Trouble

by Nadene Seiters

  “You’re wearing my shirt,” I grumble at her, and her breath is coming fast over my face. I look at her flushed cheeks, the color staining the tips of her ears as she blushes.

  In the dark of the morning after a nightmare that makes me want to piss myself, I’m rawer than I ever was. And she’s inches from my face. I keep my hand bunched in her shirt and let my left hand trail up her arm, and then the awareness dawns in her eyes. But she’s not smiling, she’s staring down at me like I’m something she’s never seen before. Bewilderment, that’s what’s in her eyes, not fear. I was mistaken.

  “Daisy,” I whisper, pulling her fully down so that she loses her balance and lands on top of me. She straddles me and struggles to sit up, but I don’t let her. I keep my hand in the shirt and bring her lips down onto mine. They taste sweet, like she’s been sucking on a lollipop all night long.

  I don’t part her lips, just nibble at her bottom lip until she’s whimpering and wiggling on top of me. At that point, I roll over and pin her underneath of me, nibbling at her lips and kissing her neck. I let my tongue trail down the nape of her neck until it hits the rough material of the shirt and I use that as my boundary. Daisy wraps her arms around me and grips my neck with her fingers, running them up into my hair.

  I reach a hand down and let my palm trail over her underwear until she grows hot under my touch. When she’s moaning under me, panting, I kiss her hard and fierce until I feel her moving under me. She’s making loud noises into my mouth and I feel myself tightening with want, but I don’t act on it. It’s enough to drown myself in her noises and the way she’s breathing.

  After an hour of teasing her into climax, I pull her to my chest and pull her hair back from her ear, her shivering, quaking body molding itself to me like I’m the mold and she’s the liquid hot metal poured into it. Her breathing calms down and just before she falls asleep I hear her whisper my name. I lie awake the rest of the night with my nose nuzzled into the nape of her neck, and her hands wrapped around my forearm.

  Sometime around six in the morning, I pull away from her and cover her up with the blanket before I pull on my pants. I’m ravenous, have been since I felt her climaxing under my hand, but it’s time to eat actual food. I make my way to the kitchen and pop some toast into the toaster, go about making coffee, and hunt around for the ingredients to pancakes. She said she wanted pancakes a few days ago. I can do that.

  I mix up the batter and have half of it cooked by the time I hear my bedroom door creak open and the telltale, gentle footsteps of Daisy walking across the floor. I don’t look at her when I put the plate of food in front of her. Instead, I busy myself with making my own or more for her if she’s still hungry. I’m afraid to look at her, afraid to see what is on her face. I took advantage of her kindness last night, which was a crucial overstepping of the boundaries I’ve put up.

  When I finally to glance up at her, I notice she’s still wearing the same outfit she was the night before. Her legs are crossed Indian style on the chair, and the neon green of her bra shows through the white shirt even more in the light. It’s like she’s not wearing the shirt at all. I quickly shove a piece of toast in my mouth and look out the kitchen window to the back of the complex. It’s a thin strip of green grass before it runs into a field.

  Daisy brushes against my arm as she tries to put her plate in the sink and I reach out a hand to rest on her hip. I force myself to look down at her and see what’s on her face, prepared for the worst. Instead, she looks mildly confused and satisfied. I have deft hands or I’m good at making pancakes, I almost want to ask her which one.

  “Good morning,” she whispers, putting a hand on my chest. My throat goes dry, and I don’t know how to respond to that, I’ve never had a woman actually make it until morning with me before. Daisy wraps her arms around my middle and rests her cheek on my chest. Her ear is pressed to my heart.

  The hug is gentle and soft, but it’s arousing all the same. She pulls away from me and walks out of the kitchen, probably to go take a shower. But I’m the one who needs a cold shower before I have to work with her all day. I had better stay in my office, or I’ll be embarrassing myself often. I manage to finish my pancakes without choking and pace through the living room as I wait for my turn in the shower.

