It’s only a waffle.
Yet tears are pressing against my lashes.
Just some strawberries.
A tear creeps from the corner of my eye.
It’s whipped cream, for crying out loud.
A wet line streaks my cheek.
I wash it all down with the most perfect cup of strong coffee.
And the damn breaks.
“Why are you crying, baby?” Fletcher wraps me in a hug and places a kiss on the top of my head.
My cheek presses into his chest. A chest I’ve rested my head on many of nights. So many things are traveling through my body I don’t know what is up or down.
Stupid waffles.
I’m a hot mess. Literally and figuratively. My skin is on fire, I’m blubbering over waffles, and I’m crying into the pecs of my ex who I want to hate right now but can’t. Believe me, I’m grabbing for every negative from the memory box in my brain and I’m coming up short. It was easier when Fletcher acted like a dick, but then he has to go and show that his true self is still in there, deep inside, like it never left.
I don’t respond. I’m…confused.
Fletcher lifts my chin with his finger, holding my head up in order for me to look him in the eyes. The first brush of our lips plays no part in my demise. The second, however, sends my knees buckling. Fletcher lifts me up and sits me on the counter, wrapping my legs around his waist. His hands hold my face in place as his mouth devours mine. Hungry and wanting. Our tongues tangle and our hands roam over each other’s bodies.
I cry out when Fletcher lifts my shirt, dragging it along my sensitive, sunburned skin. He pants between kisses. “Sorry.” But it doesn’t slow him from caressing my breasts. His mouth trails the curve of my chin, the hollow of my neck, down the channel of my chest and finds its resting place over a nipple. He lightly sucks and licks, paying equal attention to my other breast.
My fingers dive into his hair and I pull him into me, holding his head against my boob with the crook of my elbow. But he has plans to travel. His lips leave wet kisses down my stomach, over my boy shorts, and settle at my most delicate spot. The warmth of Fletcher’s breath seeps through the material, like gentle blows to ignite a fire, fueling the pulse circling my core.
“I’ve missed this.” Fletcher’s tongue laps over my moistened panties. “I’d give anything to taste it again.” His hooded eyes gaze up at me as he alternates between licking, kissing, and blowing through my underwear.
All good judgment has left the building. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex; just the hum of Fletcher’s voice against my clit is enough to release an exploding orgasm. Even if I wanted to stop it, my head has a mind of its own, and it nods, giving Fletcher approval to take me.
The way his lips split into a smirk when he slips my panties to the side is both evil and hot. Yep, he planned this all right. He knew he broke me down enough to get me to cave, and here I am, caving. I’m weak and lost and horny as fuck. G-o-l-l-y, am I horny. I had no idea how sexually frustrated I have been until Fletcher started to kiss me…there. Oh, God, yes. Right. There.
My legs twitch. “Ohmygod.”
Fletcher’s laugh makes my clit tremble and when he grazes the tip of his tongue across the swollen crest, I cry out, the pleasure swelling from the deepest part of my body. He’s taking his sweet time, devouring me. And I brace myself…one hand wrapped around the edge of the counter, the other grabbing the back of his head, holding him hostage.
Fletcher moans between my legs. “Fuck, you taste amazing. God, I’ve missed you.”
His tongue dips in and out and draws circles around. A caress of figure eights that has me whimpering and calling out his name. “Yes, Fletcher, don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Oh God, yes!”
Every flick of Fletcher’s tongue peels back another layer until I’m exploding around his mouth and collapsing against the counter. I open my eyes to see Fletcher standing over me, victory spreading joyously across his face. “Your hair is in the whipped cream.” When he leans to free my hair, I grab his ears and tug him down, kissing him hard, wiping what is left of me away from his lips. He groans and lifts me from the counter, carrying me down the hall until he finds a bed he can lay me down on.
