by Elena Monroe
I showed Addi upstairs, past all the trophies and awards my dad collected as king of high school, on display through the whole house, until we got to my plain white bedroom door. Only this side blended in with the rest of the décor. The other side was my world, and I spun it upside down until it resembled my own personal hell.
Pushing the door open, she left my arms that had been around her. In excitement, she went straight to exploring. The only thing I wanted to explore was her body.
I peeled off my clothes that smelled like a middle ground between anxious sweat and stale coffee. Addi was running her curious fingers over every surface, carefully analyzing everything she could, needing reasons and explanations for why I am the way I am. Letting my hoodie and shirt fall silently to wood floor, I watched her move slowly, silently, as I hunted her. I kicked my boots off, making a loud sound as they hit the floor with a thud. She was my prey, and I was toying with her focus.
Her safety.
Next, I undid my belt, the small button, and the even smaller zipper on my skinny jeans that had the knees blown out and frayed. Pushing them down, I glued my eyes to her. “Do you want a shirt?”
Without looking at my direction, she answered, “Not the one you just took off.”
She had standards. She wasn’t settling for my dirty shirt, and she wasn’t settling for me.
She chose me.
I padded to the dresser that was painted black to match my walls and grabbed the first shirt out of the draw that the tips of my fingers felt: a Pink Floyd shirt I used to wear in high school so often it was practically see through. When I turned around, Addi was pulling off her teal button down she had on over her bikini top. I could feel my heart slow down more and more with every button she tackled next.
She sucked her lip in, biting the side of it, and I knew there was only one reason: She was turned on, and it was showing.
I wanted to move closer to her, touch her, kiss her… anything… but she had me stuck in place. The only thing I could manage to do was reach for the lock and turn it, until I felt it secure.
“No one has seen this side of you before, huh? Parents, your sister, your room?” She manipulated her hair to one side, cascading platinum locks over her one shoulder, as her hands untied her bikini top that I had watched her put on this morning.
I moved to my bed, keeping my eyes on her. The shirt I knew was pointless was still in my grip. Sitting down, I leaned back onto my hands, making sure I was taking all of Addi in, not sacrificing an inch. “No… I don’t grant access for free.”
“What makes me so different?”
I watched her slip her shorts down, and I could still hear my heartbeat drowning out any other sound. “I feel things I wasn’t going to let myself feel again.”
She straddled my lap, completely naked and confident in a way I never saw a woman. Even the most daring, most fake girls I met shied away from being gazed at while completely naked with the lights on. Not Addi, she was a trophy, refusing to be on a shelf in some dark room. She wanted her own spotlight to remind you how lucky you should feel to have won her.
“And what are those things?” Her voice was a kind of quiet that almost begged you not to hear her.
Pushing off my hands, I sat up, until I felt her hard nipples against my chest. “I think you can feel it for yourself, baby.”
I watched her bite her smile away, understanding my double meaning, before her hand swatted my bare chest. “Hunter.”
With my hands on either side of her ass, I stood up only enough to get her under me on my small ass bed I grew out of liking. Her legs instantly tangled with mine, not letting me go. I looked down at her, holding myself up with my hands.
“What are we doing, Addi?” I knew I wasn’t thinking with my dick, even though I felt myself painfully hard for this girl. No, this was something different.
I felt her lips plant kisses against my throat, trying to pull me down closer, while I adjusted to this feeling at a comfortable distance away.
She whispered against my neck, “We’re fulfilling every guys dream… fucking the girl of your dreams in your old bed, while your parents sleep down the hall.”
Without saying a thing about feelings, I knew by her softer, slower kisses she felt it too. Sinking down between her legs, my knees forced her legs to open more. Her hands pushed down my boxers, while our mouths finally found each other. I didn’t waste any time pushing my tongue in her mouth, licking her tongue until she played with mine. I felt her body squirm against mine for more of me to fill more than this one hole of hers.
