by Skyla Madi
I return my attention to Linda. “I was jogging through the neighborhood and thought I’d slip in to share a quick morning prayer.”
“Oh, that would be lovely. Have you had breakfast? We’re just about to sit down for ours.”
I play it off as intrusion. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly…”
But I’m already crossing the threshold.
“It’s no trouble at all, Caleb. Please, take a seat.”
Like I need to be told twice. In her ridiculous, multi-colored floral blouse and her bright, red knee length skirt, Linda closes the front door and bounces all the way into the kitchen. If only Cassia was as easy to please as her mother.
The death glare Cassia gives me with her beautiful, blue eyes is sharp against my skin, but I can’t take it seriously. Not when her soft lips are held in such an immature pout.
I mimic her expression.
“What are you doing?!” She demands.
“I’m showing you what you look like.”
She rolls her eyes—a habit I notice she does a lot. “Not that. What are you doing here? In this house? I thought you were going home.”
“I was going home, but then I decided I needed to refuel. Some sexy, sexy female drained all of my energy out through my cock this morning.”
“You can’t be here.” She hisses, a bubbling of sweat forming along the hairline at her forehead.
I don’t know why she lets her parents get to her so much. Her mom has no idea I’ve been tucked up in her daughter’s bed since one this morning and she certainly doesn’t know Cassia was coming and gushing all over my dick barely twenty minutes ago. The girl comes unlike anyone I have ever witnessed. It gets wet—fucking soaking. Like water, it rolls down my thighs and drips off my nutsack. Her pussy is the closest I’ll get to Heaven, I can tell you that right now. It’s good for the soul. Good for the confidence.
I step closer to her and she visibly tenses. “I let you come all over me and you deny me breakfast? You’re cold.”
She swallows, her lightly glossed lips pressing together for the briefest moment. “Not as cold as your corpse will be if you don’t get the fuc—”
I snatch her collar in my fist and pulls her close. Her breath hitches in her throat, her hands fly to my chest to stop herself from slamming into me.
“Golden syrup or maple, Caleb?” Linda shouts from the kitchen.
I don’t let Cassia go. I don’t even take my eyes off of her. “Maple, please, Mrs. Claire.”
I glide my free hand up the inside of her thigh. Her muscles tighten and tremble at my touch. She is insatiable, an anomaly I need in my life in order to keep my brain where it should be.
“Caleb....” She warns me with a rock of her hips. “Stop.”
Always with the mixed signals. It’s as though I cast a spell on her whenever I’m near, the poor girl can’t even make up her mind. I confuse her as much as I confuse myself. It’s almost tragic.
I slide the tip of my index finger along her pussy and its delicious wetness is blocked by the useless fabric. How can I be hard again? I’ve got nothing left to give. If I get any more pressure against my seam and I’m going to tear through my sweatpants.
“You are naughty. You’re going to let a man like me stroke your pussy through your panties while your mother is in the kitchen fixing us breakfast?”
She shakes her head, her long, blonde waves framing her face in a wild way.
“Don’t…Stop...”
Don’t. Stop, or don’t stop? I can’t tell. I slide my hand out from underneath her skirt and drag the tip of my index finger across her lip. “I’m hungry, Cass, and not for fucking pancakes.”
Cassia suck an inhale between her teeth. “We just had sex.”
“I don’t want to fuck. I want to eat.”
She exhales, her blue eyes widening with her lips. I turn away from her, timing it perfectly.
“Okay.” Linda sighs, entering the room, her arms filled with plates and cups.
She’s a professional at placement and balancing. If it were me, I’d have dropped them on the floor by now. Even though she seems to have it covered, I step around the table and free the plates from her hands. She thanks me for being ‘such a good boy’ and it makes me sick.
Good. Yeah, I’m good, but not for the reasons she thinks.
I sit down and Linda moves a plate full of pancakes and blueberries and maple syrup in front of me. My mouth waters, but my stomach turns as the fumes of the alcohol I drank last night tickle my stomach lining.
