AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Jesus fucking Christ!” she cries, as I angle the vibrator upwards and suck lightly.
“That’s not my name,” I say, then I swirl my tongue and gently press my forearm down on her abdomen to hold her steady as her hips begin to buck.
“Tristan,” she breathes as her body quivers beneath me. “Oh, God, Tristan.”
She grabs my hair and lets out a blood-curdling scream as I finish her off. She begins to pull me up by my hair, but I push her hands away. I turn off the vibrator and set it aside as I continue to stimulate her with my mouth. But this time I slide a finger between her cheeks and her entire body contracts around me as I give her another earth-shattering orgasm.
“Oh my God,” she whispers repeatedly as I kiss my way up her belly.
She’s limp as a wet rag as I slide my arm beneath her lower back and lift her slightly so I can slide into her. She winces as I hit her cervix and the cock ring hits her sensitive clit. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and I tilt my head back to look at her. We lock eyes and I suddenly feel as if I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
Thrusting into her slowly, I lean my forehead against hers and she tightens her arms around my shoulders. We play like this, a sort of back and forth game of giving and receiving; completely lost in each other for hours. I don’t notice the four missed calls or the three voicemail messages flashing on my phone until the next morning – until it’s too late.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Poetry is defined as a literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm. This is also what music does. I’ve never considered myself a poet. And the fact that I haven’t written a song in more than three years makes me even less worthy of this title. But waking up next to Senia in the guest bedroom sparks a flash of inspiration and I think of two lines:
The day our wires crossed,
You were broken, I was lost.
I’m sure the logical conclusion would be that now, somehow, Senia is whole and I am found. The truth is love isn’t like that. I think I’m finally starting to realize that love isn’t about fixing things or people. It’s about sticking around when things can’t be fixed.
I slide out of Senia’s bed, smiling as I think of how tonight this bed will be put out of commission as she joins me in the master bedroom. I quietly pull on some boxers then head downstairs to make the usual fried egg and toast I see her making for herself in the morning. When I get downstairs, I find my phone on the kitchen island. I try to check the notifications, but it’s dead. It always happens when I forget to leave it charging at night. Who fucking cares? I fucked like a champ last night.
I fix Senia’s breakfast – tripling the quantities so I can have some and in case she wants extra – then I carry it all upstairs on a tray my interior decorator left on the coffee table a few months ago. When I enter the guest room, the sight of her hugging her pillow and smiling takes my breath away.
“I made you the usual,” I say, taking a cue from Chris and Claire and how well they know each other’s breakfast choices. She scoots back so I can set the tray on the bed next to her. “I’ll be right back. I have to put my phone charging.”
I hook the phone up to the charger in the study then I head back to the guest room. Senia is sitting up, cross-legged, on the bed with a piece of toast in her hand, grinning. This domestic stuff isn’t so hard.
I sit down next to her and plop a fried egg onto a piece of toast then chow down. “What are your plans today?” I ask through a mouthful of food.
She reaches up and wipes something from the corner of my mouth before she answers. “I have to read this physics paper so I can have my response ready when classes start in a few weeks. I hate physics.”
I pour us both a glass of orange juice from the pitcher and take a sip before I respond. “I don’t know shit about physics, but I can help you if you need something else done.”
She chuckles. “Are you gonna wash my laundry?”
I roll my eyes as I place the glass of juice down. “That’s what I’m supposed to do, I guess. I’m done recording but you’re still studying. I have to be the one to step up, right? Give me your stinky laundry and I’ll throw it in the laundry room. I’m sure Lily will do a great job washing it tomorrow.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“That’s why you love me.”
Her smile disappears as she brings the glass of orange juice to her lips. “That really happened, didn’t it?”
She’s referring to the fact that we both said those three words last night, so I nod. “Yeah, pretty crazy, I’d say, considering both of our track records.”
“Well, I think I’ve confessed my love for every guy I’ve dated since freshmen year, but don’t let that make you self-conscious. Last night was … different.”
“Different?” I say, because I’m not quite sure how to respond to the fact that she’s used those three words so casually in the past.
“Well, first of all, I don’t think I’ve ever had three orgasms in the span of ten minutes.”
“I was just easing you in. Next time will be better.”