I didn’t even need to guide myself to where I wanted to be, Addi’s wetness made it easy to slip inside her in one motion, taking my breath away with every inch I eased in deeper.
I had to pull my mouth away to take a breath or face dying inside her, which didn’t seem awful, compared to all the other deaths I could face.
I don’t know what made the question pop into my head, or where the motivation to push it out of my mouth came from, while she wiggled under me for control. “Where am I on your master list?”
Addi’s master list cut decision making out of her life and permanently stopped her from ever slipping back into her sister’s shadow. She never would tell me what was on it, but I could guess Mister and her appearance were wedged between whatever else was on her fucked up dangerous wish list.
“The most dangerous thing: fall in love.”
I told myself I heard her wrong. There was no way someone could be so sure about me.
“Don’t joke, Addi.”
Her motivation was hitting pause when she pushed down all the lust driven movements and stared up at me, her hands touching either side of my face. “Is it so hard to believe someone could love you? Did she break even the hopeful parts?”
I stopped comparing, thinking, of Layla altogether. Addi didn’t share any of her spotlight, and there wasn’t any room for runner’s up trophies on her shelf. She forced every inner thought to silence just with consistency.
“I was born without hope.”
“You want to be born without hope, but no one truly loses all sense of hope. It's just buried down deep. I’ll dig it up.”
“I don’t keep you around for therapy, Addi. I’m between your legs to feel something different.” I picked up the motion of my hips, except this time my thrusts were short and hard instead of drawn out. I was harboring the flames, keeping them from licking her body, while she tried to give our love story some filtered fuel. I didn’t want hope, the laughter, or the bullshit; I wanted the tough stuff, because that’s what I could handle.
The pace I was pushing my length between her legs left her chasing moans and whimpers, unable to indulge me in her forced therapy session. She arched her back and leaned her body into the small space between us. When her tongue dragged against my jaw up to my ear, she whispered, “Loving you will drive me mad, but you loving me? Gonna be all the therapy you ever need.”
She wasn’t whispering sweet nothings in my ear, while I fucked her into being quiet; she was right. She was all the therapy I needed.
Just her being around more than normal had pushed Layla from my mind, and I couldn’t ignore how much better it felt not letting the losing weigh on me.
Her warm tongue rimming my ear made my hips sink into hers even more. Her grip around me was tight enough that the slightest movement felt like a vice I could get addicted to. I had enough of her torture when I pulled out and started barking commands: “All fours.”
She was more than happy to comply with my demands, because I knew this position was her favorite. It had the ability to pause all the vibrant Addi qualities that assaulted you and turn them into liquid gold—her breathy moans.
With my hands on her hips, I pulled her back into me until her ass hit on balls and my knuckles brushed her clit when I lined myself up with her. She grinded back into me. “Hunter, stop teasing.”
Her hips already started throwing her weight back into me as soon as she felt my width from this angle. I wa
sn’t vocal in bed. I left that to the women I fucked, but Addi elicited all the sounds I never made. Grunting in frustration, I wanted all the foreplay I hated to be over so we could both race to the feeling we were chasing.
Anything more than five minutes was foreplay. Everything besides coming was foreplay. I was interested in how we get there just getting there.
I let my body fold down on top of hers, with my hand snaking up to her throat, making sure she stayed quiet in my grip—not enough to hurt, but to make a point. I didn’t need parental patrol making my second bust of the night.
The fast, aggressive movements had us both out of breath. I couldn’t hold out no matter how much I felt the irony of fucking her in my old bed I slept in as a teenage with the endurance of three minutes. I felt like that same teenager who discovered very few things in life felt good: pot and pussy were those two things.
Some guys didn’t care if the women they were with felt the free fall of coming, as long as they got their rocks off. I wasn’t one of those guys. I liked winning as much as my dad did, and this was a team sport.
My hand slid down her stomach and over her hips until the pads of my fingers made her push back into me again, toying with her sensitive spot, I watched her still. She was undeniably close to the edge. I got my revenge on Addi when I let my tongue swipe up her back and shoulder until I reached her ear. “Don’t fight it, baby. Let it happen.”
Addi stilled, with bed sheets tangled in her fists and knees slipping further apart with every thrust I gave her. I pressed my lips into her neck soaking up her coming; it was a performance in itself. She put on a show when it came to orgasming. She filled a range of flirtatious to desperate all in minutes.
She came undone right against me, pushing her sloppy wetness into my fingers even more, riding them until she felt high off of me.
I kissed the side of her mouth that was gaping open, as she tried to catch her breath again. I wasn’t done with her; now that she had reached complete, rapture it was my turn. The teenager living vicariously in me right now wasn’t going to need long. Although, if I had my choice, we’d just run this on a loop.
Addi
Hunter didn’t only kill my sanity, amp up my anxiety, and somehow still make me feel more whole than ever, but he had the fingers of someone who could dig into my soul and produce bliss.
I was still floating on some imaginary cloud from what he did to me, and now I was chasing my high with a second dose as he dragged my hips back to meet his hips. I let my chest sink into his bed, smelling the reminiscence of his scent lingering: pot, cologne, sex, sweat… everything that bloomed in danger. All of the parts of Hunter I loved the most.
I was spread out, invading his space, with my leg laying over his hip and my hand over his heart, trying to recover from two highs. “Come to dinner Friday? Meet my parents?”
It was a long shot that Hunter would agree to something so traditional. Having him there would be the therapy I needed from going even more mad. Liz, her husband, her newborn and my parents wasn’t even a fair fight. I was outnumbered and still had to deal with letting down Mister gently enough to keep him from getting me kicked out of school. I didn’t plan on leaving school, unless a gig I couldn’t refuse landed in my lap. I had every intention of perfecting my craft; I was bred from two type-A personalities after all.
“What did you say?”
He coughed on the inhale of his joint he was blazing up when he heard my question. “I don’t wanna go alone. I met your family.”
“That wasn’t planned. That was happen-chance.”
“Seriously? You asked me to meet your sister. Actually, no… you didn’t give me a choice. Now you don’t have one either. Friday at 6; they don't respond well to tardiness.”
He sat up against the wall where a headboard should be. “I don't do meeting parents. I'm your father’s worst nightmare, and let's be real: If your mom is anything like you, then she’ll probably throw your dad a bone and fuck him while thinking of me.”
I yanked the joint out of his hand, knowing neither of my parents were going to approve of him nor give us some kind of blessing. He was right, but I wasn’t giving him the glory of it.
“You could pretend to care…” My snide comment ran rampant, before I could catch it. After confessing my love for him and sticking by his side like glue, only to be arrested, I felt like I was the only one taking any risks.
“I’m not an actor, Addi. I don’t pretend. I don’t indulge in bullshit. I’m not gonna be the boyfriend you want me to be. That’s not how I work.”
I inhaled and exhaled on his joint, wondering what kind of boyfriend he was then. He had no problem seeming like a normal boyfriend for Layla every time I saw him with the Sinners. Maybe that was the difference: I wasn’t Layla, so I didn’t warrant any real risk.
This would be my luck: escape a family constantly comparing me to my perfect sister only to fall in love with a guy who is gonna compare me to his ex, who committed a robbery of his heart.
“You don’t need to keep going. I get it. No one is gonna be Layla.”
I threw on the shirt still clinging to the bed sheets that I was meant to put on before I had stripped down, and I stepped into my shorts. I needed space to digest, space to talk to myself, space to hate him, because laying right next to him after the best sex of my life wasn’t going to happen.
“Where are you going? It’s three in the morning, Addi.” His voice sounded disappointed and softer than normal.
I fought every urge to listen to the change he made for me, and I kept on track. “I’ll get a Lyft back to the hotel. Our flight is in the morning anyways; all my stuff is there.” I steadied my voice, trying to seem casual, like nothing was wrong, when I was really fighting back tears.
“Addileigh…” he rarely used my full name, not since I told him in the alleyway behind Fenway Park that I go by Addi, hating every syllable of my full name.
“I’m fine, Hunter. I’m adjusting my expectations. Thank your stepmom and dad for me… for saving us.”
He sat up even straighter, but nothing about his body language was going to run after me. I wasn’t running away for him to run after me, but part of me still hoped for it. I wanted my feelings for him to snuff out every memory of Layla, but they couldn’t. I was still comparing that version I saw with her to the unwilling version I got, and he was still comparing me to her, limiting the kind of person he’d be with me to protect his heart better this time.
You don’t get to choose how or who you fall in love with. That’s why it was the most dangerous thing on my master list.
I pulled out my phone, requesting a ride to the hotel, and I ended up waiting twenty minutes for a ride, before I slid into the backseat. I looked at my phone screen, waiting for Hunter to regret putting limits on us, but no messages came through. I should have just been happy that the guy I finally told I had feelings for had any for me back, but that wasn’t good enough though. I knew what kind of love I wanted to avoid—the kind filled with self-loathing and self-destruction. I had standards, and if he couldn’t love me more than Layla, then I knew it wasn’t meant to be at all.
He had to love me more for this to work.
I pressed the self-destruct button pretty quickly in all situations. It came with growing up how I did and hiding under the layers of fake beauty I spent hours perfecting daily—a special kind of self-sabotage. I logged onto my American Airlines app and switched my flight for sooner, three hours sooner, for a small fee for cancelling the old one.
Everything in the world made it easy to make snap decisions. I thought making a master list would be for giggle, fantasizing a life I could never have when I was chained to my sister’s shadow. Turns out, the world loves to corrupt a girl.
Once I got the confirmation email, I exhaled a sigh of relief to be headed home. LA wasn’t the most glamourous trip I thought it would be, and in Florida, I got arrested. At least Boston was safe.
I typed out a message to Mister: I’ll be
back earlier than expected.
I knew better than to text Mister when I planned on ending it, but that was when I was hopeful Hunter was jealous and falling for me too. Mister couldn’t hurt me emotionally the way Hunter could.
It wasn’t even a few minutes later when my phone buzzed in my hand as I slipped out of the car. Flipping over my phone, I read the message.
Mister: Things flop with your boyfriend?
He had seen me on campus with Hunter and assumed pretty quickly he was my boyfriend. After that assumption, Mister started throwing it in my face during our sex by asking me questions that would never apply to Hunter. He wasn’t ever going to me mine.
“Does your boyfriend know how wet you get for me?”
“Does your boyfriend get to hear you moan like this?”
“Does he know how to fuck my dirty girl?”
It was my breed of punishment for fucking a married man, for having it on my master list, and for being delusional in loving Hunter when he had no idea. I took my punishment and pretended he was my boyfriend, like the damn good actress I am. With Mister, I could pretend to be Hunter’s, and that was the best part of fucking him: being someone else’s.
After I packed, leaving Hunter’s things scattered around the room, I reapplied my cherry lipstick and pressed a kiss into a napkin. This was how I would say goodbye; it was perfectly me and to the point. We weren’t actually in love with each other enough to merit more than just a kiss, this napkin.
Boston in April was always the time of year I loved. It was warm enough to pretend I was somewhere else, and people weren’t hiding in their homes from the harsh cold.
My plane ride was smooth next to an empty seat I was wishing Hunter occupied, but I knew ultimately it was for the best. Two villains falling in love? That was something too diabolical and that would upset the greater balance. We both deserved second best as penance for our sins.
A married man.
A girl who chose someone else.
A loss we both deserved for being us: ruthless, selfish, and all around morally corrupt.