by B. B. Hamel
We pushed out into the cool night air, Boulder’s downtown stretching out to our right.
“You drive here?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Okay. Where to then?”
“Let’s just walk.”
“Lead the way.”
He took off toward downtown and I tagged along, not trying to push the pace too fast. He was quiet as we moved along, his face unreadable, and I wasn’t sure what we were doing or where we were going. Not that I minded all that much; the night was comfortable and there weren’t many people out on the wide central walking path that wound its way between businesses. He looked stern and serious and probably in pain, and I wanted to reach out and touch his jaw, but instead I just kept my mouth shut and my hands to myself and enjoyed the night.
In the distance, the mountains loomed over everything.
I almost walked directly into his back before I realized that he had stopped moving.
“Whoa there,” he said, catching me as I stumbled around him.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize you stopped.”
He grinned at me, his hand clutching my waist. Neither of us moved for half a second, and he cocked his head at me.
“Let’s sit.” He nodded at a bench.
I shrugged and moved away from him, out of his grasp, and lowered myself down onto the bench. He sat next to me, letting out an audible sigh.
“Legs hurt?” I asked him.
“Fuck yes. I’m not too proud to admit that they hurt like a motherfucker right now.”
I laughed. “Very descriptive.”
“What can I say. It’s hard to be witty when walking hurts.”
I leaned back on the bench. “What are we doing here, anyway?”
He reached into his jacket, pulling out a flask. I looked at it and laughed.
“Didn’t have to steal this,” he said.
I blinked at him, letting the reference sink in. I reached out for it and he passed the silver metal off to me. I flipped open the top and took a long drag. It was whisky, but not the cheap stuff. It went down like honey and oak, smooth and delicious. I passed it back.
“That’s good,” I said.
“Yeah. With shit like this, it’s either tough to drink or it’s delicious. Not much middle ground.”
“Though the ending is always the same.”
He laughed and toasted me. “Here’s to that ending,” he said, taking a pull.
“Careful. I think you’re my ride.”
“I didn’t drink more than a glass back at that rich person’s funeral.”
“You mean the charity event?”
“Was that what it was? Sorry, I guess I couldn’t tell.”
I laughed and shook my head, looking out across the city. We were pretty alone on the bench, with a large hedge behind us and empty, open space ahead. I looked up at the mountains again and sighed. Out in Indiana, the only thing in the distance was more distance and snow. Usually just snow when it fell enough to block out the distance. And for most of the year, there was a thick, dark, permanent cloud cover that sucked the joy out of everything and blocked out the sun.
As much as I was bored at home, I had to admit that Colorado was pretty beautiful.
“Not bad,” Lincoln grunted.
“What is?”
“This.” He nodded at the mountains.
“You ever jump off them?”
He laughed and moved himself closer to me. My heart resumed its frantic thumping.
“Once, yeah. Back when I first started.”
“What’s it like?”
He was silent for a second, staring off at the mountains. I almost wondered if he hadn’t heard me, but then he started speaking.
“It’s like freedom. It’s terrifying and exciting and you’re alive and dead and everything all at once. You know there’s the potential for injury or worse, but that feeling you get hurtling toward the ground is totally worth all the risk. When you’re up there, it all stops.”
“I don’t think I could do it.”
He laughed at me. “You could. You’re the bravest person I know.”
I laughed. “Why do you say that?”
His face was close to mine. I could feel his warm breath. “Gorgeous and smart and brave. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for years.”
“Lincoln,” was all I could say.
“Fuck, Brie. You know what you do to me.”
“I don’t.”
He moved closer, his thigh against mine. I should have gotten up, but I couldn’t.
“You give me that feeling. That same feeling. Freedom and terror and sky all coming up at me. You fucking bring me back to earth, Aubrie. And I’m sick of not having you.”
I wanted to say something, but he crushed my reply against my mouth with his lips and kissed me hard.
It was like the last time, all those years ago. I pressed myself back against him, my arms around his neck, as the thrill and rush ran through my lips and chest, tingles cascading down my chest and spine. The air was crisp and his mouth was clean and open as he kissed me, his tongue touching mine, and I couldn’t do anything else, anything else in the world, but sit on that bench and kiss him back. It was what I wanted more than anything. All the worry and the stress and the fear and the desire, it was all there and it also wasn’t, and it felt so good. I thought it might never end. I was okay with that.
And then his phone started buzzing and ringing.
The old-style tone cut through the night. I pulled back, my forehead touching his, my breath coming deep.
“Silence it,” I said. He grinned and reached into his pocket with his right hand, his left hand around my waist. His cane lay forgotten on the ground.
He pulled it up and paused, fingers poised over the button that would silence it. His head turned slightly and I glanced at the caller ID. It said “Cliff,” which could only have been my dad.
“What does he want?” I mumbled.
