Secret Lucidity_A Forbidden Student/Teacher Romance Stand-Alone

by E. K. Blair

  Bracing his hands on the edge of the countertop, he looks over to me, and says, “I ran over an IED,” and then hangs his head. I get up, and as I’m walking over to him, he adds, “I was driving the Humvee. I hit the damn thing and everything blew the fuck up.”

  The second I’m at his side, he grabs me, clinging his body to mine, and I hold on to him with all my strength, but it doesn’t compare to his. His muscles are bone crushing, and at this point, he doesn’t stop talking, explaining through words that splinter as they come out. “I had to use my hands to punch out the shattered windows. I did everything I could to get everyone out, but I couldn’t see anything through the smoke and dust. It was fucking chaos, and then everything went up in flames.”

  When it becomes too much for him to bear, he lets go of me and walks back over to the couch while rubbing his palms over his eyes. Most likely an attempt to blur the visions from behind his lids. I know, because I find myself doing this often when the visions of my father become too painful.

  I’m right behind him, following, and then take a seat on the coffee table, facing him as he sits on the sofa.

  “They gave me a bronze star for saving four men, but it’s the fifth I’ll never forgive myself for. Those guys had to hold me back from going after him. He burned to death, and I can still hear his screams to this day. I’ll never be able to forget the horrific sounds of him dying.”

  His muscles flex as he fights not to lose himself, but the misery tangled through him is evident. There’s no denying the severity of his agony, but I won’t force him to let it out either. I too know the fear of feeling too much. So I stay put and give him time to collect himself.

  “Every year when the anniversary of his death comes around . . . I don’t know how to fucking deal with it. The responsibility I feel . . . for leaving his daughter without a dad, and his wife . . .” His composure falters, and then he takes my hand in his. “I’m sorry I shut you out—”

  “It’s okay,” I respond with so much guilt as he pulls me in his arms and onto his lap. “I wasn’t mad; I was just worried. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “This is exactly what I need you to do. This—right here,” he assures me. “I know I’m not perfect, but I’m also not used to having someone love me the way you do. My avoiding you wasn’t intentional.”

  “Stop. You don’t have to apologize.”

  His hands run up the length of my neck to my cheeks with an endearing look seeping through his bleary eyes. “God, I love you so much.”

  And I love him too. Love him more than I could possibly explain. Love him so much that I often find myself biting my tongue and bleeding my cheeks in order to snuff out the urge to burst apart from loving him too much.

  I fold my arms around his neck, press my lips to his tear-stained ones, and kiss him. I kiss him slowly and softly, licking the salts that makes him the man that he is, the man who has found a way to securely nestle himself right where he was always meant to be—tucked safely between my third and fourth rib.

  WHEN “MERCY” COMES ON, I crank up the volume, pull myself up through the sunroof, and throw my arms into the air. The wind whips through my hair, swirling it in a nest of disarray as the bite of February frost licks my skin. I toss my head back into the obsidian night and smile. I smile so big it hurts, but I don’t care. With Forbidden Love in the driver’s seat, my soul consumes with delinquent passion as we speed across the state line.

  “You’re fucking crazy,” My Everything shouts in elation from down below, and I laugh, because it’s the truth.

  I am crazy.

  Crazy in so many ways—so many beautiful, unexplainable ways.

  His fingers crawl up my side until he’s able to grab on to the hem of my top. I give in when he tugs me down. Windblown and happy, I fall onto my bottom in a heap of breathlessness.

  “It’s freezing out there,” he says, closing the sunroof, amused by the simple fact that I just don’t care.

  I take the hair tie from around my wrist and wrap my locks in a messy bun on top of my head. David watches me from the corner of his eye with a smile so sexy I can’t help but return it right back to him.

  “What is this song anyway?” he asks, turning the stereo down to a more tolerable level.

  “It’s Duffy.”

  “It’s you,” he quips, reaching over and playfully squeezing my knee, knowing how ticklish I am.

  Shimmying my legs, I lose all composure to a fit of giggles until he relents. And when he does, I ride out the rest of the song, belting out the lyrics to him like it’s some sort of proclamation of my heart—maybe it is. I sing for his smile that is heartfelt and genuine, loving me for all that I am.

  When the song fades out, I pick up my phone and click out of my playlist.

  “How much longer?” I ask.

  “About six more hours.”

  David had told me about this cabin he once stayed in, tucked away in the little town of Ruidoso and the skiing on the slopes of Sierra Blanca.

  “It’s nothing extravagant,” he said. “Just low-key and peaceful.”

  “We should go.”

  He suggested we wait until next winter for obvious reasons. But why wait?

  We looked at the school calendar and saw there was a break for Presidents’ Day that lent itself to an extended weekend. With my mother living in her wasteland, David went ahead and booked a cabin for us. As soon as swim practice ended this afternoon, I dropped my car off in David’s garage, and we hit the road.

  I’ve been impatiently waiting for this trip—this freedom. I knew I needed it, I just didn’t realize how badly until now.

