by J. M. Adele
Leaning forward, Sebastian gripped the reins and kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. Admiral took his cue, galloping forward.
My head popped above the cover, fearful that I would witness a tragedy at any minute.
Fool! What was he thinking, racing without a saddle?
He failed to slow down. They vanished over the next hill.
Keeping my eyes fixed on the same spot, I listened for them. The sound of their retreat soon faded, overtaken by the trickle of water along the riverbed and the trees spilling their song.
I flopped onto my back, plucking a bluebell and adding it to my posy of daffodils. I would wait for his return. If he had not reappeared by the time the sun crouched near the horizon, I would simply take a horse and find him.
A nearby cedar tree invited me over with its outstretched limbs offering protection from the sun. Clearing away some discarded cones, I curled against the trunk. His clothes provided an adequate pillow. The smell of cedar wood filled my lungs. Letting my eyelids fall as the breeze kissed my face, I hummed the tune Sebastian had whistled the day we’d met.
His face entered my thoughts. It had changed in the last five years—elongating and losing the fleshy padding that children had in their cheeks. I took a daffodil from the bunch and feathered it across my cheek. I had yet to lose the extra flesh. Of course, this had more to do with the offerings in the drawing and dining rooms than with my youth. I possessed a traitorous sweet tooth that was often the cause of my undoing. Father frequently scolded me for reaching for the desserts a second time. Nevertheless, I continued. Sugar was somewhat of a balm for a life of boredom and discontent.
A yawn stretched my mouth in an unladylike display. Fortunately, the only creatures to bear witness were the bees searching for pollen and the birds twittering above. I sighed, hoping Sebastian was still intact. It would be altogether ghastly if I had to search for him and found him broken. Perish the thought. I preferred to have faith that he would return just as I knew him to be. Infuriating, loyal, hard-working, impatient.
My stomach quivered the more I held him in mind. I found myself in the unenviable position of having grown attached to a boy who, at best, found me tolerable. It was my own fault, I supposed. I’d presented him with a challenge at every available opportunity. Such as now. I adjusted my head on my ‘pillow’, smiling a devious smile.
He secretly thrived on our exchanges. Surely he did. The fraction of a second between seeing me and his controlled responses, his eyes always sparked. That fraction of a second was what I held in my heart. I hoped that it would one day provide enough warmth to foster a true friendship.
My eyes flew open, thoughts scattering as droplets of water sprayed across my cheeks. I sprang up on my elbows, screaming, “Sebastian!”
Standing over me, he maintained his dignity by cupping his palms over his crotch. His drawers were alarmingly transparent at this distance. “Give me my clothes.”
“They didn’t appear to be a requirement.”
“Emmeline.” His ears were red. I could be certain he was angry when his ears flamed, and he addressed me by my given name rather than the preferred honorific of Miss.
My eyes dropped to his hands. I feared it was the devil whispering in my ear for the next thing to come out of my mouth was questionable indeed. “Uncover yourself and I shall return your garments.”
“Pardon?” Pink infused his cheeks.
My eyes rose to his face. “Remove your hands. Please? I want to see.”
Keeping covered, he squatted before resting on his knees. “It is hardly fair if you get to see me, but I do not get to see you.”
A kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in my stomach. I was fairly certain my cheeks were the same shade his ears had been. “My drawers are not see-through, as yours are.” They were, however, quite open in the middle, if one were to part the two halves.
Admiral whinnied in the background, as if warning me not to cross the precipice I was standing on.
“It matters none.” Sebastian shrugged.
It mattered quite a bit. Nonetheless, I was inherently unable to stand down from a challenge. As I slowly stood, he mirrored my movements. I started to lift my skirts, but he shook his head.
“Take off the dress.”
His demand unhinged my jaw.
“I stand here in only my drawers. You will do the same.”
“No.”
He stepped toward me, looking at the clothes still under the tree.
“Wait. I’ll give you your shirt.”