  By the time she comes out I almost have a path worn into the rug, my clean clothes are in my hand, and I try not to brush up against her as I head into the bathroom. But the doorway is too small, and I have a feeling that we’re like magnets. At least, that’s how it feels right now. The cold shower doesn’t do me any good, at least, not in the long run.

  I catch sight of her in the tight purple top and blue jeans, and it’s all over. This morning I watch her with a fresh appreciation for the way she walks down the sidewalk to the motorcycle. She swings her legs over the bike and puts her feet up. She’s so light the bike doesn’t tip with her weight. I climb on in front of her and quiver when she puts her hands on my waist this morning instead of my stomach. But when I start the bike she leans forward into her usual position and fists her hands into my shirt.

  The ride to the shop feels too long and too short all at the same time. When she climbs off the bike I miss the heat of her against my back, and I have to grit my teeth to maintain control when she shakes out her hair. I watch her walk up the steps to the door, and when she disappears through it I lean my head on the handlebars and try to take deep breaths.

  I thought pleasuring her last night would be good enough for me, but I have goose bumps rising up on my flesh and my heart is in my throat right now.

  “Caleb!” Carl calls from the doorway with his eyebrows pinched together. I get off the bike; pull off my jacket, and bound up the steps.

  “What’d I do now?” I ask in an irritated tone, my eyes narrowed.

  “Nothing, kid. Just thought you might have died on the bike or something.” He slaps me on the back, and I feel the blood drain out of my face. Daisy looks at me with wide eyes and starts around the counter, her lips downturned.

  “Caleb?” She asks. It’s not until she’s in front of me, pulling my fists away from my middle that I realize I’m shaking.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry, son.” Carl keeps a hand on my shoulder, and I shrug it off. I back away from Daisy and feel bile rising up in my throat.

  “It’s alright, gotta get over it sometime.” I whisper, stomping to the back. They let me go, and for that I’m grateful. How could I ever think I deserved to be able to kiss a girl like Daisy? I shouldn’t be riding with her on the back of my bike. I’m a murderer, killed my best friend. She’d be better off with Big Man.

  That day I don’t get much done at the shop. I manage not to screw up a tattoo for Marie and take a few walk-ins instead of letting Carl do them. I need to build my profile, and I need to do something with my hands so that they stop shaking. By the time the shop is closing down for the day, I think I might go home and break my dresser all over again. I still need to order new furniture.

  I can’t seem to figure out what to do with my hands, and Carl looks at me with a worried expression as I storm from the back, all the way out to my bike. Daisy follows after me, saying goodbye to Carl, and climbs on the bike after me. I feel her hands on my middle and relax into the touch, trying to loosen my grip on the handlebars.

  The ride home is too fast, but I’m feeling reckless. I could really use a drink, but there isn’t anywhere here that I didn’t hang out with Ronnie. I don’t want to see the apologies on people’s faces, or worse, hear them from their lips. The bike comes to a stop rapidly in the parking space allotted for me, and I hop off it before Daisy does. She scrambles to get off the bike and follows close behind me into the apartment.

  I’m about to break something again, my nostrils flaring and my stomach bunching into knots. I want to cry again, but I can’t. I can’t embarrass myself in front of Daisy again, and I can’t lose control in front of her. All that goes out the window when she puts a hand on my back, hesitantly, and says my name. />
  “Caleb,” she whispers, and I know what she’s about to say next. She wants me to talk about it, and I can’t. I can’t let the words out, or they’ll be real. So I turn around and grab both her wrists. I slam her up against the door and stare into her doe-like, brown eyes. She squeals at my fingers tightening around her wrists and flails her legs against my thigh. I want her to be afraid; I want her to run from me because I’m a killer.

  “Caleb!” She shouts at me, and I let one of her hands go so that she can stand on the floor again. She doesn’t say that I’m hurting her, but I guess I know just how much I am when her hand comes up to hit me across the face.

  The noise that her hand makes against my face sounds almost as awful as it feels. I growl low in my chest and taste blood in my mouth. There’s going to be a mark there tomorrow.

