by Jay McLean
I flatten my palms under his shirt and finger the dips of his abs.
He pushes my panties past my hips, past my ass, and watches them fall to the floor. Then he dips his finger inside me, slowly moving in and out.
I unbutton and unzip his jeans and roughly tug them down. I sense his body go rigid, but I don't stop, not until he's freed and my fingers are curled around him. I moan when I feel the warmth of his dick in my hands. "Show me what to do?"
He removes his mouth from my breast and kisses me softly, using his spare hand to guide mine to his pleasure.
It only takes minutes for that ache in my stomach to reach its peak. "Something's happening," I whimper while my eyes shut tight and my body tenses.
"You want me to stop?" He sounds panicked.
I am panicked. "Fuck no."
"Good," he says, our eyes locking. His fingers work while my hand moves up and down.
"Oh my God."
His fingers...
"Oh my God."
In. Out.
"Oh my God," I repeat.
"Lucy, I'm so close."
In. Out.
"Cameron!"
"Kiss me."
So I do.
My eyes roll to the back of my head.
My hips jerk forward. And if possible, he gets even harder in my hands.
His mouth.
His fingers.
"FUCK!" I moan.
And then it happens. Over and over. And over. And over. It builds. Slow. But fast.
I roar. ROAR. My head thrashes, smashing against the wall behind it.
He comes at the same time—on my hand, his jeans, my shirt, everywhere.
My body goes limp.
He pulls back, his eyes closed and his jaw tense.
His breathing is heavy, matching mine. His eyes open but they seem distant.
"Oh my God."
A hint of a smile forms on his perfect face. "Was that okay?
I nod.
"We should probably clean up."
I chuckle as he walks to the sink. He runs the tap and leads my hands under the running water. When I'm done, he uses a hand towel to clean my shirt, his jeans, and then finally his hands. I sit up on the counter and wait for him to finish. When he is, he looks at me with eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face.
"That was amazing," I tell him, wrapping my legs around his knees and bringing him between me.
He finishes buttoning his jeans and rests his forehead on my shoulder. "You were amazing." He kisses my neck, up my jaw and to my mouth. "We should probably get out of here before we do something stupid."
I laugh. "I think I need a drink."
*
He gives me a drink.
I ask for more.
And now I'm puking into the bushes while he holds my hair out of the way. "I'm sorry, babe. I should've stopped you."
It's not his fault. I wanted to drink so that I could stop myself from raping him in public.
"Oh my God," I mumble, thinking about the way his fingers felt inside me.
"I'm sorry," he repeats.
I puke again.
When I'm done, he helps me to sit down on the sidewalk. He was halfway to helping me get to the car when my stomach decided it didn't want whatever was in there.
"Are you okay?"
I nod, but my head is heavy and I'm ridiculously tired all of a sudden.
"Will you be alright here while I get the car?"
I nod again.
"Just don't talk to anyone, okay? I'll be quick."
I see him stand, his phone halfway to his ear before I drop my head and take a nap.
Naps are good.
"Hey." I hear a girl’s voice from above me. I don't recognize it but I know it's not Tess and her clapping vagina. "Are you okay?"
I lift my head—too quickly.
She's with others, but she tells them to get the car and meet her back here. "You not feeling great?" She sits next to me and crosses her legs.
I don't know who she is, but she seems nice enough. "I puked."
She giggles quietly. "Yeah, I can smell that."
Grimacing, I face her. "I'm sorry."
She shakes her head, her smile warm. "It's fine. We've all been there."
"You don't go to my school," I tell her.
"No. I don't think so." She nudges me lightly. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"
"My boyfriend's getting my car. He's gonna come to me and save me. He saves me a lot."
She chuckles at that. "That's a good boyfriend. How long have you been together?"
I don't even find it odd that a stranger is talking to me while the smell of my puke surrounds us. Maybe I'm drunk, or maybe she just seems so genuine that it doesn't matter. "Since sophomore year," I answer.