“Fine.” He nodded.
Spinning around, I pulled the shirt from the wad before handing it to him. He stepped close, eyes on mine. Snatching it with one hand, he turned away before slipping it on.
I admired his buttocks the entire time.
Facing me, he placed his hands on his hips, securing his shirt out of the way. This time, I stepped closer. The outline of his appendage was clearly visible. It was quite a bit bigger than what I had seen of the little boys in the scullery, appearing to have a ridge near the tip. What on earth was that for? And it did not flop down as theirs had. Instead, appearing somewhat rigid. Surrounding the base was a slight darkened area. Was that hair?
“Your turn, Emmeline.” I peeled my gaze away to find Sebastian watching me with hooded eyes.
I breathed in before swallowing past a tightened throat. My fists clenched handfuls of fabric, inching it up. My chest rose and fell in rapid succession. I reached under the layers of petticoats to find my chemise and hefted the weight to my waist. My legs shook. I was in grave danger of falling, so I sat instead, before reclining back on his trousers.
Sebastian fell to his knees, taking me in with great concentration. I know not of what possessed me, but I let my knees fall to the sides. He had shown me himself through the flimsiest of shields; it was only fair that I exposed as much of myself as he. My only regret was not asking him to remove the barrier.
His hand flexed as he stared. His appendage seemed to strain at the fabric.
“Is that not uncomfortable?” I made a point of looking at his predicament to ensure he knew of what I spoke.
“Yes, it is.”
“What do you require to ease the discomfort?”
He groaned. Shaking his head, he covered his crotch with his palm. “I’ll need to go for another swim.”
“Oh.” I sat, pulling down my skirts. “Are you feverish?”
He made a choking sound. “You might say that.”
“Have I made you unwell?”
“In all the right ways, Emmeline. May I have my trousers, please?”
I twisted to collect my captives before handing them to their rightful owner. I released a gasp. To my shock and delight he had dropped his drawers, slipping his trousers on without an undergarment.
He grinned as he fixed his suspenders. “It’s only fair.”
My heart swelled as my face broke into a smile. I was so pleased I had escaped the drudgery of the afternoon—watching Sebastian had been infinitely more enjoyable.
I waited until he was dressed before I leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
His movements slowed. He ensnared me in his gaze. The spark I’d caught fleeting glimpses of was now a simmering ember. It burned me to my core. Reflexively, I pressed my thighs together. With unmistakable intent, he held me by my forearms and placed his lips on mine.
Overcome by a rush of euphoria, I fell into him, circling him with my arms. He was still rigid. It pushed against my stomach. My body responded with an ache between my legs. I broke away from the kiss, needing to share my epiphany. “Oh, now I know what you meant by feverish. I feel a discomfort down there. Is it the same as what you experience?”
He blew out a breath, resting his forehead on mine before laughing. “I suppose it is.” He kissed me again.
I held him tightly, never wanting to let go. “I wanted to touch it,” I whispered.
He growled. “Stop.”
“Did you not want to touch me?”
“You will be the death of me, Emmeline. Mark my words.”
Grasping my hand in his, he marched me down to the riverbed to collect his shoes and the Admiral. We walked ever so slowly until the chimney stacks of the manor came into view. He loosened his grip on my hand, pulling it up to his mouth for one last kiss before leaving me behind.
The servant and the daughter of the manor would never be acceptable company.
Ben
Rockhampton, Australia
7th of November 2008, 8:52 p.m.
“We’re stealing his balls,” Stewart slurred before chugging back the rest of his beer.
The backyard of our mate’s semi-rural home had been converted into an outdoor pub, complete with a nineties cover band in the back corner. The music vibrated my whole body with every beat. A corrugated iron and wood bar sat snug against the rear kitchen entry, and a pool table invited players into the shed. Someone had strung party lights in the trees and set up tables and chairs across the lawn. Down the side of the house, lining the driveway, were his-and-hers Portaloos. Nobody was allowed inside the house. I wouldn’t have let this lot in my house either.
