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I really want to smack him right now, but like I said, it will make me look like a coward. So I do as he asks, and sit in the space in front of him. He pushes himself back and his crotch his snug to my backside. I’m glad I’m wearing jeans. Nicole has her tongue down Jen’s throat, but her eyes flick to where Ky and I are sitting like we are a couple. He pulls me back against him so that my back is to his chest, and slides my hair to the side, pulling the hood of my sweater down. I can feel the warmth of his breath as he exhales through his nose. My skin pricks in awareness like the heat being turned on when you’re cold. His warmth is all I feel all over my body. I’m aware of him and only him because everything in my heart has only been about him for so long.
It is hard to just let go and forget him. When we were kids there was always this spark. An electric energy that tethered us together. But now it’s almost severed, held together by the thinnest thread.
Maybe it’s his hate for me, or me hating him for what he has become, or what he has done to me. Because my love for him is what kept me alive. It’s the type of love that gave me hope. He was the only love I ever knew was true, and it’s the only love I ever wished for.
It is the only thing that I can think of for why I am sitting here. Maybe it is because I don’t want him in the room alone with them. In my mind, Ky is mine even if he doesn’t want to be. Even if he pushes me way, hurts me with his words, and ruins all our memories. Because before them, it was us. Before them, he was mine.
I try to keep my eyes trained somewhere on the walls of the bedroom and not hearing the kissing noises or the moans from Nicole and Jen. I don’t feel Ky getting hard behind me. I can tell his crotch is still pressed up behind me, but I can feel every breath he takes even if I can’t see his eyes.
“Are you watching, Rubi?” I swallow, not wanting to look, not wanting to answer because I don’t care about them. Deep down, I only care about him.
I remain still, not trying to move, but his breath near the lobe of my ear has me hyperaware that I’m this close to him. It reminds me of when we were kids, and he was showing me how to plant a flower. I loved the little white petals of the daisies so much that I wanted to always have them, but didn’t know how to plant the seeds, much less afford to buy the seeds to grow them myself.
It is why I had them tattooed on my arm with his name in bold black letters that I hide underneath my long sleeves and with a Band-Aid the first day of school. Two letters to remind me of the boy who held a sadness in his heart just like my own. His memories were the only good ones I had. The first day of school I placed a Band-Aid over those letters to hide them from prying eyes, even wearing my hoodie I didn’t want other students to ask about what it meant. Then after the milk incident I was really glad I had the Band-Aid on since I lost my shield when the hoodie got wet.
“Are you watching?” he asks again, and I nod, hoping he doesn’t notice that I’m not. That I am staring at a dark speck on the wall by a chest of drawers. But he calls me out on the lie. “Liar,” he whispers.
I stiffen when I feel his warm fingers in the band of my jeans under the hoodie. His fingers expertly undo the top button, and I hold my breath when the zipper gives way. I can’t hear it, but I feel it against the skin of my lower belly. I should pull away, but I know I can’t.
I won’t.
He slides his hand inside my jeans, and my head tilts back when I feel his finger touch the nub of my clit over my panties and whispers, “Do you know why they do what I say, Rubi? It is because humans are possessive and territorial creatures by nature. In their case, they are trying to claim a territory they think they are entitled to because someone told them that they were pretty.”
I’m panting, trying to listen to his words while the tension is building between my legs, increasing by the second. I feel out of breath and swallow the saliva that has pooled in my throat, trying to hold back a moan from escaping my lips. “It feels good, doesn’t it, Rubi? To feel how I’m breaking you. Admit it. Admit that you want me inside you. Admit that you want what they want.”
I won’t admit it. I would, but he’s playing with me. Tears pool in the corner of my eyes because I do want to feel him inside me, but I know it won’t mean anything except him making his point. He craves control and feeds off it.
I begin to grind myself shamelessly on his fingers and he chuckles in my hear. “Hmm… you like it, don’t you, Rubi, the feel of me fucking you with my fingers like the puppet master pulling your strings?”
I’m wet, hot, and ashamed of the way I’m letting him play me. This is a game to him. A way to break me because I left him. He wants to hurt me, but he doesn’t understand why I left, that I had no choice.
No one understands why I held on for so long. Why I endured the pain. Why I stayed silent and took it. It was all for him. My mother was a piece of shit who gave up on me since the day I was born. She made sure she told me every chance she could what a mistake I was. She also treated me and let everyone else around treat me like the mistake she claimed I was.
My stepfather hated that I would sneak out while he was at work, while my mother was getting her next fix with her drug of choice, meth. Meth was her favorite and she would do anything to get it. I just didn’t want to stick around to be part of it. I didn’t want to watch her kill herself or look at me with soulless eyes as she checked out.
It was always the last time, I would tell myself, but I couldn’t let Ky go. One day led to the next and the next. I was an addict and Ky was my addiction. He was my drug, and I would do anything for the next hit, just like my mother. Hers was the euphoria, and mine was a day spent with a boy who stole my heart at eleven years old and never gave it back.
I can feel his erection behind me hardening by the second when he slides his fingers inside my wet slit. I bite my lip, drawing blood to hold back the moan and feeling like my vocal cords are going to snap like a guitar string. Nicole and Jen are forgotten like background noise.
“You’re so wet for me, Rubi. You don’t want to talk, so I’m going to make you feel,” he says, punishing me by sliding his fingers deep inside to my G-spot. I arch my back, about to come. “I’m going to love when you scream.”
Nicole and Jen are moaning while Nicole sucks on Jen’s pussy, but Ky doesn’t seem interest like a teenaged guy would be. His face is on the side of my neck with his lips rasping against my skin when he speaks. His hard cock is growing into a steel blade against my ass. I push back against it so he knows I can feel him.
“Come for me, Rubi. Show me how much you want me. How much you need me,” he says as he relentlessly fucks me with his fingers. I can’t take it anymore and I come. I come hard, clenching his fingers and wishing it was the cock that is currently pressed up on my ass behind me. Stars explode in the backs of my eyes like a white light from the flash of a camera.
I can hear moaning, but I’m relieved when my head clears from the intense orgasm he gave me. It’s then that I realize the sound is coming from Jen and she is currently watching Ky as she comes, confused that he isn’t even looking at her.
He pulls his fingers out of me and slides his hand out of my jeans, holding it up to my line of vision. “Here, Rubi. Taste your shame.”
He bites the skin of my neck and I recoil like I’ve been slapped, and scramble off the couch, glaring at him. His eyes black like a possessed demon reminding me of a black heaven, his stare cold and dangerous. Unrecognizable.
He smiles. “You are no different.” He motions to Nicole, licking her lips after sucking Jen off. “Except they’re better. At least they fight and beg for what they want.”
“You think it makes you any better to watch them beg and fight, huh? Makes it right for them to do whatever it is you ask,” I say through clenched teeth.
He is right. He knew I would be ashamed of how I let him use me. I’m mad that he compared me to less than them. He is no better than they are…or maybe he is worse.
“At least I enjoy it.”
