by Amelia Wilde
“You’re wrong again,” he tells me, and I feel foolish.
“I know I’m an easy lay,” I tell him dully, feeling my heart squeeze in my chest. I would let him have me whenever he wanted.
“I didn't say you were. I don't do this; I don’t sleep around. I don't have girls stay over, so we're even there. So, whatever you’re thinking right now, stop it.”
Guilt rises inside of me and makes me feel sick to my stomach. This is not the time, nor the place. I can feel his gaze on me, I know he’s waiting for me to simply agree and so I swallow the spiked knot and nod, but I can’t look him in the eyes.
“You know you mean more to me than that. You’re more than that.” His conviction is unmistakable, but I don’t know that. I only know what he’s told me, which is nothing.
He never tells me anything and I let him into my life because that’s where I want him. It’s as simple as that.
Taking a steadying breath, I turn to him.
“Tell me you know that,” he commands me, and my eyes are drawn to his throat as he swallows. “Tell me you know you’re more than just a lay for me.”
“I do,” I tell him. Things have always been more between us, but why? I don’t know. And tomorrow holds no promises for me.
“I want to have someone, Bastian,” I confess to him. “Even if I may lose them one day. I don’t want to be alone anymore.” I don’t know where the words come from. Maybe it’s the fatigue that still lingers. The sadness from hearing of Carter’s mom passing. Or maybe it’s because I feel a crack in Sebastian’s armor, he’s giving me a way in to tell him exactly how I feel.
It’s too quiet as I stare straight ahead at nothing in particular, rather than at Sebastian.
He cups the side of my face and forces me to look at him. His touch is hot and his gaze even hotter as he tells me, “Then let me be that someone.”
My heart beats in slow motion.
“What am I to you?” I whisper. Because deep in my soul, I already know Sebastian is that person for me. What I don’t know is whether or not I’m that person for him.
“You were just the sad girl who looked at me like you couldn’t wait to run from me. So, I refused to chase you, Chloe. Now that I have you, I’m begging you, don’t run from me.”
I love you is on the tip of my tongue, but the strength to let the words be heard is nowhere to be found.
“People know you’re with me now, anyway,” he tells me when I don’t say anything. “There’s nowhere to run.”
“I want to run away from here. I don’t know that I can stay here, Bastian.” I don’t know why that’s what comes out of me, but it’s all I can say.
His answer is simple and unexpected. “When you figure out where, tell me.”
His hand falls from my cheek and he gets off the bed, making my body sway where it is. My gaze drifts to him, watching him stand at the dresser and open a drawer, and then to the faint light of early morning filtering in through the window.
“Where are you going?” I ask him and then add, “To Carter’s?” He only nods solemnly. Of course, he’d want to be with him. I’m sure Carter needs him there too.
“Do you want me to go with you?” I offer. I’d do anything for him.
“You keep looking for a way to run from me, Chloe Rose,” he says and although he isn’t facing me as he slips on a white cotton t-shirt, I can hear the smile that must be gracing his lips, “but I need you this time. You’re not allowed to leave now.”
“So, that’s a yes?” I push him for more, feeling a warmth spread through my body and cloaking the sadness still buried within.
“It’s a, ‘you should have known you’re coming with me.’”
20
Sebastian
I knew it was coming. We all did. But we’re dying every day, coming closer to the end of our time here on earth, and it’s never easy to accept.
It’s been four days since she passed. And four days of Carter not calling. I keep texting him, but he just gives me one-word answers. His dad was right, nothing can prepare you; I didn’t think Carter would push me away though, not when he needs someone there for him. Even if it’s just to sit around and do nothing, I don’t care what, I just want to be there for him.
But he has his brothers.
Let me know when I can come over, I text him. And it takes a few minutes with only the sound of the paper bags rustling from Chlo getting the Chinese food out before Carter replies that he will.
I think he’s lying though. I don’t think he’s going to ask for help or for anyone to come around. He’s not okay.
“You should go to him,” Chloe speaks up, dishing out the lo mein on both of the paper plates with the white plastic forks they threw in the bag. “I think he’d like that,” she adds. She’s on her knees in front of the coffee table in nothing but a shirt of mine.
Tossing my phone on the sofa, I get down on the floor with her. It’s awkward and I have to push the coffee table away a foot, so I can fit between it and the sofa.
The sound of her small laugh soothes a piece of me that’s hurting for Carter. I peer up at her with a smirk on my lips. “Not everyone’s a tiny little thing like you,” I tell her and watch that soft blush creep up in her cheeks.
“I love making you smile,” I say and it only makes her blush harder. She bites down on her lip, reaching for another carton. She dishes out the General Tso’s quietly until both plates have more than enough on them.
“I love it when you make me smile too,” she says sheepishly, sitting back on her heels. “But seriously,” she tells me, “I think he’d be happy if you stopped by.”
“Yeah,” I agree with her, remembering how she was at Carter’s house and then at the funeral. She was quiet and polite, but the moment someone was ready to break down, she was right there. For Carter, but for Daniel too, his younger brother. All she wanted to do was be there to take away the pain as much as she could.
