by Laney Wylde
I chuckled nervously. “Anytime.”
“A couple of guys told me you can out-drink them, shot for shot.”
“Christian and Hunter? Total lightweights.”
“Yeah, those guys,” he said, laughing.
“Come on, Jake. What’d they really say?”
He stared ahead at the grass and took a deep breath. “That you’re bi.” He was quick to add, “Which doesn’t bother me, by the—”
I shook my head. “It’s not true. I like guys. Well, I hate most of them, but you know.”
He smiled, but then whispered, “That you have every STD except HIV.”
“It was nice of them to spare me that at least.”
“That you had sex with the entire basketball team in one night.”
“Varsity or JV?”
“Varsity, I want to say.”
“In their dreams.”
“That your dad is in prison. Child molester, I think they—”
“Fuckers,” I hissed. I scrubbed my fingers over my forehead.
“Yeah, I figured that one wasn’t true either.”
“No. My dad is definitely not in prison.”
“Told ya I’d get to know you.”
“You don’t care you’re hanging out with the school slut? That people will see you with—”
“You’re not a slut,” he interrupted.
“How do you know?”
“Because guys are dicks who lie about getting laid, and girls talk shit when they’re jealous of girls like you.”
“Envious.”
“What?”
“Envious is the correct word for what you’re suggesting. Jealousy implies a prior claim, like ownership or a relationship. Envious means wanting what someone else has but having no right to it.”
“Are you correcting my grammar?”
“No, your semantics.”
“Semantics? Are you serious?”
“And no one’s envious of me.” Or at least, they shouldn’t be.
He shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”
I pushed his arm off my thighs. “You’re an ass.”
“Yep,” he said with a nod. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling at the pride he found in his flawed personality. Wrapping his arms around his bent knees, he stared at me, like he was gathering information for his next move. I held my ground—no smiling—though barely. After a long minute, he finally said, “You’re cold.”
I glanced down at my hands, which were a pale shade of violet and reflexively quivering against each other to get warm. My body flinched when Jake took them between his, pressing them together and then making a hollow between his palms. He brought our hands to his lips and exhaled softly into the space between his thumbs, creating a small cave of warmth for my fingers. I swallowed past my suddenly dry throat at the cozy shivers racing up my arms.
Jake’s dark eyes raised to mine, making me suddenly aware of the terror that was probably plain on my face. Parted lips, wide eyes, and my breath that had halted some time ago. Why was he touching me? What did he want from me?
Why did I feel good when he touched me?
It wasn’t supposed to feel good, right? I shouldn’t like the feel of his skin on mine. Men only touched to hurt. I shouldn’t want that.
But when he said, “You might be warmer if we sat together,” I nodded and stood, moving so he could take my chair, so I could curl up in his lap.
Huddling my arms against my chest, I rested my head on his shoulder. My eyes shut cautiously so I could take in the scent of his skin. He wrapped his coat over my back before relaxing his cheek into my hair. I kept my eyes closed, half from fear, half from the desperate need to feel what it was like to just be held.
I had felt nothing like it before.
3
OCTOBER 2014
“You’re not going to get punched in the face so many times you’re going to turn into a dick like the football players, right?” I leaned my back against Jake’s passenger window as he drove, curling my knees close to my chest.
“I’m a little insulted.” He tickled my knee until I kicked at him. “How crappy of a boxer do you think I am?” He pulled the car into the driveway of my little blue house on Third Street, which was dark and empty with the curtains drawn.
“Thank God we lost.” I shrugged off the Carhartt jacket he’d made me wear over my cheer uniform. Not that I wasn’t grateful; I was frozen from the inside out after that game. “I’m so over football season.”
“No, keep it. You know I have another one at home.” I hid my smile as I pushed my arms back through it. I was now a girl with a boyfriend—a boyfriend who gave me his jacket, beat up an asshole for me, and did cute things like kiss me on the cheek and text me until he fell asleep each night. And he’d never brought up Travis again. Well, except once.
