Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1)

by Jamie Mayfield

  “Have you thought about what you want to study after high school, Brian?” he asked, pushing my hair back away from my face.

  “I love to build things, to create something from nothing. I’m not sure I’m good enough at math to go into architecture, but I was thinking along the lines of construction management,” I told him with a slight shrug.

  “Your math grades are fine, and if you’re serious about architecture, we can start looking into what you’ll need to get into a good school. We’ll have to find one that offers what we both want.” Then he got serious again. “I want for us to always be together, Brian. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you in it every day.” I nodded, and for the first time I was completely unable to tell him how I felt. If I couldn’t tell him, I would show him. Coming up onto my elbow, I lifted my head from his chest and leaned in slowly to kiss him. With my heart pounding out every bit of the emotion that I was feeling, I kissed him again and again. He was everything to me.

  Everything.

  The kiss, the passion, it was about more than just love. It was about that sexual need, that craving we had for each other. Pushing me back against the pillows, he lay on my chest, one of his legs wrapped around mine. I couldn’t think about the heat of the evening or the uncomfortable inflatable mattress beneath us; all I could think about was him. His kisses grew more urgent, and that swoop of excitement in the pit of my stomach intensified. Alone in the tree house, there was nothing to stop us from expressing every single one of the desires that had been building over the past few months. The fantasies that had plagued me about Jamie since I had been old enough to understand what they meant could be realized in our makeshift sanctuary there among the early summer leaves.

  Shivering as his lips traveled an indistinct and as of yet uncharted path down my neck, I tried not to pull as I grasped the long, damp hair on the back of Jamie’s head. When I felt his warm breath along my chest, my fingers tightened their grip. As his lips closed around my nipple, my back arched and my hips bucked up into his. A strangled sound erupted from me as he sucked and licked the sensitive skin and our hips ground together. Even through the heavy material of our jeans, the friction of his pelvis rubbing desperately against my throbbing erection was enough to bring me to the edge. Thankfully, I was able to hold off, because as he moved lower I felt the whisper of his lips across my stomach.

  The hand that was not in his hair then went to his shoulder, not to guide him, but simply for my own selfish comfort. I was both terrified and exhilarated by what was coming; my biggest, most exciting fantasy was about to come true. Chancing a glance down at him just as his mouth covered the area right above my waistband in exquisite, wet kisses, I saw his eyes were closed but he had a small, sweet smile on his lips.

  Suddenly, he slid his body back up so it was half on top of mine again, but before I had time to be disappointed, he was kissing me with long, deep, fiery kisses that made me wrap one of my legs around his waist and pull him closer. Slowly he broke the kiss and, after nuzzling his face against my neck, asked in a low, breathless voice, “Can I touch you?”

  Without even the briefest hesitation, I nodded, and the word “please” was drawn from me just by the excitement and longing I heard in his request. A gentle hand brushed over my stomach, and I panicked just a little as I felt his fingers undoing my jeans. My heart rate accelerated wildly, and I grabbed the sheet, balling it up in my fists on either side of my hips. Except for my heavy breaths, I lay paralyzed with him on his side right next to me as his hand slid into my jeans, and he stroked me through my briefs. I was so hard, and it felt so good.

  “Let’s see if doing my homework pays off,” he muttered. Dimly, I remembered the bag he wouldn’t let me see at the mall bookstore and wondered what he’d gotten. Quiet mewling sounds were pulled from me at even the idea of what he might have learned.

  I never thought anything could feel so intense until Jamie showed me what a blow job was. It took everything I had to return the favor, frightened as I was, but I needed him to know what he meant to me.

  Afterward, I laid my head gently against the soft skin of his stomach. Feeling him run his fingers absently through my hair, I wrapped an arm tentatively around his hips, completely unable to believe what I had just done. He moved his hand down to run lightly over my back. In the afterglow, I felt so content. Of course we were meant to be together. Tonight had just proven it. We fit together so easily, knew instinctively what brought each other pleasure.

