Clear

by Jessica Park

  I smile now. “Yes. If I watch you, yes.”

  “Then, keep watching.”

  After his fingers have moved over my waist and legs, he runs the back of his hand between my thighs but only for a second, only enough to make me miss it terribly when he moves back to my breasts. I touch two fingers to my lips and then to his, passing him a kiss so that I don’t have to take my eyes off him. Just as he kisses my fingers, his hand glides smoothly beneath my underwear. Now, he smiles when I gasp under his touch. He starts very slowly, moving lightly, taking his time with working up my arousal, until I am breathing hard and digging into his shoulders.

  Sam pulls my underwear fully off and strokes my inner thigh. I’m so wet now that I think I might finally go legitimately crazy if he stops, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he isn’t going to stop.

  “Stay with me,” he purrs, easing two fingers inside me.

  My back arches, and my vision gets blurry, but I stay with him. His pace as he begins to slide in and out is steady, letting me get used to the care in his touch. I reach up and rest my hand on his face, keeping my eyes locked on his. Even when he curls his fingers a bit and hits a spot that makes me nearly go blind and even when he starts to move a little faster, we maintain eye contact.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. “You are so beautiful, Stell.” He tilts his head up. “Look in the mirror.”

  My head falls to the side, and our lovemaking reflects back from the old mirror that Sam polished and hung in my bedroom. I study myself, the way my body intuitively responds against his hand. I watch him move his arm under my neck as he cradles me and keeps moving his hand.

  The storm is on us now, and lightning flashes into the room through the French doors. Thunder growls, and driving rain hits the window.

  “Watch yourself come,” he breathes into my ear. “Watch how gorgeous you are, how safe you are, how free you are.”

  And so, I do. Even when it gets nearly impossible to focus because my body tightens and shudders over and over, I watch myself. Then, I meet Sam’s eyes in the mirror. It’s so clear in his expression that he’s giving me this to show how much he feels, not for any other reason. It’s not because he wants something physical in return or because he’s taking advantage of me. This is new, but after tonight, I couldn’t ever accept less.

  Eventually, my body begins to calm after the heightened waves of my orgasm. Now, I turn back into him, and he lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me deeply. I reach between us to finally unzip his jeans.

  “We can still stop. You know that, right?”

  “You’re insane if you think I don’t want you inside me.”

  I tug on his jeans and boxers, and he helps me get them off. With my hands on his sides, I pull him to roll on top of me.

  “One sec. I have to do something first.” Sam rubs his nose against mine, and his eyes sparkle.

  So, it’s only for a moment that his cock brushes between my legs before he is kissing his way down my body until his mouth is on me. Maybe Sam is trying to prove all the ways that he can make me come, but I’m not complaining because his mouth feels incredible. I’m fighting so hard for my sanity, and now, I’m on the brink of losing it again because his tongue is the most perfect thing in the world. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

  I am still breathing hard and shaking when he crawls back up. I wouldn’t protest if he had a list of other things to do, but I’m really beyond ready for him now.

  He laughs when I throw an arm off the bed to yank open the nightstand drawer, revealing three boxes of different condoms.

  “Well, I see you’re prepared.”

  “I was going with a build-it-and-they-will-come philosophy, and one of us already has. Twice.”

  “Very punny.” He reaches for a box and shakes out condoms before tearing one off with a hand.

  “Oh, one-handed, huh? Show-off,” I tease.

  His smile is ridiculously cute. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m quite good with one hand.”

  “Oh, I noticed,” I assure him.

  Together, we lift up until he is kneeling in front of me, and I’m sitting. I set one hand on his chest and touch my other to his cock, wrapping my hand around him. It’s my impulse to lean in, but I don’t. The truth of how much I hated it when Jay made me go down on him, how sick he and I both were, hits me. I’m not ready to do this even though I know how different tonight is with Sam, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he doesn’t seem to expect it.

