The History in Us

by L. B. Dunbar

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Katie.” I wanted to believe him. My heart galloped with hope, but my breath stopped. I couldn’t measure the amount he drank, or how much he would need before he’d forget it was me, forget it was him, and take something more from me. I offered myself earlier, to keep him sober. I wouldn’t give myself to him if he was drunk.

  “So are you.” I released his thigh and sat back, my feet curled under me. His eyes warred with mine, but I wouldn’t give in. I’d sleep with him if he asked, but not like this. Sensing my decision, he swung his leg off the bed and stood. He hopped over to his dresser and I marveled at the strength it took to support his body on one leg. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a small scrap of fabric. One hop brought him to the edge of the bed. I watched in wonder as he bent at the waist, slipped into the boxers and tugged them upward. He balanced again. His body was a sculpture of perfection. The muscles in his back strained and stretched as he performed the simple act of putting on underwear, and I do mean perform because watching him was a peep-show. The drag of material up his thighs, hinting at where they were headed, had me all hot and bothered once again. The towel dragged upward, exposing too briefly the solid round globes of his ass, and I swallowed hard enough for him to hear me. His head turned sideways, not enough to see me, but enough to give me a profiled smile, digging up dimples.

  “Like the show,” he teased. I gripped the sheets in my sudden lust for a man I refused to give myself to under his condition.

  “It’s better than a sexy movie or romance novel,” I muttered.

  “Speaking of those books,” he said, tugging off the towel and turning to give me the full display of his chiseled body, minus the blackout cloth, covering his most intimate parts. Long and erect, the outline of his length could not be missed, but he dismissed it himself. “You never answered that question I asked.”

  “What one was that?” His dilated eyes held me captive. I couldn’t remember my name when he looked at me like that, let alone some question he’d asked.

  “Did you want a man to pour whiskey over your pussy and lap it up? Is that your fantasy?” The crassness of his question both thrilled me and annoyed me. My stomach was tied up in knots as was my heart. This wasn’t how I wanted him. My eyes drifted to his leg again as he crawled up the bed, stalking me. Taking too long to answer, he ignored his own question. “Time for sleep.” My eyes shifted to his leg.

  “I can sleep on the other side of you if it will make you more comfortable,” he offered, thinking I was offended by his missing part.

  “No, this is…” I caught myself before I said the word fine. “This is good.”

  Reaching for the top cover, he pulled down the comforter, and I tucked my legs underneath. He climbed in next to me, stretching out his arm for me to curl into him. I slipped my head onto his shoulder and laid a hand on his thick chest. I could feel his heart hammering beneath his skin. My legs tangled near his.

  “Is it too weird? Are you freaked out?” In answer to his question, I wrapped my leg over his, allowing my other leg to rest against his outer thigh. Curving my knee, it took a second to adjust to the fact there was no calf to wrap around. Instead, I clenched my thighs around his, holding him tight.

  “Jesus, Katie, you do that and we’re going to have a problem.” His body stiffened, and I started to retreat.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

  “Don’t move,” he said softly, his head rolling to face me. His hand flat on my back. “I won’t do anything, I promise, just stay how you are.” He kissed my forehead, and we remained quiet for a long time, each lost in our thoughts. Mine raced with images I couldn’t imagine. His hand gently stroked over my back. As much as I fought the pull to close my eyes, my lids finally gave in. I concentrated on his breathing.

  “You’ve made a fantasy of me, Katie, and it’s a dangerous thing.” I didn’t reply, holding myself still, hoping he’d think I’d fallen asleep. I didn’t want to argue with him anymore. I didn’t want to think. I felt him stretch under me, reaching for the bottle on the stand and heard the telltale sound of swallowing. Tears burned my eyes like the liquid filling his throat, and I knew he was right. I’d dreamed him into a gallant hero when he was nothing more than a damaged man.