We’d been together only a couple of weeks when Jake caught me tracing over the seven-shaped scar on my scalp in my sleep: my fingertips meeting at the vertex of the jagged pink tissue, sliding apart, and then together again—middle finger over the horizontal line, index over the vertical. It was this weird self-soothing habit I started after the stitches dissolved, like how kids sucked their thumbs or fingered a blankie. He took a picture of me the first time he saw it. Actually, it was a selfie of me slouched against him on the couch. My head was on his chest, late-night television reflecting blue off my eyelids, my hand in my hair like a monkey hunting down a rogue louse. The snapping effect on his phone had startled me awake and into a Pavlovian panic, where I’d promptly ripped his phone from his hands. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. But look how cute you are.” He pointed to the screen. “You twist your fingers through your hair when you sleep.”
Monkey lice? How was that cute?
I tapped the little trash icon on his phone. “Don’t ever take pictures of me, okay?”
“What? Ever?”
Crap. I’d embarrassed him. Poor guy. It wasn’t his fault. “I’m sorry, Jake.” I gave him his phone and nuzzled back into him. “I just don’t take pictures.”
“Why not? You’re beautiful.” He took a wave of my hair, then played with it between his fingers and thumb.
“It’s nothing. Just…” I yawned. “Don’t, okay? Please.”
He leaned his head against the couch. I was almost asleep again when he whispered, “Travis?”
My eyes shot open, and nausea swirled in my gut. A lifetime had passed in the days since I’d met Jake. The Sawyer from before was dead, buried deep, all her demons with her. Travis would not haunt me—would not haunt us. I sighed out, “Something like that.” Those three words ended the conversation. As far as I was concerned, we’d never have to talk about it again.
Now, as I was about to get out of his car, I said, “Thanks for the ride. I can’t do another bus ride with the football team.”
“I don’t blame you.”
I pulled the door handle, feeling the rush of cool air through the crack in the door. “Do you want to come in and watch a movie or something?”
He studied the clock on the radio glowing blue in the darkness. It was eleven, and I could tell by the way he tilted his head he was calculating if his parents would buy that it took him longer than that to get home from the game. I didn’t have that problem with my mom. She was working a twelve at the hospital tonight. He could stay until seven in the morning, and she would never know.
“Yeah,” he said. Jake reached down to the lever to pop the trunk before getting out. He went to retrieve my duffel as I headed to the front door.
Inside the house was just as chilly as outside. I flipped on the lamp by the fireplace. When I knelt to ignite the flame with the gas switch, it roared to life, an instant fire. I stood and turned around when I heard the front door shut.
“How are your lips still purple?” Jake dropped my bag by the door. He strode toward me to warm them before I had a chance to reply. His rough fingers gripped my waist, rolling
my hips and then chest against him. Then he pulled away. He always did that. Never any more. It drove me insane. I hadn’t known guys had the self-control to tease, but Jake did. I couldn’t take it anymore.
I ran my hands down his chest. “I’m going to change.” I started toward my door. “Netflix is on the TV if you want to find something.”
In my room, I stripped off the clingy navy polyester: shell, spandex undershirt, skirt, briefs, sports bra. The panties I could live with. My goose bumps cast shadows on my skin in the moonlight, so I pulled Jake’s coat around my shoulders. I dug through my nightstand drawer for a condom. Setting it by the lamp, I glanced around. Everything was ready.
Except me. My hands trembled when I reached for the doorknob. I was just cold. That had to be why. I had done this a thousand times in my fifteen years. I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t nervous. That’d be stupid.
I took a weak breath. Jake’s scent lingering in his coat made me unravel from the inside—a rope too flimsy to hold my hands taut, to stop the shaking. Shit. I was nervous.
I opened the door to make it creak, so I wouldn’t have an exit strategy. I was going through with this. What? Was I supposed to only have sex forced on me? Hell no.