  I do, however, feel more than comfortable using my hands on him, learning how he feels. He doesn’t press against me or push on the back of my head to try for more. He simply lets me touch him at my own pace, which seems to work given the sounds he is making.

  When he starts to get a little breathless, he rips open the condom and puts it on. For a moment, I lean in and kiss his stomach and his defined abs as he rubs his hands over my shoulders and through my hair. I am so…joyful…for what we’re about to do, for the closeness we’re going to have. It’s something I never imagined I could experience.

  I look up to Sam as I lie back, and he lowers himself. He wraps our hands together and kisses me. Then, I feel just the tip of him against me as he lifts to look me in the eyes, and the head of his cock slides inside me. And he stays there, making sure I’m okay. Neither of us moves for a minute. Slowly, he slides in just a bit more and then pulls out. Then, in again, pushing deeper, and he stays there. He slips a hand under my lower back and keeps it against me, holding us still.

  The rain is torrential now—the thunder and lightning and wind all loud, I’m sure—but the only thing that I hear clearly is Sam.

  “Stay with me,” he says, pushing fully inside me.

  He couldn’t lose me now if he tried.

  I HAVE NO IDEA what time we finally fell asleep last night. There was sex—outstanding, beautiful hot sex that I need much more of—and then there was heating up risotto on the stove and feeding each other and being schmaltzy and gooey and completely awesome. It was like we were in some hideous Nicholas Sparks movie. It was more than I could have dreamed of.

  When the power went out, we moved to the living room and cuddled in front of the fireplace, watching flames dance into the early morning. I fell asleep easily, safely, without worry. God, to be able to drift into slumber without any weight breaking apart my night? It was the best feeling ever.

  The storm hit the electrical lines among so many things that hit last night. Who needs electricity? I couldn’t care less if it ever came back on.

  And goddamn, if choosing that huge chaise wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. Right now, I am stretched out on it, next to Sam, our warmth defying the chill in the air. I’ve never thought of myself as sexy, but Sam makes it impossible to deny that I feel attractive and desirable. Even when we had a rather practical conversation about me being on the pill and both of us making sure we were clean and whatnot and deciding to ditch the condoms, he managed to remain adorable and keep me feeling hot and sensual.

  He’s got a gift, this boy—or more accurately, many gifts.

  He has on only light sweatpants, and I’m in a silky tank top and underwear. I’ve found that while the days are warm here in Maine, the nights are still quite cold, but the heat from his chest flows into mine, and I snuggle more tightly into his hold.

  While he sleeps, I study his face and the peace that radiates from his slumber. I suspect that while I slept, I looked as settled and fulfilled as he does now. I doubt that I’ve ever felt this way—perhaps as a child before chaos invaded my life and before I understood the destructive nature of a mentally ill parent.

  One of the things that I find most comforting this morning is that while Sam provided a safe harbor, I am the one who has been making choices that are helping me find myself. I am healing because of me, and that is letting me trust and risk and love.

  I am proud of myself. It’s a beautiful feeling and one that I plan to hang on to.

  Finding r
eality and clarity is no small feat when one has been subjected to emotional warfare for so many years. It’s embarrassing, whether rightful or not, to have fallen prey to the cruelty of my family’s disintegration. I probably idealized life before my father left, but it was certainly his departure and Amy’s delving into narcotics after the car accident that together sparked my rapid descent into turmoil. My mother has always been nuts, always manipulated me, but without my father and sister to buffer her behavior, I was left defenseless. It’s hard not to feel as though I should have done better, been stronger and smart enough to circumvent their dysfunction.

  Now, however, I can reclaim myself.

  Sam stirs a bit, and I roll in closer, breathing in his smell. His wide shoulders and muscular arms provide what feels like an unbreakable and protective armor from harm, and I press in a bit more to kiss his chest, reveling in this moment of freedom and levity. Lightly, he lets out a small murmur. When my hand runs over his bare skin, then travels to his waist, and then over the front of his sweatpants, that murmur grows a bit deeper.

  “Good morning,” I whisper.

