His eyebrows rise. “I can certainly arrange that.” This time he licks his lips. I feel guilty because I imagine them on me, but I shouldn’t since Brooks is banging Eliza and doesn’t yet know he’s engaged to the wrong girl.
I laugh. “So, have you talked to Brooks today?”
“Yeah, why?” He furrows his brow as if my question was criminal.
“Oh, I was just wondering how everything went—about the fight. We had breakfast this morning, but we didn’t talk about what happened.”
“I talked to him on the way to pick you up,” he says. “They’re good. He can’t stay mad at her,” he says, shaking his head.
Of course Brooks doesn’t know I was there to hear it, but Eliza must have the pussy of all pussies for him to get over her bullying tantrum that fast. Maybe he doesn’t really care that much about what we had—what I know we can still have.
“That’s good to hear.” I want to stab myself with the knife on my plate. “I’d hate for something to happen so close to the wedding.”
He sets down his glass and smiles. “What, you mean, like, break up?”
I shrug.
A deep, guttural laugh pierces my ears, so loud most of the heads in the restaurant turn to us. Briefly, it’s like I’m back in high school—the ugly girl everyone’s eyes were glued to. “Dude, they’ve been together for ten years. They’ll be together until one of them dies.”
I restrain myself from slapping him in the face. Just because a couple is together for ten years doesn’t mean they’ll stay together until death. Unless one of them dies really soon. I mean, I guess I could see myself pushing Eliza off a boat somewhere and telling her to swim home and not feeling bad because I didn’t kill her … the sharks did.
“They want us to go with them to Colorado this weekend,” I say.
“Yeah, I talked to Brooks. I’ll be there. They already covered our tickets.”
Deacon drops a fifty on the table as we complete the rotation around the restaurant. He asks if I want to do anything else—see a movie, get ice cream, anything. I say no, and he says he got us a room at the hotel because of the drinking and hopes that’s okay. I push him to tip Eduardo one hundred dollars, because Eduardo is awesome and deserves more than Ramen. He smiles, snatches back the fifty, and lays down a Benjamin.
Our hotel room is fancy enough for romantic sex, but I don’t think Deacon got this room for sex. Most guys would rip a girl’s clothes off immediately upon the door closing. Instead, I hop on the bed. He opens the mini fridge, and asks me if I want a bottle of water that undoubtedly costs more than a gallon of milk. I say sure, because Deacon is rich, and I’m rich, and the kids in Decatur don’t need water at this hour. But I mainly say yes because I’m thirsty after all the walking we did to get to the room.
I suck down my water. Deacon is leaned back on the bed, and he goes for the remote. Is he really about to watch a guy grill a burger when I’m right here, serving myself to him on a platter? I have a month-and-a-half to practice sex. We have no time for burgers.
I get off the bed, and stop in front of the TV. Turn my back to Deacon. Reach behind me and slowly pull down the zipper of my dress. The TV goes black. Deacon’s hands appear on my waist, and he pulls me closer to him, helping me with the zipper. The dress falls to my feet, and his lips kiss me from my neck down to the top of my panties.
“My God,” he says. “You are so damn beautiful.”
He turns me around after taking off my bra, biting my nipples gently before standing up and pushing me onto the bed. He pulls off my thong, his breath scorching against my cool skin. His hands guide my knees back, and holy shit. His tongue thrusts inside me. Licks me from the bottom of my pussy all the way to my clit. He flicks it back and forth, slow and light, but I pull his head harder against me. I was a virgin for twenty-seven years, and I want … need him to fuck my brains out. Slow is making love, and I’m reserving that for Brooks only. His mouth ravages me, but I don’t come, because I want Brooks to take my climax virginity, and no one else. I sit up, my fingers fumbling at Deacon’s jeans. Damn men’s jeans for being so hard to unbutton. He helps me. Steps out of them. Pulls off his shirt. His chest is covered in tattoos. He’s too nice to look so bad.