Fuck you, Pastor Jeff. And Travis. And his asshole friends.
The glow of the fire flickered over Jake’s face from his spot on the couch. His eyes scanned me as soon as I came into sight. “Hey?” The greeting was phrased more as a question, his trademark crooked smile flashing as his gaze ran down my bare legs.
“Hey,” I whispered, and then bit my lip. Crap. What if he wasn’t a tease? What if he just didn’t want me? I hadn’t thought this through. Maybe I could say, Just kidding! I forgot my shirt and pants. Be right back.
Before I could move, he set down the remote and slowly stood. He appeared cautious…like he thought any sudden movement would send me running.
A wave of relief rushed over me. Jake liked this idea. When he got close enough, he touched my cheek, his other hand reaching for mine. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, hoping I would be.
His fingers traced back and forth from my ear to my chin as he leaned in to kiss me. His hand slid under the jacket to my naked chest, brushing down my sternum and over my navel. His touch made me flinch. Sucking in my breath, I did everything in my power to kill the instinct to push him off and run like hell when he continued the caress to my hips and butt before starting to inch his way under the hem of my panties.
He pressed me against the wall, and I lifted my arms to twist my fingers through his hair. His mouth sent shivers down my neck.
I crept back when I felt him against my breasts, wishing I could escape into the drywall behind me. Every breath was panicked, too shallow to keep my vision crisp or my head clear.
You’re fine. Pull it together!
His hands moved under my thighs, picking me up. I gripped my legs around his waist, and he carried me to my room. Each step he took closer to my bed made me dizzy, sick. The familiar dread that had filled this room for two years flooded me. I watched Jake as he lowered me to the mattress, reassuring myself of who I was with, so I could remember this time was my choice. This would be different—would feel different. It had to. Right?
Jake stood by the bed and took off his shirt. Even as the clouds obstructed the moonlight, I could see the outline of every muscle in his shoulders and torso. Even the thin scar over his right pec glowed with a muted sheen in the grey light. I sat up to taste his skin, to unzip his jeans, to feel the warmth beneath his boxers. He stepped out of them, then gently pushed me to the mattress. As he started to pull my panties down, his lips followed, pressing against my waist, hips, and then between my thighs as he did. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, pretending this was okay, that I would be okay. He climbed onto the bed, his body crawling over mine. My heart scrambled faster with each inch he erased between us.
“Are you still cold?” Jake whispered, tugging on the coat I still wore.
“Not really.” I laughed, or tried to, but it came out shaky and nervous when he peeled it from my arms.
“Just in case…” He threw the covers back, and we slipped under them. I laid on my pillow, goose bumps rising on my skin when his mouth found my ear. His fingers laced through mine, raising them to the mattress just above my head. He was hard between my thighs, the weight of his legs and chest on top of me. When I tried to take a breath, I realized I was pinned down.
Fear pulsed through me—that primal kind that made me fight before I could think. I pulled my face away and into the pillow, struggling against his hands, pushing and twisting. He was so much stronger than I was. Even though a hundred ways to escape flashed through my mind, I couldn’t have unless he let me. And he wouldn’t. Why would he? He was a man, and that was what men did. I was such an idiot. Had I actually willingly put myself in this position? I had, and there was no one to blame but myself. Squeezing my eyes shut, I braced for the inevitable.
“Sawyer, what’s wrong?” His voice was breathy and foreign. Concerned. He was motionless, just staring down at me.
I clenched my hands into fists, but then released them. They were empty. Jake had untangled our fingers and straightened his arms, giving me room to breathe, to move, to go. My chest was heaving; his was, too. His dark eyes were wide as he waited for me to respond, a ribbon of dishwater hair blocking part of his view. “Yeah,” I exhaled. “I’m fine.”
My hand drifted over the nightstand until I found the condom. I tore it open. As I reached down to roll it on Jake, he grabbed my wrist. “Stop.”