Cassia sits on the other side of the table and Linda perches on the chair beside me. Holding hands during the prayer is the only time I touch Cassia and it’s not enough. I find myself catching glimpses of her whenever her mother manages to shut her mouth. She truly is beautiful. I mean, she eats like an animal, but there’s an innocence to her that I can’t decipher. She’s untainted by grief, unlike me, and she cares about people in ways I can’t even fathom. She is my polar opposite. The color to my greyscale…
I never thought I was capable of giving a shit about a girl long enough to develop an intimate relationship…but Cassia…I don’t know. It was purely sexual in the beginning. All I wanted to do was stuff her with my dick and maybe a rosary bead or two, but now I don’t mind the thought of spending as much time as I can spare with her. I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but although she’s sitting just on the other side of the table, I find myself missing her already.
Fucked up, right?
* * * *
I make it home in one piece. I’m tired, but I’m safe, filled with a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time. Or at least, I am until I open the front door and come face to face with my little sister. Not my real sister. A photo of her, a huge one printed on a memorial canvas. It’s the one from her funeral. Dad brings it out in preparation for her memorial service every year and I’m forced to look at it.
Which is soon.
All of the neutral and healthy feelings I managed to store inside my body after my night and morning with Cassia are sucked out through my pores and replaced by a sickness that almost paralyzes me. I flinch in pain as my heart shrivels and I’m transported back to that day.
“Don’t fall!” I shout with a giggle, nudging Penelope who walks along the log she can’t help but try to balance on every morning on the way to school.
To save herself, she jumps off and lands awkwardly on the grass. Her chubby little hands clench the green blades as she digs her fingers in. Whipping her head up, her reddish-blonde waves swish around her face, almost touching the ground.
“Caleb!” She screeches with a frustrated chuckle. “I almost beat my record! You ruined it.”
I smile.
“You never would have made it anyway.” I tease, gripping the straps to my backpack. “You’re too clumsy.”
She straightens her spine and brushes off her hands. “Am not.”
“Are too.”
Penny plants her muddy hands on her hips, undoubtedly dirtying her white and black polka dot dress. “You’re clumsier. Just ask Mom.”
I tip my head. “Why would I ask her?”
“Because she was there when you tripped over your own shoelace and hit your chin on the step.”
“That was a long time ago. I’m better at hopping now—probably the best.”
I am the best. I beat Jorge who has the longest legs in my grade. I beat him by seven whole hops. That’s a new world record.
Penelope steps forward, her shins disappearing in the tall-ish grass.
“You’re not as good as Andrea.”
I frown. “Who’s Andrea?”
“She’s my best friend and she holds the class record for the best hopper.”
Whoever this girl Andrea girl is she couldn’t possible beat me, especially if her legs are as small as Penelope’s.
“That’s ‘cause she hasn’t versed me.”
Pen shrugs. “You’d lose.”
Why does she think I’d lose? Why doesn’t s
he think I’m the best hopper in the world? I’m her big brother. I help her brush her teeth. “Would not.”
“Would too.”
I fold my arms and look away, staring down the long, isolated road. “Impossible.”
She doesn’t utter a word and when I glance at her, I’m met by a small, piggish pout.
“I don’t know why you have to be so mean, Caleb. Mom told you that you have to be nice to me.”
Oh, no. Not this. I hate it when she gets all sad at me, sulking like a puppy. “I am being nice to you.”
Her lower lip trembles as her eyes flood with unfallen tears. “You pushed me off my log and I...I like to balance, Caleb. You know that.”
“I’m sorry. All right?” I reach out. “Give me your hand. There’s a busy road up ahead and I told Mom I wouldn’t let you get squished.”
“I can balance on the way home?”
I nod. “You can balance after school.” I clear my throat as she slips her small, squishy hand into mine. “And you can even hold my shoulder to help you balance…if you want.”
