Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance

by Sierra Sparks

  Nothing; not even a message.

  “It’s too soon Spencer. Maybe she’s in the bathroom or something. Don’t jump the gun yet bro.”

  Words never fail me. But this time, as I try to answer, a grunt comes off. My face is on my knees, in some sort of prayer, hoping she’s okay. If Harvey has hurt her in any way, I don’t think I will find it in my heart to forgive myself.

  “Bro, you did leave her, yeah? Maybe…maybe she’s trying to keep herself busy not to think about you. It must have spliced her up really bad to ignore you, but I promise she’ll pick up. She just needs an hour or so.”

  A grunt again. I am killing it with the Neanderthal performance today!

  “Look, come with me and shoot some hoops. The boys will make sure you’re busy too, and not brooding and sulking like you’re in a cave with a cowl on your head. I promise you’ll feel better.”

  He looks to me and smiles. His feet are on the ground and enthusiasm in the air. Bryce knows no hangovers as I learnt early in the morning. It would be hard to even think how smooth he is now and compare him to the snorting piggy sex fiend that waltzed into our room and tried masturbating in a drunken haze last night. Cool guy, I like Bryce. He knows how to get the energy flowing. I rise up and nod.

  “Alrighty then bro! Onwards to the court!”

  He gets to the door, bouncing as he goes. “And leave that phone Spencer. It’s just you and my boys this afternoon.”

  Clairvoyance; am I the only one who doesn’t have it? I was about to fix it in my shoulder sleeve when his naughty eye caught me.

  “Fine,” I finally mutter. It’s good to feel a voice in my throat. I leave the phone in my bag and run out, hoping to find a voicemail or even a message at the very least.

  *

  “Now, the methods of analysis for this test seem to point to which conjecture? Anyone? Ah, yes. Miss Williams?”

  “That the wave-particle theory substantiates…”

  On and on we drone. It’s a fantastic class to be fair. The rooms are expansive and the board at the front ever full with theorems and philosophies too good to be read in a book. Even the lively classes boost me up with a snazzy tune sometimes. But it has been a week. A long and tiresome week and it pains me to think that mom was right.

  Jasmine hasn’t phoned or texted me ever since the first day I did. With each word I typed a painful occurrence occurs to me- that she has found a way to keep herself going without the stinging reality that is Spencer Winters. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but then again, I’ve never gone this long without her voice in my ear, or her touch on my skin. I’m in a world full of people like me, with everything I could ever ask for; with things to do that most kids in the world would only be dreaming of ever accomplishing.

  And it’s a lonely place. I’m alone in the crowd. The professor stands aloof of the entire class, finding his way to worm an answer from everyone who isn’t at the front. I’ve done my share and been inconspicuously blended with my surrounding. Even if he wants to, I can’t answer. I look like an emo boy that is just not the kind you want a backlash with in class. He finds his next prey, a sullen young lady whining with her tiny fingers about the length of her hair to the bloke sitting next to her. He’s just interested in the short skirt that’s gracing the outer limits of her singing tap. The white-haired prof looks beyond this and licks at the metaphorical blood.

  Just as she tries to answer, and trying is being very general and kind of me, my phone buzzes. It’s odd. Only one person has this number. And right now she must be on a lawn sipping coffee thinking of her next gig and wondering how her son is coping in the madness that brought her and her fallen husband together all those years back.

  I flip into my pocket nervously, fingers crossed that he hasn’t heard the buzzing. Professor Michaels can be a prick when it comes to interruptions in his class. Only in event of a dire family emergency, such as death, can I allow you to walk out of my lectures, Mr. (Insert name). That’s how it’s always been for anyone who he had under his wing. Unless your bladder and kidneys are failing, or the tough faint of a girl in the heat of summer, can he allow a disruption. Otherwise, calm down and sit through.

  Right now I’m about to break his one rule. It’s Jasmine.