"Me too!" she perks up. "Well, not your boyfriend obviously, but mine."
I can't help but smile. "Better not be my boyfriend. I'd have to cut you, and I don't want to do that. I like you."
She laughs quietly again. "No, my boyfriend's in college. We do the whole long distance thing."
I raise my knees and rest the side of my head on them, knowing that the girl I'm facing is just talking to keep my mind off puking. And it's nice. She's nice. "That must suck. Cameron and I are... what's that word? Unseperatable?"
"Inseparable?"
I snort. "Yes, that's it! And I want to be a writer."
"Hey," she says, her eyebrows raised. "Not every writer needs to know all the words, they just need to know how to use them."
"That's true."
I hear footsteps start approaching and try to lift my head, but it's too damn heavy. "Lucy?" Logan says, but then sniffs the air.
"I puked," I announce loudly.
He squats in front of me, next to stranger girl. "I know. Cameron called and said to come out and take care of you. Here," he hands me a bottle of water, "have this."
I take it and chug it all down. I burp when I'm done, but he doesn't seem to care. Neither does stranger girl. "Did I interrupt your... you know..." My eyes dart from side to side; making sure that no one can hear me. When I know it's safe, I continue with a whisper, "Sexy times?"
He chuckles and shakes his head. "No, Luce. And even if you did, you know you’re my number one girl."
"Careful," stranger girl tells him, "If her boyfriend's anything like her, he might cut you."
Logan laughs, louder this time. "Oh, he's tried," he responds. I don't know what he means but I don't ask.
"I'm Logan," he says. He must be talking to stranger girl, because I know his name's Logan. I'm not a dumbshit. I drop my head on my knees again.
"It's nice to meet you, Logan. I'm Amanda." A car pulls up to the curb. "And that's my ride."
I lift my head and wave goodbye.
She gets in, not another word spoken.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
-CAMERON-
She's fallen asleep in the passenger's seat while I replay the night in my head. I never really wanted it to happen like this, the first time we were... I dunno... intimate? I wanted it to be something she'd remember. Something that she'd be excited to call Claudia—her friend in New Jersey—and tell her about. I didn't want it to be in a bathroom at a party while she was buzzed. I don't regret it, though. Not for a second. Which I guess is the reason why I'm wearing a shit-eating grin as I pull into her driveway.
The porch light is on and her dad's sitting at the table—his usual spot when he's working late.
I crack a window and get out of the car, making sure to close the door quietly so I don't wake her.
"Hey Cam," he says, as I climb the steps. His eyes are red, and he looks tired. I notice the half empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. "She passed out?"
"Just fell asleep." My gaze moves from the bottle to him. "Everything okay?"
His eyes drift shut, but he nods. "Just having a night cap." He leans back in his chair and looks toward Lucy, whose head is resting on the window of the car.
"I wa
s just going to carry her to her room if that's okay with you?"
"She drink tonight?"
"You want me to lie to you?"
He chuckles. "Yes."
"Then no, she didn't drink. She also didn't puke either."
His face turns to a grimace. "At least she's experienced it once, right? I'm glad you were there with her."
"Of course."
He inhales deeply and looks at his watch. "Curfew at one?"
"Yes sir."
Rubbing his hand across his beards, he asks, "You think you can call your mom? Ask her if you can stay with Luce tonight? She might need someone in case she gets sick again."
My eyebrows bunch in confusion. We've never spent the night together, but I guess we've never asked. We just assumed it wouldn't be allowed. "Are you sure?"
His eyes close again, like he almost can't control it. "Just don't take advantage of it, okay?"
"I'll just text her, she's probably at Mark's anyway." I hit send, and not a second later her name flashes on my screen. She speaks to Tom quickly before agreeing.
He tells me to leave Lucy in the car and sit with him for a bit. "Are you sure you're okay?" I ask him.