  “I’m sorry!” She tells me, pleading with me. I plaster my hand against hers on the door and lean my forehead on the wood overtop of her head. My chest heaves as I try to breathe and think. I need to think.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I tell her roughly, finally letting my hand slide down until it’s on my side. The only thing holding me up is my forehead against the door. I feel her shaking hands reach down to unbutton my jeans and I pop my eyes open. Is that the only way she knows how to calm a man?

  “No!” I tell her, pulling her away from the door and slamming her down on the couch. I need a release, but I don’t want her to provide it like that. I tear at the buttons of her jeans and pull them off, her legs shaking under me.

  I pull her shirt off and marvel at the swirling bra. It looks like a hippie t-shirt. I plaster myself over her and stare down at her face, looking into her wide eyes. I can see real fear there, but I also see excitement. The excitement wakes up the primal side of me, and I snap off her bra this time. I take her nipple in my teeth, and my hands start to shake when she screams.

  It’s not a scream of fear. It’s hot and breathy.

  It’s late afternoon, and I’m glad that my couch doesn’t face the window. At this point, I might not care, though. Daisy buries her hands in my hair and says my name over and over again as she grows hot and heady under me. I don’t take off her underwear, afraid that I won’t be able to contain myself if I do. I let my hands trail down her silky legs in between her climaxes and forget all about the fact that we need to eat.

  After an hour and a half she pleads for me to stop, her fists pulling my head back from her neck.

  “Caleb, please!” She cries out, and I finally put my elbows on either side of her and kiss her gently on the lips. I’ve successfully forgotten why I attacked her at the front door and my mind lets me forget for the rest of the evening. We satisfy ourselves with chips scrounged up from my cupboards and some fried eggs. It’s an odd combination, but I’m craving the protein and the salt.

  That night I drag her back to my bedroom after we’ve eaten and rehydrated. I lock the door and bury myself in the scent of her, the comforting warmth. But I don’t take off my own clothes. I snarl when she tries to pull on her underwear and toss it out the door. I want her to sleep next to me naked, so that when I wake up from a nightmare I can take advantage of the calming effect she has on me over and over again.

  I take advantage of that twice over the next six hours.

  ***

  “Caleb, you’re winding that girl up like a windup toy!” Carl snarls as he closes my door. “She’s out there typing like a madwoman on that keyboard. What the hell are you doing?” I run a hand through my hair and stare down at the drawing on my desk. It’s been two weeks.

  Two weeks of making love to her in all ways that I can think of other than the traditional way.

  After a few days, I realized I don’t want her to think that she’s not important. I want her to realize that she deserves to get as good as she gives. But I haven’t been given anything yet, at least, I won’t let her. I just want to prove to her that I’m not selfish, I’m not an asshole. I don’t want to just be another asshole to her.

  “I’ve done nothing to her,” I tell Carl, adding some red shade to the roses.

  “Well do it, soon, or you’re both going to be fired. Jesus, I’ve Delilah texting me and wanting to know if you’re available, Daisy’s more frustrated than a cornered badger, and you’re flitting around like none of its happening!” He crosses his arms over his broad chest and looks down at me seriously. “Is it broken?” He snarls at me quietly. It takes me a few seconds to get what he’s saying.

  “Jesus, Carl! No, it’s not broken.” I assure him, snapping the pencil in my hand.

  “Because if it is, I’ve got these pills,” he goes to pull something out of his pocket, and I topple my chair as I stand up out of it.

  “I said it’s not broken!” I shout at him. I’m pretty sure the gaggle of girls waiting for their tattoos doesn’t know what we’re discussing, but I turn beet red in the face anyway when they all turn to look at me behind the glass wall.

  “Then use it, before that girl finds it somewhere else.” Carl stomps out of my office and slams the door. The glass vibrates and my teeth grind together as I watch him grab a tattoo gun and proceed to tattoo a dolphin on the girl’s ankle.

  I grumble and stomp around my office a little before I calm down and sit at my desk again. I finish up the shading of the rose and shove the piece of paper in the envelope labeled Joel. It’s Friday night, maybe I’ll take Daisy out to dinner. That ought to calm her down; at least, I hope it does.