  Finally, an email. It’s better than nothing from her. A text could have had the same effect, but I guess she’s going normally away from carrier charges. As I read through her message, the fading smile from my face becomes a worrying concern from the gossiping willows right next to me. Giggles and a worried patronizing stare are their go-to charm.

  ‘Hey, new boy, are you okay? You look…down. Did someone not get his dick sucked last night?”

  It’s like fucking high school again! Fuck!

  “Ah, Samantha Fleming. Care to give us a piece of insight that you so willingly display with your friends?” Saved by the prof it seems. “Umm…pass?” she answers. Oh, boy, this lesson is far from over with that kind of tact.

  “Need I remind you of the rules Miss Fleming?”

  The next hour rolls by agonizingly. Samantha, the girl who so awkwardly got extra interested in my life, was handed over to tons of assignments due this weekend, and for me, more or less the same. Professor Michaels has an uncanny method to poetic justice.

  I walk over to my dorm. The clouds are shifting in a speed and efficiency normal to sight, and in a manner of speaking I can see them form into dogs and ponies, and into her face. The number plates on most of the beaten down cars that drive past me all seem to have a ‘J’ on them, the donuts seem to be shaped in a solid and rather delicious ‘J’, and even the dresses belonging to some of the girls studying at the local cafeteria drinking their cups of random and rather cheap coffees flow in the same mysterious perplexity.

  I am broken. Half a shell, I’m confused and misplaced. I thought…I thought we were in a place of sanctity, where no man would ever come between us. Maybe she needs to talk with me but doesn’t know how to convey the message? I don’t…even the bedding feels weird. Their crunchy and full of noise and my ears scratch at the very mention of silence in my dorm room. Recollection of how I got here is beyond me. I must have been in autopilot. Really? Is this what she wants? I look at my phone over and over again, wondering why mom hasn’t handled the situation back home as she promised. Doubt is clouding her memory and judgment. That has to be it. There is no way my Jasmine, my Jazz, can say such …can’t she see I’m trying to be better than I was? To be a man who follows in his father’s footsteps and try to make the world a better place? Can’t she see?

  My door inches open, and Bryce walks in bearing a bong flavored with his choice herb. I crunch away and look at my wall, bearing the prose of a man fallen ill.

  “Bro, are you alright? You’re acting all weird and shit.”

  I can’t talk, I can’t bear to break my lips open, but I can point. My finger lands on my phone, where the screen still burns brightly in the room illuminated by the bright undercloud of the sky. Ironic, isn’t it? How the universe seems to be completely in order of things while in the hearts of men, the silly little men who crawled out of the muck a few birthdays ago, are in turmoil and deep in shit that they can barely get themselves out of? How, even in the brightest of days, souls still depart into the abyss, and on the darkest of nights, hope is renewed almost always with the still cries of a newborn echoing through the schism? Even now, as Bryce reads the message from my beloved…my…I dint know what to call what we are anymore, the sky is perfect and the wind fair. In all the beauty, chaos erupts, and it is in order.

  “Spencer…I need you to listen to me, okay? Look at me man, it’s the only way we can have respect around here.”

  I turn on my back and face him. My face is scrunched up and blank. I can tell by the look on his. He sets his bong down and breathes in some fresh air into his brain.

  “She is miles away. You are here. She is there. Logically speaking, you’ve both moved on without realizing it. Listen to me bro, just…listen. She needs her s
pace and so do you. Neither of you expected to break up and move on, but hey, the Devil didn’t expect to get booted from his home, right? Look, all I’m trying to put out there, is that if she had any decency she would have come all this way to tell you in your face. If a girl breaks up with you on email, then I don’t know what to call that kind of a relationship.”

  “Bryce…she was, she still is my first love. I can’t just let her go like that. Maybe she’s just lonely and confused. We…we…I…Bryce, I don’t know what to think.”

  “Lemme clear this for you buddy. You are here and she is there. You need to understand that a woman has needs, and as much as that bites and stings your heart into pieces, shattered all over the cosmos, it’s true and you know I’m right. She found someone else and you’re not him…or her. It’s an epic world we live in these days bro, the choice is wide as sea.”

