Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall)

by Angelisa Denise Stone

  “No Kathryn, I’m fucking awful. This … all of this … just sucks the fucking life out of me. I gotta get out of here,” he states, breathing deeply.

  “Baby, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. That was pretty intense in there,” I say, rubbing my hands up and down his arms. “Let’s go check in to a hotel. We’ll use my credit card and just hold each other. You can tell me everything.”

  “Alright Pebbles,” he acquiesces, solemnly. “It’s time you knew the whole truth.”

  All along, I had a sneaky suspicion that Kathryn was open-minded and non-judgmental enough to look past my “homeless” status. Ever since I watched her selflessly fill parking meters and tap her chipped, un-manicured nails on the hood of her rusty Volkswagen Bug, I knew she wasn’t an uppity, socialite, ladder-climbing bitch. Hell, she carries a knockoff purse, willingly eats hot dogs and noodles, and uses gift cards and coupons. If those weren’t clues enough, the whole wearing lost and found clothes should’ve tipped me off. I could tell that whenever she discovered the truth about my living situation that she’d find it admirable and respectable. Kathryn would never consider herself “too good” or even “above” others for the possessions they had or didn’t have. At least, I hoped. I was just too damn chicken-shit to tell her.

  It’s the story that’s she waiting on now that fills me with dread, could quite easily redefine how she feels about me. Kathryn has a bleeding, sympathetic heart like I do. This reality may put her over the edge. Truthfully, it makes me question my character, and even my overall goodness. Basically, I stopped looking in the mirror, caring about my family, my future, anything when I agreed to shut my mouth and look the other away. Plain and simple, I’m a coward, nothing more, nothing less.

  Guiltily, I must admit that I was very much like my family until everything went down. I basked in the lifestyle money and recognition brought forth. Summer excursions in Europe, spring breaks in Palm Springs, Christmases in London or skiing in Vale were all a part of my childhood, a childhood I never questioned, but enjoyed and flaunted at each and every opportunity I could. I’m not proud of this, but it’s ultimately who I am—who I was—who I’m so desperately trying to forget. Adrian O’Donnell’s shell is one I’m more than willing to shed.

  Settling on the bed, surrounded by pizza, breadsticks, and wings, Kathryn groans, closing her little Weight Watchers app. “Again, I’m over my points.” She puffs her lips out, pouting like a child. “I hope you’re into the fluffier woman, because I’m on the verge of getting there.”

  “Oh Hell,” I say, staring at her body, “don’t you see how gorgeous you are?”

  I will never understand women. They’re never satisfied with their bodies. I wouldn’t be head-over-heels fucking whipped over this chick if I weren’t stupidly attracted to her. When I look at her, I go dumb, losing all intelligence, because she’s so damn sexy.

  “Uh no, I don’t. I know each and every one of my imperfections, and each one is far from gorgeous, but thanks for the compliment. Does make me feel better,” she says, smiling bashfully.

  Taking my hand in hers, she says, “Alright, enough stalling Dre, dish the goods. Tell me the story that you think will scare the crap out of me.”

  “Or … check this out … we could have hot, crazy, mind-blowing sex and forget everything,” I offer, stalling longer. Looking at Kathryn, I just don’t want to let her go, and I’m afraid this saga is going to seal the deal and make her hightail it home without a second look or thought.

  “Oh we’re gonna do that … positively. I believe we left off at a pretty crucial moment last night. But first … first … I want full disclosure,” she confirms. Smiling, with a cute little wink, she adds, “Then, you’ll get full exposure.”

  Conjuring up the image of her naked ass in the air last night, and Kathryn on her hands and knees, offering herself to me makes me instantly hard. Adjusting myself groaning, I relent, “Alright Pebbles … just prepare yourself. What you’re about to hear isn’t pretty … it’s not pretty at all.”

  A little over a year and half ago, my father started molding Tristan to be the second-in-command at O’Donnell Industries. They spent a great deal of time together, and Tristan was really proving to be quite the businessman. Clients trusted him, confided in him, and relied on him. My father was in his glory, because his eldest son, his pride and joy, was following quickly and successfully in his well-formed and highly acclaimed footsteps. At this point, my parents had already given up on me; the idealistic son who “wanted to heal the world.” Tristan loved the limelight, devoured it and reveled in it, really.

