kill a friend, and me. Momma, he was going to rape me.”

I must look away from her name. I must tell her. I have to look away from her name.

“I killed Mick, too. Nino isn’t the first man I killed. I killed Mick, too, Momma. Does that make me a bad person? I think so. Danny’s lived his whole life surrounded by guns and violence and crime and he’s never taken a life. I have. Twice. Momma, twice, I have. When I killed Mick, it was self-defense. I never told you about this. I never even told you how Danny and I first met.”

“He was sent to kill me. He was supposed to kill me because I killed his brother, but he didn’t kill me. He fell in love with me, and he married me. And I hated him so much. And I’m so selfish, Momma. I cared more about my life, the inconvenience to my life than I did about killing his brother. Until tonight I’d never even told him I was sorry. I’d never thought of the pain that he felt because his brother was dead.”

“But it was an accident. I didn’t mean to. He was gonna kill Drew -” suddenly I stop, at last understanding the shock in Danny’s voice, the look on his face before I ran out of there. I had never told him that Drew was there.

“Oh, God, Momma, what have I done? I didn’t tell him that night, I didn’t tell him that night on the beach. But I should have sometime, sometime, I just never thought about it. I never think about it. I never think about the fact that I killed someone. I am a bad person. I am not the girl you raised. I don’t think you would be proud of me. I don’t know if you could love me anymore. I don’t know how anyone can love me.”

“I’m a bad person.” My voice drops to a whisper and tears clog my throat. “I’m a bad person.”

“Michelle.” I roll over and sit up, my gaze meeting Danny’s and he has that look of ineffable sadness upon his face again in his eyes. And I see his eyes. I see the love. The care. The tenderness. I see my husband’s eyes and they are not his brother’s. The man within them is a better man. A kind man. A good man. The man I love.

And I ask of my mother of my husband: “but how can you love me?” I look away from him. And the words fall from my lips, a hushed mantra; a realization that I have hid from myself since that night on the beach. “I’m a bad person. I’m a bad person. I’m a bad person. I’m a bad person….” the words fade into the air, but on and on they drone in my mind and he is silent behind me.

He does not dispute my words. My truth. I am a bad person.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 6

April 6, 2014

Republisher’s Note: We deal with some of the problems of the Manny marriage. Michelle tries to push Danny far enough so he feels the same level of pain she does. Then she finally forces Danny to talk with her about Mick’s death with a twist at the end.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 6 - I Had Forgotten

He is sleeping. A part of me wants to wake him up, ask how he can sleep so peacefully when my world is falling apart? Can’t he see what this is doing to me? I can’t think of anything other than death. I see Mick’s body, I see Nino’s body and then I stare at my hands and see them as instruments of death. I want to forget. I want for tonight to never have happened. As long as Danny and I never discussed Mick, he could lay buried in our past, untouched . . . but that is no longer an option.

I get out of bed and grab a shirt of his out of the drawer. I climb back onto the bed, sitting at the foot as I button it up. And I watch him sleep. A minute passes, then two and then four. I gaze at him and then look over at the clock. Ten minutes have passed. I feel like Im in a void, but there is a torrent of rage and anguish waiting to erupt. Twelve minutes. His lids flutter and he shifts in the bed; his arm reaches out and he is searching for my presence. I wish achingly for a moment with every thing in me that I were there, that he could hold me and that just his touch would take this all away.

But it won’t.

He finds my spot empty and his eyes open. He looks about and sees me. A smile crosses his face. He is beautiful, I think but I can’t return his smile. He sits up.

“What?” and he moves towards me.

I get up off the bed and ask him the question that’s been pounding in my head. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to kill someone, Danny? Have you ever really thought about it?”

He looks away and sighs, “Michelle….” and his voice trails off.

“Have you?”

“Yes. I always knew that in my world it could come up at any time.” He still won’t look at me.

“What did you think? Did you imagine what it would be like? How you would feel? How you would do it?” The questions come quickly and his eyes shut, his frame tightening.

“I don’t want to talk about -”

“-I do!” I bang my fists down on the bed and he finally looks at me.

“Michelle, this isn’t something you should be thinking about. You shouldn’t…. I wanted to protect you from this.” And his voice is filled with pain, so much pain, but I am immune to that pain right now.