He doesn't respond to my question. "You ever had whiskey?"
I shake my head.
He pulls a glass off the tray and starts pouring.
It's the second time today an adult has given a minor alcohol.
The liquid burns in my throat. Tom laughs.
"That's..."
"An acquired taste," he finishes for me. "It's for grown men."
I try it again. Same reaction.
"How's school?"
"Good. Lucy keeps me in check."
"College plans?"
"Still the same."
He leans back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest. "Tell me again?"
And even though I have a feeling he already knows it all, I tell him anyway. Because I don't think it's about the college plans. I think he's just lonely.
I never really thought about college until Lucy came along. At first, it was just because I knew she wanted to go to UNC. She said that's where her parents met on graduation day. It wasn't until Tom saw my sketch and said that I could be an architect that I started taking it seriously. Lucy helped me to switch classes and start a plan. For now, UNC's a dream. I doubt I'd get accepted, and even if I did, we wouldn't be able to afford it. Mom and Luce have been going crazy looking into the grants and scholarships. They said it would be unlikely I'd get financial aid because of Dad's income, not that we ever see any of it.
I try to stay out of it. They may think it's possible, but I don't want to get my hopes up.
The original plan was for me to follow her there, get a full time job and maybe a little apartment for us. Now, it's most likely community college and, somehow, scrape together enough change for a tiny studio apartment. I don't think she'd want to live with me in a place like that, but I don't want to be too far from her that I wouldn't be able to see her every day. Everyone knows my plans, and the only one that has questioned me following my high school sweetheart like a sick puppy is my dad. I would argue with him, but I can see his point. On paper, it seems crazy. In real life, crazy would be me if I didn't get to see her every day.
Tom nods while I explain all of this to him, but I doubt he's really listening. "Are you sure you're okay, Tom?"
"Yeah," he sighs. "I'm having a rough day is all."
I rub the back of my neck nervously. "You want to talk about it?"
He eyes me now, his gaze so intense I almost forget to breathe. "Lachlan called Virginia Mom." He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Actually he's been calling any woman he sees Mom. Virginia said it was because he gets confused at the playgroups she takes him to." He sighs and sips his drink. "I just miss her, Cam." He sniffs and wipes his eyes again, trying to hide his tears. "Some days are good, some days are bad. Today's a bad day. But two days ago, I had the worst kind of day. I forgot her." He sniffs again, clearing his throat roughly. "I went a day when I didn't think about her, and I went to bed thinking it was a good day, and then I realized why. I don't want to forget her, but it hurts too much to always remember her, you know?"
"No." My voice breaks, I clear it quickly. "I don't know," I answer truthfully. "And to be honest with you, I don't ever want to know. I can't spend a day without seeing Lucy. I don't even want to begin to understand the world of hurt if that were forever."
He nods, his tears falling faster than before. "Hey, remember that time you and Lucy were here and she was telling you how she pictured your first house? You know, after college."
I laugh once. "Yeah, she was so detailed she asked me to sketch it."
He reaches over the table to his briefcase and clicks it open. He pulls out a few sheets of paper and goes through them. "This is your sketch, right?" He pushes my sketch across the table.
"Yeah, that's it." I smile. "How did you get this?"
"You left it on the coffee table."
"Oh."
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Then he sighs heavily and drops the rest of the papers in front of me. "I built it," he states.
Before I can wrap my head around what he's just said, he continues, "About a mile from here, still on our property. I'm going to show Luce tomorrow. She needs somewhere quieter, she's always complaining she can't study with all the noise. Just don't abuse my trust okay, Cam?"
I shake my head. "No, sir. I wouldn't."
"I know." He nods slowly. "I know that." He sighs again. "Can I be honest with you?"
"Always."
