by Hamel, B. B.
“I know you wouldn’t… I know you didn’t.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m just fucked up.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “Yeah. I know. I think I am too.”
I look back at her and finally meet her gaze. She lingers there before I step closer. I pull her against me and hug her tight. I feel her body, her warmth, seeping into mine.
I hold her before slowly kissing her again.
This time, there’s no anger. I’m not pissed off as I lift her up onto the countertop. I’m not punishing her. I’m not taking it out on her.
I just want to kiss her. I just want to feel her.
21
Grace
I know I’m screwed as soon as his hands touch my skin.
I should hate him now. After all this, after everything, he thinks I was taking drugs. He must be absolutely insane if he would ever for a second think that I would touch heroin after seeing what it did to my brother.
And yet he found some in my apartment, and that’s exactly what he did.
I should hate him. I should despise him.
But I understand him, and that’s even worse.
I know what he’s going through. To some extent, I’ve been going through the same thing for a long time. Patrick hasn’t been himself for years, and I think I’ve been mourning him over and over. When he was arrested and we found out what he had done, I cried like he had died. I talk about him in the past tense now if anyone asks.
I’ve been mourning the death of my brother just like Nathan’s been mourning the death of his mother. The only difference is, my brother’s still alive, and he might actually come back one day.
But for now, he’s as good as dead.
Sure, I’ll keep in touch. I’m not a monster. I can’t turn him away, not completely. But he’s dead to me.
Nathan isn’t. He’s right here, his hands on my hips, his lips against mine. I wrap my legs around him and pull him tight against me. I can feel my heart racing in my chest as we kiss and I want this, I want it as badly as he does.
We’re both broken. We’ve both fucked up. I can only imagine how his father hurt him when he was younger and how that’s left so many scars. I can only guess at how losing the only solid parent in his life so suddenly and so violently would mess with him. I can only guess, but I know it’s not good. I know he’s hurting so much.
I also know that for the brief moments we’re touching, we both feel good.
I let his lips linger. I let him take off my shirt. I take off his and run my hands down his chest. I feel his abs under my fingers, his muscular abs, beautiful and perfect. His hands move through my hair but he doesn’t pull it.
There’s no anger in this. I don’t taste the anger and I don’t want to, not right now. It’s more sad and gentler than the normal fire he gives me.
He kisses my neck and takes off my bra. I reach down and unbuckle his jeans and he helps me take them off. When he’s just in his boxer briefs, he scoops me up off the counter and carries me over to the couch. He puts me down on my back and slowly peels my pants off until we’re both just in our underwear.
I roll my hips against him slowly as he kisses me. He kisses my lips, my neck, and my chest. He licks my nipples slowly, sucking them gently, biting down softly. I moan, almost a whisper, as he kisses my lips again. I feel him hard between my legs, his cock against my soaking pussy. I’m dripping wet and that heat’s growing now, not the same raging fire from before, but a slow and yearning thing.
He kisses me again, almost urgent. I grab his hair and hold him tight, digging my other fingers into his back. He grunts and moves down me again, kissing my skin, almost savoring me. I love the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, like I’m precious and perfect and he’s afraid he might stain me somehow, like he’s afraid he’ll leave fingerprints on an otherwise perfect space.
My panties come off slowly. I lay there, legs spread as his fingers tease me, his arms bulging with muscles. I pull him into a kiss as his fingers slide deep inside me.
“Oh, god,” I whisper, the first words we’ve spoken.
“I keep forgetting how good it feels to touch you,” he says in my ear. “Every time my fingers are on your skin, I feel like I can’t stop. Like I can’t pull them away.”
“I don’t want you to,” I groan.
“I know you don’t.” He kisses me gently before his fingers bury deeper. “I know you can’t get enough of this, just as much as I can’t.”
I groan as his fingers slide in and out. He’s such a bastard and it feels so good. I grab his hair now, the passion driving up, intensifying. I can feel it between us, a flame that won’t stop, won’t parch.
“Come on,” I whisper, looking in his eyes. “I want you.”
He bites my lip. “Say please.”
“Nathan.”
He rocks back on the couch and takes off his underwear. His cock is long, thick, and hard as hell. I stare at him, my pulse racing.
“Say please,” he says again.
“Please.”
He pins me back down, spreads my legs, and teases my pussy with his tip. I groan, bite my lip, and wiggle my hips. He sinks himself inside me, so fucking slowly, and I arch my back, unable to help myself.
Once he’s between my legs, every delicious and incredible inch of him filling me up, I grab onto his hair.
“Yes,” I groan. “That’s what I need. Just like that. I need you filling me up, Nathan. I need you inside of me. I need you to fuck me.”
He slowly slides out and back in. Passion, pleasure, intensity wiggles up my spine.
“I know what you need,” he growls. “You need me to get you off. Make you come on my fat cock. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” I moan.
“You want me to make you feel good, just like you make me feel good.”
“Please.”
He kisses me. The passion’s there, building, hotter, stronger. But there’s no anger still, no rage. It’s just pure and it feels so good, so much clearer, so much better.