  That weed is making sense out of the guy for sure. I don’t know what has happened between us in the past few days, but whatever it is I have no idea how to come back from it. He is inhaling his Zen stuff again, and letting it go through his nose and into mine. Not bad I’m afraid. Letting go can’t be too hard, can it? Maybe it’s what I need too, after all I’ve done for her.

  “But all we’ve been through…Bryce. Maybe she just needs a talking to. I can get a bus home and just-”

  “Spencer. You’re not thinking right. You have no money to go back home, okay? And what would your mom say if she saw you, back home to pursue a girl and let go of your college dreams. You told me yourself how much she’s sacrificed to get you here man. I know you love your girl, but dude, think about the one person who will never let you down. Not even if you’re a pothead like me.”

  He sits on the floor and shuts his eyes. For someone so forlorn on family and people, he awfully has a lot of creases on his face. His past…is a testimony to my present. Hurts, but…it’s the only way to know it’s true.

  “I know Bryce…I know.”

  I look at my phone. It’s on the bed, face up, the message still screaming.

  Spencer,

  You left me. That’s the only way you know it hurts. You left me for your life to deal with all this by myself. In a way, you redeemed me from you. Hard of course, but now I am better than fine and so much better off without you.

  Leave me alone.

  Jasmine.

  I sigh. It’s the heavy kind.

  Chapter 6 – Jasmine

  “You’ve got mail!”

  I never get mail.

  This is new. My friends have always been the kind not to exist in reality, only in my mind, but getting mail from this place, not in my dreams, in this place where I am a prisoner to my own existence, is a split joy and credence. Dad locked me out of my daily walks, taking heed to my threat on running away from home. His silly little mind thinks I’ll run and spend the rest of my days with Spencer. I’m rich, but I’m not dumb.

  Spencer is the kind of guy who reminds anyone of Clark Kent. The guy has his own ‘lair’ in his room, under his carpet, with books upon books on anything and everything for crying out loud. When Spencer puts his mind to anything, it must get done. Unless the planes of existence shift. He wanted to go to college to study and be a proper detective. Being here with me would have been sweet, but he needs the passion for life more. It makes me quiver just thinking of him in uniform. The concept always turned us on when we role played in the bathroom stalls or the janitor’s closet.

  I kick of my boots and throw them into the pile of cameras I ripped off last week. Mad as I was, my fingers clamored for anything, just anything to grab and rip. I saw the cameras in my room, and sought to enjoy the feeling. They were bloody expensive of course, and it was all the more reason to nab at daddy’s pockets.

  “You’ve got mail!”

  It is incessant and annoying. I get close to my skirt and fix the seams. The tiny machine beeps once more, notifying me of the need to answer. I fold up my legs and click on the icon.

  “Oh! It’s Spencer!”

  I don’t believe beaming like this is even allowed. He finally gets back to me, after so long with his prevailing and profound absence, he finally gets his balls to reply to my messages and calls and texts. It’s been the craziest week speaking to no one but myself and the steamy online chat-rooms. I bite my lip and click it open, hoping for a dick-pic somewhere embedded in the lines.

  Jasmine,

  So you thought you would be the only girl in the world for me, and I am here writing this to prove you wrong. I don’t miss you one bit, not for your worthless smile, or your cranky laugh, not even for your miserable antics in bed. I found another who is ever so better than you right here, right now, in bed with me. Ah, I can hear her snore softly. Remember how we used to do it everywhere like a pack of rabbits? Well, this chick does things you were always against, and you know what? I’m happier now than I ever was with you. I honestly don’t care if you move on or wallow in pity for the rest of your life. I am good, if not fantastic.

  Deal.

  Spencer.

  Oh lord; it is definitely not a dick-pic.

  I read it over and over again to make sure I get the tone of the message. It takes me enough time to understand what he means, what he’s saying, and all the way that implies the rest. I remember the promise.