One of his hands tangles in my hair, and he pulls me. Guides my mouth to his cock. I didn’t get to practice on Jared, so I hope I don’t suck. I made another pun and laugh again. Deacon looks at me, confused, but I go for it and slide my lips over the head, then down his shaft. It’s not so bad, but I can’t go very far down. I’ll probably have to give a lot of blowjobs to kill my gag reflex, before I do it to Brooks, because I want to swallow the whole thing. My eyes water as Deacon thrusts far into my mouth. I worry I’m about to puke on his dick, but thank God he stops. He gets on the bed and pulls me on top of him, and I ride him. It’s different this time, not quite painful. Just a tight fit. It actually feels amazing having a hunk of warm meat inside your vagina. Who would have thought? He slaps a hand against my ass, and then I slap a hand against his face. That’s for saying Brooks and Eliza are forever. He looks at me, bewildered. Then puts a hand around my throat and chokes me while he thrusts from underneath. Finally, he pulls out and comes all over his chest while we moan loudly together.
Now that it’s over, I need to be shot. If I knew where to find a gun within reach, I’d pull the trigger myself. He wasn’t wearing a condom. I can’t believe I didn’t think about a condom. I knew it felt different than Jared, but why the fuck would I think about a condom, since I was a twenty-seven-year-old virgin who never had to think about condoms, and I want to kill him because he should be more responsible. I’m starting to panic, so I retrace my steps and know I didn’t take my anxiety med this morning.
I get off him. Fall onto the bed next to him. He wipes off his cum with tissues from the nightstand. His heart beats fast in his chest, and he’s catching his breath from all that upwards pumping he did.
“Why didn’t you wear a condom?” I ask.
He opens his eyes and looks at me. “What?”
“A condom. Why weren’t you wearing one?”
He looks offended. “I’m not one of those guys who carries condoms in my wallet, because I’m not just out to get laid, Emily. I didn’t bring you here to fuck you. But shouldn’t you have asked me this before we had sex? You’re kind of killing the mood.”
I won’t lose my opportunity to be with Brooks again because of his lustful mistake. He fucks a lot. He should know better. Me, I’ve only seen one condom in my entire life. I’ll kill him if I end up pregnant. “Sorry. I guess I was in the moment. But you don’t have anything, right?” God. Dangerous words regularly spew out of my mouth if I skip even one day of the crazy pills.
“Emily, what the hell? No!” He’s mad, but I don’t care. I can’t be catching any crotch critters and passing them along to Brooks.
Tension permeates the air, and I don’t like it, because that could mean tension in my plan. I laugh as believably as I can, and I slap his chest playfully. “I was just messing with you,” I say, and I kiss him.
He pulls me on top of him, and everything is better now. “You got me. Hey, you’re on the pill, right?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, and I’m not really lying, because he didn’t specify which pill.
I take Xanax and Claritin every day.
October 2, 2015
“Jesus, where is he?” Eliza sighs.
I look to my left and find her mouth squished between Deacon’s and my seats. My body twists as I raise myself up onto my knees, and peer over at her. She rolls her eyes and flops back. Looking over my shoulder, toward the front of the plane, there’s no sign of Deacon as the last of the passengers trickle in. “I’m sure he’ll make it.”
The steady melody of sighs escaping her make nearby heads turn. An elderly lady adjacent to us looks visibly uncomfortable at Eliza’s dramatic display.
“Babe, relax,” Brooks says, his hand resting on her thigh. “He can get another flight. No big deal.”
“I’m not gonna make it. I was on the way, but—something came up with a client.”
I lower my voice even more, not wanting Eliza to go into hysterics. “Can’t you get another flight later, then?”
“No, I—the whole weekend is fucked. I’m really sorry. I hope you’re not upset.”
“Oh, no, I’m—”
“Hey, I gotta run. Talk later?”
Before I can answer, he’s gone. I wonder what could have come up that was so important. Eliza will probably be pissed about me being a third wheel. But it’s great news, because … well, I’ll be a third wheel. Instead of two couples, it’ll just be the three of us, which is fantastic—no Deacon to distract, and Eliza can’t ask me to get off the plane and stay home.
“Who was that?” Eliza asks, her fingers grasping the top of my seat.
“Deacon. He can’t make it.”
“What?!” she hisses, nearly jumping from her seat.
“Babe, calm down,” Brooks says. “It’s not a big deal.”
