Torn

by T. N. King

  Light filtered through the cracks in the curtains, bathing the rumpled bed sheets and the one body still twisted up in them in a smattering of uneven glowing lines. The body itself was restless, twitching every few seconds and turning just on the edge of consciousness, that sound of popping grease and slight movement from beyond the bedroom making its way into her dreams. Nicole was exhausted, bodily and mentally, every muscle in her body sunk into that mattress as if it could sink down between the coils and rest there- something that was one of the first things she actually noted upon waking. That and that the sun seemed even brighter that morning than it normally did.

  Then came the realization, eyes stopping that lazy blinking into alertness they had been doing and popping fully open, gaze shooting around the room and trying to take everything into inventory at once in such a way that her head swam. Oh, crap. Oh, crap. O,h crap. Her cover was missing completely from the bed, rumpled at one corner and mostly trailing the floor- the sheets themselves half adhered to her still naked body and half tangled in odd formation around the rest of the bed. And the clothes…were lining almost every surface, male and female alike, her bra literally torn in half and resting somewhere just by the edge of the bed. The events from the night before came crashing back into her like a tidal wave, rapid, varied pictures and memories from all that had happened, and even amongst her freak out. her body was flushing with the remnant desire left from it.

  She’d had sex with Mason.

  Not only had she had sex with Mason - she’d… she didn’t even know what to call it, those groaned confessions he’d lit into her skin before crawling inside of her the way he had were louder than all other memories from the entire night. Always he’d said, talking to her like he had been, his voice dropped all low and… her hand jerked up from where it’d begun to fall between her thighs, fingers tightening into a fist and pressing it hard against the center of her chest. He wasn’t in the room with her, but that didn’t worry her as much as it should have, with the sound of cooking coming so obviously down the hall from the kitchen, with his clothing still sprawled around her room like it was.

  It was a totally different kind of worry then, picking her way out of the sheets and trying to keep from wrapping it around herself on the off chance that he came back in here for some reason. She’d had sex with Mason. Fuck. She didn’t even know how to process that fact alone, let alone what all else it could mean, let alone what him still being here said. Or at least what she thought it said. He wouldn’t have stuck around if that had been all that he’d wanted from the night before would he have? It wouldn’t make sense for him to- it wouldn’t be in character for him to do so either. Which meant… that they were going to talk. Which honestly, in that moment, scared her more than the prospect of him coming in on her trying to lift her legs all gingerly and fit them inside of the holes for a pair of clean underwear would.

  Her whole body felt wrecked, ravaged in a way that was worse than the day after working out. In a way that she shouldn’t have been reveling in as much, each pull of her muscles setting off a half spasm of pain- and curling that warmth in her belly even more with the memory of how that particular ache or pain had come about. She could have put anything on, she was in her own apartment, she had clean clothes stacked all around the room in various stages of moving in… and yet she was far more interested in that shirt that was obviously too big for her atop one corner of her bed.

  He didn’t have his shirt on, obviously, and from the looks of it, he was wandering around in nothing but his boxer-briefs from the night before. An image she very much wanted to see for herself… but first… she grabbed the shirt before she could talk herself out of it, righting it and shoving her arms through it as quickly as she could, harried fingers working at the buttons to try and keep from damaging the shirt or worse…alerting Mason to the fact that she was awake. She needed to… collect herself, to think, to have a plan for the conversation that was coming up… and yet still somehow she found herself walking out of that room instead of towards the bathroom like she’d intended.

  Still somehow, she found herself standing at the edge of the kitchen, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she watched Mason move around her tiny kitchen like he’d been there for months, flipping that bacon on the stove and not so much as turning to look at her once while she stood there. Which maybe meant something. Maybe she should have left his shirt off and put on her own clothes. Maybe she should have --

  Her whole thought process was cut off by that sudden turn of the large man in her kitchen, setting the spatula down on the counter in only the half second before both of his hands framed her face, whole body bending near in half to put his face to hers, lips claiming her own in a way that made her already weak knees all the weaker.

