Kiss Me Back

by Halston, Sidney

  “But that’s ten more minutes we can sleep. I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise. There was nothing you were going to do tonight anyway.”

  “Your bed is awfully comfortable.”

  He smiles and opens the door to his car, knowing that there is no way I’m going to not sleep here.

  “You can shower first, then bed,” he says as soon as he opens the front door and leads me inside. It’s amazing how easily we’ve fallen into a routine and how comfortable I am at his house. We text and talk daily, and we see each other at work. This is definitely more than we originally bargained for. Originally, I thought we’d have sex and go our separate ways each night. I didn’t expect sleepovers. I didn’t expect carpooling and dinners and learning how to sign. It feels so good to have someone. A good, nonjudgmental, kind friend. A friend I want to see naked and touch and…

  A tap on my shoulder startles me. “You okay?”

  “Uh, yeah, sorry. Shower. Quick,” I say stupidly.

  I already know where everything is so I open the closet and pull out a towel for each of us, then we both strip and jump in at the same time. He lathers my hair while I run the soap down his body. Then I rinse off my hair and he washes my body as I wash his hair and beard. It’s not at all sexual, it’s completely convenient and expeditious and when the hell did we become these people?

  But I’m too exhausted to question it.

  When I step out, I wrap around myself the thickest, fluffiest towel I’ve ever held and stand in front of the foggy mirror, where I can see my too-thin silhouette. So different from the women who hang around the club and hit on men. Yet, Fox still wants me. Simple, quiet me. I couldn’t tell him the difference between a knockoff perfume and brand name, mostly because I’ve never had anything like that. And even though I’m self-conscious about my hearing, I’m not one of those women who thinks she’s too thin or not pretty enough. I’m okay in my skin. If I could have my hearing back, I’d want for nothing.

  But there’s something about Fox that does make me question things. I don’t know what it is. It’s not something he’s necessarily done because he’s been fantastic. He’s accommodating and sweet. He doesn’t make things awkward or make me feel disabled. He just goes about living and throws little paper airplane notes at me when I’m lost in thought or reading a book and…fuck…I have real feelings for Fox. Deep, soul-crushing feelings for him.

  I grab one of his brushes and run it through my hair, then step out of the bathroom.

  I pull a T-shirt from one of his drawers and slip it on. He’s done with the shower too, and as he enters his room, his eyes roam my body leaving a wake of goosebumps. “Don’t even think about it, mister. Sleep. You promised.”

  “Relax, Tiger. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I roll my eyes as I slide into his bed. He turns off all the lights, and then my back is pressed against his front, and he’s spooning me and shit…this doesn’t at all feel like casual, fun sex anymore.

  Did it ever?

  Fox

  I’m more in tune with Lola’s body than I’ve ever been with anyone before. The light is shining in through the window blinds and we’ve been in bed all day. Since she can’t hear me and she doesn’t speak often, I constantly have to read her. The way she moves, the way her breath hitches, the way her muscles contract. I absolutely love that I can make her wild with pleasure. But for the past few days she’s been “off.” I can tell by the way she let loose on that guy at the club last night and the way she keeps turning her face to look at me. It’s as if she’s anxious and doesn’t want to miss anything I may say.

  I need her to be here with me. Not in her head.

  “Stop thinking so much.”

  She nods.

  That’s another thing. She’s not talking much, and she’s back to short sentences. She’s retracting and I don’t know why.

  “Please talk to me. Your voice is beautiful.”

  She rolls her eyes, I’ve never had a woman roll her eyes while I was inside of her. Jesus Christ, this woman is something else.

  I wrap my fist around her hair and pull, forcing her eyes open. “Say something. Anything.” I thrust hard at every word.

  “That feels so good.”

  “Yeah?” I dig my knees into the mattress and move in hard, her head hitting the headboard.

  “Yes!” she cries out. “Fox, don’t stop.”

  Never, I’ll never stop, I think, as I fuck her until she doesn’t give a fuck how she sounds or how loud she’s screaming my name.

  Like I said, I love her voice.

  * * *

  —

  She’s standing in my kitchen in a sports bra and boxer shorts looking cute as she spreads peanut butter on toast. I’ve never seen anyone eat so much peanut butter before. She looks up and smiles brightly at me and I swear to Christ, my heart stops. I just can’t let her go. I don’t know where this relationship is headed but she can’t just leave me. There’s still so much between us. “You want me to fix you a sandwich?” she asks.

  “I want you to stay,” I blurt out.

  Her big, brilliant smile slowly fades. “What?”

  I walk around the kitchen table and take the knife and bread out of her hands. Those big sapphire eyes looking at me, begging me not to say the words that are on the tip of my tongue. The words that will change it all. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

  She pulls her hands away. “You mean to my apartment to pack up, right?” Her eyes are blurry and I know that she knows that is not what I meant. I pull her so that she’s looking at me. “Fuck your apartment, Lola. You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “Don’t do this, Fox.” Her lips wobble, but I continue and I know I shouldn’t and I know it’s not fair to her.

  “To Ecuador. To school. Stay here in Miami. With me. Don’t go.”

