Author: Crimson Coin
Rating: M for language and sexual situations
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or Lost. I make no profit on this story. My ideas are my own.
Summary: Post-Incident. Juliet detonated the bomb in order to save her friends, to save the man she loved. What if the detonation worked and sent everyone back to pivotal points in their lives? Sawyer and Juliet find themselves shattered, broken in the aftermath and without memories of the island. Will they find each other and remember the powerful love that once held them together, or will they wander lost to each other forever?
Note: I have received a numerous requests to try my hand at an M rated story, and many reviews from Hydra of people wanting more heat. That is where this story comes in. It is rated M because there will be sex scenes, however, the scenes will not dominate the story. If I'm writing a sex scene, it's not just for smut sake. Just thought I'd give everyone a heads up. Do to this story's intensity, I will not be posting author's notes at the ends of each chapter so as not to break up the flow of the story. So Thank you all for reading and by all means, please review. I enjoy reading all of your thoughts.
Firm hands pulled him back from the edge of the abyss. He yelled, he cried out to whoever would listen as sorrow and loss exploded within him. He struggled against the hands, fought the persistent pull. He wanted the darkness. He wanted to dive down the shaft that swallowed everything he held dear. A slow tear stretched and ripped at his heart then filled with remorse, guilt, pain. The ache exponential; he wanted to die.
He closed his eyes as a bright light exploded from the hole that swallowed his life, changing black to white and overwhelming him. The pain dissipated as the light consumed him, comforted him then quickly tore away in violent exit.
Sawyer slowly opened his eyes, staring up at the paint peeled ceiling in the room of a cheap motel. A strange unfamiliar sensation overwhelmed him, forcing him from peaceful slumber into a realm of agitated restlessness. No dream remained in his memory yet he still awoke, unsettled. A thin sheen of sweat beaded on his brow, his breathing shallow – the only signs of whatever dream he had.
His eyes scanned the room. Clothes scattered throughout the room in frantic disarray, both male and female. Dim lighting hid many details though he sneered as the room slowly came into focus. The bed creaked as someone beside him shifted and drew his attention.
A woman lay beside him curled on her side, facing him. A mass of red hair spread out over the pillow and his shoulder, mussed from both sleep and sex. Her lips parted in sleep, delicate features sweet and calm in the state of rest – a stark contrast to a couple of hours ago. What was her name again?
An unrecognized emotion gnawed at him – he couldn't identify it - and he scowled at the sensation. Brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed on the woman beside him. She sighed contently in sleep, shifting closer to him as her hand rested at the center of his chest. His skin crawled.
What the hell was wrong with him? Usually the touch of a woman sparked his nerves, aroused him easily. Fifteen days ago, Sawyer sat in a jail cell serving a seven year sentence, aching for the release found in a woman. Today, he laid in bed with a beautiful woman, a free man. His body should be ready to go for months.
Determined to prove himself, his hands slowly roused the woman from sleep, lips seeking hers in slow sensual taunting. She hummed, smiling into the kiss as her arms slid up around his neck and shoulders. She coaxed him atop her, murmuring against his lips.
Sawyer settled over her, nestled between her thighs, oblivious to her words. His hands, mouth and hips engaged her yet his mind drifted. With his physical body on auto pilot, Sawyer envisioned water then sand then a jungle. He squeezed his eyes shut, lifting up onto his forearms.
Hands cupped his face then raked down his back. Sawyer opened his eyes, momentarily startled at the face staring back at him. Red hair turned blonde and in the place of hazy hazel eyes, he saw the most startling deep blue.
Around the eyes swelled the ocean, enhancing the vivid blue eyes. The vision shattered when the woman beneath him moaned.
"Come on, Baby," she purred, grinding her hips. "Stop teasing me." Her leg rubbed against his before wrapping suggestively around his waist. With the vision gone, Sawyer kissed her again, focusing intensely on the task.