“How can he just—”
“Ma’am,” a flight attendant says. “I need for you to buckle up, please. We’re ready for departure.”
Eliza’s mood eventually mellows, but she wears her disappointment proudly like a designer handbag, not speaking a word to the driver who drives us from the airport to her family cabin.
It deserves a feature in Southern Living—large and lavish with primitive touches scattered throughout and nestled near a breathtaking string of mountains. The two-story great room is huge with a staircase leading up to four oversized bedrooms, one of which was meant for Deacon and me and has a box of chocolates on the bed.
“Teak will be here in five,” Eliza says, once we’re all in the great room after unpacking.
“Teak?”
“Our chef,” she says. “It still pisses me off that Deacon just bailed on us last minute.”
“Let it go,” Brooks says. “He’s had some big cases lately. I’m sure he couldn’t get out of whatever it was.”
She sighs again, her signature move, and when the chef shows up, I’m glad for the change in the air. Teak is a tall, gangly twenty-something with a long beard and a nose ring, who can chop onions and peppers with magical precision and swiftness. He and Eliza seem to grate on each other a bit, but after a taste of his fajitas, I decide she must love his cooking too much to insist on his firing.
Teak cleaned up after our dessert and wine, and we all headed to bed—exhausted from jetlag. I’ve probably been lying here for an hour now, unable to get comfortable on this mattress. I texted Deacon eleven minutes ago, but he hasn’t replied, which I find myself oddly wishing for, because I’m bored out of my mind, and I ran out of lives on Candy Crush. I stare at the ceiling, scenes of a real-life movie playing in my mind: Brooks and I going on our first date. Brooks and I entering a relationship. Brooks proposing. Brooks and I planning our own wedding. Having a baby. All of it is within my reach—I just have to know when—
“Fuck,” I hear. My eyes narrow as my head lifts off the pillow. Then what sounds like, “Oh, God,” followed by thump, thump, thump, and a rattling sound. I fling the covers off and dart out of bed. I wonder if someone has broken in, or worse—if Brooks and Eliza are having sex. I press my ear against the wall, but the sounds fade. My eyes cut to the bedroom door, and I realize the sounds are flowing from underneath it. Creeping over to it, I turn the knob slowly, and ease it open just enough to squeeze past. I’m prepared to head for one of the other bedrooms, deciding a robbery is unlikely and thinking maybe Brooks and Eliza were decent enough to take their activities across the hall. But the sounds reverberate around me, echoing off the walls. It’s evident they’re coming from downstairs. I tip-toe toward the banister, and as the great room comes into view, a scream almost explodes from my throat. I cover my mouth, my stomach quivering with rage.
Eliza naked on the couch, the palms of her hands pushing against the end table, causing two wine glasses to clink together. Brooks shirtless between, his head moving slowly between her thighs, an arm moving rapidly as he fingers her.
“God, Brooks,” she says. Back arching unnaturally, legs shaking like she’s about to erupt.
Brooks suddenly pulls back, and I get the view I never wanted to see—Eliza spread eagle, her twat glistening from his spit, full from her excitement. He tugs at his belt to loosen it, to plunge his dick inside that undeserving vessel. I can’t watch another second. Can’t stand to hear another sound. Part of me wants to stay here, frozen on the landing until his cock bounces out from his zipper so I can get a peek, but I can’t. I back up gently until they’re out of view … back, back, back …until I reach the door again. Grip the coolness of the doorknob. Slam it shut. Silence kills everything. Then, there are whispers.
“Emily?” she finally calls.
I rush to the stairs, begin my descent, then lazily look toward them. Eliza curled into a ball with a pillow shielding her femininity, Brooks hurriedly zipping and buttoning his pants. I gasp, faking surprise, and rub an eye. “Oh! Oh my God!” I turn, heading back up.
“Sorry,” Brooks says. I turn back to them, my eyes shut. “We got carried away.”
“So embarrassing,” Eliza says. “Sorry, Em.”
I crinkle my nose, eyes glued shut. “Nothing to apologize for. Goodnight.”
“Eliza and I were gonna go out on the boat after … uh—you wanna join us?”