His teeth nip and pull at my bottom lip, then licks along the crease until I part my mouth to let him in. I open, but catch the tip of his tongue with a firm bite. He groans louder. Pushing off of me, Fletcher sprints to the bathroom. Drawers open and slam and bottles crash against the counter as he scurries to find what he’s desperately looking for.
I close my eyes, growing impatient. My body is electrified, wound up and ready to go, and I keep it surging by scraping my fingertips along my skin, between my breasts, down my belly and sliding into my boy shorts and between my legs. I’m dripping. My eyes blink open, finding Fletcher hovering over me, his mouth hanging open. “My God, Piper. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” One knee meets the mattress, and he bends to kiss me. He takes my hand from my panties, intertwining our fingers, and slips them into his sweats to feel his erection. “This is all you, baby.” Our palms glide up and down his length, swiping the wetness from the tip.
Our hands work together, stroking his cock. And when I let my free hand roam towards my core, he removes his hand from his sweats to follow along with my fingers swirling around my swollen clit.
“I’ll be right back.” The warmth around me cools when he pushes off the bed, dragging his fingertip over the damp center of my underwear. “Don’t come without me.”
But I’m almost there. A few more circles and I’ll be screaming Oliver’s name. I’m gonna…
Wait. What? My hand abruptly stops, any sign of a pending orgasm cut from existence.
Not Oliver, Fletcher.
It hits me, right before Fletcher comes back to the room equipped with a condom, no matter what I’m doing, it’s Oliver. It always comes back to him. And it always will.
I can’t breathe. My chest tightens and my heart pounds heavy. I need to get out of here. Fresh air. I need fresh air. The thought of what I was about to do with Fletcher sends me running out the sliding door, down the stairs of the deck, past the pool, and leaping into the ocean, any evidence of my arousal rinsed away from my clothes and my body.
Twenty Three
Oliver
I enjoy hangovers as much as gazelles love lions. Why the fuck do I keep doing this to myself? An opened palm on the wall braces me from falling off the bed. Not today, Satan. Headache meds…I need, in my body…stat. Big gulps of air and a scary and questionable belch has me crawling from my bed like a zombie. The bathroom is occupied, so I continue to stumble towards the kitchen cabinet that contains all of our drugs, the acceptable kind. My loosey-goosey fingers knock half the bottles over, but I find what I’m looking for and grab a couple pills, tossing them back and swallowing them with the buildup of saliva I have in my mouth.
“Rough night?” a mousey voice sneaks up behind me.
Luna’s hair is a ratted mess and her makeup is smeared around her eyes. Nash, that fucker, got lucky with Luna. Not every chick looks hot just rolling out of bed. “You could say that.”
She squeezes my shoulder as she walks by, mainly to catch herself from falling when the bus hits a bump in the road. “Hang in there, Oliver. I know my sister. You’re the love of her life.”
Luna heads back to Nash’s bunk and I collect myself in the bathroom. If I’m the love of Piper’s life then why isn’t she here? My fists pound the bathroom counter.
The eyes looking back at me are doleful. They are tired and bloodshot, creased around the corners. Aged and somber. In four days, my face has managed to age ten years. And for what? Piper has had a hold on me for all my life. It’s time I shake her off. That’s right, I’m going to let her go. Let everything go.
All I have to do is lift my arms and the answer to my problem is at my fingertips. With minimal effort, I pop the vent from the ceiling and watch my hand disappear through the black
hole. A little to the right and I’ve hit the jackpot. The baggie is in my hand, and I don’t think twice about pulling it free.
It’s surprising how calm I am. Any sign of a hangover is sobered by the reality of what I’m about to do. What I said I would never do again. But it’s calling me. I can almost hear the little baggie calling my name. “Just one hit,” it’s telling me. Well, that is all I need. One. Fucking. Hit.
I empty the contents of the bag on the counter, moving things around in order of use. A breath passes my parted lips, a sigh I didn’t know I was holding, and wrap the top of my arm with the rubber strap. Am I really about to do this? The vein in my arm protrudes without having to smack it, but I give it a solid flick for good measure. A sprinkle of powder on the spoon goes a long way. During the height of my addiction, a sprinkle wouldn’t even take the edge off. But now, nah, I’m trying to forget not die.