Then Lincoln was gone, his forehead pulled away, his one hand holding the phone up to his face and the other retracting away from my body. I felt empty and wanted him back, but the doubt that had been held at bay by his touch flooded back into me, and I couldn’t believe what had happened.
Worse, I couldn’t believe how right it felt. That scared me more.
“Hello?” he said.
He paused and listened. “We went for a walk. Aubrie wasn’t feeling well.”
I stood up and moved a few feet away, trying to get my emotions under control. I glanced back and caught the look on Lincoln’s face, both confused and angry.
“Okay, I will,” he said.
He listened for another second and then hung up the phone.
“What did he want?” I asked.
“We should get you home.” He reached down and grabbed his cane and then straightened up.
“Lincoln, we should talk.”
He limped over to me and stood there, his face intense and concentrated.
“No, we shouldn’t. Let’s not talk. I said what I wanted to say. You think about it, and if you still want to talk, we can tomorrow.”
“What, you can just order me around?”
“Look, we have to get you home. Your dad was worried.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s go.”
I started walking back toward the venue and Lincoln’s car, not bothering to wait up for him. I was annoyed that he’d order me around, and annoyed that he’d break away from me just because my dad had called him.
Mostly, though, I was annoyed with myself. Because as much as I wanted it to not be true, I wanted him. I was soaking wet, and I would have gone down on him right there if he had wanted me to. I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me.
I was in for one awkward and quiet ride home. But he was right about one thing: I needed to think about what had happened. I needed to think about what I wanted.
I had to figure out if I would give in to what I knew could be a huge mistake.
&nb
sp; 10
Lincoln
I was falling. I could feel the wind whipping through my hair and the scream of it passing across my ear drums, and the sky all around me was dark. I couldn’t see the building I had just jumped from and I couldn’t see the ground, but I didn’t care because she was there, right in front of me. I could smell her hair and her skin, despite the sensory overload that falling inevitably brings. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer against me, closer even than the straps that held her body in place.
And we fell together. I felt more alive than I ever had before, and I could tell that I was laughing. I kissed her lips and wondered briefly why she was strapped in facing me instead of facing outward like usual. But I didn’t care. Somehow it made sense. I kissed her and she kissed me back, our lips and limbs intertwined. We were hurtling toward the ground faster than a train, our bodies tiny in the black void of the night, and all I wanted was her. My cock was hard and straining against my clothes. When we landed, I knew I was going to take her, right there. I was going to fuck her until everything was gone and she was mine.
I pulled away, wanting to look at her. She smiled at me and her mouth moved. I couldn’t hear what she was saying.
“What?” I yelled over the wind.
She said something again. Before I could respond, the old panic welled up in my chest.
“I need to pull the chord,” I yelled.
She kept smiling and saying something, over and over.
I reached back for the old familiar tug, but found nothing. I tried looking over my shoulder, craning my neck, but it was so dark and we were falling so fast. I patted my whole body, searching frantically for the cord, but it was gone.
It was completely gone.
Somebody had strapped Aubrie in wrong and had cut the cord and we were going to smash into the ground. We were going to smash like a shooting star, together.
“I can’t find the chord,” I yelled.
She kept smiling and saying something, over and over and over.
I wrapped my arms around her, pressing her head against my chest. I began to rotate, hoping that maybe my body would break her fall. Maybe she would survive. I held on to her tightly, the ground rushing up at us.
I woke up, drenched in sweat. Another fucking nightmare, I thought.
It was the same dream, but a little different. Instead of reliving the crash again, I was strapped in with Aubrie and we were falling together. We were falling without a chute.
I shook my head, clearing away the lingering feelings from the dream, and sat up. I hadn’t spoken to Aubrie since the charity event five days ago, but she was the only thing on my mind since then. The kiss, the look on her face, and the call from her dad. More than that, what it meant that I could barely keep myself from barging into her room every night and ripping off her clothes.
I moved to stand up and glanced down at myself. I sighed at the tented fabric of my boxers, the stiff morning wood more of an annoyance than anything else. It was a little weird that a dream about falling to my death with Aubrie got me hard, but I wasn’t about to analyze that too much. I was going through enough weird Freudian shit without trying to figure out every single symbol from my dreams.
I got up, limped into the bathroom, waited for my dick to soften enough to piss, and looked into the mirror. “Get your shit together,” I said softly to my reflection. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get the thought of that kiss out of my head. I had never wanted someone like I wanted her, and the years had only made that feeling even stronger.
It probably didn’t help that I hadn’t gotten laid in a while. Or that I kept jerking off thinking about Aubrie’s pussy wrapped around the head of my dick and her moan as she slowly slid down my length. I wanted to lift her up and push her down hard, pressing myself deeper into her. I wanted to make her throw her head back and moan until her voice went hoarse. I wanted to fuck her again and again until she limped as much as I did. I wanted to come deep into her throat, into her pussy, all over those full, firm tits, all over her perky, tight ass.