  Oh. She hadn’t- planned well enough obviously, whole body lifting onto her toes to put herself closer to him, her hands lifting to either one of his wrists where they rested next to her face. He was kissing her. She didn’t know what that meant necessarily, didn’t know… much of anything beyond the fact that it felt good and she wanted it to continue, fingers going to wrap more firmly about his wrists in the same instant that he moved, hands leaving her face and lips breaking from hers with a suddenness she wasn’t prepared for. As quickly as he had approached her back across the kitchen again, plating that bacon up on what looked to be two already nearly full plates.

  “God damnit.” She didn’t even realize she’d spoken aloud until he lifted his eyes to her, eyebrows lifting in question and that flush seizing her entire face all at once, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt that she was wearing and her shoulders lifting self consciously up towards her face.

  “Oh don’t pull that.”

  Again, her mouth moved without her permission, eyes narrowing even as she fought desperately within her own head for the power to stop herself. “You can’t just… come barge into my house and - and fuck the everloving shit out of me like that - and then just- “ She threw her hands up at the space between them, sore muscles already protesting her dramatic movements. “I mean- you confessed… I mean you know what you confessed yesterday Mason- and stop looking at me like I’m amusing you or some shit damnit! Could you at least have the decency to pretend like this isn’t so damn normal for you! I mean I know you fuck a lot of females, but you aren’t related to any of the others okay?!” Her breath finally stuttered in her chest, shaking inhale almost too large as she stopped speaking, her whole body held on edge as she shifted, watching him turn the stove off and arrange those last few pieces on their plates and transfer dishes to the sink without once looking away from her to do so.

  “I’m not related to you either,” he finally answered, his words slow and one eyebrow quirked just slightly higher than the other.

  “GODDAMNIT MA-”

  She was cut off by his dropping of the skillet into the sink more heavily than was needed, words dying in her throat and watching that eyebrow climb even higher. “I did confess a lot last night,” he cut off her opening her lips to try and speak once more, putting both of those plates on the end of the bar and in front of the stools where she’d been sitting. “Whereas, you said absolutely nothing.” Still slow, moving around her with obvious care not to touch or so much as brush against her as he passed, moving to that stool closest to the wall and sliding himself into it. “Other than a lot of profanity and begging,” he amended, that same darkly amused note beneath those words as had tied her up so much the other day.

  “Shut up,” she interjected, but the words sounded weak even to her, walking slowly to that second stool and climbing to get up in the seat herself. “You didn’t exactly give me a whole lot of room to confess anything,” she defended, the heat from the blush in her cheeks growing all the more tangible as he looked at her once more, cutting the egg on his plate to pieces as if trying to give her time to formulate a better argument than what she supplied. But her brain was still lagging. A combination of earth-shattering sex from the night be
fore and only just having woken up weighing her down. Or at least that was what she was going to go with when she tried defending herself later.

  “I found time,” was his only answer, devouring his plate in that neat efficiency of his that hid how much and how fast he was eating until after it was all gone. She huffed instead, working at taking her own few bites before even trying to answer him.

  “I used to masturbate to the thought of you touching me,” she finally blurted, her body sinking into the stool as if it could make her smaller, diminish her words and make them slightly less embarrassing. Even though he’d told her as much about himself the night before, she still felt as if she were being spotlighted while she spoke. “And one time I did it in your room with your shirt on. Just your shirt,” she rushed the words out of her mouth as quickly as she could, fingers tightening around her fork and refusing to lift her gaze back up to him. Especially when he snorted like he did.

  “That’s a start I suppose.” Again, with the monotone, short sentences, her short glance upwards revealing that he’d indeed eaten nearly two thirds of the food on his plate. Ass. Not that it stopped her from scooting some of the food off of her plate onto his just like she’d been doing since she found out it was something that she could get away with.