  Sam smiles and opens his eyes a hint. “I missed you while I was sleeping.”

  He grinds into me, and my every nerve ignites. The weight of his body moves over mine, and in a flash, I am on my back, laughing, with Sam above me, growling and making me giggle as he kisses my neck.

  Mere seconds later, I raise my waist and run my hands through his hair, desperately intent on getting what I crave on such a basic level. Our mood becomes more serious, more real. While last night was incredibly gentle and romantic, it’s clear that what we both want this morning is raw and intense. It’s so easy to let myself move against him, to find a rhythm and flow between us. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable at all. It’s as though we were made for this, for each other.

  The rain begins again just as we begin again.

  As I start to push down his sweatpants, both of us stop short at the sound of another male’s voice in the room.

  “Did I come at a bad time?”

  Sam pulls himself up from me. His entire body freezes, and I see terrible fear in his eyes when he looks into mine. He knows the voice. That’s clear.

  Slowly, he turns and moves to the end of the chaise, sitting as if to shield me. His voice trembles. “Costa.”

  Now, I am the one frozen with fear, but I don’t fully understand why.

  “It’s been a long time,” Costa says in a voice so kind that it unnerves me.

  Costa’s hair is black, neatly cut, and pushed off his face. He has penetrating navy eyes, framed by sharply arched eyebrows. Tall as Sam but thinner, he’s clearly well built. Even under his black leather jacket, he looks to be solid and strong. Leaning against the kitchen counter, smirking and staring at Sam, he waves jovially, and under the circumstances, it strikes me hard as ludicrous.

  “Why…why are you here?” Sam pushes into me even more.

  I see his chest rise and fall quickly. I hear his breathing escalate. The heat he radiated before is gone, replaced now by a cold tremor.

  Sam’s voice is ice cold. “What do you want?”

  Costa stops about ten feet from us and gives Sam half a smile. I study him, fascinated by the person before me. He’s…cocky, flirtatious even, I think. When he finally tips his head in my direction, I am both chilled and entranced.

  “You must be Stella,” he says calmly. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

  Sam leaps off the chaise and positions himself to my left, directing Costa’s attention his way. “How do you know her name?” His voice is stronger now.

  Costa keeps smiling and moves a bit closer.

  “How do you know her name?” Sam repeats. This time, it’s a demand.

  “She’s really cute, Sammy. Nicely done.” Costa blows me a kiss.

  Before I can react, Sam barrels both hands into Costa’s chest, throwing him backward and hard onto the floor.

  “If you touch her, that’s it.” Sam stands over him now, enraged and ready to attack. “Is that crystal clear? She is off-fucking-limits with your game. I swear to God, I’ll—”

  Costa laughs. “You’ll do what?” He slowly returns to his feet and then brushes his hands together. “What can you possibly do to me?”

  Sam steps back, creating distance between them. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “God, I’ve missed you, Sam, so much.” Costa drops his head to one side and smiles.

  He’s so relaxed, so eerily at ease in this exchange, while Sam and I are anything but.

  “Did you miss me?” Costa puts his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Sam, did you miss me?” he asks more insistently. “It’s been forever since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it? I want us to hang out again, like we used to.”

  Sam’s hands tremble as he defensively holds them up. Against what, I’m not sure, but my stomach drops because Sam sees something coming that I don’t.

  Sam shakes his head. “Costa, don’t do this. Please.”

  “We had so much fun, Sammy. Remember when it was just us? Tell me that you missed me the way I missed you.” His words and tone are harmless, but Costa is most definitely not. “Let’s get back what we lost, shall we?”

  That smile again, and this time, it sends ice through my veins. I scramble to the edge of the chaise, panicked now. “Sam…”

  “Stella, don’t! Stay there!”

  Sam throws out a hand, and I do what he asks, holding still only because I’m afraid to make the situation worse if I jump between them.

  With immeasurable steadiness now, Sam says, “Costa, please leave. I’m begging you. Don’t you do this to me, not now.”

