That One Day (That One #1.5)

by Josie Wright

  I don’t look up when I hear the keys in the door, expecting Dave to come into the room at any moment. But when the couch dips next to me and the scent of jasmine and sandalwood hits my nose, I know it’s not him.

  I’m surprised to see Dave’s sister here. Unlike Dave and me, Frankie went away to college, keen on getting out of her parents’ house and gaining some freedom.

  Dave didn’t mention anything about her visiting. It must’ve been a surprise. She puts her hand on my shoulder and I turn to look at her. Despite the worry and alarm evident on her face, she looks fucking gorgeous. I, on the other hand, must make a sad and pathetic picture judging by the look she’s giving me. Which really isn’t a surprise because I feel sad and pathetic, amongst other things.

  If I look the way I feel, I would understand if she’d run away screaming.

  She asks me what’s wrong. It’s a simple question, yet I have no clue how to answer it without sounding like some poor idiot on a soap opera.

  “My life—that’s what's wrong.” It’s as honest an answer as I can give, but sounds fucking cryptic and dramatic. I don’t want to go into detail though—not here, not now. I need to sort through this myself before I can admit to anyone that my life has turned into a big pile of shit.

  When Frankie asks me what happened, the words come tumbling out before I can stop them.

  “Everything is a fucking lie. All my life, everyone in it—it’s all a lie.”

  Her face scrunches up with confusion at my answer while she contemplates what I just said.

  “I'm not sure what you mean. But that isn't true. My parents adore you. My brother thinks you're the shit. Whatever it's worth, what you get here with us is real.”

  She has no idea what she’s talking about. I want her words to be true. I want to have something real to hold onto because I feel fucking lost. I don’t know where I belong anymore. I don’t even know who I really am.

  Before I can say anything, she continues, “We care about you. And I know you don't like me very much, but I care about you, too. And that’s real.”

  Hearing her words pulls me out of my whiskey-induced haze. She thinks I don’t like her? If she only knew the truth.

  “I never said that I don't like you,” I point out.

  “Nothing you had to say. It's always been quite clear, but that’s beside the point right now.”

  I’m stunned for a moment. After everything that happened today, I didn’t think anything could surprise me anymore. But I was wrong. My focus now fully shifts from my problems to the conversation at hand. I’ve wanted Frankie for a few years now. Every time she went on a date, I was five minutes from blowing a gasket. But she’s my best friend’s sister. We’ve grown up together. It somehow felt wrong to like her as more than a friend. And it would have fucked everything up. But now things are fucked-up regardless.

  I might have wanted to make sure she never found out that I couldn’t stop imagining her naked, but I never wanted her to feel like I disliked her.

  “That’s bullshit. It's not that I don't like you. It's…” I let my voice trail off, unsure how to continue. I don’t think she wants to hear that I jerked off to the thought of her underneath me countless times. Or that I wanted to run over every guy she dated.

  My hesitation seems to confirm her concerns as she starts getting off the couch, mumbling about making us something to eat. I don’t pay attention to her words as a single thought quiets my spinning mind. I want, no, need, something honest and real, if only for a moment.

  Before she can move away, I grab her wrist, pulling her back down to me. She’s so close I can feel the heat of her body, the scent that is uniquely her washing over me.

  “It's not that I don't like you. It's quite the opposite,” I whisper, taking in her reaction. Her eyes go wide. First with surprise and then with unasked questions. Her mouth opens and closes a few times as she struggles to find the right words.

  “You're my best friend’s younger sister. And you think I'm an asshole,” I offer as an explanation.

  Throughout the years, she’s told me multiple times that I’m an asshole, and I can’t really blame her. Frankie isn’t shy about expressing her thoughts and she’s made them known on more than one occasion. I suppose I deserved it, too. In my attempt to hide my feelings, I guess I’ve come off as a complete douchebag.

  I didn’t do anything to change that impression, even encouraged it, when I made sure she saw Dave and me hooking up with lots of girls only to discard them the next day. It got even worse once I’d realized I was falling for her. It was my failed attempt of proving to myself I didn’t care for her.