“How could you protect me, Danny? I committed my first murder before I even knew you. I killed your brother. Remember? I whacked him over the head with a rock. I watched him fall to his knees, I watched the death throes cross his face, I saw -”

“Shut up!” and he is on his feet, towering over me. “Shut up,” and his voice is a whisper.


His eyes close and that ever-present guilt crosses his face. He takes a step back and breathes deeply. I stand watching him, wondering if I have pushed him too far. His eyes open and he is calm, that sudden anger that had enflamed them moments ago is gone.

Not far enough.

“We never talk about that night, Danny.” My voice is amazingly serene. I hear the slightest smile in my words. Actually it is more than a smile, I realize; it is a taunt. He hears it too. His fists clench at his sides and he takes another step back, turning away from me. I watch him as he pulls on some shorts, runs a hand through his hair and sits back down on the bed.

“Michelle, we discussed it on the beach. You told me what happened. End of story.” His words are tight, emotionless and I can see the tension coiling within him. Just a little push, I think and don’t even flinch at how much I want him to hurt right now, hurt as badly as I am.

“Why can’t we talk about it again? You see, I told you the details, but not the feelings and you don’t know, Danny, you don’t know what it feels like to take a life. I do. I want to tell you.” A tear slips down my cheek and I am surprised to feel its warm wetness. “I need to tell you,” and my voice is no longer calm and it is not just one tear, but many and I say again, “I need to tell you.” And then “I need to tell someone.” And then I am rambling, rushing through words, my rage dissipating as my tears fall my need to wound him disappearing with each word.

“I tried to tell Jesse, but he wouldn’t listen. Mick was scum, a criminal, not worthy of my guilt, that’s what he said. It didn’t matter that I killed him, you see, Mick was bad and he deserved to die.” Absently, I note the way Danny sits up straighter, the unseeing glare in his eyes. “And Bill wouldn’t hear it, either. You see, he couldn’t face what I had done. And I really don’t think that Drew even cared. And I couldn’t talk to Rick or Abby or Aunt Meta because they wouldn’t understand. No one could understand. No one would try.”

And then I’m before him and I can barely see as I kneel in front of him, the tears are so thick, blinding me. And my words are slurred and breaking apart as the sobs choke my throat. “Please, please, Danny.” My hands reach up and encircle his face, force him to look at me. His eyes close again. “I’ve tried for so long to not care, to not remember and I’ve done a really good job of it, but I don’t want to…. Danny?”

And he looks at me.

“Please,” I beg of him softly again. “Please I can’t do it anymore. Nino, what happened tonight, I need someone needs to try. Please listen to me. Please try and understand.”


He looks at me intently and I can see the battle in his eyes and for a moment I spare a thought for his struggle, for his emotions this night. His wife – his beloved wife – took a gun in hand and killed someone. How could that not have brought back his own memories of his brother’s death? And I’d never asked him. I never asked what those memories were? I never knew how he grieved. I never questioned what guilt he must feel because he fell in love with his brother’s murderer.

He has tried so hard to protect me, to keep me from being tainted by the crime and the violence of the Santos family and tonight I stepped right into it. And he could do nothing to protect me he failed in his sacred duty as husband.

And now, now I ask him to hear me speak about the night his brother died, how I felt, what he did to me, the fear I felt, the horror at witnessing his death. And I think, in this moment of empathy for my husband, that I can understand if he refuses.

I look away from his gaze and my eyes fall upon my hands still encircling his face and I see so clearly Nino’s blood and Mick’s. I shake my head back and forth, my moment of compassion gone and beg of him once more, “please try.”

He remains silent and my hands fall to my side. I rise and take a wobbly step away from him when suddenly his arm comes out and wraps about my waist. He is looking at me and there is resolve upon his features, determination in his eyes. He pulls me to him and I settle upon his lap, my hands lying tentatively upon his bare chest and I meet his gaze.

“Okay,” he says simply and I find the sobs building within me and I marvel in my misery once again at this love that I have found in this man. He pulls me to him, tucking my head beneath his chin and gently brushes my hair, all the while murmuring words of comfort.

And for the first time in days I do feel comforted. I feel the anger, the anguish slowly drain out of me as his fingers soothe my throbbing head as his words offer succor to my aching heart. My cries subside and I open my mind, thinking back to that night, centuries ago now it seems.