  Levi

  I woke alone in bed, but the sounds coming from the kitchen assured me Katie hadn’t run off. My head thumped—a dull ache I’d grown too accustomed to over the years but hadn’t experienced half as much lately. The memories she drew out of me, evoked emotions I couldn’t deal with, without the alcohol. I had pills for those feelings, but I’d been trying not to take them as much because of AJ. I didn’t fault her. None of it had been her doing. The sound of her voice cooing at AJ roused me, and I listened for a moment as she chattered to my son who couldn’t hear her without his aids.

  My thoughts raced to him. He was my penance and my curse. God sent me a child to make up for the ones lost, demanding I care for one when so many had been sacrificed. I was also convinced He wanted to be certain I did it alone, as I was the lone survivor when I shouldn’t have been. His curse on me, He took out on the innocence of my son. The screams would haunt me, but my child would never hear such horror. He’d also never understand laughter with friends, or the moan of a woman under him. Images came to mind of Katie curled around me, unafraid, intrigued. She marveled at my leg like it was a great mystery of creative genius, not something repulsive like I’d felt at first. She didn’t treat it as a novelty, like many of the women who liked to ride me. She let her hands discover me, her eyes not able to see each scar, each cut sewn back together. The feel of her leg wrapped over mine, tucking her foot under the opposite calf, lingered. She’d woven us together.

  Her soft giggles roused me from the bed. I pulled on my jeans, skipped a shirt, and stumbled onto a scene that nearly knocked me off my feet.

  “Good morning,” Katie said, seated in a chair facing AJ in his highchair. She still wore my shirt and she was feeding AJ baby cereal. She’d taken his hand and placed it over her lips, muttering mamamama, and I could see his lips moving to match the vibration of hers. The image so domestic, the gesture so sweet, I fell to my knees before her. I shoved her chair, so she faced me, and curled my upper body over her legs. My arms wrapped around her waist and I tugged her forward until my head rested in her lap.

  “What’s this?” she giggled, running a hand over my head, scrapping her nails over my scalp in the way I’d grown to like.

  “Good morning,” I muttered into my shirt. My shirt, covering her body as she sat in my kitchen feeding my son, and nothing ever looked so right to me. My mouth lowered to her thighs, and I kissed her cool skin. Pushing up the hem of my too-long shirt, I pecked a pattern, rising higher, smelling her hint of arousal. A clatter behind me reminded me where I was, or rather, who was with us. Spinning to face AJ, he made no response to the noise of the dropped spoon but stared over the edge of the highchair.

  “Okay, little buddy,” I mumbled, standing quickly, and lifting AJ out of his seat. “I need five…no ten minutes alone with Miss Katie.” I jiggled AJ as I walked toward the exit of the kitchen. Spinning, I faced Katie. “Don’t move,” I snapped, wound tight, but winked to soften the command. I set AJ in his crib with the music machine on a dancing bear. He might not hear the subtle sound but he loved the visual. I returned to the kitchen.

  “Where was I?” I dropped to my knees again and spread Katie’s. “Thank you,” I said, lowering my head to her thighs, returning to kissing her, my mouth ready for more.

  “What did I do?” She giggled coyly. Not knowing the words to explain what I thought she’d done—staying with me to hear my story, feeding my son this morning—I decided to show her my appreciation. I lifted the hem of my T-shirt and tugged her by her thighs to the edge of the chair.

  “Levi?” Inquisitive and intrigued, just like she’d been last night, I wasn’t wasting another chance with her. My fingers slid forward and brushed over the center of her damp panties. “
Levi,” she snapped with no conviction. I slipped a finger over the elastic band and instantly met skin slick with desire. Using one finger, I tugged the material forward, forcing her to raise up and allow me to remove her underwear.

  “Levi, I…” My mouth on her warm core stopped her thoughts. Her responding moan, throaty and guttural. She was salty and sweet, and the best breakfast I’d tasted. Hooking one of her legs over my shoulder, I continued to devour her like a succulent feast. Her thighs twitched on the chair and her hands slipped to grip the seat. My tongue delved deep, drinking her in like nourishment for my heart. Her hips moved in response to my attention and my hands slipped forward to cover her ass as best I could. I moved her in a rhythm that forced her to make love to my face between her thighs. She groaned my name as she hit her release rather quickly. I continued to lap her up until I sensed she could take no more. I kissed the inside of each thigh, trailing my tongue down the length of one before crossing over and kissing her knee. The deepest blue eyes met mine when I looked up. A heavenly sky beamed down at me.