  Her head moves side to side and tears fall down her face as her shaky hands close the peanut butter tub and she throws the uneaten sandwich away.

  “Lola. Say something.” But she’s not even looking at me. I lift her chin, like I do when I need her to look at my lips. “Sweetheart, please. Say something.”

  “No.” She shakes her head vigorously. “No. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t what we were about. You’re a selfish bastard, Fox.”

  “Selfish?” I yell. “Because I want you to stay with me? Because I want to see where this goes without having a fucking deadline looming in the goddamn background?” But she’s already in my room, grabbing her shirt and sliding it on. She missed most of what I said. She’s shutting me out. She sits on my bed and quickly slides on her sneakers.

  I grab her shoulders and force her to look at me. “Open your fucking eyes, Lola. This is already happening. You and me…we’re already in a relationship. Not a no-strings kind of relationship…a super fucking tangled mess with strings all over the goddamn place.”

  “No!” Her lips wobble and she stands up and ducks under my arm. “I gotta go.”

  “No. We need to talk about this.”

  She wipes her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve eaten ramen noodles for almost seven years, and I haven’t bought a nice piece of clothing in my life, or lived in a nice apartment, or had a freakin’ vacation, or done anything for myself.” She hits her chest with her fist. Her voice is devastatingly broken as she speaks. “Nothing ever for me because it’s all been for this dream that I have. For this ridiculous dream that felt hopeless and unattainable most of the time, but now it’s right there at my fingertips. I need to be useful, this lot in life I’ve been dealt has to have a meaning and I think—no, I know—it’s in helping others. And then you come in and you fuck it all up. It was supposed to be two months, Fox. I have never lied to you. I told you from the first day that I was
leaving. You have no right to ask me to stay, Fox. No fucking right to put that on me. All the shit I’ve done has been for this one thing. For my dream, and you want me to just give it up? For what? To stay here and what?”

  “And what? And be with me!”

  “And be with you?” She sounds indignant. “Here in your white apartment with all your expensive sterile clothes? What am I supposed to do all day, Fox? Work at a stupid nightclub?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I work at a stupid nightclub. And that’s what you do now.”

  “That’s a job for me. A means to an end. It’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life. And if we’re being honest, it’s just a job for you too.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, you heard me. You fell into this job. You might be good at it. But it’s a job. Just something to prove your dad wrong. You’re a smart man. You can do whatever the hell you want. Is this really your dream? If it is, great. Do it. I’m not here to crush your dream.”

  With those last words she slams the door behind her and leaves me standing there feeling….everything.

  I am good at my job.

  Fuck her.

  Not everyone lives in a fantasy world where we can have hopes and dreams and go to college and then travel the world.

  I’m a bouncer and now a manager and that’s it.

  And now she’s too good for me? Little smart Lola living her dreams while I’m left behind working all night at a stupid nightclub.

  Well, fuck her!

  Fuck. Her.

  I walk past the hall and slam my fist right into the drywall because…fuck!

  This is my father in my head all over again.

  Lola

  My head hurts and my heart aches and I’m annoyed at Fox. I’m sitting at a diner a block from my apartment picking at my food after spending the rest of the day packing up my stuff and moping around feeling sad for myself. I called in sick, which was very irresponsible of me, but I’m too emotionally wound up to care.

  …and God, it’s not like I don’t feel the same way toward Fox. But it’s not something we can do anything about. I can’t stay. How can I stay? I would resent him for the rest of my life. How can he ask that of me?

  I hate arguing with him, and I feel like an asshole for the things I said to him and also for the things I didn’t say to him. Like: I love you so much; I want to stay with you.

  I take a deep breath. Push my plate back, pay my bill, and walk back to my apartment.

  My head is swirling with so many things. But the big thing that I keep coming back to is why I haven’t paid off my tuition yet. The deadline is Monday and it’s Sunday night. I’ve had the money for over a week. Tomorrow is the last possible day to pay it off and there is no reason for my procrastination on this. Except that somewhere inside I know it has to do with Fox. To top it off, now I’m sort of homeless.

  I’m supposed to move to his apartment tomorrow and instead I’m walking to mine feeling completely defeated and devastated.

  It’s been a while since I’ve walked around my neighborhood as I’ve been mostly staying with Fox. It’s eleven at night and damn, I almost forgot what a shitty neighborhood I live in. I’m vigilant of my surroundings as I walk swiftly, my purse close to my body. I feel a sense of relief when I finally get to my building. I open the metal gate with my key and then continue up the stairs.

  When you’re hearing impaired, you learn to pay better attention to your other senses and you always—always—listen to your gut. So when I feel vibrations coming from behind me, the hairs on my neck stand. I rush to open the door that leads to the landing on the second floor but before I’ve had a chance to do that, my entire body is slammed against the wall so hard, I’m breathless.

  I feel hot breath against my neck but I don’t know what he’s saying. I know it’s a “he” by the weight of his body against me, by the dark hair on his arms and even by the musky scent wafting from his body. I’m shaking with fear. “Pardon?”