  “Brian,” Jamie began. Sitting up slightly, I turned to look at him. He was smiling slightly, and his expression was full of hope, of promise. In that moment I could see my whole future, lying here beside me on this worn, inflatable mattress. “I love you.” I kissed his hip once, then crawled back up the mattress until we were level and wrapped both my arms around him. He sighed, a very contented sound, and with one arm around me, he put his other hand on my face, cupping my cheek. I leaned into his palm and then said the most important words of my young life. Even though I’d said them before, they meant so much more to me after the intimacy we had just shared.

  “I love you too, Jamie.”

  After getting dressed, we lay in each other’s arms, talking late into the night. I knew we had to get up for church the next morning, but it had been so long since we could just be together alone. Jamie rested his head on my chest, and I played with his hair as he ran his fingers over my stomach. We talked about things we’d like to do before the summer was over, and we talked again about what we would do once we graduated. It all hinged on what we could afford and where we could feel safe being together.

  When we were on the verge of sleep, it occurred to me that I was lying alone with Jamie, our limbs entwined comfortably, after the best orgasm I’d ever had. I never, ever thought we would be where we were right then. As his breathing evened out, I wished I could freeze that moment in time.

  It was like being in heaven.

  THE scream woke him up.

  It sounded like Mommy, and it wasn’t far away. Just the thought that something had made Mommy scream like that causes his small heart to pound in his chest. The little boy scoots down in his big boy bed, his spaceman pajamas riding slightly up his back. He crawls around the plastic railing that Mommy and Daddy put in place to keep him from falling out of bed because they love him. His feet make no noise on the carpeting as he creeps to his bedroom door. The muffled argument coming from the living room is nearly overpowered by his loud and frantic breathing. The door has been left open a few inches in case the monsters come out from under the bed.

  Peeking around the doorjamb, he looks first to the right, toward his parents’ bedroom, but sees nothing. Then he looks to the left, toward the living room, and sees shadows dancing on the wall. They twist and stretch in the diffused light, looking frightening. Gripping the doorknob tightly in his little fist, he watches, his tiny bare feet frozen where the blue carpeting of his room turns into the light carpeting that runs through the rest of the house.

  His mother screams again, and a crash reverberates down the darkened hall. The scream tears right through the terrified little boy, ripping away any lingering thoughts of safety or comfort. Why is Mommy screaming? Where is Daddy? He wants his mother. He wants to be brave and help her, but if it’s too big for Mommy, then it’s too big for him too. Big boys don’t cry, so he wipes away his tears.

  Two loud noises crack the very air around him. They sound like fireworks, only much closer and much louder. A warm wetness spreads through his big boy diaper. He runs back to his bed, heedless of the noise his feet make, and hides under the blankets. His only thought is that Mommy or Daddy will come soon. They have to come soon. Please, please let them come soon.

  The house is silent, and the boy waits.

  He doesn’t hear any more crashes, or bangs, or screams. Whatever was making Mommy scream must be gone. Impatient as any young boy, it doesn’t take long for him to crawl out of the warm safety of his bed. Again there is no so
und as he creeps carefully to his bedroom door. His heart starts another wild gallop as he sticks his head out. He sees that there are no more shadows on the wall and begins to breathe a little slower. Everything is still, and the quiet presses on his tiny ears. He needs to be a big boy now, a big brave boy.

  Taking a deep breath just like they do on TV when they’re scared, he walks slowly down the hall. His little hand trembles slightly as it glides over the bumpy surface of the wall and he gets as close to it as he can. Even though he’s small for his age, he tries desperately to make himself even smaller. Finally, the hallway opens onto the living room, and he takes his first step inside. The boy is shocked to see that the room is in shambles. The TV is gone, the radio is gone, the front door is open, and his parents are lying on the floor. The boy runs to his mother and tries to wake her. Her limbs loll uselessly as he shakes her, which frightens him. He doesn’t understand why her eyes are open but she doesn’t wake up. The blood seeping from the hole in her chest makes him wonder if she fell down.

  He doesn’t know what to do; it looks like Daddy is sleeping too.