He fucks me. Then fucks me the way I want it. His cock stakes me, his body grinding against mine, his lips on my lips then his tongue on my nipples. I arch my back and he spreads my legs, pushing them up and wide, taking me even deeper. I gasp as pleasure rolls through me, almost too intense to bear.
But he keeps going. His cock rips into me faster and faster. I grab him and pull him down and hold him tight, my legs wrapped around him, my teeth biting into his shoulder. He keeps going, fucking me, filling me. We’re sweating, writhing, fucking like animals and there’s no world outside of this moment.
There’s only him, taking me, filling me. Giving me what I want and need.
“Nathan,” I moan. “Oh, god, yes.”
He growls in response. He’s feral, animal, pure beast now. It’s like every other time, but there’s no violence, no threat of it. There’s only his body, only his arms, his tongue, his cock.
I roll my hips and take him deeper, deeper. I want it all, want it so badly. No pain this time, nothing to make the pleasure sweeter, but the pleasure can be sweet all on its own.
He keeps going. He takes me the way he wants to take me, the way I deserve to be taken. He fucks me and fills me and kisses me and chews gently on my lower lip and I let him have it all, every inch, every tight inch of my pussy, every dripping juice. He growls and when I don’t think I can take more, he gives it all to me.
I gasp and arch my back. He keeps going, fucks me, my breasts bouncing with every rough thrust. I groan and roll my hips and take him, begging him, pleading with him to keep going. I need more, more, more, please, I need it all.
“Nathan!” I gasp. My eyes go wide. I can feel it, so close now. He doesn’t let up. He knows, I can tell. “Oh, god, Nathan. Oh my god.”
He growls again in response and fucks me faster, harder. I moan and roll my hips and gasp, begging, pleading, completely lost in the moment, completely outside of myself.
I c
ome in an explosion of pure pleasure. I look into his eyes, grab onto his hair, and arch my back. I hold him as he thrusts inside of me, filling me, making me come so hard I can barely breathe when it’s over.
And just as it slowly tilts down and begins to fade, I feel him fill me. I feel him stiffen, groan, and come deep between my legs. I gasp, yes, gasp, and moan. It feels so good, having him come inside of me like that, just at the end of an orgasm. It’s heaven, really, it’s perfect.
We end in a panting, sweaty mess. He holds me, just holds me there. He kisses me, whispers something, I’m not sure what, it doesn’t matter. I let him hold me and I snuggle up against his chest, feeling his heart racing.
“I don’t want anything else,” I mumble.
“I don’t either.”
He holds me tight. I know the outside world is going to push its way between us sooner or later. I know things won’t be perfect. But right now, in this moment, I’m happy. I don’t care what’s outside this apartment. I don’t care about the marriage, the house, my brother, my parents, his mother, his father.
I don’t care about anything but him, his arms around me, his heart beating against me.
22
Nathan
I feel like a fucking prick, but to her credit, she doesn’t hold it against me.
I don’t know why. She should hang me out to fucking dry every day and night for the rest of my life, but she doesn’t. After we finally get dressed, we go back home, and she doesn’t say a word more.
For some reason, I want her to be mad at me. Maybe it’ll make me feel a little bit better, like I’ve been penitent somehow. Like if I can let her beat me up, I can forgive myself for all this stupid shit.
She doesn’t deserve what I put her through. I can see it so clearly, so fucking clearly. She doesn’t deserve it at all.
It isn’t her fault. And I need to stop being a bastard toward her, or I’ll lose her entirely.
We go to bed in separate rooms. I want to invite her into mine, to share my bed with me, but I hold my tongue. I don’t deserve that shit, not yet at least.
I do linger in the hall as we both head up for the night. “You look good, you know,” I say to her.
She frowns down at herself. “I’m just in sweats.”
“I know. But I like it.”
She laughs a little. “I think you’re going insane. Are you being nice to me?”
“Look, Grace—” I start, but I stop myself. “I’m just saying. You look good.”
She smiles at me. It’s so genuine, it almost breaks my heart. “Thanks, Nathan.”
She heads into her room and I head into mine.
I can’t really sleep. For most of the night, I’m thinking about her body, about her touch. I think about her lips and her tongue and her pussy and her legs, all of them pushing against me, making me feel incredible.
And it hits me. I know what I need to do. It’s so obvious, I should’ve seen it from the start, but I’ve been so clouded with anger.
I was never an angry person before all this. Anger just wasn’t something I really ever felt. The world happened and I let it go. Sure, I got pissed, I got annoyed, but I never felt like this. I never felt this all-consuming rage at everything.
I need to let it go.
I need to move on. It’ll consume me completely if I let it, and I can’t let it. I have to fight it, or I know I’ll lose myself and I’ll lose her.
I feel myself drifting off when there’s a noise downstairs.
It barely registers at first. But silent houses have a way of magnifying every little noise. I slip out of bed, frowning, and I hear it again, much louder this time.
Something just crashed, like shattering glass.
I check my bedside clock. It’s a little after one in the morning. There’s no way that’s Grace down there.
Still, I creep to my door. I hesitate and then hear something, someone moving around downstairs.