  “What was that?” she giggled, nervous and lazy. The dilation of her pupils told me the desire came fast. She had been ready for me.

  “I lied last night. When I said, it was dangerous for you to build me into a fantasy.” I paused, my hands stroking over the thighs, massaging her warm skin, drawing strength from her heat. “I’d done the same thing. After that first kiss, the one outside the bathroom at your aunt’s. I held onto that kiss, knowing you’d give me another if I could prove myself, be worthy.” I swallowed hard, afraid to look in her eyes but needing the connection with her skin. “Be worthy of you.”

  My hands worked harder on her thighs, gripping tighter as my nervous energy grew. She placed her hands on each of mine and stopped the motion. I risked looking upward and found her mouth open, prepared to speak, but I continued.

  “I held on to the fantasy that you might wait for me. When it was dark, when it was hot, when I heard sounds that frightened me, I told myself you waited for me, and I could face what needed to be faced to deserve another kiss from you. A hero’s kiss. And when I saw you again, and you told me you were still waiting, it helped me through the tough times, imagining, pretending, someone was waiting for me. Shit, Katie, I held that hope in my heart as I screamed in pain, screamed for life, when I should have died. My will was conflicted. I should have gone with them, but selfishly, I wanted to come back to you.” My final admission crushed me, and the tears streaming down her face added to the walls crumbling down around my heart. She lurched forward, wrapping her arms around my head, enveloping me into her middle.

  “I’m here, Levi. I’m still waiting, and I’m right here when you’re ready to return.”

  Katie

  Levi wasn’t there yet. He hadn’t fully arrived in the present. His past haunted him. His future with AJ uncertain, but I wanted to assure him I would keep waiting. I knew about ghosts. I knew about uncertainty. I also knew it took one spark to set the fire free, release the flames and ignite a new will. Levi had to get there, with or without me, before he could accept me. The drinking proved it.

  “I have help,” he assured. “People to call if I need to talk. Anxiety pills to take instead of the drinking. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His tender fingers brushed over my face as he spoke, begging me to accept that he wasn’t breaking before me. Only cracks remained, but he was rebuilding. I just didn’t know exactly where I fit in the process.

  Slowly we fell into a pattern of working on our history project, which we finally agreed would be history in images. This seemed like a big decision as photography was even more important to him than I knew. He told me about his meeting with Jet Markenson, and Anne’s connection to this man. We’d discussed further his application for Geographic Digest. He wanted an interview, and although he tried to appear nonchalant, I sensed he really, really wanted the position. I didn’t voice my concerns that if he got to travel the world snapping photos, I didn’t see how he could drag a baby with him, but it wasn’t my place to question. In the meantime, he’d submitted a story to the Perseverance Project that Anne recommended for me.

  “Why are you upset? It’s just a stupid story. Not even. It’s more like an article, which is why she wants me to get a job at the Tribune—a job I don’t even want.”

  “You applied at the Tribune?” I asked, still stinging from him calling a story stupid.

  Levi sighed. “The man I met, Jet Markenson, he’s a photographer. I want a gig in photography, but Anne thinks I’d have a shot at writing as well. Why? Do you want to work for the Tribune? I could introduce you.” His tone hinted at mockery.

  “No,” I sighed, frustrated at his good fortune to have Anne pushing him in the direction of a career in writing. “But I’d love a job that involves writing, and I’d give anything to have my stupid story win.” I air-quoted stupid while my voice hissed.

  “Look, I didn’t mean that,” he countered. “If I win, I’ll just give the contract to you.”

  “Are you teasing me? It doesn’t work like that and you know it,” I said, sitting back on his couch, staring at the television, but not really watching the action on the screen.

  “I don’t understand why you’re getting so worked up,” he snapped, running his hand over his head in his telltale sign of frustration.

