by Kayley Cole
"You could have been a perfect man," she murmurs.
"And you could have been everything to me."
There's something broken in both of us, but it lets us fit together. When I crash up against her again, breathing her in like she's this fresh Colorado air, I know that this won't only be a first for her. This will be the first and only time I will dive into a moment, knowing it will haunt me with its intensity for the rest of my life. This will be the first and only time I give myself over to another person.
I unbutton her jeans, sliding them off her legs, inch by inch. By the time I have them around her ankles, I can feel her body trembling.
"You're okay," I tell her, moving back up her body, my hands skimming her outline. She smiles.
"I know."
"I'll make sure you're ready."
"I know."
Her blouse is complicated. There seems to be an endless amount of string, but I've taken off a similar one before. I pull on the string and the whole back of the blouse opens up. I plant my hand on the center of her back as I pull it off and she's not trembling anymore.
She's wearing a plain pair of white underwear and a bra that's wearing thin. Her body has such perfect curves. I run my hand over her stomach. It's not flat like the models in LA, but it's nice to not feel every bone or be aware that the slightest move could break her. There's also such a contrast between the dry skin of these models and the smoothness of Ellie's body.
I kiss her lips as I unclasp her bra. As it loosens around her chest, I pull it away, dropping it at the side of the bed. With her breathing quickening, I watch her breasts rise and fall, taking in every bit of her.
I place my hand on her stomach again, circling around her navel before sliding two fingers under the elastic of her underwear. Her back arches as I circle around her clit.
The barely lucid happiness on her face is enough for me. I wish we could just stay here, my fingers feeling her increasing wetness while she just gives me that look that tells me she wants all of myself that I can give.
I kiss her again, but she moves her head away. My hand stops.
"No," she says, grabbing the top of my forearm. "I just want…I need more. I'm ready. Please."
The way she looks under me— her hair fanned out underneath her, her hips raised up, and her cheeks flushed— it would be enough to make the most pious man crazy. I am not a pious man, and the way she's begging me is enough to make me diabolical.
I yank her underwear down. I watch her lying on the bed as I pull my pants down. Her eyes linger on the bulge under my boxer briefs and, God, I just want to be inside her. I want to feel her warmth and her pleasure in moving around me. I want to keep making her back arching until she becomes pliable in my arms.
"Close your eyes," I tell her. She obliges without hesitation. I take my boxer briefs off.
As I lay down beside her, I can see her eyelids flicker, but they don't open. I tilt my head between her thighs, the tip of my tongue brushing against her aroused clit. Her body jerks up, but I move up to her navel, kissing below it. As I move higher up her body, imparting another kiss between her breasts, I move my body over hers, putting all my weight on my hands, so she can only feel my body heat and the tip of my cock brushing against her pussy.
Her arms grab onto my back, trying to get me to lower my body. When I don't, she opens her eyes, her face full of desperation and pleading.
"Close your eyes," I repeat. More reluctantly this time, she closes her eyes. I press a hand against the inside of her thigh. She lets it fall on its side, making her pussy open a little wider. I press my cock against the entrance. "Relax, Ellie."
She takes a deep breath and lets it go. I push a little bit into her. She's so tight and absolutely perfect.
I grip her hips, pushing every inch of me in slowly. When I'm all of the way inside her, I stop. She feels so good; I need to think of those houses in Saffron, destroyed by the tornado to not come right away.
"Open your eyes," I order. Her eyes flick open. She looks at me, and she's luminous. I hope to make her lustrous— something polished by consistent friction.
I rise up, pulling myself up higher before sinking back into her. She's so wet but tight enough that it feels like a drug high. I grind against her clit. A breathy moan slips out of her lips. Her hands gripped onto the lion and polar bear on my shoulders but quickly shift to locking around my neck. She looks directly at me.
"Tell me what to do," she says. Her compliance is the opposite of how she's been acting toward me since I came to Saffron and I've been impressed by it, but hearing it now as she's pinned underneath me is a power trip.
"Open your legs wider."
She obliges. I continue to thrust into her, my motions becoming more frantic. Her breathing is faster now. I've gotten women to orgasm in record time, but I want this moment to last. I want to keep her for a little longer.
As I try to think of what else she could do to improve the moment— there was nothing— the sound of my body slapping against hers filled the hotel room. I'd fucked my fair share of women in expensive rooms, but this felt different. It was intimacy mixed with carnal needs mixed with extravagance. None of it belonged together, but here it was.
"Jake," she murmurs. I look down at her. Her cheeks are pink and her blue eyes have changed again, now with the energy of ocean waves. "I'm…I feel so…so tight."
I tilt my head down, kissing her. "Just let it."
I push back into her, grinding against her clit again. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and I can feel the exact moment right before her orgasm as her nails break my skin. Her body trembles under me as her pussy clamps onto my cock, squeezing it until I feel pleasure strike me like lightning. It's more powerful than anything else I've ever felt— even those five Academy Awards.