I glanced down at my dick, already stiffening again. I sighed, sitting down on the lid of the toilet, and spit into my hand, slowly working up and down my length.
I couldn’t go walking around the house thinking about how badly I wanted to spread Brie’s legs and fuck her rough from behind. There was no telling what I would do if I glanced her sitting by the pool, her body spilling out of her bathing suit. Maybe I’d walk over to her right then and there, rip off her bottoms, and lick her pussy until she begged for my cock. Then I’d let her ride me until she came, over and over and over. Or I’d bend her down, her hands flat on the back of the chair, and grab onto her hips hard as I thrust into her soaked pussy. I’d plunge myself deeper and deeper, slapping her ass.
I moved my hand faster up and down my length as I thought about all the different ways I wanted to fuck and ravage Aubrie. All the different places I wanted to make her come. All the different ways I could make her moan until she had nothing left.
I grunted softly as I came, the image of Aubrie’s lips wrapped around my shaft echoing through my brain.
Slowly, I calmed myself and cleaned up. I stood, sighing at the pain.
I may have gotten off, but I was nowhere near satisfied. I wasn’t sure I ever would be again.
The lights felt hotter than usual as I ran through the stretches. Pushing and pulling and moving, shaking out muscles, loosening aches and pains.
“You’re getting stronger,” Tracey said as she stood up.
I shrugged, catching my breath. “I’m already strong. My legs are just catching up to the rest of me.”
She laughed. “I believe that.”
I glanced over at Jess and saw her give me a slight nod. I figured she liked that line, which pissed me off a little bit. Ever since the charity event, I had been feeling more and more trapped by the cameras.
Before Aubrie showed up, they were just another means to an end, another PR stunt to further my career. But suddenly they had become an obstacle standing in the way of something that I wanted more than anything else.
“You ready for ten more?” Tracey said.
“Always ready for more.”
By the end of the halfway point of our morning session, I was already drenched in sweat and exhausted. I was probably pushing myself too hard, but I had something to work for, something more than just the ability to jump off tall shit again. We took our usual fifteen minute break, and I sat with my back against the wall, catching my breath as the crew wandered off. Jess approached me with this sly half smile.
“How’s it going today, Based?”
“Fine. How’s exploiting my image going for you?”
“Come on, don’t be that way. We’re getting some good footage.”
“I’m so glad I can be entertaining.”
She smiled big. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”
I blinked at her. “What now?”
She crouched down next to me. “We need more, Lincoln. You getting all sweaty is good, but we can’t just show you working out for two hours. We’re trying to sell this as an inspirational, meaningful piece.”
“You have all my tapes.”
“Yeah, we do. And that’s good. We’ll use plenty of that.”
“And the interviews.”
“Good stuff there, too. But we need to see you being a regular human, too.”
“What, I’m not normal enough?”
She laughed. “No, you’re a freak. We both know it.”
I frowned, not sure if I should be pissed off or if she was trying to compliment me. “Where are you going with this?”
“We need you to do stuff. See some friends. Talk to your family. Do anything other than mope around between PT sessions.”
That definitely annoyed me. “I don’t mope. What the fuck do you want from me?”
“I want you to do your job, Lincoln. Spend some time with your sister.”
“Stepsister,”
I correct her.
“Whatever. Talk to your mother. Help out with one of her events. Call up some old high school buddies. Do something other than act so damn depressing all the time.”
I clenched my jaw and struggled to my feet. Jess stayed crouched down and looked up at me.
“Fuck you, Jess. I’m giving you as much as I can.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Too damn bad.” I turned away and began to limp toward the door.
“I’ll talk to him, if I have to.”
I stopped and slowly turned back toward her. She stood up and smirked at me.
“The fuck you just say?”
“I’ll talk to him. I don’t want to, but I will.”
“You think this is some fucking game? That you can threaten me with my stepdad and jail and whatever else?”
“I need more, Lincoln. Just give me a little help with this.”
“I’d rather rot in a fucking cell again than help you.”
I turned and limped away, not bothering to listen to her reply. I was furious, beyond angry. I never thought the phrase “seeing red” could be literal, but I was literally seeing red. Everything was tinged red. I wanted to break something, to make something bleed, to punish something the way that I felt like the world was punishing me.
I wanted to crush the whole fucking house in the palm of my hand.
I ended up walking out the front door and slamming it behind me. I took a few steps out into the yard, breathing heavily.
“You okay?”
I looked over my shoulder at Brent the cameraman smoking a cigarette.
“Yeah. Fine.”
He shrugged and took a drag. “You look pissed.”
I nodded at him. “Bum me one?”
“Sure.”
I hobbled over to him and took a cigarette and the lighter. I breathed deeply, flicking the lighter on, sucking the smoke into my mouth and inhaling it into my lungs. I handed him back the lighter as the nicotine hit my head, giving me a satisfying little buzz. I used to smoke all the time back in Europe, but ever since I had come back to the States, I had decided to quit.