  Now she’s sitting here, in front of me. Looking utterly confused and yet so fucking sexy. Though I know she’s off limits, I can’t help but want her. What held me back in the past doesn’t matter anymore. I’m too far gone on her and all previous lines are now blurred.

  She opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t give her the chance. I lean closer and her eyes go wide right before our lips connect. I expect her to shove me away, slap me, or call me names. She doesn’t. After only a brief pause, she opens her lips, allowing my tongue inside to play with hers. This little taste of her is all it takes for me to know I won’t be able to stop there.

  She kisses me without holding back, her lips sealed to mine. I can’t get enough of the way she tastes, the way she leans into me. My cock is so hard it’s throbbing.

  My hand travels up her arm to her neck, moving her hair to the side to give me better access. I want to taste more of her, want to commit everything about her to memory. Nuzzling her neck, I kiss and lick my way down to her collarbone. Her taste and her scent are driving me crazy. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps and her breath hitches.

  The way she responds to me, I’m convinced she’s wanted me before this moment as well, which turns me on even more.

  She swears between her moans, giving a seasoned sailor a run for his money. She’s like a walking, talking dictionary of swear words. If I wasn’t so turned on and focused on touching and tasting her, I’d probably be laughing.

  But now that I’ve pulled down her shirt and bra, freeing her breasts in the process, she could be reciting the periodic table and I wouldn’t know. Jesus, her tits are like a lighthouse welcoming a lost ship home.

  “Fuck, you taste so good,” I groan, my voice husky with need, right before I suck her nipple into my mouth. She goes crazy, arching her back and pushing her tit against me. I’m convinced my zipper is going to break any second from my cock straining to be freed. By the time I lay her back and focus on her other nipple, she’s writhing underneath me.

  God, I’ve fucked a lot of girls, but nothing compares to this moment. This is it. This is the Promised Land. She’s the one.

  The more I touch her, the more I feel her, the clearer it becomes.

  I start to undress us, enjoying the sight of every inch of her skin I uncover. She looks me up and down like she wants to lick me. There is a good possibility I’ll let her, but not before I get a taste of her.

  I make quick work of her top and bra, as well as my shirt, and pull off her knee-high Chucks. Then I pull down her skirt that hugs her every curve only to reveal a pair of lace panties. I drink in the sight before me. This is much better, much more intoxicating than the whiskey. Her body is flushed, covered by a fine sheen of sweat. She’s got curves in all the right places—all woman. I want to sink into her and forget the world.

  Taking off my jeans, I don’t take my eyes off her. She watches me and licks her lips, then gives me a naughty grin. When her hand wanders down her body and disappears in her panties, I nearly blow my load. Jesus, she has no idea what she’s doing to me.

  “Fuck, you're gonna kill me.” Seeing her touching herself, being comfortable with her body and with me watching her, is the world’s biggest turn-on.

  I make my way down her body until I get to my destination. I kiss her through her panties and she lifts her hips in response. With a husky voic
e, she starts begging me. She seriously fucking begs me. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

  “God, Ben…please.”

  The only reason I can restrain myself from fucking her senseless right now is because I want to hear her say it. I want to hear her sweet mouth talk dirty.

  I grin at her. “Please what?”

  To my surprise, she doesn’t even hesitate before she replies. “Please, just fuck me. I need to feel you inside of me.”

  That’s it. I might have wanted to take this slow and savor the moment, savor her. But those words, and the way she looks up at me with lust and desire, make my cock take over. With urgency, I take our underwear off before I lower myself on top of her, rubbing my cock along her wet pussy. And damn, she’s really wet for me and just as eager as I am. Her hips move up to meet mine in an impatient rhythm, coaxing me to sink into her. Not that I need any encouragement.

  “You have no idea how often I imagined hearing you say that to me.” My words come out as a growl, primal lust taking control of my body. Her naked underneath me—over the years, I’ve jerked off to that fantasy nearly every time after we all hung out together, feeling like a complete pervert. Now I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot.