We rock rhythmically with the ripples of the lake. I’m perched at the front of the boat, goosebumps dotting the bare skin not protected by my bikini or shorts. Crisp, fresh air fills this vast space, caressing the mountains, while the glow of the moon guides us in the darkness. A gust of wind dances past, sending my hair flowing behind me as I take in the view. Colorado is amazing.
I steal a peek over my shoulder, my stare obscured partially by my hair, and am disheartened at how very in love they look. His body relaxed on one of the seats. Hers draped across his, her arms clutching his neck. The look in their eyes, the one that says they’re so lucky to have found each other. The occasional kiss that squeezes every drop of life from my heart, except one—one drop that’s enough to push me forward, no matter how much it hurts. One drop that’s enough to change all our lives.
“I’m thirsty,” Eliza says, rising from his lap. “Want anything, Brooksie?” Brooksie. First time I’ve ever heard her say that, and hopefully the last.
“Nah, I’m good, babe.”
I face the moon again, the wind whipping through my hair.
“You, Em?” she asks.
The movement of the cooler lid. Ice cubes rubbing together. The pop of a soda can. “No, thanks.” Out here—out in this gorgeous preserve of nature—looking at the stars, all I can think about is how insignificant we all are. How it’s important to make do with the cards you’re dealt. How my parents never had good cards, but how I’m lucky to have gotten Grandma Gertrude’s.
“I got you a margarita, anyway,” she says.
I start to wave her off, but the boat dips a bit, driving her shoulder into mine. I lose my footing, my arms flailing as I struggle to regain balance. But I fail. Now I’m falling face-first toward the frigid, black water.
“Emily!” Brooks yells, the second and third syllables garbled as I plummet into the icy bath and it fills my ears.
I blow out the breath I instinctively took before I submerged—a mistake, as my body sinks farther with the act. I don’t open my eyes. I’m paralyzed with fear. I’m claustrophobic, and I know I won’t be able to see anything if I do. Everything will be black, painted in darkness. I try to paddle upward, but my body is so cold. My fingers and toes frozen in numbness. My lungs beg to suck in the air it desperately needs as I attempt to swim. Only I’m not making progress. I’m not reaching air. This is karma for fantasizing about pushing Eliza off a boat and letting the sharks feast on her, I think. Only, h
ere it’ll be a catfish that eats me.
I’m going to die.
October 2, 2015
This is it. I’m dying. My lungs are about to overpower my brain, and I’ll inhale water. I can’t find the surface. I don’t understand. I’m paddling and moving, striving for the direction I believe is up, but it’s as if I’m swimming to the bottom.
Strong movement in the water. Something touches my arm. In my panic, I open my eyes to see Brooks’s face staring at me—an angel lit by the moon and the glimmer of the stars. Then he’s gone. Where’d he go? Oh my God, I’m about to suck in water. I. Am. Going. To. Die! But, wait! He’s grabbing at my foot. Pulling it out of something. Something I didn’t even realize I was stuck to in my panic, but now I’m free. His face appears again, and his arm grabs around my waist, pushing me to the surface. Pushing me to life-sustaining oxygen.
My lungs fill instinctively and forcefully in my gasp for breath. He’s still holding me, his arm hooked around my waist, his thumb grazing the bottom of one of my breasts. He pulls me toward the boat, hoisting me up to the ladder with the strength of his arms, Eliza pulling me over the edge, and I collapse. Brooks falls next to me, both of us panting. Hearts rapid. Alive. Mine thudding against my chest. Eliza shouting words and asking questions that are indecipherable in my adrenaline rush. I cough.
“You okay?” Brooks asks, lifting himself on an elbow and patting me on the back. “Emily, answer me! Are you all right? I’m so sorry. The wake rocked the boat, and—”
“I’m fine,” I choke out.
Brooks pulls me up, and Eliza grabs me a towel. He takes it from her, wrapping it around me, and pushing me down into a seat. “Grab her the vodka,” he tells her, rubbing my arms vigorously in an effort to bring them warmth. “You were stuck in the fishing lure.”
Eliza thrusts the vodka into my hand, and I take a sip, the liquid warming every cell in my body.
“You sure you’re fine, Em? Think you need to go to the hospital or anything? I’m so sorry.”
The Evolution of Ivy: Poison Page 10