  He wants to run, to hide, to find someone to help, but he can’t bring himself to leave his mother.

  Finally, the little boy sits on the floor next to his mother and takes her cool hand into his, like she always does when he’s scared.

  “It will be okay, Mommy,” he whispers softly as he squeezes her big hand with his.

  Then he watches out the front door for the monster to return for him, and he waits.

  I WOKE with a start, not sure what had interrupted the strange dream I’d been having, but immediately I was unnerved. Jamie sat up beside me, and when he put his hand on mine, I relaxed.

  “Brian, you’re in the tree house. It’s okay. You’re safe,” he reassured me, no doubt remembering the first few nights I had stayed over with him when we were younger. I’d screamed loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood, terrifying not only Jamie but his parents as well. Mrs. Mayfield had called Richard and Carolyn, who had immediately come over to calm me. After the first night, Jamie’s mama had told him she didn’t think it was a good idea for me to stay again, but Jamie wouldn’t hear it. He had begged, cajoled, and whined until they let me stay again. Each night after that first one, Jamie had put his arm around me and told me where I was and that I was safe. He did this each and every time, and though I didn’t realize it at the time, his touch had always comforted me.

  “I’m sorry,” I told him after a few minutes. “I just woke up a little disoriented.” He scooted closer to me as we sat side by side and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, exactly as he had done when we were younger. As I made a conscious effort to slow my breathing from the panicked panting, we sat awkwardly on the inflatable mattress, shivering slightly in the evening air. Jamie grabbed the top of the blanket and pulled it back over us as I gazed out into the pitch-black night, feeling unnerved, vulnerable. “Before I came to live with the Schreibers, I never felt safe, ever. There was always another kid who was bigger or an adult who was meaner. Now, one of my biggest fears is that Richard and Carolyn will find out about me”—I lowered my voice instinctively to a whisper—“about us, and they’ll send me back.” Looking up into his blue eyes, I saw my own uneasiness mirrored there.

  “They wouldn’t do that,” he replied, but his tone was unconvincing. I nodded, acknowledging his hollow placating. Pulling me down with him so my face was pressed into the warm hollow of his neck, Jamie lay down, and we held each other until the blissful darkness came over me once again.

  “LET’S unload the gear here and walk a few yards upstream,” Mr. Mayfield said as he opened the trunk of their family car. “We have more of a chance catching a few there than farther downstream.” He pulled out three fishing poles and an old tackle box. “Brian, why don’t you grab that cooler there with the bait? Jamie, take this one with the food and such.” Closing the trunk with a snap, Jamie’s father led the way to a beautiful spot about twenty yards away under a giant tree. We laid the coolers back against the base, and Mr. Mayfield set the poles on the ground.

  Watching Mr. Mayfield, it was hard to tell he was related to Jamie. His receding brown hair was thin and straight while Jamie’s blond, wavy hair curled and kinked in the humidity. Where Jamie was thin and wiry, Mr. Mayfield was fleshier in his khaki shorts, looking kind of like an overgrown boy scout. The only similarity between the two was that Jamie had inherited his father’s eyes. Mr. Mayfield’s eyes, now complemented by laugh lines, were the color and shape of Jamie’s. Soon we were sitting on the bank, our lines in the water, and Mr. Mayfield was telling us stories of when he and Mrs. Mayfield used to take Jamie camping when he was a kid. It was great to hear stories about Jamie from before we’d ever met.

  “And then, after you and I got up to start breakfast, a raccoon got into the tent where your mama was sleeping,” Mr. Mayfield choked, his laughter getting the better of him for a moment. Jamie and I were laughing too. “She screamed to high heaven and tried to run out of the tent, but she… she got caught… in the flaps. Scared you something fierce ’cause you were just a little thing, but I was cracking up as I finally got her loose. Man, she didn’t talk to me for the rest of the morning for laughing at her.”