  It’s creeping close to ten o’clock when David pulls into a dirt parking lot at a random diner in the middle of nowhere. For hours, it’s been nothing but silos, train tracks, and empty fields. Any normal person might feel cautious getting out of the car, but for me, I’m joyous. Thankful, that for the first time, I can be out in public with David. I can touch him and kiss him without fear of someone we know seeing us. So, when he opens my door and takes my hand, it feels like utter bliss.

  “You look way too happy to be at a dump like this,” he jokes as we walk toward the run-down building.

  When we step inside, we are greeted by the sweetest old lady with white hair that’s perfectly quaffed into a bun. She takes in my tangled one and smiles. “You look like you could use a nice cup of coffee.”

  “And a brush.”

  I pinch David’s side at his remark, and he takes my hand in his as we’re led to our booth. I slip in next to him, and he drapes his arm around my shoulders, tucking me against his side.

  “So what can I get you two to drink?”

  “I’ll take the coffee,” he says. “And she’ll take . . .”

  “A glass of water would be good.”

  She smiles at us and drops the menus on the table before scurrying off.

  “This is nice.”

  “You’ve got low standards.”

  “I meant us,” I laugh.

  “Good. I was starting to worry,” he teases before shifting into a more serious tone. He leans his forehead to mine and gives me a gentle peck. “This is what I’ve been missing.”

  “What’s that?” I whisper.

  “Being able to have you like this without worrying.” He kisses me again.

  “Three more months.”

  “Here you two go,” our waitress says when she sets down our drinks. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”

  We poke around the menu and David suggests we stay away from the bar-b-que. When I ask why, he says, “Are you familiar with Tobe Cooper?”

  “Should I be?”

  “Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a cult classic, but you’ll never look at bar-b-que the same way again,” he says with a sly grin.

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about, but I’ll take your word for it.” I close the menu. “I’ll get the turkey sandwich.”

  “Two turkey sandwiches,” David orders when the
elderly lady returns, and soon enough, we’re back on the road.

  Using David’s heavy coat as a makeshift blanket, I close my eyes and drift in and out of restless sleep for the rest of the drive.

  With the time change, it’s close to two in the morning when we arrive. It only takes me one step into the cabin to be reminded that David is a trust fund kid.

  “I thought you said this was low-key,” I remark as he walks through the oversized cabin, turning on all the lights. “I was expecting something a little more . . . rustic.”

  “Shit’s built out of cedar,” he calls out in humorous defense from one of the back rooms.

  I laugh to myself. Sure, it’s cedar with contrasting dark wooden floors with a gathering of eclectic plush rugs throughout. But the chef’s kitchen is a bit on the lavish side, with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.

  Soft music plays in the background, and I suspect the property owner turned it on in prep for our arrival.

  Opening the door that’s off the living area, I step outside onto the wraparound deck, which is surrounded by incredibly tall pine trees. I can hear footfalls from an animal down below, but I can’t see much in the darkness when I look over the railing.

  “So, what do you think?” David says when he steps outside.

  I turn around, and he wraps me in his arms. “It’s perfect.”

  He takes me inside and shows me around before we settle into our room. When I step out of the bathroom after brushing my teeth, we crawl into bed. Tucked under the heavy blankets, we hold on to each other—warm and naked—and in our exhaustion, make love slowly until we fall asleep.

  We wake up to snow falling in giant, white flakes. Not ready to face the chill of the room, we spend most of the morning in bed. That is, until David grows desperate for coffee. I dig through the bags of food we brought, and we scarf down a couple breakfast bars before we pull on our ski gear and head for the slopes.

  The drive up Sierra Blanca is breathtaking. Everything is covered in pristine snow, and when I see a pull off, I tell David to stop so I can take a picture of the two of us on my cell phone. When we get back into the SUV, I stare at the two of us on the screen. I’m smiling at the camera while David kisses my cheek.

  I don’t care what the law says, there’s nothing criminal about our love. The fact that we have to hide something as pure as what we have together is the only crime I can see. Unwilling to have anything damper this weekend, I shove those thoughts aside to have a great day on the slopes.

  Once we’ve been fitted for our boots, he talks me into a board when I tell him I’ve only done skis.

  “You’ll love it,” he says.

  Nervous about not having any poles, he takes me over to the bunny slope where he teaches me the basics. After several falls that get some good laughs out of the little kids zipping by, I do a few more runs until I feel myself getting more confident on the board.

  We move along the different slopes, quickly finding ourselves advancing to a few of the easy blues, and when he asks if I want to break for lunch, I tell him no. But fatigue eventually kicks in, and I struggle to make it down one of the trails, taking one spill after another. By the fifth or sixth one, David moves to my side and holds my hand as he helps me get down the run slowly while others fly past us.

  Once we’re at the bottom, I plop down, completely drained as David unlocks my boots from the board.

  “You had enough yet?”

  I lie back in the snow, sighing loudly, “I didn’t think I was going to make it down.”

  “Shit, as much as you were falling, I was worried I’d be stuck up there with you,” he jokes.