Sweat drips from my forehead and I wipe it clean with the back of my shaking hand. I’m a bit rusty, or nervous. Once the lighter hits the bottom of the spoon, it melts the powder rather quickly, but I wait for it to bubble and release a hint of vinegar smell. This is it. I can almost taste it. Figuratively, obviously. My heart beats faster and my knees begin to bounce. Excitement of my pending high.
Very carefully, as to not spill a single drop, I dip the needle into the brown liquid and pull back on the syringe. I gently place the spoon in the sink, afraid if I make any noise someone outside these walls will hear what I’m doing and try to stop me. With my ears open and my eyes darting back and forth over the tiny bathroom, I listen for any noise, but it’s quiet.
I have the needle placed over the vein, poking my arm but not piercing the skin. It’s now or never.
I pause, overthinking, letting the syringe-holding hand relax. All the promises I made ring loud in my brain. I shake my head to free them, to clear my mind, then I catch my eyes in the mirror one last time. Red and puffy. Tears threatening to fall. I sniff back a nose full of snot and clamp my eyes shut, desperately trying to drown out the voices telling me to put down the syringe and to back out of the bathroom. To go ask for help.
Someone help me.
Determined to follow through, I position the needle back to my vein, and count backwards.
3…2…1…
Twenty Four
Piper
I wonder how long it would take to drown? For the body to seize from lack of oxygen. I’m not about to find out, although I’m pushing my limits, but curious minds want to know. My lungs are starting to burn and my eyes want to push their way out of their sockets. When ringing starts in my ears, I thrust my arms and kick my legs, shooting out of the water. Gasping for air, I choke on a mouthful of salt water until I cough up a ball of phlegm.
“That bad or are you trying to commit suicide by drowning?” Fletcher’s sitting on the edge of the dock, feet in the water with his hands in his lap.
God, what I would give to be able to swim to the other side of the world in order to not have this conversation. But I pull up my big girl panties and swim to where Fletcher sits, pulling myself up onto the dock to take the spot beside him.
“You’re in such a hurry to get away from me you jumped in with your clothes on?”
I glance down at my tank and boy shorts and nod. “I was more like running away from me.”
Fletcher nudges my shoulder with his. “How’d that work for ya?”
“Not well. I caught up with myself.” I nudge him back. “I’m sorry, Fletcher. It sounds so cliché, but it’s not you, it’s me. I got lost in the moment and then, with the small wedge of pause, everything just hit me and I freaked out.”
“It’s all good. I understand.” Fletcher takes my hand, weaving our fingers together. His voice drops, concerned. “Are you okay?”
I try to sound cheery. “Yeah. I think so.” At least I think I am. I don’t know honestly. I’m torn as to what to do and my brain is so muddled, I can’t be confident in my own feelings at this moment.
“I did this all wrong, Piper. I apologize. I had it all set up in my head how this week would go and it’s turning out to be a real shit storm.”
His shoulder looks like a nice place to rest my head, so I scoot closer and lean my temple on his arm. “It hasn’t been a shit storm, Fletcher. Maybe just a piss shower.”
Fletcher laughs, shifting his arm so he can wrap it around me. There is something about my skin being warmed by the sun, feet in the water, and a salty breeze on my face. Out here, no matter what kind of clusterfuck is happening in life, this calms me down. It doesn’t make the choices I have to make any easier, but renews my body on a cellular level. For right now, I do not want to think about tomorrow. Living in the moment, that is what I want to do.
We’re in Fiji with so many wonderful things to explore, but this is all I want to do. No talking, no drama, just us and the water. And maybe some sunscreen and Fletcher’s sun shirt. “Do you know what sounds nice?”
Fletcher’s looking at me, his hair being tousled from the gentle breeze. “What’s that?”