“Why?”
“Sawyer, you’re shaking.”
“So,” I said, struggling to free my arm from his grasp.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I didn’t meet his eyes or answer, so he finally gave up, releasing my arm so I could finish. Once I had, I eased him into me.
He was slow at first, like he was afraid I’d break if he did what he wanted. I wouldn’t break. Maybe I’d bleed or tear or bruise, but I’d never break. I hadn’t yet.
“Is this okay?” he breathed in my ear as his body moved forward and back over mine.
Closing my eyes, I forced out, “Yeah,” hoping he’d just finish fast.
He did, his throbbing and gasping churning my stomach until I thought I’d vomit. That was normal though, right? I didn’t puke and nothing hurt, so I’d call it a win, a successful re-losing of my virginity.
I was still trying to rein in the stomach acid gurgling up when he pulled the covers around me. He raked his fingers through my hair, brushing his lips against my temple. Why was he still touching me if he didn’t have to anymore? I thought guys weren’t into cuddling. Whatever he wanted, I guessed.
Laying my head on his chest, I listened to the beating of his heart as it slowed. I focused on each thump-thump as if it were some Morse code that would help me figure this guy out.
Thump-thump: He didn’t hurt me.
Thump-thump: He hadn’t hurt me.
Thump-thump: Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me.
Curious, I asked, “Jake?”
“Yeah?” he answered on a sigh, still working to catch his breath.
“Had you ever had sex before?”
He held me tighter and kissed my forehead. “No. Had you?” It was sweet he asked even though he knew my reputation.
I sucked in my breath before murmuring, “Yeah.” I was quick to add, “But you shouldn’t be jealous or anything. It’s not like I had a choice.”
He rolled me away from him, confusion and then shock creeping over his face as he searched my eyes. “What?”
“I don’t like to talk—”
“Who?” Even in the dim light, I saw his eyes darken. It was a color I hadn’t seen on him before, like charred wood or cooling lava. Rage.
“It’s okay. He’s in prison,” I rushed to answer. It wasn’t totally a lie. Jeff was in prison. Jake appeared capable of killing the others if he knew.
He pul
led me into his chest. “Sawyer, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
I touched three fingers to his lips. “No. I wanted to.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” I whispered the lie, hoping he’d buy it.
I nuzzled into his chest, searching for his heartbeat again. His calloused hand stroking my hair, I fell asleep.
I woke early the next morning, Jake’s coat beside me and a note on top. Running my hand over my eyes to clear the blur, I read what he had scribbled in the dark.
Sawyer, I hated leaving without saying goodbye, but I knew you were out cold when you started doing your hair twisting thing. I couldn’t stop thinking about what you told me. I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make it better, but I’m not going to let it happen to you again. I’ll pick you up at 11 tomorrow. Wear something you can get sweaty in. —Jake
Sweaty? Um, no thank you.
“Okay,” Jake started as we stepped into his garage. I was exhausted just looking at the boxing equipment in his home gym. “First, let’s run a quick mile to warm up.”
A quick mile? I cackled. “Look, friend, I’m a too-tall ballerina/gymnast turned cheerleader. What do all those activities have in common?”
“I don’t know. Glitter? Subjective scoring? Twirling of some kind?”
I shot a glare his way. “Glitter? Excuse me?”
“Whatever. General girliness.”
“There are guys in all of those sports.”
“Straight guys?”
“Smart straight guys. You know those back spots get to grab the fliers’ butts for libs, right?”
He smirked and lifted his fingers from his chin. “I honestly didn’t understand a word you just said.”
“Whatever. I am not that girly.”
“Sawyer, there’s a freaking bow in your hair.”
Patting my hand over the base of my ponytail, I felt a half-inch satin ribbon. Damn it. I must have went into autopilot this morning. In my defense, there was no glitter anywhere near me. And the bow was blue—hella butch.
“What I’m trying to say is that none of them require running.”