I stop myself from collapsing on top of Ellie, managing to fall down right beside her. The sound of our breathing fills the room, and I'm overcome with the sense that this was meant to happen years ago.
And it should happen over and over again, but that's not the way the world works. This isn't a film. It's real and it's honest, but it's honesty that will always destroy these moments that are completely and utterly perfect.
Jake
When choosing a location for a film or music video, color is a significant deciding factor. Not all the colors choices are obvious. For example, in a music video for Cold Crash, everything had earthy tones except for the teal bird that flitted within the frames until it was turned into an earthy tone by being shot and its blood flung all over the screen.
But when it comes to Natalie Leger's living room, I'm not sure how we could have ever thought she wasn't the stalker.
The room is a bright red with one maroon armchair facing a flat-screen TV. There are cardboard boxes, all opened and filled with various shit— the one right next to my foot has a lamp, a box of tissues, a teddy bear, pens, pencils, a horse figurine, two books, and a snow globe in it. The word 'Heart' is painted above a desk with a desktop computer. Beside the computer is a photo that seems to depict broken glass.
It shows a disordered mind. It shows somebody who can't quite settle down or someone who hasn't figured out how to clean without making more of a mess. It's someone who likes childish things, who wants to be reminded of romanticized words, and who has no concept of what colors go together.
I look over at Ellie. She still looks confused like she has since we talked to Bass. The fact that the room looks like it belongs to a sociopath-in-denial doesn't seem to bother her.
Small flames of anger start to burn in my biceps, triceps, deltoids, and my hands. Everything I need to do some damage. Everything I need to rip this woman apart if she tries to hurt Ellie.
"I'm confused," Natalie says as she leans against the back of the armchair. "Did you want me to be part of Jake's project that you were talking about before?"
"No," Ellie says, her voice calmer than I expected it to be. "I want to know why you were talking to a journalist about me and
showing him photographs of the two of us."
Her eyes widen. "I didn't know I wasn't allowed to talk about you or show photographs of you."
Ellie glances at me. Her eyes are begging for me to take over, to deal with this, but she knows Natalie, and I don't. Everything in this room except the fact that everything is boxed up seems to be catering to an idea of who Natalie wants to be, which means I can't figure out much about her from it.
Ellie looks away from me. Disappointing her hurts more than it should.
"It just seems really weird that a journalist would come around asking you questions and you'd just tell him everything you know about me and show him photographs," she says. "You didn't even mention it to me."
Natalie shrugs. "You know how I love to talk about you."
There's a hint of sarcasm on her last word. I latch onto it.
"But you don't, do you?" I ask, taking a sidestep closer to her. "You hate talking about her."
Natalie blinks several times. "I don't know what you're talking about. Ellie is great. She's my best friend."
I gather all the small things I know about Natalie— her long-term friendship with Ellie, her reaction to my fame, how she saw me and automatically thought of Ellie's career, the way she tries to hard to present herself as artistic and loving while still clinging to child-like items like a teddy bear and a horse figurine— and I begin constructing a character out of her. I can see her motives, her desires, her fears, and, most of all, her resentments.
"You've known Ellie for a long time, right? You know she was featured in the paper when she was twelve-she was considered a child prodigy on the twelve-string guitar."
A muscle twitches in Natalie's jaw. "Yes. Everyone was so proud of her."
"And, even if she's not nationally famous, if you mentioned her name to anyone here, they'd say how talented she is."
"Yes. She's very talented."
"She's more than talented," I say. I stare straight at Natalie. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her hands are in fists now. "She's one of a kind. She can write songs that make people fall over her, telling her how she helped them through a break-up or their depression."
I turn to Ellie.
"I know you think that you haven't made much of a dent in the world, but I've talked to people, I've dropped your name, and they all love you. They dread the day you leave here and you become so famous, you won't have time to come by again. They sing your praises like a church choir, but not just about your music. They think you're the kindest, most generous person here. The fact that you volunteered right after the tornado and you treat them all with such respect is…”
"She only volunteers because our job requires us to," Natalie snaps, standing straight up. Her face is pink. "It's not because she's kind or generous. It's because she was told to. I volunteer there too, but I do it while she's off playing rockstar too. I also didn't grow up with a loving mother and brother. My parents wouldn't have bought me a twelve-string guitar if they had all the money in the world. And you know the only reason she was able to secure a steady gig at Tiny Kaleidoscope? Because I was her cheerleader that insisted she push hard for that gig. I'm the fucking one that has held her up for so long. You want to know something about that newspaper article about her when we were twelve? She never mentioned me once. She's never mentioned me ever. That's why you fucking don't know me."
Ellie's face has become bright red while Natalie's face has become paler as she shakily leans back against the armchair.
"I'm just saying…" Natalie mutters. "I've done a lot for her. I don't think it's that big of a deal if a journalist takes me out to lunch a couple of times for some information."
"Natalie," Ellie says, taking a step forward. I put my arm out, stopping her from moving any closer. Someone with that short of a fuse can't be trusted. "I…I had no idea you felt that way. I'm so sorry if you feel like you've been slighted."