  “I just wish you appreciated all Anne seems to be doing for you. She isn’t breaking her neck for everyone,” I huffed.

  “What does that mean? Are you suggesting she feels sorry for me?” He shifted on the couch and twisted to face me. His action so swift the papers on his coffee table rustled with the motion.

  “I just mean that Anne seems to be giving you her undivided attention, guiding you in a direction that you don’t seem to appreciate.” I’d said too much and instantly I was sorry.

  “You think Anne’s playing favorites?”

  I couldn’t respond. I didn’t know how to describe my thoughts. Maybe I was jealous. I didn’t see Anne having the same faith in me, and it reminded me of my numerous failures. I came to Chicago to answer one question and had lived here long enough to have a bucket full of new ones. I didn’t know what I would do next if I didn’t work in writing. I’d applied to over fifty companies in a variety of ways and hadn’t gotten one interview. Emily wanted to give me the name of an old editor for the travel magazine she worked for some fifteen years ago, but I didn’t want to bother a man who was no longer in the industry, not to mention working on a travel magazine didn’t sound interesting to me. I only foresaw continuing to work at Vintage Vines until I found the right opportunity.

  Levi remained silent next to me, and I suddenly sensed he wanted me to leave. Or rather, I wanted to go. I needed some space to breathe. We were at his place again. We hardly used the library, and it didn’t seem conducive to use my place with AJ, but I missed my roommates sometimes and I felt resentful tonight about being at his place. Leaning forward, I began to gather my things.

  “What are you doing?” His voice rose, the octave harsh, panic mixed with command. I continued to fill my bag as I answered, “I think I should go home.”

  “Why?” He sat forward, not reaching out for me, but clasping his hands together, balancing his arms on his knees. Another habit we’d fallen into was me spending too many nights here, experiencing each other in his bed, but never completing the deed. Part of me was grateful, as my heart was into him more than he was into me, but the other part hated that we hadn’t taken things farther. I felt like he didn’t fully want me. I was only filling a hole for him. Chalking my mood up to general crabbiness, I stood with my bag.

  “I think I just need to go home tonight. We aren’t getting anywhere with the research at the moment and I…” I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t foresee us going anywhere. Playing house was messing with my heart. I never played house before, not even as a child in Emily’s playhouse. It was all fantasy—knights, princesses, and dragons. I was living the biggest fantasy of all—a lie. Make-beli
eve was a dangerous game, and that’s exactly what we were doing, making me believe this was more than it was to him.

  “And you what?” he snapped, standing to face me.

  “I just need to go.”

  “Fine,” he groaned, and I flinched as I knew he hated that word. He didn’t try to stop me and I circled the coffee table. A foreboding feeling filled me and his words halted me at his front door.

  “What about the scholarship dinner?” he asked. Did he wish to renege on our date? He’d asked me to go as his plus one, but it was already mandatory I attend. I wasn’t an honored guest but a scholarship recipient that the university felt represented their donor’s financial investment. Levi had asked me to attend with him, nonetheless. In my anger, I responded.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I couldn’t face him or I’d cave.

  “Why?” I heard the panicking plea in his tone. I wasn’t leaving him, I wanted to shout. Don’t act like I’m abandoning you, I wanted to scream. I’d been here almost every day but I didn’t understand what we were doing. And most of all, I realized that Levi didn’t seem to believe in me. Disheartened, I sighed.

  “Levi, where are we going?” I turned to face him.

  “I want to take you to the fundraiser ball.” He sighed, scratching at the scruff on his neck, another nervous habit, one he used when he was processing a thought when he didn’t understand. I hated that I recognized all his habits, and he didn’t seem to know that I cared so much about writing.

  “That’s not what I meant, Levi. I mean us. Is there an us? Can I even say that? What are we doing? Playing house? Make-believe?”

  “You’re…” He paused, eyes shifting sideways. I sensed what he stopped himself from saying. Holding my head higher, I glared at him.

  “I’m the one that wants a hero, right? I’m the one who likes fantasy. I’m the one who writes stupid stories.” My chest rose and fell with each statement, my heart racing within my ribcage.