Afterwards, Sawyer stood in his boxers by the window. He pushed open the curtain, gazing out at the dingy Las Vegas street. Seedy individuals and prostitutes stalked the dimly lit road. From his second floor room, he watched the girls working, flirting with slowly passing cars while dodging dealers and pimps.
He reached behind him for his jeans slung over the chair and pulled a box of cigarettes from the front pocket. Plucking out a cigarette, he tossed the box onto the table then pushed open the window. Striking a match from the nearby ashtray, he puffed on the cigarette until it lit before shaking his hand, extinguishing the match.
Taking a long drag of the cigarette, his eyes fluttered as the much needed nicotine invaded his system. Holding the cigarette with thumb and forefinger, he pulled it from his lips and slowly exhaled.
He glanced to the bed; the woman slept. For the fifth time, he replayed the evening in his head. Everything began as usual. He found the mark, romanced her, got her to bed, slept a little and that was when it changed.
When he initially left prison, he considered starting over, doing something else. He had no idea where that thought originated. After all, what else could he do? He couldn't expect a career change. So he went right back to Hibbs, got a lead on a mark and started all over again. However, he felt disgusted. It confused him.
Then there was the strange dream he couldn't remember, the visions, those eyes. Emotions raged through his heart so foreign, he needed time to decipher them. Emotions like betrayal, guilt, fear, sorrow then finally remorse.
He turned away from the woman in the bed to stare out the window, an intense scowl firmly in place. He attempted to plan the next stage of the con but the more he thought about it, the more his stomach knotted. Sickened with himself, he took another elongated drag on the cigarette. He couldn't go through with it. He couldn't take this woman's money. What happened to him?
Prison wasn't exactly a life changing experience. On the contrary, it hardened him; it forced him to survive. All he wanted to do was … well he didn't know anymore. When had that changed?
Disgusted, he snuffed the cigarette in the ashtray then stepped into his jeans. Once fully dressed, he stalked to the door, pausing when his hand gripped the door knob. Huffing a sigh, he returned to the bed and crouched down at the bed stand. He debated waking her but finally decided on leaving a note.
Christ, he must really be sick to even think of one of those options, much less choosing between them. He opted for a simple note, 'Sorry. Had to run. Paid the bill'.
It wasn't the kindest note and she deserved better than that. But hell, he abandoned the plan to rob her blind, so she should consider herself lucky.
Ensuring his briefcase locked, he tugged it off the shelf and quietly left the room. He walked five blocks down the street towards his hotel, dodging pedestrians, prostitutes and peddlers. Inside the room, he flicked on the light.
The door eased closed behind him with a gentle click and Sawyer tossed the briefcase onto the bed at the center of the room. Peeling off his clothes, he kicked out of his boots and stalked into the bathroom. A florescent light over the sink flickered to life, shuddering in a vain attempt to illuminate the room. The exhaust fan rattled, buzzed then died. He threw open the shower curtain and stepped into the small tub, turning on the water as hot as he could stand.
Black mildew discolored the grout of the shower walls, immediate evidence of years of neglect. Steam filled the small enclosed quarters; no window available to offer relief. His skin burned, reddening at the hot assault. He washed once then twice, desperate to rid his body from the unclean, rancid sensations that clung to him in the afterhours of his romantic evening. He scrubbed raw, aching from both heat and friction. He washed his hair and body a third time before turning off the water.
Dried and nude, Sawyer sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the open briefcase. Forty thousand in cash lined the inside of the case – all twenties bound in $2000 stacks. Every cent to his name in that case, he ran his fingers along the bills in pensive reflection.
Dirty money. Forty thousand was all that remained from his last con before prison. He sneered, angered at the swelling emotions of disgust and guilt that surfaced as he stared at the money. Slamming closed the case, he tossed it on the floor then laid back on the bed. Fuck this. He couldn't think anymore. He turned off the lights and sprawled out on the mattress, forcing his body to sleep.