“Drew and I needed to talk and somewhere privately where Jesse wouldn’t hear us. I don’t even remember now what it was about, but that’s why we were on the beach that night. I don’t know how Mick knew that we were there, actually Drew. He was looking for Drew, he wanted revenge because she fired him or had called the cops, I don’t know if he’d known she called the cops.”

Danny shifts slightly beneath me and murmurs softly, “this was the night he died?”

I nod, my head bumping against his chin. “Ow,” he says softly and I find the smallest smile on my lips as I pull away and look at him.

“Sorry”, he shakes his head slightly and I note a touch of confusion in his gaze, but I can’t question it now … maybe later. I need to talk; I need to deal with this, finally, once and for all.

“Where was I? Oh, we were at the beach and Mick didn’t even know I’d be there, he was really just following Drew, and he was threatening her when I got there and then when he saw me, he just ignored her. And I know this sounds crazy, but I think even that irritated her. She hated the fact that Jesse loved me, she hated the fact that any guy could prefer me to her and Mick did.”

“He was always coming on to me, he was so creepy, making veiled comments about him and me and Drew knew about it, and I think she was jealous in a way she thought, once again, Michelle gets the guy. I couldn’t understand her. I guess I still don’t.”

“Why are you still friends then?” his voice is so soft, so soothing, I can’t imagine how hard this is for him, but he is still here, still listening, doing this for me. I reach out a hand and lightly rest it against his face; he leans into my touch, his eyes closing briefly. I savor this renewed closeness for a moment and then my eyes light upon my hand, my guilty hand. I pull away, getting up off of his lap and begin to pace the room. He doesn’t question my move, he just accepts.

I think of that night and I think of Drew, realizing I never answered his question. “Habit, I guess. Drew, I mean. When everything was happening with you, when we first got married, she was the only one who knew the whole story. I began to depend on her and, even after everything she’d done, I couldn’t deny her. And it was so strange because we disliked each other for so long, Danny. Until I married you and all of that stuff happened, we barely spoke civilly to each other.”

“So you weren’t friends all along?”

“No,” I look at him, surprised that I had never told him this.

“But she was the maid of –, oh, she was the only one who knew, which made her the only one you could ask. Right?”

I nod, “and after what happened with you,” he has the decency to look away in a flash of guilt, “I suppose most wouldn’t have forgiven her, but I guess I thought that if I didn’t forgive her, it would make me a hypocrite. I was with you, I forgave you.” I laugh with little humor, “it takes two to tango, right Danny?”

He sends a sudden, piercing look my way, “that night on the beach, when did she leave?” he changes the subject with little ease and there is no inflection in his voice when he says she, purposely negating her presence in his life, then and now.

“When did she leave? What do you mean?” I ask, suddenly confused as I think to answer his question.

“Well, what happened next? Mick saw you and ignored her, what then?” I wonder for a moment at his interest in a discussion I thought he would not want to have, but I need this. I keep changing the subject, trying to find a way to not talk about it. Even now, after tonight, after Nino, I still don’t want to face my actions my violent tendencies. I look down at my hands again and see that gun, that rock there and wince. I must. I must.

“Mick ignored her and he grabbed me, he made it clear that he wanted, that he was going to rape me. He began to drag me off the beach when Drew ran up behind him and hit him on the head with a rock.” Danny sits up straighter in the bed and from a distance I hear his “Michelle?” in a strained whisper.

I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m there on the beach, that night. I can feel his breath on my face, his hands gripping me, the lust, the glittering, fiery lust in his gaze and I let out a sudden gasp, covering my face in horror as I see those eyes staring into my own in my mind.

I had blocked this out; I had barely remembered what he looked like. I had made myself forget his face – before this moment, he had just been a hazy image, I had made myself banish the memory of those eyes, those dark eyes looking at me with such wanting.

I had forgotten. I had forgotten. I had forgotten.

I turn and look at Danny and he is staring at me with shock, but I don’t see it. All I can see are his eyes. My Danny’s eyes. My husband’s eyes and the many, many times he has looked at me with wanting, with desire, with lust in them and I have always — even in the beginning of our marriage — felt an answering rush of warmth every time he had looked at me so.

Because I had forgotten. I had forgotten. I had forgotten that the same look, the same eyes had looked at me the same way so many times before Danny even entered my life.