I step out of my room only to find Grace at the end of the hallway, standing at the top of the stairs. Her face is white as she turns back to me and I can see the fear in her eyes. The fear only gets worse when she sees me.
She thought I might be down there.
I walk to her and put a hand on her back. “Stay here,” I whisper.
“Don’t go down there. Call the cops.” Her voice is a hiss, a whisper.
“Stay here.”
“Wait,” she says, but I’m already moving. I walk lightly down the steps, trying not to make any noise, but of course the floorboard squeaks just as I reach the bottom.
It’s dark when I step into the living room. It takes me a long moment to realize that there’s a shape in the kitchen. The shape is moving, pulling open cabinets. I hear it curse, a grunting, angry sound. I walk over to the nearest light switch and turn it on.
The shape turns into my father.
He stares at me. He barely reacts to my presence, like he was waiting for me the whole time. The back door’s window is broken and there are bits of glass all over the place. His shirt is covered in it and his skin is all scratched up. Clearly, he had a hard time getting in.
“What the hell are you doing?” I say.
He goes back to rummaging in my cabinets.
I stare at him for a long moment, not sure what to do. He finally makes a grunting noise, more animal than human, and pulls down a bottle of whiskey. He pops off the top and pours it straight down his throat.
“Asshole,” I say, stepping toward him. “That’s good stuff. Put that back. What the fuck are you doing?”
He glances at me, but he doesn’t see me. I can tell, it’s all blank and gray and nothing.
There’s a noise behind me. I half turn as Grace steps down.
“Go back upstairs,” I say to her, fear spiking in me suddenly.
“Is that your dad?” she asks, wild-eyed.
“He’s drunk. Go back upstairs.”
“Calvin?” she says louder, stepping past me.
“Grace,” I say, grabbing for her wrist, but she slips away toward him.
“Calvin, are you okay? Do you need help?”
His blank eyes turn to her. She steps closer, moving into the kitchen.
He moves as the same time I move. He lunges for her, bottle held up like a weapon. I push her aside as he brings it down, the glass crashing onto my shoulder. I grunt in pain as it shatters and spills whiskey all over. I feel it sting and burn as glass embeds in my arm and the whiskey gets in the wound. He lets out a wild sound, like an animal in pain, and he stumbles back away from me.
“Nathan!” she screams.
I jump on my dad. He’s drunk and smaller than me, but he fights like a demon. He wrestles from my grip, hitting, biting, kicking. I manage to punch him hard in the eye but that barely fazes him. The man kicks out and turns to the door, growling and spitting and hissing. I follow him as he runs out back, stumbling, nearly falling.
My shoulder hurts like hell and there’s blood dripping down my arm. I chase my father into my backyard and I watch as he dives at the back fence. He scales it, pulling his bulk up and over the top. I watch in amazement as my old, overweight, out of shape, drunk as hell father manages to scale that fence like it’s nothing.
He disappears over the back.
“Fuck,” I say. “Motherfucker.”
“Nathan.” Grace appears at my side, looking at my shoulder. “Oh my god. You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re so clearly not fine. Jesus, we need to get you to a hospital.”
“I’m fine. We need to get my dad.”
“Nathan, you’re—”
I turn to her, staring into her eyes. I grab her shoulders, holding tight. She looks surprised when I pull her against me, hugging her tight, heedless of the pain.
“He almost hurt you,” I say softly. “That fucking bastard almost hurt you.”
“He didn’t… he was drunk, he didn’t mean to, I mean…”
“He won’t get away
with this.”
“What can we do?”
“Call the cops, first of all. Put them on his trail.”
“What will that solve?”
“I don’t know,” I say, frustrated. “But he almost hurt you. I want to kill him.”
“Nathan,” she says softly and looks up into my eyes. “We’ve had enough pain and enough hurt. Do you really want to do that to your dad?”
I stare back at her and sigh, looking away. “No, I don’t.”
“He’s going to get himself in trouble sooner or later. He’s an animal right now. Just leave him be. He’ll get caught sooner or later on his own.”
“Maybe you’re right.” I feel my body tense, the anger returning. But this time, it’s a new anger. It’s not directed at myself or at everything around me, but only at my father, like the sun through a magnifying glass.
“It’ll be okay.” She takes my hand gently. “Come on. You’re hurt really bad. We really need to go.”
I curse as she leads me inside. She cleans out the wounds the best she can, picking out the glass, but mostly she puts a towel over the cuts and leads me out to my car.
I stare out the window on the drive to the hospital. “I hate this,” I say softly. “I hate that he’s back.”
“I know,” she says.
I don’t know how we got here. My father, drunk as hell, breaking into my house.
But before we make it to the hospital, I realize something.
I took a whiskey bottle for her. I protected her, almost on instinct, and I’d do it again a thousand times over.
When I reach for the old anger, it’s completely gone.
23
Nathan
It doesn’t take long for my father to get caught.
Two days, to be exact. I’m in my coffee shop, preparing for a job interview, when I get the call. I almost ignore it, since I get so many damn spam calls these days, but I pick up on a whim.
“Son?”
I pause. It’s my father, but the connection is bad. “What do you want?”