"I don't know... maybe when you guys go off to college, you can come visit me every now and then. That cabin will always be there for you two. Maybe summers you can come home? I know the boys will miss you." He wipes at his eyes again, unable to hold it in any longer. "You coming into Lucy's life the way you did—I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there—if you weren't there to see her suffering. Sometimes I wonder what she'd be like now if you..." He clears his throat. "I'm just grateful you're around for my little girl."
I watch as he stares down at the table, his eyes red raw from all the tears he's been crying, probably well before I showed up. And I've never felt what I feel now—this intense ache for a man that's lost half of himself. A man that's so hurt and so confused by his wife's memory that he's stuck. Not wanting to move forward but afraid to go back. "My wife would've loved you, kid," he mumbles, his eyes never lifting.
And even now, when he's so emotionally drained, he's still thinking of her. He still calls her his wife. I wonder if he'll always think of her as that, even when she's long gone. His forever wife.
I suck in a breath and swallow nervously. Squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, I inform, "I'm going to make Lucy my wife one day."
"I know," he says without hesitation. "And when that day comes, you come see me, okay?"
***
"My mouth tastes pukey," she says, stumbling to her bathroom. I don't think she's drunk anymore, just tired. She pauses with the toothbrush in her mouth and glances at me quickly before opening the cupboard under the sink and handing me a new one. When she's done, she flops onto her bed, her legs dangling off the edge with one arm covering her eyes. "Goodnight."
Chuckling, I stand over her and take her in. All of her. My heart does that thing. That tightening thing, the one that randomly reminds me of how in love with her I am. "Let's get your clothes off."
"Seriously, Cam?" she whines. "My brothers are in the next room."
"Yeah, Luce," I mock. "I was planning on having my way with you. Why do you think I'm here?"
She leans up on her elbows, her eyes unfocused. She glares at me curiously, questioning if I'm serious.
I roll my eyes and ask, "Where are your pj's?"
"Bottom drawer," she says, pointing to her dresser.
I pull out the drawer and find the ones I bought her for Christmas last year. The pair that says Boys in books
are better. She laughed when she opened it, but pounced on me and kissed all over my face. "It's a lie, you know?" she said. "No fictional boy has ever compared to you."
I pull them out of the drawer, but stop halfway when I see a book underneath. It's leather bound and old looking. "Is this your diary?" I tease, turning to her.
"What?"
I lift it and show her.
"Oh, no. That's my mom's. She gave it to me before she died."
"Oh." I feel like an asshole.
"It's okay," she says. "Actually, bring it here."
I pick it up carefully and take it to her, along with her pj's. I undress and re-dress her slowly. Taking in every curve of her body. When I'm done, she gets into her bed and pats the spot next to her. I shrug out of my jeans and get in. "This is nice," she says. "Having you here. Spending the night with you."
We get comfortable, side by side with her head in the crook of my arm. She places her mom's diary on my chest. "I used to read it when she started to get really sick and she could barely talk. I'd take it into my closet and read with a flashlight." She yawns loudly. "Sometimes I'd take my covers and throw them over me. She used to do that with us kids. She'd create a makeshift tent in the living room and sit us in a circle while she read us stories. I always sat next to her." She laughs once, but it's the sad kind. "She used to pretend that she didn't know words and get me to read them to her. She'd make me feel so smart, you know?" She wipes her eyes across my arm. The warmth of her tears soaks my skin. "I miss her."
"I know, baby."
"Will you read some to me?"
"Are you sure?"
She nods through a yawn. "Just a little, until I fall asleep."
I pick up the diary and flip it to the first page. Then I start to read to her.
When I was a kid, we had a dog. A car hit it when I was ten. I cried and cried. I screamed and yelled and Mom would hold me in her arms and tell me that it was okay. "But I love Mimi," I'd tell her. "I love her so much! More than anything in the entire world!"
Mom laughed at me. "Wait until you have kids," she'd said.
And I never believed her, not until now, not until I write this entry with Lucy in my arms. She's an entire day old. And she's more perfect than the greatest harmony, or the brightest double rainbow.