I love her for it.
I love her for being her.
She peeks up at me as the thought occurs to me, but she quickly looks away and repositions herself. She’s barely eating, just pushing the food around on her plate.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, a nagging feeling inside of me that what we have is going to go away. It’s all going to slip through my fingers and I’m going to lose her.
She clears her throat and glances at me, her gaze shifting between the untouched plate and then back to me. I have to put my fork down and push the plate away to face her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I think I love you.” Her answer is immediate, although each word feels hesitant like it was afraid to be spoken. “I think I’m weird and needy… and that I have problems,” she says then swallows thickly, and the blush that was on her face turns a darker shade of red before she looks up at me again with those blue eyes shining with vulnerability. “But I think I love you, and I don’t know if… if it’s okay that I tell you.” She bites down on her bottom lip and then nods once like she’s said her piece. “But I wanted to tell you,” she adds quickly before I can answer her.
She’ll never know how she breaks something inside of me with her confession. With how genuine and sincere those words come out. I know she means it. She feels that she loves me, and she loves the part of me she knows. It shatters something deep down inside of me. The part of me that’s hiding from her sight, the part of me I hate, that part of me falls to my knees for her, praying I could atone for all my sins and be worthy of that love.
“Lie down, Chloe Rose,” I give her the command, feeling my heart slamming against my chest, begging me to tell her how I feel. I’m not ready though. I love seeing her squirm, and a part of me thinks if she knew how much she meant to me, she’d run.
She glances at me warily before setting her fork down and scooting out from between the coffee table and the sofa to lie down on her side only to ask, “On my back?”
Letting out a single huff of a laugh, I grin at her and say, “Yeah.�
�
With her heels on the floor and her knees bent, she lies on her back, the t-shirt riding up and she lets it, so I can see her underwear.
“Take them off,” I tell her from where I’m sitting, feeling my cock get harder for her. Pulling her hair behind her first, she obeys me. Shimmying out of her underwear and setting it next to her, she daintily readjusts so her legs are flat and I can’t see her cunt.
“Like you were before, Chloe Rose. I want to see you.”
Slowly, she picks up each of her heels, her pussy on full display, her center a dark, bright pink and glistening from arousal.
“Tell me you love me again.”
She brings her gaze to meet mine and licks her lips. “I love you,” she tells me like it’s obvious. Like it doesn’t change anything at all.
I have to practically crawl to her from where I’m sitting, but I don’t give a fuck.
I don’t need food; I don’t need sleep. I don’t need a damn thing, so long as she loves me.
With a single finger, I push on her inner knees and she instantly moves her legs farther apart for me. I trace her pussy, sending shivers through her body.
“So, does that mean you’re my girlfriend?” I ask her the question I wanted to so many years ago. If I hadn’t already been involved with Romano, heading down a path I knew she was too good for, I’d have asked her then. Shit, I’d have begged her to be mine.
The corners of her lips turn up as she smiles wide and beautifully. “Yeah,” she answers me in a single breath and I reward her by brushing the rough pad of my thumb over her swollen clit. Her sweet, soft moan makes precum leak from the slit of my cock and I can’t take it anymore.
She watches as I undress fast and recklessly, kicking the coffee table and almost spilling the food, but it doesn’t matter. None of that shit matters.
She spreads her legs farther as I climb on top of her, bracing my forearms on either side of her head and kissing her softly, gently and giving her every ounce of goodness, I have, even if it is so little.
“You still sore, Chlo?” I ask her as I push into her slick folds just enough to feel her tight cunt gripping my cock before pulling out.
With her neck arched back, her lips parted, and her eyes closed, she whimpers, “No.”
“Good,” I tell her, “’Cause tomorrow you’re going to be.” I slam into her all the way to the hilt in a swift, merciless stroke. Her sweet gasps fuel me to fuck her on the thin carpet until she doesn’t have a scream left in her.
21
Chloe
“I loved coming here.” My mother’s voice is calm and sober, which is at odds with the noise of the bottles clinking and everyone talking in the bar. It sounds like everyone’s talking at once and over each other. The billiard balls collide on the break and the sound of a new game starting draws my attention briefly. The television’s on with a football game and some of the guys cheer a player on, but he the whole bar voices its dismay as he’s quickly tackled.
I recognize a few faces, one of them Carter’s dad as he orders a drink.
“That man’s going soon.” My mother’s voice catches my attention. Goosebumps flow over my skin; she’s so close to me. A thin, sickly smile is on her lips. She nods, not taking her gaze away from the far end of the bar as we sit on two stools next to each other.
I look back to the man I recognize and ask, “Mr. Cross?”
“No, no, baby girl,” my mother tsks me, “the bartender.”
Dave.
Ice flows over my skin as my mom laughs at my reaction. Fifth on the list.
The billiard balls clack noisily, and the bar carries on like nothing’s happening. Like they can’t even see us.
Sharp nails dig into my shoulder as my mom comes closer to me, whispering in my ear and making my body stiffen.