  My father had to have an emergency surgery due to an infected gall bladder. The operation couldn’t wait, because he was in excruciating pain. However, he was needed in Chicago for a major business meeting with a large corporation; both sides were pining for a merger. The merger would change the lives of many employees and make more millions for O’Donnell Industries. Feeling optimistic, my father sent Tristan to handle the merger.

  Tristan wined and dined the clients, charming the pants off of everyone involved. Tristan finally rose to the golden-boy status he’d always coveted. I was no longer his competition; he was my father’s exclusive right-hand man. Tristan sat proudly at the top, paramount over all other employees.

  Months went by and more and more people were enthralled and impressed by Tristan’s business mind. It was as if he had the Midas touch. He could do no wrong. Until he did.

  One night, after a long business dinner, wine and champagne flowing freely, Tristan left the expensive restaurant and decided to hit an old, local dive bar that we frequented in our early 20s, playing pool and throwing darts with our buddies. After a few shots of Jack, and a couple of Jack and Cokes on the rocks, Tristan started chatting up the cocktail waitress, Leah Franchetti, a former schoolmate of mine.

  After sharing a few laughs and a lot of drinks, Tristan invited Leah to spend the night with him. She declined, but he was persistent—just as he always is. Tristan offered to take her to the most expensive and swanky hotel in town, figuring she’d never been someplace so elaborate before. Leah caved, falling prey to my overly aggressive and bombastic brother.

  At the hotel, there was more alcohol and plentiful flirting and foreplay. Sometime in the evening, Tristan became argumentative and volatile—just as he always is. Leah decided she’d made a horrible mistake and attempted to leave his room. Apparently, he lost his cool, punching her in the face and violently raping and abusing her.

  Tristan remembers none of it, claims Leah’s full of shit. No part of him would own up to his crime, or “indiscretion” as my parents refer to it. Leah stopped to see him one night at our house, explaining that she was going to go to the cops and the news channels if he didn’t compensate her for her pain and suffering. Throwing her out on her ass, Leah did what she had to do. When my family least expected it, she pounced. Confronting my father in the parking garage, Leah retold the whole sordid affair, explicitly describing the violent and unforgivable behavior of my disgusting brother. Leah had the bruises to prove it.

  My father wouldn’t hear of it, begging her to quiet down. With each urgent denial from my father, Leah’s voice grew louder and louder. Finally, my father took her into his limo, exchanged threats and ultimatums. After driving around for over an hour, Leah Franchetti was $300,000.00 richer and gagged with a promise of “skipping town.” Three days later, Leah showed up again, wanting more money. My father refused, ordering her own of town. The ball was in her court, and he knew it.

  Leah took my dad for another 20 grand, signed a confidentiality contract, and left. Nobody’s heard from her since. My brother committed a heinous, despicable, and completely unforgivable crime, and my parents used their money and power to make it go away, saving my brother from a future of imprisonment, as well as saving themselves from public ridicule and embarrassment.

  “Holy crap, this is the junk that soap operas are made of,” Kathryn states, incredulously. “And they told
you all of this?”

  “Tristan and I went out one night, drank a few too many, and he told me everything—what he remembers of it anyway.” I confess. “My parents were frigging ballistic when they realized I knew. They were more pissed at Tristan for telling me, their bleeding-heart son, than they were with the fact that their son fucking raped some innocent woman.”

  “My God, so what happened? What’d you do?” she asks, her face full of wonder and worry.

  “This is what I never wanted you to know, Pebbles,” I admit, knowing that whatever positive light she’s seen me in was now going to darken drastically. “Nothing,” I admit, pausing to let the fucking truth sink in, penetrate her mind, break her heart.

  “My fucking brother raped a girl. My asshole parents paid for her silence, and I did nothing,” I confess, hating myself. Running my hands over my face, trying to hide from the reality of my cowardice decision, I finally say, “I got mad, began to loathe everything my about my entire family, and just up and moved the fuck away, leaving them to deal with all their inner demons on their own.”