I look down at her and her brown eyes light up. Penelope and I don’t look alike. Not really. Her hair has strong, red highlights and there’s a heavy spattering of freckles on both of her cheeks. I made a joke that she was adopted once…she didn’t take it very well.
A loud screech pulls me from my thoughts as a white van slams its brakes in front of us. Penelope squeals and I squeeze her hand, forcing her to stop walking. I don’t have time to register the fear in my tummy as the back door to the van is thrown open and two men jump out. They race toward us and I still don’t move. I don’t even know what’s going on.
“Penelope!” One of the men call out.
How does he know her name? He has red hair, his shoulders are wide and he’s tall.
Penelope begins to cry and I pull her into me, doing my best to console her. I glance behind us, but the road is long. There’s no way we can outrun them.
“Penelope, sweety. It’s me.” The man says, his voice gentle, but strained.
His friend, the one with the black, curly hair, urges him to grab her and hurry up. I step back and my stomach sinks into my shoes as I stumble over a rock and we both crash to the ground. The red haired man reaches out with his large hands and my pulse kicks into overdrive.
“No!” I scream, until my throat feels like it bursts. “Go away!”
I kick my legs, but the man reaches over them and grabs my squealing sister.
“Caleb!!!” She screams as she’s plucked from underneath me, her hand torn from mine.
I rush to my feet only to be shoved back down. The damp ground seeping through my black shorts and blue tee. I scream and cry, unable to save her…
Unable to stop them from taking her away…
The red haired man cradles Penelope to his chest, his hand stroking her hair, shushing her like he’s concerned for her wellbeing. With an arm outstretched, she screams my name and her face is red and wet with tears.
And then she’s gone…and the white van disappears down the road. My entire body shakes, my tears uncontrollable. I push myself to my feet and swipe at my face. What am I going to tell Mom? Or Dad? I drag my shaking body over to Penelope’s log and sit, hugging myself tightly.
What am I supposed to do?
“You’re awfully chipper today.” Dad points out, winding up the windows and turning on the air-conditioning.
I can’t help it. I smile as green trees and small cottages ship past us.
“It was a good day.” I say, pulling my handbag onto my thighs.
I barely held my secret for longer than a second when I arrived at work this morning and the squeal that rang around the store as I explained everything to Fiona in graphic detail was the cherry on the top of my sexually elated sundae. Though I glowed red when I asked her about the morning after pill, she barely batted an eyelid. Knowing I can’t exactly buy condoms, she offered me a bunch. I hesitated at first in fear of being caught with them, but I figured it was better than being caught by pregnancy. After this morning’s sexual encounter, I clarified with Caleb that unprotected sex isn’t something I feel entirely comfortable with. At first I think he was offended, but he played it off well. He claimed I was the only girl he’s had unprotected sex with. Whether or not that’s true, I don’t know. You think he’d at least be a little hesitant about diving in if it were something he’s never done before. Either way, he assured me he’s as clean as a whistle. I don’t really know what that terms means, to be honest.
“Was Oleg there today?” Dad asks with an eerie, casual tone to his voice.
My smile falters. He doesn’t like Oleg and I understand why. Oleg doesn’t exactly know how to respect boundaries. His choice of words when he met Mom brushed Dad the wrong way. Oleg doesn’t mean any harm he just doesn’t understand why somethings are unacceptable to say…like commenting on the curve of a woman’s backside and the plumpness of her bottom lip.
“Yeah. He was there.”
“I hope he respected your personal space…”
I snort. “Oleg doesn’t ‘rob cradles’ as he likes to put it and the guy is thirty-eight years old. I’m sure he has refined his tastes to MILFS and other mature aged women.”
“MILFS?”
I laugh, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Yeah. You know, mothers…who are attractive.”
Dad frowns, pulling in his thick eyebrows. “Okay, but what is a MILF?”
“I just told you.”
“MILF is obviously an acronym. What does it stand for?”
“You seriously don’t know?”
He shakes his head.
I clench my bag. “It stands for ‘Mother I’d like to…you know.”
Dad flinches, his face pinching into a scowl. “He’s going to Hell.”
My chest shakes with a laugh I’m unable to hold. The look on his face—the downturn of his lips and scrunch of his nose. I laugh the rest of the way home, unable to stop it until he pulls into our drive.
When the car rolls to a stop, I unclip my seatbelt and slip from the car. As I shut the door, I notice the white sedan parked out the front. Along the side it says: “Paradise Valley Catholic Church”
My stomach sinks and flutters at the same time. Clenching my bag in my hand, I stroll toward the door with Dad by my side. He glances over his shoulder at the car.
“Father Andrews is here.”
I hum. “I wonder why?”
“I know he was picking up a few dishes for his charity ball, but that’s in a few days.”
I shrug. I don’t know anything about a charity ball. Dad fishes in his pockets for the house keys.
“Your mom tells me Caleb came around this morning.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. He, uh, he was in the neighborhood and felt the need to share a prayer with us. Mom invited him in for breakfast.”
“He’s a little hard to read…” Dad mutters, pulling out a set of keys. “But he’s a good Catholic boy and a good influence on you.”
Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say he’s a good influence, but he’s definitely not a bad person. I grin. Whether or not he’s good isn’t what’s important here. Did Dad just give Caleb approval? If I were to date him, will he actually be okay with that?
“You’re smiling.” He points out, slipping the key into the lock.
I try to stop it, but I can’t. “I just never thought I’d see the day you’d approve of any boy…”
“Don’t twist it, Cassia. I’m not approving a relationship between you and Caleb.” His jaw tightens. “I’m merely stating he is a good influence on your soul. Father Andrews tells me Caleb will go on to make a good pastor or priest…and you will only hinder that.”
I flinch and my eyebrows draw in. Is that…an insult? Why can’t I be a good influence on Caleb’s soul? Why is the finger of judgement always pointed in my direction? Swallowing, I drop my stare to my black flats. I’m such an idiot to think for a second I’d finally done something right.
“You’re still young. You’ll find a nice Catholic boy on pilgrimage somewhere, one who doesn’t want to be a part of the clergy.”
I snort. “Pilgrimage?”
If he knew me at all, he’d know I hate travelling…and I hate praying too. I hate being selfless and cautious. Honestly, fuck it all.
“Yeah. It’s where you—”
“I know what pilgrimaging is.” I snap, impatiently shifting my weight onto the one leg.
He turns the key and pauses. “Did I say something wrong?”
Oh, no. Not at all. You only managed to crush my heart underneath your fucking shoe! I bite my lip and shake my head. “No.”
With a tired exhale, Dad pushes the handle and the door opens. Stepping to the side, he gestures for me to go in. I step inside the house to see Mom and Father Andrews sitting on the leather couch, clutching cups of coffee. I quickly glance around the room, but Caleb is nowhere to be seen. My chest kind of…deflates. It’s weird.
“Father Andrews.” Dad greets him as Father Andrews rises to his feet. “Good to see you.”
They shake hands. It’s strange seeing Father Andrews in normal clothing—in a pair of jeans and a navy polo. Here I was thinking they practically lived in their all black getup with the robes over the top.
“Caleb’s not with you?” Dad asks, glancing around like I did moments before.
“Ah, no.” Father Andrews peers sideways at me in a way that stops my heart dead in its tracks. “He is a little…incapacitated…at the moment. I was pulling the memorial canvases out from underneath the stairs this morning when he came home. Sadly, he doesn’t handle this time of the year very well.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I say, pulling my bag up onto my shoulder.
I gotta get out of this room before I combust. The way Father Andrews pins me down with his accusatory stare is unnerving. Either he suspects something or Caleb has had a meltdown and told him everything. Regardless, all I want to do is go upstairs and call him. He didn’t text me at all today. Not once. It’d be a lie if I said I didn’t check every ten minutes.