“I’m tired, Brick.” I’m sincere in my tone and shake my head while chewing into my lip. I love Brick in some fucked up way I couldn’t explain. But I love him as a vice and nothing more. He’s an addiction I have to break. I dig into my pocket and retrieve the SD card he gave me in the motel during his impromptu visit. “This piece of plastic…”
“What are you doing?’ His eyes bulge as he stares me down with confusion and intent.
“I’m putting an end to all of this.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.” He reaches for the card, but I pull away from him, far enough so I’m out of reach if he should try again.
I bend the card between my fingers and snap it in half. The force sends painful waves through the tip of my fingers, but it’s pain that’s more than worth it. I throw the pieces at him. “Now, get the hell out of my house.”
He’s pissed, and unable to hide it. He shakes his head defiantly, but manages to get in one last jab before turning to leave. “I’ll call you later, when you’re off your period.”
24
I’ve had one too many drinks. Not enough to be drunk, but also not enough for the bravery to take hold. I fiddle with a new bottle of moscato in the kitchen, trying to pull the cork from the top. I’m too nervous, and too jittery to accomplish the job. Frustrated, I throw the wine opener against the metal sink.
I have to remind myself to keep breathing. It’s not intuitive at this point. I reach for the two empty wine glasses and hold them under the faucet, opting to fill them with water instead. I chug one of the glasses and fill it back up before grabbing the other and heading into the living room.
“Sorry it took so long,” I say to Jensen, who sits on the couch with his arm thrown coolly over the back. I hand him a glass as I take a seat beside him. “The wine bottle was being a jackass, so I brought water instead.”
“I was wondering what the clinging was in the kitchen.”
“That was the sound of the wine opener being murdered.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he wraps his arm around my neck, and my stomach sinks. “Do you have violent tendencies?”
“Only when it comes to kitchen utensils.” Although with everything bubbling up inside of me, I could stand to punch a few holes in a wall. “Did I miss anything?” I turn my attention to the film playing on the television; the nineties classic I Know What You Did Last Summer.
“Buffy just got whacked.”
“That poor girl.” I flip my hair and lay my head onto his lap. “First, she has her hair chopped in her sleep, and now she got hooked by the same makeshift pair of scissors.”
He laughs and runs his fingers through my hair. He’s an expert at making a piece-of-shit like myself feel wanted. “What would you do if I cut your hair in your sleep?”
“I’d kick your ass.”
His fingers come to a stop in the tangled mess of my hair. “I’d probably like that.”
“Can I ask you something without getting upset?”
“I’m an open book.”
I flip my body so I’m facing upward and toward him. His face is shaven and smooth, and his eyes alternate between the movie on the screen and me. “How can you be so happy all the time?” That steals his attention, and now his gaze is squared directly on me. “It’s like you’re glowing every time I see you.”
“I don’t understand the question.”
I exhale and push my body to a sitting position. “You’ve been through so much, and you told me everything. But as soon as that happened, you just went back to being happy.”
He’s visually taken aback, averting his eyes to the side of his head. “How is that a bad thing?”
It’s not that it’s a bad thing, but it’s hard for me to wrap my head around. How can one person face so much grief and go on to live a successful existence?
“I carry that pain with me everyday, but it doesn’t mean I’m incapable of being happy,” he continues, as if he were capable of reading my mind. Maybe that’s his secret, the reason he’s able to understand me and say all the right things.
I wish I were as strong as him. I wish a lot of things, but most of all, I wish I didn’t have to have this conversation. But here I go. “You asked me if something bad had ever happened to me, and I was noncommittal to the question before.” I place a firm hand on his jean-clad thigh, and hope he understands this is one of those times where we have to be serious. “I’m ready now, if you’ll listen.”
“Yeah, I mean as long as you’re finished with your story before the finale.” He smiles the same smile he always smiles, but instead of melting my heart, I want to slap him. I reach for the remote and hit the pause button. He finally gets it and clears his throat. “Sorry.”
I exhale sharply and rub my sweaty palms across my jeans. “There was this guy in high school. His name was Mason and I was head over heels in love with him. After prom, he took me to a hotel room and we had sex. When I got out of the shower, he was gone but he had left a note.” Swollen with nerves, my mouth dries up and I’m forced to take a long sip of water. “He meant the world to me and all I was to him, was a bet.”
“That’s terrible.” He grabs my shaking hand and squeeze gently. “Teenagers can be so cruel.”
Cruelty isn’t reserved for teenagers. I should know. It’s a trait that follows many into adulthood, and some even adopt it. “It shaped me into the woman I am today. I often think back to that moment and wonder how my life would be different if it never happened.”
“I reckon it made you stronger.”
“That’s the problem.” I’m no longer able to stay seated and jump to my feet. He reaches out to me, but I take a measured step back. “There’s so much I need to tell you, but I can’t find the words.”
“It’s okay,” he assures me, “we have the rest of forever.”
“These are words that can’t wait until forever.”
He rises from the couch to meet me in the center of the room. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“I’m not who—“
And we’re back to square fucking one where he’s kissing me, and I’m forced into silence. Maybe it’s fate’s way of making sure I don’t put my foot in my mouth before I have a chance to see what exactly this is between us.
He pulls away and with exasperated breaths, he says to me, “Whatever it is, it can wait. Right now, I just want to touch you.”
“Are you saying you want to fuck?” I ask with a furrowed brow. That’d be the easy way out of this conversation, a welcome distraction from this destructive act of self-sabotage.
“No…”
Damn.
“I want to make love.”
Oh. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jensen?”
His lips form into a curious grin. “What have you done to Jensen?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Then I’ll answer it for you.” He takes a step, forcing me to take a step back. Then another until I’m lined up with the glass of the patio door. “You’re changing me, Apple.” His hand travel to my waist. “I’m terrified.” His mouth nuzzles against my neck, planting short kisses up to my chin. “I’m ecstatic.” He sinks his teeth into my earlobe, then drags his tongue along my sensitive skin. “I’m happy.” His tongue slips past my lips. His teeth graze my lips. His lips caress my lips. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and you are mine.” He kisses my forehead with the softest kiss on this side of childhood, and it electrifies more than the touch of any man before him. “There’s nothing left to talk about,” he whispers and I agree.