  I kiss her, my tongue tangling with hers as I slowly slide my cock into her. Her wetness is coating me, her walls gripping tight like she never wants to let go. We both moan when I’m fully inside of her. This feels real. It feels like home. Forgotten is the ache and emptiness from earlier.

  I start moving, and she wraps her legs around me, allowing me to thrust deeper. My grasp on my control waivers, and although I want to take my time, to give her all she deserves, my body becomes impatient. I want more of her and start moving faster, my hand sliding to her breast, cupping and kneading it, pinching her nipple occasionally.

  I can feel she’s close, her pussy squeezing my cock and her hands tugging at my hair. She’s absolutely breathtaking.

  “God, Ben, I'm gonna come…I’m so close,” she moans into my mouth. At this point, I can’t hold back any longer. Groaning, I start thrusting like a man on a mission. I’m so fucking close, but I don’t want to come before her. I want to feel her fall apart underneath me.

  “Fuck, baby, come for me,” I moan into her ear and nibble the spot behind it. She starts convulsing and thrashing, her pussy clenching around my cock, taking me over the edge with her. I come so hard I hear a buzzing sound in my ears and see stars for a moment. We’re both panting, completely out of breath.

  I flip us over so she’s on top. We just lay there, while “Ain’t No Sunshine” by Bill Withers floats over to us from the record player. I let my hands draw circles on her shoulder, relishing the small moans it elicits.

  Nothing has ever felt like this. Being with her, inside of her, surrounded by her—for a moment, it didn’t feel like my life has fallen apart.

  But now, the anger and pain from earlier are slowly creeping back, no matter how hard I fight it. I try to ignore it, try to stay in the moment and enjoy the post-orgasmic high.

  When I feel her body getting heavier, I realize she’s about to drift off to sleep. I’m not expecting her to say anything, so at first I’m unsure I heard her right. But no matter how quiet she mumbled it in her sleepy state, the words were clear enough.

  “I love you, Ben.”

  Holy shit. A part of me wants to do a victory dance as if I just made a touchdown. Just when I thought there was nothing better than her wanting me, she proved me wrong. Learning that my feelings for her aren’t one-sided is as good as it gets.

  But my excitement quickly dies when I realize she can’t love me. How could she? She doesn’t know who I am. I don’t even know who I am.

  As she falls asleep in my arms, my thoughts don’t let me rest or enjoy the moment any longer.

  I realize I have nothing to offer her. My life is falling apart, and I don’t want to drag her into it. I’m consumed by anger, pain, and sadness. There is no room for love and happiness right now. She deserves better than the chaos surrounding me.

  Besides, the people who told me they love me were also the first ones to lie to me and betray me. Love doesn’t mean shit. Right now I can’t deal with any more complications or confusions. Do I care about her? Yes. Do I love her? I don’t want to think about that. I need to figure out my shit right now. I can’t deal with anything more than that.

  That’s why, as soon as I’m sure she’s asleep, I gently slide out from underneath her and get up. I cover her with the ugly green blanket that hangs over the backrest. She looks peaceful and happy, a soft smile on her lips and her hands tucked under her cheek. It’s perfect. But it’s not enough to change my mind.

  I’ve made my decision. I need to go to Tucson and figure out where I come from, who I am. I feel like an asshole leaving like this, but if I wake her up, she’s going to ask questions. Questions I don’t know how to answer.

  After getting dressed, I grab a piece of paper and a pen from the kitchen drawer. I sit there, wondering what I’m supposed to write. I know I shouldn’t have slept with her. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I can’t give her what she wants or what she deserves.

  But I don’t have it in me to regret it. This is the only real memory I’m taking with me. The only honest thing in my life.

  I hate leaving her, though. She’s going to be pissed off and hurt. But mostly pissed off. She’s a force to be reckoned with when she’s in a good mood, never mind a bad one. Me stealing off in the middle of the night will make her hate me. And I probably deserve it.