She shakes her head as she dips her toast in the runny egg yolk. “That. That’s what’s different. You always call me out on my shit.” She takes a bite of toast and I reach across to wipe some of the yolk from the corner of her mouth. “I thought I was going to show you some tricks last night, but I guess it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks.”
The word “Tricks” triggers a deep nausea in the pit of my stomach and I have to swallow my vomit. I set down the piece of toast I just picked up and stand from the bed. “Be back as soon as I can.”
I set off to the study to clear my head and check my phone. When I see I have a missed call and a message from Lily and four missed calls from Grandma Flo, I panic a little. I call her right back without bothering to check the voicemail messages.
“Oh my goodness, I’ve been trying to call you all morning,” she declares when she answers the phone. “And I tried calling you last night about the presents you left. Did you get my messages?”
“I didn’t listen to them yet. What’s so urgent? I can pick the presents up another time.”
“Oh, my,” she whispers. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to, but Lily came over this morning and when she called you to tell you she won’t be coming in tomorrow, I saw your address on her phone. I asked if I could copy it down. I just thought maybe I could send you and Senia’s gifts to your house since you both left in a hurry. I didn’t want you to have to make another trip back here.”
I don’t have to listen to any more to know why she’s apologizing for taking down my address. “Where’s Elaine?”
“She’s on her way.”
The dead silence that follows this sentence is filled with all the things I’ve never told anyone. All the tiny lies I’ve told myself over the years about how none of it matters. It was a moment in time that can be forgotten – maybe even erased. I’m nobody special and the things that happened to me a million years ago affect no one, just me.
But it keeps getting more and more difficult to believe that when I see the fallout. The broken trust I’d begun to repair with Grandma and Molly when I invited them over last weekend is nothing but dust now, settling over the wreckage of my past. And it’s not their fault. It’s my fault for believing I could just walk around the wreckage. Pretend it wasn’t there. Pretend it didn’t matter.
It so obviously matters. Nothing has ever mattered more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nine Years Ago
This is the last time. I know she said that about the last two times, but this time I’m not backing down. If I have to do this again after today, I’ll know that she’s full of shit – as I suspected.
I enter the dingy bedroom at the back of the house, where the sweet smell of crack-pipe always lingers. My gaze immediately darts to the corner of the room, where
the john usually sits in the cruddy armchair next to a small table stocked with all the essentials: tissues, lube, condoms, and other shit I’d never seen or heard of until three weeks ago. When I see the person sitting in the chair, I’m dumbstruck. It’s a woman.
It’s usually some fat, mangy, perverted asshole who wants to get off to two kids getting it on. This woman is not fat or mangy. She looks like a fucking school teacher with her coral-pink sweater and gray slacks. She’s careful not to touch the arms of the chair as she sits with one leg draped over the other and her hands clasped over her knee.
Elaine’s voice startles me out of my stupor and I turn toward the bed. The girl lying on the bed looks young, maybe even younger than me. Her brown hair has been styled in pigtails, her round brown eyes are wide with fear, and she’s wearing nothing but a bra and a schoolgirl skirt.
Vomit stings the back of my throat and, before I can stop it, a small stream of partially digested toast oozes out of my mouth. I catch it with my hand and Elaine sighs. “That’s disgusting. Go wash your hands.”
I glance at the girl as I leave the bedroom and her eyes are closed as tears stream down her face. I race to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I dump the vomit out of my hand and into the sink, then I reach for the faucet to wash my hands. The faucet handle is splattered with blood, as is the countertop and the wall behind the sink. The blood is fresh, too. Someone must have just shot up in here.
Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, I use the paper as a shield between my hand and the faucet handle as I turn the water on. I wash my hands in super-hot water and lots of soap then I take a seat on the toilet.
I should just leave. Even if this is the last time I have to do this, it’s not worth it. The girl’s face, her tears, flash in my mind and I try not to think the obvious. If I don’t do it to her, they’ll get somebody else – someone who may hurt her.
I hate it here.
I hate it here.
I hate it here.
I drag myself out of the bathroom and trudge back down the hallway toward the sweet, acrid stench of hopelessness. When I enter the bedroom, the girl is sitting cross-legged on the bed, holding her skirt down between her legs to cover herself up.