  “Fine,” she huffed out after another few seconds, finishing shoving a good half of her plate off onto his and licking her fork for buying time purposes. “I have… feelings for you,” she admitted, still refusing to look up from the bites she was cutting into her food on her plate. “Of the not sibling variety… and of the not purely physical variety, although those are pretty strong too, I mean- you did- things, and then you- and I-” she cut off abruptly, trying to stem that blush from spreading any further than it was already. It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman now, or at least a mostly grown one. She’d been engaged. She’d lived on her own. Hell, she’d just had sex with the man, why were words so much more difficult?

  “How do you propose we tell your parents?”

  That.

  The question she’d been dreading, stated so plainly and without even a single catch in his tone when he said it. She swallowed the bite of sausage she’d taken- hard- her gaze lifting up to him for only half a second before skittering away again.

  “I’m not going to go and hide it,” he elaborated, the stern, near angry tone he used to inform her forcing her gaze to jerk up once more, eyes widening and her head shaking before she could even finish swallowing all that was in her mouth.

  “I wasn’t suggesting! Ugh!” She stopped again, hand massaging the side of her temple as he speared the last piece of egg off of her plate. “Stop assuming you know what I’m thinking you insufferable ass. It’s just nerve wracking okay!? Isn’t it for you?” She didn’t even wait for him to answer, taking both of their then empty plates and standing from her stool to walk them unevenly back into the kitchen, plates placed in the sink and water turned on even as he stood as well, leaning over the counter and looking expectantly at her. “Of course we have to tell them- I’m not going to just make up some lie for moving closer to you!” Oh shit, they hadn’t even talked about that, “I mean,” she covered quickly, trying to explain herself before he could question it. “We’ve wasted as much time as we have, I don’t want to…” Her hand waving about in front of her before dropping back down into the sink to wipe the rest of the grease off of the plate she was working on.

  “Move in with me.” It was simple, again, such a short statement that carried so much more weight than the few words would suggest, her rounded eyes lifting back up to him again. “It makes sense,” he went on, handing her the spatula he’d left on the counter to add to the soapy water she was making. “It’ll cost less, it’ll save time, and it’ll cement it for them. We’re going to have to explain the relationship, and the speed at which we’re moving, however it will be more…” He trailed off, shoulders lifting into a shrug.

  “Finite.” She supplied, a half question to which he nodded. It did make sense. But it was fast, which was something, that like he pointed out, they were already going to have to be explaining to her parents. It was rash, it was impulsive… and it felt more right than even discussing the possibility of living with Aaron had been. Which… was probably why she was nodding, her throat tight as she tried to find the words to use. She’d doubted her own judgment before, she’d gone with what had seemed like the best option instead of what felt like the best option and honestly…. It was just appealing. Her, ‘ok’, nearly silent even in the otherwise silent apartment.

  “We could tell them today,” she continued after another few minutes, looking around the parts of her apartment she could see from behind the sink, “and it wouldn’t take long to move my stuff over… most of it hasn’t even been unpacked… In fact it might make more sense to invite them over to your apartment tonight after everything is moved in and tell them from there.” Where they wouldn’t be able to protest it as much as they might- where they could present it as a decision that they had already made with one another previous to this morning… She was assuming a lot, she knew, coming up with the timelines and suggestions the way she was, but watching him watch her from where he was leaning with his hips against the countertops.

  Mason seemed like he was fine with it, he wasn’t furrowing his brows at her in frustration or rolling his eyes in exasperation… he was just… carefully considering her, dipping his head slightly in what she took to be agreement of some sort, or acknowledgment… or.. “I haven’t slept with another woman since that night I kissed you first.”