  I scribble Sorry on the paper and set it on top of her clothes so she’ll find it in the mayhem we created. I kiss her forehead softly, lingering for a moment. Leaving now when I might have a chance with her after all these years hurts like a motherfucker. But it needs to happen.

  If I could be honest with myself, I would admit that I do love her and have for a long time. But I can’t. Instead, I just tell myself it was years of built up sexual tension we needed to release. With that, I make my way to the garage, leaving her behind. Leaving my old life behind, or what’s left of it anyway.

  Chapter 3

  Hell, Here I Come

  Loud music blasts from the speakers of my old truck. The bass is turned up to the max and makes the dashboard tremble when “Voices” by Disturbed comes on.

  I concentrate on the music, trying to rein in my thoughts and feelings.

  After I left Frankie, I emptied my bank account, fueled up the truck, and bought snacks and energy drinks before I hit the road. My destination: Tucson, Arizona.

  I ignore the exhaustion that’s trying to take ahold. I haven’t slept for close to twenty-four hours, but I don’t want to stop anywhere just yet. Instead, I open another energy drink, drinking it in big gulps before I throw the empty can behind me.

  An hour later the gas tank is nearly empty, so I pull over at a gas station close to Indianapolis. The sun is shining and a nice breeze is blowing. It could be a perfect day. Instead, it feels like the weather is mocking my misery.

  After filling the tank, I grab a sandwich and get back into the truck. Before I even manage to start the engine, I hear my phone ring. Ignoring it, I pull out of the gas station and back onto the highway. My phone has been ringing non-stop since I left. Instead of turning it off or on silent, I turned up the music. Every incoming call reminds me why I can’t go back no matter how much I’d like to. It reminds me of why I’m leaving everything behind—including Frankie.

  The first few times I checked to see who’s calling. Mostly, it’s been my mom and dad…I mean Ron. Dave has tried calling a couple times, as well. I let them all go to voicemail, wondering if I’ll have it in me to listen to the messages later.

  I know it’s probably my mother calling again, but a part of me hopes it’s Frankie. The fucking masochist in me wants to hear her voice, wants to hear her say everything is going to be all right and my life isn’t a fucking joke.

  Although, I’m aware that if she were t
o call me, it’d be to tell me to go hell. She has no idea I’m already there.

  Deep down I know she won’t call. She’s either plotting my death right now, or—more likely—it didn’t mean as much to her as I hoped. Chicks get emotional. They get swept up in all that romantic, touchy bullshit. Her confession might have been just caused by a fleeting emotion—said in the heat of the moment.

  The ringing stops only to pick up again a few seconds later. When I finally look down onto the phone, Dad is flashing on the screen. What a fucking joke. I grip the steering wheel tighter, every ring fueling my anger further. The call is forwarded to voicemail and I hope it’s done, but yet again the ringing sound fills the cab of my truck. I’m fed up, angry, and tired, and if I have to hear the phone one more time or think about who might be calling, I’ll lose my shit. So I hit the button for the passenger side window, grab the phone, and toss it out into the shrubs growing on the side of the highway. I hope it shatters into thousand little pieces. Just like my life.

  At least now I won’t be dealing with hundreds of calls from my mother. No voicemails of her trying to sell me more of her lies. No wondering whether or not Frankie will call.

  I close the window and turn on the stereo again, skipping songs until I get to Pantera’s “Vulgar Display of Power” album. It’s angry and violent enough to soothe the rage surging through my veins.

  ***

  I planned to make it farther, but after another two and a half hours of driving the exhaustion catches up with me. At this point, the energy drinks only make me jittery instead of keeping me awake.

  I find a cheap motel that looks like it’s flea infested, but I don’t really care. I rent a room and then decide to get something to eat. Across the street is a small diner and I head over there, eating my first real meal in over twenty-four hours. Only when the waitress sets the burger with fries down in front of me, do I realize how hungry I am.

  Once I’m done, I throw the money including the tip on the table and make my way out, heading to the liquor store down the road. I get what I need to help me numb myself enough to be able to sleep. Looks like I’ll be spending the next few hours with my good old friend whiskey. He never disappoints, never lies.