Big Book of Maurice Gibb Fan-fiction

baby don't be scared

I tried to shake the feeling of his cold hands running down my back, but not even the burning liquor in my throat could remove the chill he left. I was wrapped up in the sheets of the bedroom of a hotel too nice for what I was remembering. Led Zeppelin's "Since I've Been Loving You" echoed trough the whole room, pulling every detail of the night before out of the depths of my drunken memory. His pocket watch and a pack of cigarettes sat on the night stand opposite of the side of the bed I was on. I believe he left them there out of spite. As a reminder of the fact that I was nothing more than a single purpose tool to him. Maurice Gibb sat in my memory forever tormenting me. Not a single soul else knew the unspoken secret kept between us. We would be martyrs if it were to ever come out. He had no fear though, for he knew I was too enamored by his pure existence to ever ruin him in such a way. Which, as far as I knew, was one of his favorite mind games. There was no real love between us, but that could never be taken from our actions behind closed doors. He held me closer than any other, but it was a cold embrace. His soft lips tasted of cigarettes, so I preferred them elsewhere than my lips.
My mind ran back to where we both got ourselves into this mess. He's a bit older than me, and it was my twenty-first birthday. There was a sleek bar down the road from the small apartments that I called my humble abode. He was leaving as I was entering, and he just happened to gracefully knock my wallet out of my hand. It was a cliche hand touching moment as we both bent down to pick it up. Something about me made him not leave as he had planned, but god how I wish he would have. He was so smooth, full of booze but somehow totally in control of himself. So in control that he captivated me enough to steal away to the same hotel I sat in now. He said he couldn't take me to his house, for he had a wife. I knew from that moment he was the worst trouble I would ever deal with, but he was too addictive. I'm very weak minded.
I allowed myself to believe it would only be this one time. I felt his cold, loveless touch for the first time when he slipped my underwear off of me, under my dress. He said taking it off would take too much time. He's always running out of time nowadays. I was too naive to realize what was going to come from this, as I thought, innocent one time hook up. He slipped his cold hand up around my throat, and his boozy, cigarette laced breath mixed with mine. A concoction I will never be able to forget. My demure character appealed to his very dominant nature, and he terrified me, but I could've never left. I would've stayed in that moment of smoky kisses forever. It is what I yearn for most in this lonely hotel bedroom.
He removed his clothing and stood, almost looming, over me. I had never seen anything like him before, he was almost something of a Greek god. I view him as Hades now. He was the devil. A very smart devil, as he further convinced me to fall to my knees before him. I thus began to worship his throne, for lack of more clever lingo. His deep groans were like the sound of oceans waves crashing against the shore, but not peaceful; urgent, as if warning of the coming high tide full of trouble. And full of trouble, it certainly was. I spent many nights too long in his embrace, and he rushed away from me in the morning after. Never a goodbye, and certainly never an I love you. Just a slammed door and the distant sound of a car starting. He told me to never be afraid, he was clever enough to keep everyone off of our case. But then it seemed as if I saw him everywhere I went, with his perfect family. His wife would often catch me staring at him, and her eyes burned deep into mine, and I thought she must know. It's was a scary feeling but I felt as if I might feel relief if I were to run up to her and tell her. I would have had it not been for his constant reassurance that he had no clue of my identity.
No matter how cold and cruel he was to me, I longed for him more than I longed to take my next breath. I had become so reliant on him. I did everything with him in mind. I had to dress in consideration to the bruises he left on me from long nights of rough love making. I became very paranoid. It became more of a common occurrence for me to cry to him thinking that somebody had to know, or that I had to tell someone. He would first assure me that they didn't, and then proceed to slyly convince me yet again that what we were doing was perfectly okay, but I continued to drive myself crazy.
He called me baby once. He said it so delicately and full of meaning. He told me, "Baby, don't be scared of this."
Our rendezvous came to an abrupt halt for a while after we were caught in the act by one of Maurice's wife's close friends. The hotel had no vacancies, and he said he couldn't wait any longer ,and he needed to see me. He picked me up and we drove to what we thought would be a secretive place. We were terribly wrong. He had just gotten on top of me and had begun pounding me until we were both a moaning mess. Then we heard a faint tap on the window, and I know that our hearts stopped simultaneously. He turned his head and looked out the slightly fogged window. There was a woman standing outside of the car with a look of absolute horror on her face. He tried to smooth talk her into not telling his wife, but it didn't work this time. I pretty much blanked out until I heard another car pull up. His wife stepped out of the car yelling at the top of her lungs about how he was a dirty cheater and the worst man she had ever met. He retaliated by saying she didn't give him any love so he had to find it somewhere else. I felt disgusting. But I didn't have much time to wallow in self pity, for Maurice had opened the door and his wife was demanding me to get out. I broke into tears and tried to hide behind Maurice, but he kept moving away from me. I had nothing but a thin blanket wrapped around me. I blanked out again.
It was a few months before I saw him again, and I didn't expect him to come back, but he did. His return to me was the reason of my current stay in the hotel room. It was his goodbye. He loved me as hard as his cold persona would allow him to, and then left without another word. I knew this was the end though, when I noticed he left the pocket-watch and pack of cigarettes; two things he probably cherished most in life. The song that played on repeat came to an end, and I snapped out of my trance. I finally got up, but I knew life would not just go on.