  The one thing that he had vowed to do; to never ever break me. Broken and thrown away in the gutter. Why? Did some hard-on make him lose sight of what we’ve been building for these couple of years? Did he kiss her and make love to her like he did to me…or even, better? Why…why…when? When did all this change so fast? How can a man who proved time and time over that he was mine and I his do this?

  My keyboard must be moist from all the sweat dripping from my hands. Oh…it’s just my face. My face, the thing he treasured looking through to kiss the confines of my soul, my very heart beat. He always talked of how once he got done with that horrid place we would start over together and build a family. Maybe it wouldn’t have kids at first, but-

  No! Why the fuck would he do this to me? Even my fingers and toes shake in madness. Am I angry? Perhaps I’m not there yet. Maybe all I need is to hear his voice tell it to my face, like the man he always says he is. What kind of fellow breaks his first’s heart over email? Over email! Of all avenues…was a letter too hard to write? Or maybe he just needed his cock sucked as he typed this without even an inkling of what it would do to me.

  Men! Oh the audacity in the asshole. How dare he? How dare he go against me after all I have been through with him? So now that he’s in college he thinks he’s better than me? Is that it? Does the pricy classes and penny-worthy pussy make him better than I am at any cost? Is that it?

  Is this it? From Macbeth to pizza on the roof, from our first run together through the live streets of our bustling little town to the first handshake at the edge of the high school where we beat all those bullies with smirk and class, from…from all those places we’ve been together at. From the top of Bishop’s Cove, where he first made love to me atop the hood of his borrowed car, to the top of the trees in the woods where he proposed to me his friendship for life as we named the stars one by one. From my heart to his on all the occasions that he gave me his soul through his singing lips to mine and all over again until we couldn’t tell where the beginning ended or the end burst into creation. From us against the world, to this? Did I mean so little to him that he thought distance would matter?

  I read it again, in bed, under my covers, with no tissue or cloth covering me. I want to feel this. I need to feel this pain in case I want to forgive him. I shall not be so kind as to forget.

  Spencer Winters, the man I fell madly in love with from the coffee house run and handshake under the eaves of the floodlights in the dark of the night, the man who gave me the highest breathtaking kiss of a lifetime, the soul who bonded with mine in ways unfathomable to speech, and unthinkable in writing, the man who I want to be with for the rest of my life till my death and beyond, the man who speaks and
my should shatters to his name, the man who has betrayed me in worse ways than treason, in worse ways than capital punishment in heaven could abound to their most beloved angel, the man who ripped apart my heart without even setting a foot in my room, in my presence. The man, who in all manner of a doubt, is responsible for me lying naked in my bed in the middle of the afternoon, crying myself to sleep, for all this is enough to bear. Anymore and the blade lying comfortably in the kitchen would be by my throat. No more words, please Spencer, no more words from you. Your vile words have kept me from the joys you promised and have tarnished my faith in you. Man of lies and deceit, you have wrought a side of me that I only knew when I wept for my mother. You have taken the only good thing in my life and turned it into one of those things I throw away into the closet, away from prying eyes and only for my daily dose of remembrance.

  Spencer Winters, you have killed me, and not in the sense that matters. You have ripped my soul for yours and fiddled with it for your pleasure, without the respect I deserve from the man you promised, the man you pledged to be.

  There are no more words…only tears. I try to count the sheep in my mind, to sleep, to forget, to disappear if only never to wake up. I cannot, for this was ours to have. The sheep idea, counting while they yodel and surf and dance, was ours, and you have taken that for yourself. You…you have done what my father could not, Spencer Winters. You have woken me up.

  *

  “Dad, have you got a minute?” I knock at his study door. His throat clears me in, and the musk in here is the kind that tells he has never left, not even for a shower.

  “Come to apologize or talk Jasmine,” he curtly responds. It is a dark room tonight, and the faintest hint of brandy mixed in ash is evident; he’s been drinking. He only does this when he’s about to leave for a trip, for a very long one at that.