  I look back and forth between them, trying to decipher what they’re talking about. Tension throttles the air, all of us on high alert.

  Then, Costa slips a hand from his pocket and raises a gun to Sam.

  I scream and lurch forward, but again, Sam yells for me to stay.

  He stares at the gun and inhales loudly. “You don’t want this, Costa. Please.”

  “Sam, we were so good together. So, so good. You remember, right?”

  I don’t know how to defuse this, and my heart is in my throat anyway. I cannot think or speak anymore. All I can do is see the gun and the inexplicably sultry, seductive expression on Costa’s face along with the pleading look on Sam’s.

  Sam shakes his head, silently conveying so much to Costa.

  But Costa simply stares directly at Sam and cocks the gun. “You owe me this. For fun.”

  In slow motion, I watch Costa pull the trigger, and my world explodes.

  I think I’m screaming. Or maybe I’m trying to. I might be choking.

  Through my tears, I see Sam’s chest turn red.

  Costa steps in a bit and fires off another round.

  I find myself on the floor, crawling toward Sam through my hysteria. In a blur, I make out Costa’s boots next to me, and I feel his hand on my back. He calmly says something that I can’t understand before he walks away.

  My hands reach for Sam’s chest, and I clamp down, hard, soaking my skin with his blood. Everything is red. My hands are so wet that they slip, but I move them back to the source of the blood, and I resolve not to fail again. I’m aware that I cannot breathe normally. Vacuous white noise floods the room, and I can’t see anything but death. Because God—oh God—Sam is bleeding out, right in front of me. So, there is only the static sound in my head, the internal chaos, and the splintering destruction of everything that makes sense.

  This cannot be happening. There cannot be all this blood draining from the boy I love. I won’t tolerate it.

  “Stell…”

  Sam’s voice breaks me from the saturation of blood, and I look up. He’s trying to smile, and that just drives this horror deeper.

  “Stell, you give me such light. In a dark, dark world, you give me such light. Don’t…cry…”

  Thick crimson liquid trails from his mouth, so the attempt to conso
le me rings as horribly impossible.

  Even with the pressure I’m putting on his gunshot wounds, I can’t begin to control the bleeding. “No, no, no,” is all that I can say. There is no stopping the word. If I say it enough, this will end, so I’m relentless. “No!” I keep repeating, my voice broken and wrecked. My body won’t let me stop.

  “It doesn’t hurt…really. I feel so good. It’ll be fine,” he manages to say. “I promise.”

  I can only respond with a sob.

  Sam is going to die. I know that.

  “Say you…trust…me.” He coughs, and his eyes roll up. “Say…trust…”

  I have never been so scared in my life. It’s only because he’s struggling so much—and he so clearly needs this from me—that I can give him this one last thing. “I trust you.” My words are garbled, but still, I say them. “I trust you.”

  The uselessness of trying to dam the bleeding is undeniable now, and I move up and cling to him while I fall apart. It takes every ounce of strength I have, but I lift him so that I can wrap my arms around him and hold him fully. I won’t let him leave this earth anywhere but in my embrace.

  “I trust you. I love you. I trust you. I love you.” This is the first time I’ve told him that I love him, and every word devastates me further. “Please, no, no, no! Sam, I love you.”

  For a split second, his hand is on my arm, and then it falls to the floor.

  In my love, his breathing halts, and his body falls lifeless.

  Repeatedly, I scream his name. I scream until my throat hurts, until I cannot produce any more sounds.

  This death cannot happen. It can’t.

  Instinctively, I lay Sam’s head back onto the floor, place my hand under his neck, and tip his head upward. With my mouth covering his, I pinch his nose and try to blow life into him. I try to breathe for Sam. I pump his chest, but more blood just seeps onto both of us. Then, my mouth is back on his, and having to exhale and fill his lungs might be the only reason that I can even breathe at all, yet I breathe for as long as I can stand to because it might be the only salvation.