  Again, something is said, and again, I can’t hear. Oh my God, I’m going to die. “I’m deaf. I don’t know what you’re saying,” I cry.

  Then I quickly add, “I need to read your lips. Please, I don’t know what you said.”

  He stiffens against my body. His grip on my hair tightens, and a small whimper escapes my lips as he contemplates what I’ve just said. Maybe he hadn’t intended for me to look at him. Maybe he thinks I’m lying. I have no idea, but somewhere deep inside I’m hoping I’m too much trouble to mug or kill or rape or whatever it is he intends to do with me. I’m shaking with fear. I have to be the world’s worst mugging victim, since he’ll have to speak right into my face and I’ll have to undeniably take a good look at him. Maybe he’ll let me go and find an easier victim.

  But no such luck.

  He jerks me around and pulls me by my hair, my head tipping back in the process. I can see his lips moving but at this angle I can’t see it all. “I—I…” My chin is quivering. “I don’t know what you’re saying. Please, I swear I can’t hear! I’m deaf.”

  He lets go of my hair a bit, and now I’m focused on his face. Hazel eyes that sit too close together, an upturned nose with a slight tilt, as if it’s been broken a time or two, cracked lips, a dimple on his chin. His cheekbones are hollow and there are a few open sores on his face and his blond hair is dirty. “Your money. Now.”

  This time it’s clear. I always wear my purse across my body out of habit—it’s easier for me to sign. I can’t hand it to him unless he lets me go. “Take it.” I try to give him my purse but he is holding me tightly. He yanks so hard I tumble forward onto my hands and knees, my head hitting the edge of the steps as the strap breaks apart. “Ow!”

  He must’ve said something but I’m rubbing my head in pain. To get my attention he kicks my side, and I yelp and look up at him. “Move and die,” he says, pointing a dirty, jagged knife at me. As he unzips my purse, he starts throwing things out. There’s not much in there. My earbuds, a lipstick, my wallet. I always have my phone in my pocket so that I can feel the vibration.

  He opens the wallet and takes out all the cash. I know there’s not much there, maybe forty dollars or so. I just want to get away from this man. I hope that’s enough.

  He pulls my ponytail up, forcing me to my feet. My eyes water from the prickle in my scalp. “You work at that club. I’ve seen you,” he says, and I realize he must live in the building. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  “I—there’s no more.”

  Suddenly, I feel the sharp sting of his palm against my face. He’s talking again but I don’t know what he’s saying because my eyes are watering from the slap and I can’t see his lips clearly. He shakes me then. I can tell he’s on something by the way he’s scratching his arms and the way his eyes are so glazed over. He pulls me by my elbow with one hand and with the other he’s holding my keys. I know that if I get locked inside my apartment alone with this man, he’ll hurt me more than he already has. I’m so much smaller than him, and he has a knife and is clearly out of it. He pushes me back against the wall, my head hitting the concrete, making me see cross-eyed for a second as he looks around. At this time, there’s no one in this hall. I can see the cars from the street driving by but I can’t talk because he wraps a hand around my throat and squeezes. All I can make out is “phone.”

  But I can’t answer. I can’t say anything because he’s choking me and then with the hand holding the knife he starts to pat down my body. When he reaches my breasts I cry out and bile rises in my throat, but he keeps going until he feels my phone in my pocket. He pulls it out and slides it into his pocket. Then he starts to open the door to my apartment. As soon as he does my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in and I push him as hard as I can into my apartment. I see his head hit the little table by my door and I take off run
ning as fast as I can.

  “Help!” I scream. “Help me! Someone. Help!”

  But no one comes out. I don’t know if I’m yelling loud enough or too loud but once I’m downstairs I run and run until I’m suddenly in a gas station. “Help! Help!”

  Fox

  I can’t believe she called in sick. She’s not sick. She’s pissed at me. This damn woman is driving me insane. Or maybe I’m driving her insane? There’s just so much between us it’s hard to concentrate on work or anything else, for that matter. She’s absolutely right, I was an asshole asking her to stay. I had no right. I don’t have anything other than love to offer her. I should have shut my mouth and just let things continue the way they were going. Now I’m miserable, and we’re wasting the little time we have left.

  Damn it. What am I doing here? She’s home, upset, and probably unsure where we stand and where she’s going to live tomorrow.

  “Hey, I have to run. I have an emergency,” I call out to Fritz, who’s standing a few feet away from me. “Call me if you need me. You’re good, right?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Later,” I call out as I undo my tie and unbutton the top of my shirt. Once I’m in my car, a car I thought I loved, I think about how ridiculous I’ve been. Who gives a fuck what my father thinks? I’m proud of who I am, and Lola’s proud of who I am. And I feel as if I’ve let her down by not supporting her. Because she has an actual dream and I have…I just have a point to make to my now deceased father. And I’ve made my point. I’m not stupid. I have money saved. I have a car, an apartment, and a job. People trust me and depend on me. I’ve made something of myself. But that’s not a dream. I can’t live off of that for the rest of my life, can I?

  I sit in my car and for the first time in my entire life I have an actual epiphany. If everything went to shit tomorrow and I lost my car, my house, my job, would it really matter?