  With that idea in my mind, I grab my jacket off the back of my chair and pull it on, the leather creaking. I ignore the giggling ladies and put my hand on Daisy’s hip when she comes around the corner. The giggling immediately ceases when Daisy smiles up at me, and I know I’ve dashed some women’s hopes that instant.

  “You want to go out for dinner?” I ask her quietly, enjoying the way her body levitates towards mine.

  “O-okay,” she stammers, holding a manila envelope up in her hands.

  Chapter Eight

  I don’t know if she’s nervous or if it’s just that all women lose their marbles when they’re asked on a date. She’s gone to the bathroom to recheck her makeup three times now, and she’s changed her shirt eight. I grumble in frustration when she tells me to hold on a sec again and heads for the bathroom. I grab her around the waist with my right arm and pull her back against my chest, my nose dipping down to involuntarily sniff at her hair.

  “You look beautiful, now can we go?” I try to keep the heat out of my voice, but it still slips through like water through a crack.

  “I just need to fix –” I clamp a hand over her lips and I’m really glad that she’s not wearing lipstick or lip gloss. She never does, not anymore. She sure can get elaborate with her eye makeup though. Yesterday she practically looked Egyptian.

  “Nothing, you need to fix nothing because you are absolutely perfect. Besides, it’s nowhere fancy, alright?” I pull away my hand when she nods reluctantly, and let it fall to take one of hers. She doesn’t carry a purse, but after she got all her papers situated from the government she now has a state issued I.D. that she carries. I now know that she’s nineteen years old.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her birth certificate. I never bothered to ask her how old she was before I pulled her down onto the bed that night, for all I knew she was sixteen. My fingers loop in between hers and remain loose as I lead her towards the door.

  “But –” she starts again, and I put a finger to her lips. Then I silence her with a kiss when she still tries to argue. By the time I’m done kissing her breathless, she’s like pudding in high heels. I lean down to whisper in her ear, my cheek touching hers.

  “I could do all kinds of things to you right here, right now, because of that shirt, your tight jeans, and your heels that will stay on tonight. Do you want me to start now?” She whimpers and shakes her head in the negative, and I chuckle against her neck.

  My free hand pulls open the door, and I watch her leap out like she’s the mo
use and I’m the tiger. I pull my car keys out of my pocket and press the start button. The Mustang roars to life, and I take those final steps to get ahead of Daisy to open up her door for her. Never in my life have I had the urge to open up a girl’s car door, but with Daisy it’s different. It’s like if I don’t do that one, small thing I don’t deserve to be able to tear off her clothes at night and make her call out my name.

  I manage to stay well within the parameters of the speed limit even though my blood is roaring through my veins. I told her it was nowhere fancy just to placate her, in reality we’re going to one of the nicest places within a one hour radius. I drive right out of town and turn on the music softly to set the mood.

  When I pull up to the curb in front of a world renowned brewery her eyes widen ever so slightly, and I see her catch her breath. Every movement she makes screams at me to kiss her, to drive home and fling her down on the bed. To go all the way this time instead of teasing her like a madman.

  But I act like a gentleman; I contain myself and turn off the car. I get out of it and get to her door before she opens it. I hold the door open for her when she walks into the building, and I order the most expensive wine I can. Then she stares at me and quirks an eyebrow.

  “It’s a brewery, and you’re ordering wine?” She asks incredulously.

  “Do you want beer?” I sound pretty desperate even to myself and she laughs at me, the sound of it twinkling off the walls around us and drawing the eyes of some of the men around.

  “No, I think I’ll stick with the wine.” I wish she knew what the lights were doing to her hair and her eyes. She might not tilt her head this way and that as she looks at the menu or play with her bottom lip when she comes across something particularly complex.

  “Are we ready to order?” Of course, we have a male waiter. He beams at my date and takes her order first, barely acknowledges that I’m even there, and breezes away to do Daisy’s bidding.

  “Wow, I feel like I should be wearing a sign that says ‘I’m over here, yeah, over here’.” Daisy giggles and sips on her wine, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling.