by James, Ella
I tell myself to hate it. Hate her. Because there’s not a different outcome. Not for us. There never was.
In the end, I hurt her. That’s our fucking fate. This sweet girl with her bears and her little cabin. She’s not mine. Not even for a night. Not even for a minute.
I walk upstairs again, and climb the ladder to the attic room. The little library is filled with amber light. There on the window seat, Gwen lies curled on her side, covered by a quilt. I stand there with my feet on the top step of the ladder, longing to go over to her.
I don’t even need to touch her. I just want to see her. Not through a windowpane or through a fucking scope.
Of course, I don’t go over to her. I head downstairs and pull my phone out of my pocket. Pull up Netflix, brew some coffee, get my .338. I step out onto the deck, leaving the door cracked so I hear her if she walks downstairs.
In the meantime, I can’t let this—I can’t let Gwenna—die so easy.
I sit on the deck for hours, scouring the internet. Licking her crumbs.
Gwenna White signs with Superior Model Management.
Gwenna White signs on for indie film End of Day.
Gwenna White signs with Forward Momentum Records.
“Gwenna White. Gwenna White. Gwenna White.” My breaths are clouds that linger longer than I would have thought.
When the cold has set in, when there’s nothing that I haven’t read and memorized and weaponized, I click on the link from the Breckenridge County Gazette, a small news brief dated January 1, 2012.
* * *
Gwenna
When I open my eyes, the first thing I think is that I’m obviously still dreaming. I seem to be floating, blinking out over the dark forest. Then I look down at the soft cushion I feel under me, and I remember everything. The window seat. Barrett. Barrett’s mouth.
I push myself up on one elbow as my eyes dart about the little attic room. He isn’t here. What time is it? I turn back to the window, but the night gives nothing. I guess I fell asleep. Guilt wars with glee inside me. After a long moment, I decide to let glee win.
That happened.
Yeah…it happened. I didn’t return the favor—damn me! But it happened. Barrett wrapped his arm around me when we were talking about his brothers. He said we were friends, and then I gave him that little kiss—a friendly kiss—and it made him go crazy.
Not just me.
Barrett, too.
I remember his big body stretched over mine. The way he shook. How tight his face was, and him saying it had been a long time.
Glee loses ground to guilt.
I need to find him and return the favor! I can’t let this stand.
I toss the quilt off and discover I’m naked from the waist down.
“Damn.” I can’t stop a grin from spreading across my face as I hop down off the window seat. I shimmy into my leggings, do a little walk around the room, and feel my stomach flip as I look at the ladder.
Go get him!
I start down the ladder, then turn back around for my phone, which I find on the window seat. I check the time and am stunned to find it’s almost 1 a.m.
Oh God. I’m a taker. Shame heats up my neck and face.
I wasn’t even tired. Barrett was. I could see and feel how tired he was. I can’t freaking believe I let him get me off and then I fell asleep. I start down the ladder, praying I’ll find him asleep in his room. Preferably with his dick in hand.
His room is empty.
My chest feels tight as I descend the stairs. My feet feel heavy. This is so like me. Falling all over myself around him since we met, and then we get together and I screw it up.
I swallow hard as tears well in my eyes.
It’s not as if I’m such a catch, either.
That evil part of me… She’s hard to argue with.
I step into the den and find dying embers winking in the fireplace. He wanted me. He wanted me. I almost say it aloud, but then I notice the dark curtains over to my left. They’re drawn over the slider door, the one that leads onto the stilted deck. I’ve never seen them shut before. I step closer and I feel a rush of cool air.
Because the door is slightly open.
I creep more closely to it, peel the curtain back, and—
“Oh.”
It’s just a squeak. My hand covers my mouth as I blink at the glass door. Someone hit it. Someone—Barrett—hit it hard enough to dent it. There’s a fist-sized circle appearing white from all the little cracks, and all around it, thinner cracks ripple out.
He punched the door. Tonight? I try to remember whether the curtains were shut when we arrived here, but I can’t.
Then it doesn’t matter. I see movement on the deck: Barrett. He turns his head, and as I wrap my hand around the door handle, he steps over and pushes it open with his big arm, stepping inside in just jeans.
One of his hands is cradling his phone, and he looks somber. Tired.
“Barrett. I can’t— I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—” Heat stings my cheeks. “I…fell asleep.”
He blinks. “I let you sleep.” He slides his phone into his back pocket and takes a few steps past me. Then he looks over his shoulder. “I can walk you home now.”
“No…” I look into his eyes, expecting them to soften. “I want to…return the favor.” I step closer to him, giving him a little smile and reaching for his arm. “I wanted to so much, I can’t believe I didn’t. You… I was so tired after. I want to do it now, if you want. Then maybe you’ll be sleepy too.”
His face hardens. I feel like a fish on sand. “I’m sorry. I’m embarrassed. Let’s go to your room, and then I can walk home.”
He shakes his head, then turns around and starts toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it. I have some things I need to do.”
He glances once again toward me as he reaches his door, and my throat tightens. He looks apathetic. Cold.
I don’t notice I’ve stopped moving until he takes a black jacket off the coat rack beside the door and holds it out. “C’mon.”
I move toward him as if underwater. Something changed. What happened? Does he think I’m selfish?
“Barrett…” I reach for his arm, raised as he holds the coat open for me. He flinches back.
Well…shit.
I stand there staring at the jacket. Barrett moves around behind me. “Put your arms in, Gwenna.”
He regrets it.
I slide my arms into his sleeves. The jacket melds around me, cool, thin fabric. Some kind of Thinsulate shell thing.
My body pauses, awaiting his touch, so I am stunned to hear him turn a lock. I whirl around and frown.
“Is that a deadbolt?”
“Yes,” he says. He sounds almost robotic.
I don’t think the Haywoods had a deadbolt. Actually—I know they didn’t. Why’d he change the lock?
He steps onto the porch and holds the door. My eyes find his and plead. His shift away. He lets go of the door, and I push through it.
“Cold out here,” I murmur.
Maybe he mumbles something. I don’t even know. My pulse is pounding; blood is racing through my veins.
He starts down the stairs, a step in front of me. I realize he’s still shirtless. The wind blows at us from the direction of my house, and I can see a shudder race across his shoulders.
Sympathy for him. Or empathy. I don’t know why. My stupid heart won’t close its door.
It’s awkward now; I’ll have to break the ice again. His shoulders hunch against the wind. I tell myself I’ll do that as long as I have to. Break the ice and break the ice, until he’s thawed enough that I can always reach him.
When we’re halfway down the front porch stairs, I touch his elbow. “Hey…”
His body stiffens as his eyes come reluctantly to mine.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
“Why would anything be wrong?”
My blood runs cold. Even his voice is different. I feel sweat pop out along my hairline.
>
I wait a heartbeat for the swell of bravery I always feel around him—that extra little something that makes me feel the way I used to back before the accident, back when I was everything I hoped to be and I had never lost enough to make me second-guess myself. I look into his face and make myself available for when the feeling comes, so I can grab on and I’ll know what to say, or what to do. But nothing happens.
He stares at me like I’m no one to him, and all I hear is what he said at my house.
“We’re friends.”
“Are we?”
I have a split-second memory of my knee rubbing between his legs. His fingers surging inside me. The recollection warms my blood, and brings with that physical sensation a small crest of glee.
I press my lips together and look over at him. His eyes meet mine, but quickly pull away. He keeps on down the stairs.
As I follow behind him, watching his broad shoulders and the sparseness of his movements, I can almost see him on a catwalk. I look down at my ankle. I can’t even keep it straight. The foot turns slightly outward, as it has on stairs since the accident.
“Barrett?”
I don’t even mean to speak. My voice just reaches out for him.
He turns, his striking brows bunched and his lips pressed flat.
“I wanted to say thank you.”
As he nods and turns to step down the last stair, my throat thickens so much I can’t breathe.
“What do you mean just Mr. and Mrs. Wesson?”
I watch my parents exchange loaded looks. My mother shifts positions at the foot of my railed bed.
“They weren’t invited here,” she says to my father. My mother sounds defensive. Angry.
Why?
“Am I not here?” My voice sounds duck-ish—the words all rubbery and cramped. Because my mouth won’t work. They think I’m too doped up to notice, but they’re wrong. I saw it yesterday when Jamie helped me to the bathroom.
I lick at it and the numbness there spreads to my chest.
“Sit back.” My father strides over, his loafers clicking on the shiny tile floor. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “You know you’re not supposed to get excited, Gwen.” He steps back, giving me some space, and again, his eyes catch Mom’s.
She looks at me and her spine stiffens. “The Wessons wanted to see you, sweetheart. They flew out on their own. Jamie told us what you told her last night. About not wanting guests. So they’re going home. They’ll visit later, when they can.”
I blink a few times, and the pinkish walls behind my dad’s face shift a little. “What about Elvie?”
I look from Mom to Dad, alarmed to see his jaw tighten. “He couldn’t make it.”
“Why not?”
My mother scoots up closer to me. “He had school,” she says.
“Has spring break passed?” Tears pool in my eyes, because I realize I have no idea. I feel like an alien dropped here from Mars. One look down at my left leg, suspended in metal and casting, makes me feel like throwing up.
“It hasn’t happened quite yet,” Mom says.
My heart seems to lose its rhythm as sweat beads along my neck and hairline. “When did Elvie come?”
“He—” Dad starts.
“You were asleep,” my mother says firmly.
Again, the pinkish-tinted ceiling seems to spin.
“Did…Jamie said… Dad, Elvie came here, right?” I draw a breath. My lungs can’t seem to hold the right amount of air. My heart throbs as I struggle with my words. “He…came out those first few days,” I say. I inhale. Exhale. My ribs ache. “He sat in the waiting room. They wouldn’t let him in because…we aren’t engaged.”
“Yes.” My mother’s nod is emphatic.
My father blinks and casts his eyes down.
And I know. I know, I know, I fucking know.
“He hasn’t come…”
“Gwenna, are you coming?”
I blink up at Barrett’s tight-jawed face.
My eyes sting. “Oh,” I murmur. “Right…” I step down off the last stair as he turns away from me.
“Italy,” I murmur.
He turns. “What?”
I blink. “What?” I echo.
“You said something?”
I arch my eyebrows. “Nope.”
But I’m acting. I realize now…I said that out loud.
Perfect.
Hello, PTSD. Nice to see you.
Next time I blink, Barrett’s turning back toward me again. His eyes meet mine; they’re hard and strangely urgent. He steps into the woods before me, and when I scamper to catch up, hand wraps around my wrist and tugs—as if he can’t wait to get me home.
Chapter Two
Barrett
My fingers, gripping her arm, gentle almost as soon as I latch onto her. Guilt stings somewhere near the base of my throat. I want to wrap my arms around her, hold her close against me so she isn’t cold. I want to take her to her room and—
NO.
Never again.
You know you can’t. Stop thinking of it.
I lead her through the woods, stopping only to hold back a limb or take her elbow as she moves over a fallen log.
When we reach her porch, she scoops the bags of cookies up and steps up to the door, her hand already holding out the key. I stop at the bottom of her steps and wait.
She unlocks the door first, then turns slowly to me. I watch her gaze drag down my body. I can’t miss noting where it lingers. I grit my teeth and fix my eyes on her face.
Say something to her.
The wind blows her hair around her pink cheeks—and she beats me to it. “Barrett?”
I have to open my mouth to get air past the knot in my throat. “Yes?”