  “God, I’m no better than any of them,” I continue, not being able to look Kathryn in the eyes. “My heart can bleed all it wants, but my actions speak louder than my words and wants. I did nothing. I’m a yellow-bellied coward, who easily could’ve wronged a right but chose to look away and get the fuck out.”

  Silence fills the room; it’s deafening and shattering at the same time. I want her to speak, to tell me how disgusted she is with me. How my lack of courage proves that Tristan and I are more alike than I would ever like to admit.

  “So what’re you going to do about it?” she asks finally, patiently awaiting my answer.

  “What can I do? What’s done; is done,” I respond. By the reaction on her face, it’s far from the response she was hoping for.

  “Uh, no, not a chance, Dre,” Kathryn states, crossing her arms over her chest, shaking her head. “You’re seriously considering letting let him get away with that crap? Even worse, you’re gonna let that poor woman suffer, never getting redemption for what he did to her? No way … not gonna happen, Dre. Not on my watch.”

  “I don’t want to sound like a dick here or anything, but it’s not my fight. I washed my hands of the whole thing a long time ago,” I argue, hoping she’ll see my side of this. “Plus, Leah got all she wanted,” I add.

  “Okay, let’s start with Leah, do you think she’s really over the abhorrent violation that she endured? Do you Dre?” she asks, not really wanting an answer, but obviously making a strong case. Continuing, she says, “Do you really think that money, any amount, can be compensation enough for that kind of victimization?”

  “God Kathryn, you know I don’t. That’s why I’ve been living in a fucking tent for over a year. What the fuck am I supposed to do?” I question. “Like I said, it’s not my fight.”

  “Oh Dre, you couldn’t be more wrong. That’s what’s wrong with the damn world today. Nobody wants to take a stand against the bullies,” Kathryn pleads, her face contorting in frustration.

  “Why let Tristan win? Why do the bad guys always get to win? People like you, like me, we have to fight against the cruelties in the world, help the underdog … otherwise nothing ever changes,” she argues.

  Kathryn groans in frustration and anger. “When the weak can’t fight for themselves, we absolutely have to fight for them.”

  “I know. Stop. Jesus Christ, I know. This is exactly what I’ve been telling myself for that past year,” I say, caving to the inner battle I’ve been having with myself every day. “What am I supposed to do? Call the police. Narc on my own brother? Turn my parents in? What?”

  “Ummm … that … I don’t know,” Kathryn admits, crawling over to me, lying her head down in my lap. “I know what’s right … just like you do … but I don’t really know how to go about it.”

  “Neither do I … neither do I,” I mumble.

  I’m shocked that she’s touching me, holding me. It doesn’t make sense why someone as compassionate and kind as Kathryn Howell is still snuggling up against me after learning who I really am and what I really am—a coward.

  I run my fingers through her long, dark hair. “Well Pebbles, that’s everything. There are no more hidden skeletons in the Adrian O’Donnell closet of lies, “ I joke feebly, still playing with her hair.

  “Should I book you on the next flight back to Charleston?” I ask quietly. The question’s out, but I didn’t realize how anxious waiting for her answer would make me. My stomach ties in knots as what seems like an interminable about of time passes.

  “Not unless you’re going with me,” Kathryn says, reaching up and stroking my cheek. “Dre, I think you’ve been dealt a crappy hand, a horrifying one … but I understand your torment. You love them, but hate them too … for being the immoral jerks they are. I’d worry more and wonder more about you if you weren’t so torn and confused. They’re your family. Like it or not.”

  “Not,” I groan, banging my head back on the headboard.

  Sitting up, Kathryn leans in and begins kissing my neck. “We’re gonna solve this dilemma … together.” She strokes my cheek again.

  Smiling, “But first, I need a long, hot shower,” she explains. “My body aches and it’s been a long day. If we’re being totally honest, a little soap and shampoo would do me some good.”

  “Alright Babe, I’ll clean up the food and mess. You go take a shower.”