Mick. His Brother. My husband’s brother. Danny and Mick had the same eyes.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 5

March 31, 2014

Republisher’s Note: Michelle has a reaction to killing Mick and Nino.

Author’s Note: This story is NC-17.

The Long Walk Into His Arms by JenniferH Chapter 5 - I Have. Twice

I wipe my fingers across the tail of Nino’s shirt. I have blocked the reality of what I am doing, what I have done out of my mind. The bullet is in the palm of Danny’s hand and he is gazing at it as if searching for an answer. I prepare to ask him what he is looking for, but find that I just don’t care right then.

“Clean the blade off, too.”

I turn slightly to look at him and wearily nod my head. I pick up his pocketknife and clear the blood and grime off, again using a dead man’s clothing and then I hand the knife back to Danny. I don’t look at him. I can’t.

“We have to push the body in the river. Come on, I’ll help you.” Unsteadily he gets to his feet and although I thought myself dead to emotion at the moment, the sight of him in such a state sends a rush of love through my body and I am at his side, helping him.

“Just rest, I’ll do it,” my voice sounds strange to my own ears. It seems a century since I had last spoken.

“Michelle, we have to do this quickly, and the two of us -”

“– Danny, if you pass out again, we’ll be here that much longer,” I interrupt him, the voice of logic for the two of us now. “I’ll do it,” I finish with a sigh. “I’ll just drag the – I’ll drag him.” He gazes at me for a moment longer and then nods his head.

“If you need help….” he trails off and I can hear in his voice, see in his eyes how much this is killing him that I am doing this, involved in this and I wonder who feels worse about the situation. I look over at Nino’s body and answer my own question. I do.

Danny doesn’t understand. He may be the gangster. He may have lived his whole life surrounded by violence, but he has never killed a man, he has never taken a life.

I have. Twice.

“I won’t need any help,” I say quietly and move away from him, move towards the second dead body in my life.


Danny is in the shower. I didn’t offer to help him. I didn’t want to see the bruises on his body. And I couldn’t watch the blood fall from him, a watered-down shade of red. As I close my eyes and see the bucket of dirty water washing away my husband’s blood from the concrete, lightening its dark hue, I swear to never wear pink or any variation ever again.

I open my eyes and try to remember how it happened, but I can’t. I can’t remember shooting Nino. I drove home; I entered the house, helped Danny upstairs and spoke not a word. I was trying to remember. I recall pulling the trigger. I still can hear the sound of the bullets hitting flesh, but I don’t remember seeing the bullet hit him. All I can see in my mind’s eye is Danny’s body reacting to the gunshot, Danny’s blood, Danny slumping against the wall.

I know that I killed Nino, but I can’t relive the moment in my mind. And it just happened. I look over at the clock on the bedside table. It is just after 8:00 p.m., less than two hours since Nino had called me. And I cannot remember the bullet hitting him. I cannot remember the sight of his death. It is almost a year since I had killed Mick and I can still see that vividly.

I had blocked it out, but with just a thought, I can see it all again. His hulking frame standing over me, and then turning to Drew, the rock I picked up, the way I slammed it into his skull, the elbow I put into it, as Drew said. I can recite the details of that evening without hesitation even after all these months. But an event that had happened less than two hours before alludes my grasp.

Danny walks into the bedroom and I look up at him, – perhaps for the first time since first seeing him in a state of undress — unaffected and tell him, “I can’t remember the bullet hitting him. I pulled the trigger, but that’s all I remember. Why can’t I remember?”

“Why would you want to?” he asks wearily and sighs. He looks dead on his feet and then suddenly I laugh. Dead on his feet. And I say it out loud, “dead on his feet.” And I am laughing even harder and Danny is coming to me, kneeling before the bed and when it happens I don’t know, but suddenly my laughter turns to cries and tears are streaming down my face. I wrap my arms about him, clutching him tightly.

He holds me close, he whispers more nonsense words into my ear and then he tells me that he loves me. He loves me. He loves me. And I hold onto that, cling to that because I am a bad person, I am bad, but Danny still loves me. And I’ll be okay as long as someone still loves me.


He shifts on the floor, his arms loosening then tightening about me for the second time that I am aware of. I pull away slightly and then more, falling out of his hold. He looks at me and I can’t tell if the moisture on his face is from the shower, my tears, or if he has been crying himself. I scoot back on the bed and hold my arms out again.

I need him right now. I need him to hold me.