She snorts. "If I feel like I've been slighted. Even in your apologies, you pretend to not understand me. I just made it clear that I've been slighted and you're going to go play the victim now because I hurt your feelings with the truth."
"Why have you been helping me if you've felt this way?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know. Maybe I hoped you'd eventually recognize me. Maybe I hoped you would become famous and there was that slim chance you'd take me with you out of this dump of a town. Maybe I hoped you'd fail at your chance of fame and you'd recognize that you're no better than me."
"I don't think I'm better than you," Ellie says.
"Bullshit. You're beautiful, you're talented, people think you're smart and generous and all these other great things. You know what people think of me? I'm Ellie's friend. I'm that girl in high school that spent most of my time drawing fantasy creatures and never fit in. Most people think you stayed friends with me because you pitied me."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" she asks. "You two were dating in high school, right? I saw you two kiss right before your first performance at Tiny Kaleidoscope."
Ellie wraps her arms around her waist, shame hammered in like a nail in a coffin.
"Of course. I knew it. But you never told me. Why? Because you didn't respect me. You didn't actually even care that much. I was just your charity case. I always have been."
"Natalie…” Ellie reaches forward like she's about to cradle a baby. I stop her again. This time, she shoots daggers at me.
"So, you've been stalking Ellie because you're jealous of her? Did you just want to scare her?" I ask Natalie. Natalie throws her arms up in the air. I didn't realize until I saw her arms away from her body how thin she was.
"I haven't. God, she's probably been doing all that shit to herself, hoping to become famous from it."
Ellie's concerned face seems to crack slowly. She takes a step back, her lip curling up and her eyes narrowing.
"How could you even think that?" Ellie says. "I refused a record deal just because the company wanted me to make electronic dance music. You think I'd fake a stalker just for attention?"
"Maybe," Natalie says, though doubt lingers in her voice now.
"I can't believe you. You can lie as much as you want now. I'm telling my brother, and you're going to have to pay the price for your own insecurity."
As Ellie turns away, I can see that it's not just her concerned face that's cracking. Her bottom lip is trembling, and her hands are shaking. I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to me, wishing I could conjure the right words up like I've done a hundred times in screenplays.
"You lying bitch…”
I spin around just as Natalie is about to grab Ellie. I pull Ellie behind me. The sudden loss of her target causes Natalie to stumble, falling down onto her hands and knees.
It would be so easy to hurt her, but so pointless too.
"Let's go," I tell Ellie. "Call your brother on the way."
"I…" Ellie shakes her head, letting me guide her to the front door. As we step outside, a car speeds by— a rush of concentrated sound and a dash of color, followed by eery silence and a motionless environment. This moment would fit so perfectly in a film— I’m just not certain if it's a depiction of serenity or a reminder that danger can turn around the bend at any second.
Ellie slides her phone into her pocket. "He's not answering. I know he gets off work soon. I'll just tell it to him face-to-face."
I cup her face in my hands. As she looks up at me, I'm overwhelmed by her beauty. The copper red hair that flows over my hands, the blue flame eyes, and her delicate features especially when my hands are there for contrast. I kiss her, savoring the smooth feeling of her lips and the way her lips seem to beckon me closer and closer to her. But I step back, knowing anybody could be watching. Her gaze is a bit more dazed now, the flames in her eyes twisting and turning as she takes me in.
"Were you telling the truth when you were talking about me?" she murmurs.
"When?"
"When you said I was more
than talented. That I'm one of a kind. That people think I'm the kindest, most generous person in Saffron."
"Ellie, if I was going to lie about you, I would have told Natalie that you were a secret agent for the FBI and that you beat me at the Boston Marathon."
"What makes you think that I couldn't beat you at the Boston Marathon?"
"Because you'd inevitably help some old lady that made the mistake of entering the Boston Marathon."
She rolls her eyes, but her face has turned pink. I wish these were better circumstances because I just want to roll her on top of me, roll on top of her, kiss her and breathe her in until the only memory left between us is that night in the Arboix Hotel.
Ellie
After confessing everything that happened tonight to Andrew and he has called his on-duty colleagues to question Natalie, I still feel like a rock has lodged itself in my throat. I've spent so much time worrying about this stalker; I didn't think about more complicated emotions— like how I want to twist myself around Jake until we're one body and how my brother absolutely does not want that.
"There was also, uh, something we wanted to talk about," I say. Jake glances at me. He wanted to deal with this part of the conversation— to protect me from having to do it— but I insisted that I do it. He was right before— I’ve always been scared of change, and I've never put my foot over the line to deal with things that could cause change. This was my first chance to do that with someone who was obligated to love me regardless of what I did.
Andrew sits down at his dining table across from the two of us. It feels like there's already a divide, and I can feel his eyes measuring the distance between Jake and I. This is not my-best-friend's-sister distance. It is not my-brother's-best-friend distance.