“I used to fuck him at the end of the night,” she tells me with her smile growing. “He’d clear my tab in return, although sometimes he just wanted me to suck him off like a whore.”
My words fail me and I struggle to breathe or to know what to say. It’s only a dream.
“Yeah, yeah, baby girl. But that doesn’t make it any less true,” my mom tells me before letting go and sitting upright in her seat.
I swallow the tight knot in my throat and peek up at her.
“Just because you’re dreaming doesn’t mean shit.” The smile fades and she stares at the bartender as he pours a glass of some clear liquor for Mr. Cross.
The music seems to die down, everything except my mother’s voice turning to white noise.
“At one point, I thought he loved me,” my mom tells me, staring down at the drink on the bar.
It takes me a moment to realize the smudge on the glass is blood. My gaze darts to her hand, to the broken nails and the bruises on her wrist.
My heart pounds, the anxiety and fear rising as her voice hardens and she picks up the drink. “Men don’t love, Chloe.” She sets the glass against her lips, but she doesn’t drink. Instead, she stares at the man behind the bar. She stares down the bartender who doesn’t see either of us. “Don’t you ever believe that shit.”
I grip the barstool tighter, feeling the blood draining from me as she looks me in the eyes, her own pale and lifeless. “Don’t believe him, Chloe Rose.”
I wake up drenched in sweat and alone. Trembling, I can hear the faint sounds of someone outside. I can’t help getting out of bed, my heart still racing as I check to see who it is.
Peeking through the blinds, it’s just two guys walking down the street. Guys I’ve seen before on the porch of a house down the street. They look like they’re on their way back from the liquor store, carrying bags full of large glass bottles. That would explain the noises I heard in my sleep.
I’m still shaking as I turn from the window and slowly walk back to the bed, my mind racing with the memory of the dream. Of the bar. Of Dave.
I reach out to Bastian’s side of the bed, but the sheets are cold.
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I walk to the bathroom, my bare feet padding against the cold floor. The door’s partially open and it’s dark inside, but still, I push it open wide and flick on the light.
The brightness makes me wince, and I find it empty.
“Bastian?” I call out for him even though I know he’s not here. His place is empty.
Where the hell is he? The clock on the stove reads 3:46. “Where the fuck is he?” I mutter, still breathless from the fear that woke me. I’d rather focus on Bastian than on the night terror, but when I get to my phone that I’d left on the coffee table, my blood runs cold.
Dave now too. They’re going one by one.
I stare at the text message, reading it over and over.
Dave is dead.
I dreamed of it. And he’s dead. I’m so cold. I can’t feel anything but the horror I felt from the nightmare.
I don’t know how I’m still standing. The scream of fear is silent in my throat, but it’s there.
Tears prick my eyes and I can’t control the shaking. Adrenaline and the need to run kick in before I can do anything. It all happens so slowly, each level of despair falling on its own. Like dominoes. And between each blow, I reread the text.
Dave now too. They’re going one by one.
My knees collapse, and I drop the phone, pressing my hands together and begging them to stop shaking.
It was a dream. She’s not real.
It’s not real. Tell me the text isn’t real. It’s not true.
It’s just some asshole fucking with me. There’s no truth to it.
I swallow each of the thoughts, pushing my head into the carpet and trying to steady my head from spinning with the fear racing through me.
But how can it be a coincidence? It can’t. It can’t be.
It’s not real.
“Bastian,” I cry out for him like the crutch he is. The panic is slow to set in.
I know he’ll make it better. He’s a balm each and every time. He can make it go away.
But he can’t explain this. Nothing can explain this.
I reach for my phone and miss it, but then I grab it again, my nails digging into the carpet as I drag it closer to me. “Pull your shit together,” I mutter under my breath. I lift my gaze to the front door as I scroll for Sebastian’s number.
My body is hot, and tense and the fear threatens to consume me.
It’s locked. The door is locked.
Ring, ring, ring.
No answer.
I stare at the screen as if it’s lying to me. I don’t know how long I sit there on my knees, my ass on my heels as I stare at the fucking phone, hating it and hating this place and freezing. I’m so cold. I’m so fucking cold.
It was a nightmare, it’s not real.
I try again and get the same result, voicemail.
Swallowing thickly, I brave looking at the text message again.
I could ask who it is, but they won’t tell me.
I could ask for proof, but I don’t want to see.
Instead, I try Sebastian again because he’s all I have. And still, I get nothing. My heart races and the anxiety grows inside me, burning me from the inside out and nearly shoving me over the brink of insanity.
It’s okay, I tell myself as I rock on the floor. It’s okay.
It’s just a nightmare. Just a text.
Just another coincidence.
“Bastian,” I cry out for him and feel so unworthy. So unhinged.
Where is he?
He has to be with Carter, out on the edge of the city where there’s no reception. It’s my fault. I told him to go there. It’s my fault, I repeat to myself.
Finally, my body moves. I need to get dressed and go to him. I can’t stay here. I won’t do it. I need to tell him; I need to tell someone. I’m breaking down and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s real.
I’m not crazy.