“Chilling in the hammock all day.”
He nods. “Mhmm. That does sound nice. Can I suggest something?”
“Hmm?”
“Chill in the hammock on the other side of the bungalow. It’s in the shade.”
I swivel, looking behind me. “There’s another hammock?”
“You didn’t see it? There’s a ladder leading down to a hammock that sits between two pillars over the water.”
I’m on my feet, grabbing for Fletcher’s hand. “Show me this of which you speak.”
Sure as a flamingo is pink, there is a hidden hammock beneath the bungalow. I follow Fletcher down the wooden ladder and when I’m on the last step and can’t reach the deck below, Fletcher grips my waist and sets me on my feet. The deck is wide enough for two feet and it drops off into the ocean. It’s a dumb question, but, “I guess we swim to it, yeah?” I ask anyway.
Fletcher’s smile widens. “If you want to relax in it.” He wraps his arms around me and carefully rotates us so he’s behind me. “Go ahead.”
“Aren’t you going to join me?”
He looks surprised by my question. I suppose with the way I’ve treated him, his reaction is valid. “Um, sure. I’m going to grab a few things. I’ll be back.”
“Okay.” I dive into the water as Fletcher heads back up to the bungalow. By the time I’ve swum out to the hammock and get myself situated, he’s at the edge of the deck with his hands full. Towels, two glasses, a tube of sunscreen, and a book?
Fletcher tries to climb into the hammock, but with me in it already, his body weight flips me and I go splashing into the water. I come up laughing and push my hair out of my face.
He laughs. “This might be tricky.”
“Especially with that in your hands.” I point. “Is that a book?”
“Yeah, but it’s in a waterproof case, and I can reach the bottom where I’m standing.” He winks.
I roll my eyes, hearing Oliver’s voice in my head teasing me about the kiddie pool being too deep for me. I chuckle. There’s never a shortage of short jokes. Pun intended.
After three tries and sidesplitting laughter, we manage to both get into the hammock and cuddle up together. I snatch the book from Fletcher’s hands and open the first page. “What book do you have here?” I nearly gasp when I open the first page. “Lord of the Flies?” I snort.
Fletcher shoots me a sideward glance and a smirk. “Your favorite.”
A laugh escapes me. He couldn’t be further from the truth, but he already knows that…which surprises me since the topic of least favorite book came up on our very first date.
I know Fletcher’s never read it. He strictly sticks to reading Time magazine or political bullcrap. “Want to read it out loud?”
He winks, taking the book back. “Love to.”
Fletcher reads the first chapter, I take the next. We take turns until the last page, and the sun has begun to dip behind the water. When
I close the book, he turns his pressed brows my way. “That was seriously fucked up.”
“I know, right!” I giggle. “I’ve been saying that since high school.”
“It was rather brilliant, if you ask me,” he adds.
I gasp. “For real? You liked it?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, actually, I did. What isn’t there to like? It makes you think about things. About yourself and people in general.”
My eyes squint, causing creases between my brows. “What is there to think about? It’s about a handful of schoolboys who are stranded on an island trying to survive. It’s filled with violence and evil. Fighting for leadership, killing each other, and cutting a hog’s head off and stuffing it on a stick to offer it to an imaginary beast; it’s just weird.”
“It’s a, what’s the word?” Fletcher snaps his fingers. “An allegory.”
“An allegory.” I snort.
“Yeah. Think about it. The island is the world and Ralph and Jack are the differences between leaders. A mix of political platforms. And the evil and violence you speak of shines a light on how all humans have the potential to be evil. We’re all capable of being heinous and cruel. And the beast is the need for people to connect to some high power.”
I shake my head, bewildered by his interpretation of this book. “You got all of that by reading this crap?” I slap the cover with the back of my hand.
“You didn’t?”
“No.” I say it like, of all people, I should have figured the meaning of this book out back in high school. “I didn’t.” I ponder Fletcher’s theory for a moment. “Uh, you might be right.”
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