  Out of nowhere, her fingers nearly slipping against the glass of the soapy plate and almost dropping it completely as she stared at him, whole body frozen in place as she did so. She hadn’t… asked- that had been… well. Shit. She moved that plate over to the sink of clean water, rinsing it with careful deliberation. It wasn’t like she could say the same, it wasn’t like he didn’t know it wasn’t the same for her…

  “I just thought you should know.” In classic Mason-roboticism, whole body lifting off of the counter and his hands brushing down the front of his boxers. “I’m going to go start packing my car up then,” moving from the room without so much as another half word or noise in her direction, leaving her head spinning and her soapy hands hanging in the water.

  Wow. It was just decided that fast, that quickly, without any of the discussion that she thought was supposed to go along with it. He hadn’t professed wanting any sort of title with her, hadn’t brought up whether it was going to stay that way. The no sleeping with other women- he had just… informed her that he thought they should move in together, never waited for an agreement, tossed her a curveball for information, and left to go presumably get dressed and start carrying out the plan….

  The anti-social, awkward… she bit back a curse behind her teeth, scrubbing furiously at the one plate and trying to keep from yelling after him what an arrogant ass he was. Because he was- tossing all of that at her at once and then just up and leaving, barely giving her any insight into what it was he was actually thinking or- oh he was…Mason. Just like he’d always been, just with more complication and levels to him now than there’d even been before.

  She moved that plate to rinsing too, moving onto the pan as Mason walked, now fully dressed, back through her line of site with a large box in his arms, half-smirking at her as he left her field of vision, and the apartment fully, again. Which why he was smirking… because he had gotten his way? Because he’d caught her staring at his biceps as he carried the box? It wasn’t like he came with a cheat sheet, or like he made any sense to normal, regular old people most of the time. It wasn’t like sleeping with him had suddenly unveiled her eyes to all his hidden, secret cues and expressions. It definitely would have been nice if it had.

  The door opened again, her lips twitching as she moved the pan onto the drying rack too, listening to his shoes work their way back across her apartment. “That was fast!” She called out, trying to even the mood
back to some semblance of normal. “Maybe if you keep that pace up we can end back up Neck only heating slightly from the flush that came with being so forward, her teeth flashing into a grin as she looked up, trying to tame her expression into some feigned form of innocence before she was stopped so completely.

  Like a punch straight to the gut her whole body jerked, fear dropping into the pit of her stomach as the figure that had come in advanced, his face colored so deep a red it was almost purple, veins standing out against the obvious cut of anger coursing through him. Fury. She’d never, even when she thought she’d made him the most angry he was capable of being, seen Aaron look so enraged before, his fists held tightly at his sides, and she … couldn’t take back what she’d just said, couldn’t cover herself with her own clothing and get out of Mason’s shirt before he actually noticed. She couldn’t smooth over what it looked like any more than she could disappear into that floor like she wanted to- equal measures of guilt and fear filling her person as all of the air seemed to rush back into the room at once with the explosion of his voice.

  “YOU FUCKING WHORE,” tossed at her in so familiar, and yet completely alien, a fashion that she visibly flinched. “He’s your brother, huh? You slut. How many of your brothers are you sleeping with? You fucking your dad too? I bet you are. You fucking cunt. I came to apologize to you, only to find you fucking half naked in your kitchen from screwing your goddamn brother!” His palm slamming down hard into the granite of her countertop, rounding it towards her more quickly than she’d been prepared for. She didn’t have a defense this time, didn’t have anything to tell him or excuse herself with- the evidence was too obvious and right there for him to see.

  “You cunt,” he screamed again, arm lifting and her chin ducking as if to avoid that slap that never came. His palm never connected with her face, his fist never swung into her nose- it was his fingers, gripping the hair at the base of her skull so tightly that she felt like he could pull that whole handful from the roots- jerking her to the side and slamming her head violently into the wood of the cabinets near her. The stack of dishes she had only just picked up in preparation of moving from the drying rack to the cabinets falling from her arms- glass shattering against countertop and floor both, those random shards flying and embedding themselves in her exposed skin.