  We decide to call it quits and make plans to return tomorrow morning. The rest of the day is spent back at the cabin, but instead of lying around resting, we find ourselves unable to keep our hands off each other. The first thing we do when we get back is soak our tired muscles in the outside hot tub, but it doesn’t take long before David pulls me on top of his lap and shoves my bikini bottoms to the side. Flurries kiss the tops of my shoulders and breasts while I roll my hips over him.

  And later, when I follow him into the shower, we wind up having sex against the wall with my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

  With both of us spent, we lie down for a nap, but I have no idea how long I actually sleep before I wake with my panties off and David’s head between my legs. I reach down, and we hold hands while he uses his lips and tongue to make love to me in the most intimate way.

  When night falls along with the temperature, David throws in a few logs and builds us a big fire. With blankets wrapped around us, we sit in front of the hearth and soak in the heat from the crackling flames. I close my eyes and rest my head on his shoulder while he rubs my back, and I wish it could be this way forever.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “What’s that?” I ask as I lift my head and look at him.

  “I’ve been talking to a couple of the students on the team about their scholarships and helping them with their college applications, and it got me thinking about you. You haven’t mentioned anything about your plans for college. I know that with your times in the water, you’ve gotten at least a few letters of intent.”

  His question catches me off guard, and I grapple with how to respond. I haven’t even gotten the courage to make any decisions on my own yet. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

  “What is it?”

  I drop my head for a moment before looking back up. “I don’t know. I guess . . . I mean, I wasn’t sure about . . .”

  “About what?” he questions. “About us?”

  I nod.

  “Taking us out of the equation, what are you thinking are your top options?”

  “The thing is, I’m kind of stuck because I can’t depend on my mom to help me out with money or anything. I got a lot of offers, but only two of them are full rides.”

  “How full?”

  “Everything down to the meal plans.”

  “You’re kidding?” he responds with an impressive smile. “That’s pretty damn remarkable.”

  “I knew swimming would never offer me much in terms of scholarships, so I put a lot into academics.”

  “So what schools are we talking about here?”

  “Stanford and UNC.”

  “North Carolina?”

  “Yeah. But I also got a partial at OU,” I tell him. “I could always get a job.”

  “Why would you do that when you have fulls from two schools that outrank Oklahoma by a long shot?”

  My heart gives a slight heave in my chest at the mere thought of leaving David, and I have to hold my emotions back when I admit, “Because of you.”

  “Babe,” he says, taking my hands in his. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Losing me?”

  “Aren’t you afraid of losing me?” I counter, my voice trembling in fear of him saying no, but he says it anyway.

  “No.”

  My eyes fall shut, barricading sadness from spilling out.

  “Look at me, Cam.” I can’t, so instead, I drop my head. “I’m not afraid of losing you because I refuse to lose you.”

  At that, I open my eyes slowly—almost as if I don’t believe I heard him correctly—and lift my head.

  “You think I’d just let you go?”

  I shrug my shoulders with a faint shake of my head.

  “I love you.” His words are fervent and without hesitation. “I can do my job anywhere.”

  “I can’t ask you to leave your home?”

  “I never expected you to ask me that. But if you think that house is my home, you’re wrong. There’s nothing left for me there. You’re the only thing that’s tying me to Oklahoma.” He cradles my face in his hands. “If you’re in this with me, then I’ll go wherever you decide.”

  My hands cover his, and I let go of any fear I ever had about losing him. The moment I feel the heat of tears, his lips c
atch them, kissing my face, kissing my scar, kissing my mouth.

  I feel my heart soften within the cage that no longer needs to protect it, because I trust David to do it all on his own. The way he’s always done. Loving me for all my ugly pieces. In a way Kroy never could. I don’t need a man who tucks my darkness into a distant corner. I need a man that will dance with it, nurture it, and tell me that in such a vigorous world, it’s the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. A man that will find the terrible traits in me and be content to love me anyway.

  So, when kisses aren’t nearly enough, we peel back the layers until we’re flesh upon flesh, and we do so much more than just have sex. That’s too simple—too crude for a moment like this. I do, however, make love to this man right down to his bones.

  WITH THE INCEPTION OF SPRING taking root beneath the grounds that hunger for water and warmth, there’s an energy that can be felt from all around. The sun is just starting to ascend into a sky hued in pale pinks and purples. Everything is covered in dewy sweetness, and when I step out of my car, I fill my lungs with the scent of rebirth.

  It’s the second week in March, marking the end of swim season. This weekend is state finals, and the bus is already in the school parking lot, waiting to take us down to Norman, which is where we will be staying for the next two days.

  Even though it’s a short forty-five minute drive, we leave before seven in the morning to give us time to get settled in to the hotel and prepare for a day of qualifying heats that will start at ten thirty.

  This will be the last time I swim for Edmond Ridge High, and I’m ready. Never have I been so anxious to say goodbye to this school—to this town. After this year, I’m ready for my own rebirth, to move to a place where David and I won’t have to worry about what people will say when they see us together. Even though I won’t be his student anymore, if we were to stay in Oklahoma, people would still talk. There’d be a stigma forever attached to us. But in North Carolina, where I wound up accepting UNC’s scholarship offer, no one will know that he was once my teacher.