  “I’m going to grab a Coke from the cooler. You want anything?” Jamie asked me, still chuckling at his father’s story. I told him I’d take a Coke too. “Dad?” He stood up and brushed off the backs of his shorts while I tried very hard not to notice the way his naked arms and his bare chest flexed as he did so. Quickly, I forced my eyes back to the water.

  “I’ll take a beer. They’re kind of hidden in the bottom,” Mr. Mayfield replied, his voice a little sheepish. He sounded like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the candy jar. “Just please, don’t tell your mother.” Jamie laughed and came back a minute later with the three cans, which he then distributed. His father sighed and opened his beer.

  “You might not believe this, son, but there was a time, before you were born, that your mother would have been happy to join me in a cold one. When we were first married, we’d go out drinking and dancing with your Uncle Glenn and Aunt Peg.” Jamie looked at his father with skepticism. Apparently, he couldn’t believe, much like I couldn’t, that Mrs. Mayfield ever drank or went dancing. The church didn’t allow such things, and she was such a strong-willed woman when it came to following God’s laws. Mr. Mayfield sighed, and he suddenly looked older and tired.

  “When she was about seven months pregnant with you, we were coming home from your grandmother’s place upstate, and a deer wandered into the road ahead of us. I tried to swerve around it, but I couldn’t, and we hit it head on.” Even now, seventeen years later, Mr. Mayfield paled at the memory. “You and your mama almost died. It was the scariest night of my whole life. But, by the grace of God, you both came out of it alive. That night, your mama decided that Jesus spared the two of you for a reason. She’s been devoted to him ever since.” Jamie’s father shook his head and set the can on the ground near his feet. As an afterthought, he added, “It’s not that I mind her finding religion, really; I just miss the woman I married.” He looked up, realizing he’d said that last bit out loud, maybe going a bit too far.

  We sat quietly for a while, taking in his father’s story. I was dying to talk to Jamie alone. He had almost not been born? The thought sent a sliver of ice into my stomach, chilling me through to the bone despite the heat of the afternoon. It wasn’t until Jamie and I both got virtually simultaneous bites on our lines that the melancholy mood that had settled over the afternoon broke. Jamie’s father jumped off of the stump he had been using as a chair to help us reel in our catches.

  All in all, we caught about half a dozen good-sized fish. Despite my protests, Mr. Mayfield insisted I take half of them home for Richard and Carolyn. I had to say it was a pretty good day, and I felt more comfortable with Jamie’s father than I had. When I went to church with them or stayed over, it had always seemed that he and Jamie’s
mother were on the same page when it came to religion. It helped to know that sometimes he struggled with it too.

  A few hours later, they dropped me off with a handful of fish and a head full of questions.

  “Brian, what?” Carolyn asked, a little wary, as I brought my haul into the kitchen and set the fish in the sink. To me, they didn’t look like dinner; they just looked like dead fish in the sink. It was kind of gross, actually.

  “Mr. Mayfield insisted that I take them. I didn’t want to be rude,” I told her, watching the dead eyes staring up from their stainless steel tomb.

  Carolyn looked a few more times between the fish and my fairly green face and said very calmly, “So, pizza good with you for dinner?”

  8

  NINE thirty.

  It was just seven minutes later than the last time I had glanced over at my clock. Reclined on my bed with the John Marshall paperback Jamie had lent me, I tried not to think for the hundredth time that night what they were doing. Jamie was out on a date with Emma for the first time since our intimate night in the tree house. It made me physically sick to think about them together, no matter how necessary it was. Honestly, more than feeling bad for myself, I felt worse for Jamie. He hadn’t wanted me to know about the date at all and had been upset when his mother asked him about it in front of me earlier that day. We had been in the kitchen getting a soda from the fridge when she’d asked him what time he’d need the car.

  I never said a word to him about it, even when he tried to reassure me. The pretense of dating her was hard enough without burdening him with my feelings. Before I left, however, he pulled me up to his room and pressed me against the back of the closed door. He held my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine in long, slow, deep kisses. Never saying a word, he did everything he could to make me feel his love, to make me feel how special I was to him. It helped to quell the molten jealousy that burned through my veins.