I squinted at Stew. “You wanna what?”
He grabbed me by the back of the neck and yanked me close to his face. Just as the song finished, he yelled, “I want that set of balls.”
Cheers and whistles came from the crowd. Some guy yelled, “Go get ’em, son.”
“Ehhhh!” Stew raised his bottle, a grin splitting his face.
Several more blokes unleashed filthy comments. Stewart just kept on smiling before lifting his middle finger at the intolerant assholes. “Fucking homophobes.”
Whatever their comebacks were, the next song drowned them out. One of the little weasels stepped up to Stew, who was too busy head-banging to notice. I crossed my arms, giving the guy a hard stare. He got the message and took off with his mate.
“Stewart! Benny!” I grunted as a hand smacked me on the back. “Thanks for comin’ to my party, man.” He said it twice. Once to me and once to Stewart.
“Happy birthday, Johnno.”
“I’m finally legal.” He raised a pointer finger to the sky, tipping back a bottle of Jim Beam. His eyeball rolled to the corner as he watched a tiny chick with black hair dance past. Lowering the bourbon, he trailed after her with the amber spirit dribbling down his chin.
“What, no goodbye?” I laughed.
“He’s too busy chasing tail.” Stewart hooked me around the neck again. “Where’s Lee Major?”
“Stop fucking doing that.” I threw his arm off. “He’s over at Larissa’s.”
“What the fuck? Why isn’t he out getting pissed with his mates?”
“He’d rather have sex than a hangover.”
“Why can’t he have both?”
“She didn’t wanna come.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He guffawed at his own joke before asking, “Why the fuck not?”
“Because of you.”
“Is she still pissed about the beach incident? That was six months ago.”
“You untied her bikini top and she flashed everyone.”
“I didn’t untie it. I might’ve accidentally pulled the string when I went for the ball. It was a freak accident. I told her that.”
“Jesus, you’re so clueless.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had more pussy than you.”
“I prefer quality over quantity.”
“Is that why you dumped Kelly?”
“You must be maggoted if you’re asking me about my love life.” No fucking way am I telling you shit about my sex life. Or lack of.
“Fuck. Yeah, you’re right. I don’t give a shit.” He put the beer to his lips before realising it was empty and dumping it on a nearby trestle table. “I want the bull’s balls.”
Here we go with another half-cocked Stewart special. I loved the guy, but Jesus, he needed to grow up. “Which bull?”
“The Welcome to Rockhampton-motherfuckers-kiss-my-arse-Brahman.”
“Is this some ploy to impress a girl? I can tell you now, they don’t give a rat’s arse about your trophy collection.”
“Why are you tryna kill my joy? Seriously, how long has it been? You’re as uptight as a nun in a brothel.”
Maybe because I can’t stop thinking about your sixteen-year-old sister.
Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, I’d get home from work and she’d be sitting at the dining room table, helping Adam with his assignments. She was so good with him, too. The way she explained things using pictures or objects—he just got it. Once, she’d cooked a chocolate cake and they’d sliced it up into fractions. She made things fun. She cared.
I narrowed my eyes, shaking my head. I needed to stop thinking about her. I needed to stop complicating my life with females. And parties. They weren’t as much fun without alcohol. I sounded like a dick just thinking that. Alcohol was not a requirement for having a good time. Neither was sex. I pictured giving myself a black eye for getting on the hamster wheel of internal dialogue I had going. Why the fuck was I even here? I’d been up since five a.m., working my arse off all day. I just wanted to veg in front of the idiot box. Johnno was more Stewart’s friend than mine anyway.
Fuck me for volunteering to be the designated driver.
“I’m done for the night. If you want a lift home, we’re leaving. If not, suit yourself.” I walked off towards the side gate.
“Benny, Benny, Benny.” He almost went arse over tit as he ran in front of me, turning to put his hand against my chest.
I grabbed his wrist and removed it.
“Are you leaving already?” I twisted around, finding Andy behind me.
She was wearing tight jeans and a tank top. Her hair was loose. I dunno what she’d done to her face, but her eyes looked twice the size they normally did. Some weird shit was happening in my chest, like my ribcage had shrunk and couldn’t contain what was inside it anymore. “What are you doing here?” And what the fuck are you doing with a beer in your hand?
“I was invited.”
My brows dropped. “By who?”
“Johnno’s sister. What is this? Twenty Questions?”
Stewart leaned his shoulder into mine. “Didn’t you see her when we walked in? She was talking to that twat from school.” He tried to click his fingers, but failed. “What’s his name?” Swinging a finger at Andy, he blurted, “Michael, right?”
I was not prepared for the force of the kick to my gut. My hands formed tight fists at my sides.
Michael.
What’s his address?
His phone number?
Where does he work?
What’s his IQ?
What kind of car does he drive?
What’s the number plate?
... What the fuck am I doing?
“Yes. And he’s not a twat,” she volleyed.
“Is too,” Stewart slurred.
Mouth flattening, Andy’s lids slowly dropped. Her chest rose with a slow breath in. I averted my eyes to avoid being a creep, but damn, her tits were hard not to notice.
Eyes popping open, she gave us a smile. “Were you guys leaving?”
She needed to stop smiling like that. She was too gorgeous. “No. Stewart just needed to take a pi—” I coughed. “A leak.”
“Actually, I do.” He stumbled off to the Portaloo before banging on the door and yelling at whoever was in there to hurry up.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Where have you been hiding all night?”
“In the kitchen. There’s a game of spin the bottle going on.”
“And you were playing with Mikey?” I bit the words out.
Why the fuck was I so pissy? Maybe I did need to get laid. I’d broken up with Kelly five months ago. She’d been more interested in portraying an image than actually into me. She liked my muscles. She liked that I played union, not league. She liked that I earned my own money. She liked that I had
a career as an architect planned out and that meant more money. She didn’t know my favourite colour, or my favourite food. Or why I didn’t want to move out of home yet. She didn’t even know that I played guitar.
I hadn’t given a shit that she didn’t know those things. But the clincher for me was the fact that she could never remember Adam’s name. Who the fuck dates someone for two years and can’t remember the name of their brother?
Andy remembered Adam’s name.
“Yeah. And a bunch of other people. What’s your problem?”
“Nothing. I guess I’m having a hard time with the fact that you’re sixteen and standing here drinking a beer at an eighteenth birthday.”
“I’ve grown up since you last saw me.”
I huffed a laugh. “Yeah.” Hell yes, she had. “Which one is Johnno’s sister?”
“Kate. You met her outside the primary school a couple of years back. We danced together.”
“Right. Was that the tall one?”
“No. The redhead.”
I remembered that day. She’d been with two friends. One of them had been Jess, the girl who’d disappeared the next day and still hasn’t been seen. She’d just up and ghosted. The word around school was that she didn’t want to be found. People liked to make up all sorts of bullshit stories to explain the inexplicable. Maybe she had run away. It would be easier to accept that than the possibility that she’d been murdered. It didn’t look like we’d ever find out the truth.
I stared at her, crossing my arms. “She was with Jess. I’m sorry about your friend.” What else could I say? Losing a friend like that was fucked up. “Do you think they’ll ever find her?”
She dropped her chin and mirrored my stance. “Not alive.”
“You don’t reckon she took off?”
“I know she’s dead.”
“How? The cops don’t even know that.”
“I just know stuff. Thoughts pop in my head from nowhere and they’re always right.”
“So, a thought popped into your head telling you that she’d died?”
“Yes. I heard the word dead.”
Whoa.
I didn’t want to detract from the magnitude of what she was telling me, but at the same time, I couldn’t deal with talking about her murdered friend. I focused on the revelation of her abilities instead.