“Is it…the way I look?” Her eyes open wide, as if they’re filling up with tears and she’s trying to keep them from falling.
“What?”
Her eyes glisten. “I think maybe you’re just being moody. Hot and cold. Because of…whatever your reasons are. You might be mad because I fell asleep. But I can’t help thinking—I should ask… Well, I look…different.” She drags air into her lungs, her face a mask of misery. “I guess what I’m saying is, are you bothered by what happened earlier because you aren’t really attracted to me? Because I’m…injured?”
Looking up at her, holding those cookies, clad in my huge coat, I feel my own eyes ache with heat and pressure. I can’t stop my legs from climbing up her stairs, nor my hand gripping her shoulder.
“Look at me.” The words are snarled—much rougher than intended. Her gaze blinks against mine. “That’s what you think?” My heart pounds.
She presses her lips together.
My body feels heavy. My head feels light. Inside my veins, my blood runs hotter.
My finger finds the left side of her mouth: so soft. My jaw twitches as I look into her eyes. “Gwen. You think I care about this?”
Her brows arch: an unsure look.
Despite it all, I know I have to make her sure. I speak softly. “You think this—this little part of you—you think it bothers me? Would bother someone else?”
A tear falls down her round cheek, and my chest aches so much, I look down on instinct, checking for a wound. Of course, there’s nothing visible.
“Open the door, Gwenna.”
She drags her gaze away from mine and turns back to it. I try to inhale, but every part of me is buzzing and I can’t slow down.
My eyes rake over her: the shape of her under my coat. I fist my hands as she pushes the door open.
More than anything in all my life, I long to scoop her up and press her up against me. Standing still— not doing that— It makes my chest ache.
You can’t. It doesn’t matter how you feel.
Gwenna steps inside her living room and turns toward me. Her face flickers with emotion: delicate and fragile. Vulnerable. Because I took what wasn’t mine. I sought comfort from her. From day one, I’ve gotten in too deep with her. Tonigh
t, I did the unforgiveable.
So turn around and go. Your course is set.
I try to tell myself that walking into the cabin behind her will lead to more hurt down the road—for both of us. Logic has no place within me right now, though.
I need to wipe it off her face: that look. And then I’ll step away. I could end tonight on a high note, and then fabricate something: a long trip. After which I come back and pay my debt. Tonight, though—I could bowtie all this, leave her feeling beautiful and good.
Isn’t that the least that I can do for her?
Gwenna sighs. “I just wish I knew what you were thinking. Earlier… I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Or was that even it?” She puts her head in her hands. “I should shut up now. I know. If you don’t want things to be—”
I go to her in one long stride and take her arms in my hands.
“Gwen.” I look down at her face. “That little mouth…” I run my tongue over my own lips while my heart pounds. “You think I don’t want you? That I don’t want these lips…on every part of me?” My voice runs ragged. I swallow as I touch the corner of her mouth. Her eyes widen.
I stroke her lower lip, and my cock throbs.
“I could push you up against the wall—” I take her shoulders, turn her toward the nearest wall— “and rip these leggings off.” My fingers pluck at the elastic waistband. One delves inside, stroking soft, hot flesh.
“I could kiss those lips and then I’d eat that pussy one more time. Does it have red curls? I know it does. I had wondered; now I know. I could push my cock inside you, Gwen. I’d push in deep—until it almost hurts it feels so fucking good. Until you can’t move, and then you’re mine to take, you’re mine to please.”
I wrap a hand around the back of her head, forcing her to look up at me. Her nipples jut against the fabric of her shirt. I twist one, groaning as my dick throbs.
“Do you know how long it’s been?” She gasps and starts to pant. “It’s been a long time, Gwen.” I laugh, the mirthless sound of giving up. “I love this body. When we spar, I watch your tits—” I palm one now— “I watch your soft, round ass and want to sink my fingers into that plump pussy.”