He gets to his feet and there is an awkwardness in his movements, his customary grace diminished in the wake of his pain and exhaustion, but already he looks better. He slept in the car and the shower seems to have revived him rather well. The towel falls from him and he climbs into bed beside me naked. Absently, I note the bruises on his flesh, the bullet wound on his arm. And then he wraps me in his arms again, and nothing else matters.

My face is buried in the curve of his shoulder and he smells wonderful. Clean and fresh. The scent of blood and gunpowder is gone from him. He smells wonderful. My tongue darts out and I taste his flesh and he tastes wonderful. Clean and fresh. I pull away and gaze up at him; he is watching me warily.

“Michelle?” I shake my head, I don’t want to speak. I don’t want to talk. I just want to be held. I want to be alive. I want to know that Im alive.

I want him.

“I want you,” my voice is a whisper and his lips part as if to speak, but I can read in his eyes the confusion. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to act. He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand. He has never taken a life.

I have. Twice.

“I want you,” I repeat and I kiss him. My mouth opens and my tongue is inside his as I raise myself up, cupping his face with my hands, devouring him the taste — the wonderful, clean, fresh taste – of him. He kisses me back, but I can feel the hesitation, that wariness. His hands rest on my arms and he is trying to hold back, but I feel the heat of his erection pressing against me. I pull away from the kiss, my lips trailing down his chin, his throat and I murmur against his flesh, “you want me, too” as his hands slip away.

He falls back against the pillows as I wrap my fingers about him. I don’t look at his face. I dont want to. I just want this, I think, as my head descends, as I open my mouth to take him in. He moans slightly as my tongue swirls about him, my lips widening to engulf the hard heat of him. My fingers curve tightly about the base of his manhood, too tightly for a moment as a whimper of pain escapes him.

I feel his hand on my head, his fingers entwining in my hair as I take him deeper and deeper inside my mouth, as my fingers glide over him and I am desperate for his climax. I want him to come, I want to know that I have made him feel this way, that I have given him this and then he does. His fingers pull at my hair and he lets out a hoarse cry as his seed spills out and I have the sudden urge to hurt him, because he came without me. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to be there in that moment.

I needed to be there.

I sit up, pulling away from him and tear my blouse off. Literally. Buttons fly across the room and I feel a savage pleasure that I’ve destroyed a gift from him. He gave me this blouse, this pink, watered-down bloody pink blouse as a birthday gift. His eyes open and he is beginning to understand, I see it at last in his eyes. He understands that I need all of him, the good and the bad. especially the bad.

I don’t want softness. I don’t want comfort. I don’t want to be made love to. I want to be fucked. I want to feel nothing but pure, unadulterated lust fulfilled. I want, I need to feel alive.

He lunges for me and jerks my skirt up, his lips hungrily fastening on mine. We fall to the floor, but neither one of us cares. He roughly pulls down my panties and his hands are holding my face as he plunders my mouth, refusing to let me take control again. I push against him, but he holds me still and then he rips at my bra and that is destroyed too.

And his lips are marking my skin, the scratchiness of his five o’clock shadow burning against my throat, branding my breast. His fingers are inside me and he isn’t playing games, he is touching me deeply, getting straight to the core of my desire and I am forgetting about tonight, about Nino and Mick, and death. I am losing a grasp on anything other than the way he is making me feel.

He parts the folds of my flesh and pushes into me and I cry out at his intensity. I look up at him and he is gazing down at me and there is a savage look on his face and his eyes are glittering as he pumps inside of me and I clutch at him, my nails raking across his back. My legs are wrapped around him and with every plunge into me, I raise my hips, urging him on … urging him to go harder and faster, harder and his hands are holding tightly to my wrists, my arms stretched out above my head.

And he is all that I can see, he is all that I can feel. There is no room for anything, anything, anywhere inside of me but him … this man, this moment, this feeling. And then he explodes inside of me and I feel like a thousand bullets are going off inside of my body, my vision darkens and the room spins around me. I shut my eyes and a tear and then two slides from under my lids.

He is gently rubbing my wrists, the lengths of my arms and then my face, his fingers so tenderly wiping the tears from my face. And then he is whispering against my lips, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” and I shake my head and kiss him. Softly, sweetly, lovingly. I kiss him and I refuse his apology as I wind my arms about his neck, holding him close to me.


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