  “Man, sometimes you really are off your game,” Kathryn complains. “Let’s try this again … I’m going to take off all my clothes, get completely naked, and stand in the hot stream of water, while it beats down on my wet, hot, naked body,” she describes perfectly, staring deeply into my eyes. “Then, I’m going to soap up my hands and wash every inch of my body with my lathered up and wet—”

  Shedding my shirt and pants, before she finishes, “I say, “Race ya.” Kathryn laughs, scrambling to get off the bed, kicking the pizza box to the floor.

  By the time she gets to the bathroom, I’m naked and already have the water running. “It’s too cold still,” I explain, leaning on the wall, drinking in her beauty. Aroused, I watch intensely as she removes her shirt and bra, tossing them aside.

  Walking over to Kathryn, I draw her nearer, tugging on the top of her jeans. Not taking my eyes from her hers, I unbutton her pants, running my hands along the inside of her jeans until they begin to lower off of her hips. Kathryn wiggles her hips, forcing the jeans to fall faster to the floor. Still wearing her hot pink panties from last night, Kathryn wriggles out of them quickly. Her body is breathtaking; the sight of her womanly curves fuel the fire inside me, sending heat and need straight to my groin. Just looking at her, wanting her, being near her, washes away the pain, fear, and worry of the day’s events.

  “Fucking exquisite,” I moan, wanting to bury myself deep inside her. “Come here.”

  Confidently, Kathryn approaches me, her eyes directly on my arousal. She reaches for me, enclosing both of her hands around my erection, slowly sliding her hands up and down its length, willing it to grow and strain. “It should be ready now.”

  “It’s been ready—always ready for you, Pebbles,” I reply, my breath catching.

  Giggling, Kathryn smiles and says, “The shower … the water should be hot enough.”

  Chuckling, I pick her up as she wraps her legs around my waist and step into the stall. The feel of her body pressing hard on mine stirs and heightens my desire. “You’re all that I crave,” I murmur into her ear, sliding the tip of my tongue along the collarbone.

  Water splashes and drenches my shoulders and back. Kathryn looks more tantalizing and tempting as stray droplets fall down her hair and face. I turn her into the direct stream. She throws her head back, arching her back, as the water washes over her face and hair. I get lost in her magnificence as I bend my head and take her nipple into my mouth.

  Moaning, Kathryn grinds her hips against me, generating a slow, rhythmic friction between u
s. I squeeze her ass, holding her closer, gyrating my pelvis with hers. Backing her up against the wall, I tangle my hands in her long, wet hair, tugging her head back, giving me more access to her neck and mouth. The taste of her skin coupled with the water has all my nerve endings screaming.

  Kathryn unwraps her legs from my waist, and slides, slowly down my body. Reaching for the soap, she removes the plastic from around the tiny, hotel bar soap. “Fits perfectly in my hand,” she grins wickedly, and begins caressing my body with her hands and the soap. The mixture of her hands and the soapy lather traveling along my skin, my body, and my length is the equal epitome of torture and pleasure.

  I want nothing more than to pound away deep inside her, pushing her roughly against the wall with each thrust and grind. But, I don’t. I’m taking it slow, allowing her to sexily explore my body.

  Kathryn’s tender touch, combined with her irresistible body, selfless heart, forgiving nature, and intelligent wit make her the answer to my prayers, the reality to my dreams, and the only sanity in my psychotic and crazy world.

  Hungrily, I kiss her delicious lips, devouring her tongue, holding her slippery, wet body secured tightly against mine. “Baby, I need you now.”

  “Not yet, Dre,” she whispers, “not yet.”

  I moan in defeat, knowing Kathryn’s taken control, control that I don’t want to regain. Her exploration of my body has my insides on the edge, ready to react and explode at any minute.

  Finishing, her seductive cleansing of every inch of my body and hair, Kathryn glides her hands over my body as the water rinses the foamy suds. Kathryn’s lips, tongue, and teeth follow her hands’ lead, trailing all over my body, sending me to the brink.

  Kneeling, Kathryn closes her eyes as the water beats down on her face and breasts. She runs her hands along her breasts, pushing them together, kneading the water-soaked flesh. My hands replace hers as I revel in the vision below me. I’m captivated and rendered speechless by her sensuality.