Blue Rose (A Flowering Novel)

by Daltry, Sarah

  “I was thinking something less… relationship-y,” I tell him.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “The bathroom? No one’s here. We can use the women’s room.” Since I’m the only girl in the place, I don’t think there will be a mad rush to use it.

  “It won’t be long that way,” he says.

  “I told you, buddy. I’m looking for a fuck. I don’t want to snuggle. So are we doing this or what?” He’s starting to irritate me. Maybe I should have gone home.

  “Too bad. I’d been hoping to taste that sweet pussy.”

  That’s more like it. Dirty I can do. Dirty I know. He doesn’t want to cuddle; he just wants to do more to me than we can do in a shitty bar bathroom.

  “Fine. There’s a motel nearby. I’ll pay. You can follow me.”

  “I’ll drive,” he offers. “Maybe you can get a head start, if you know what I mean.”

  “You can follow me,” I repeat.

  It’s a ten minute drive. I’m pretty horny, and I’m also extremely anxious. The worse the anxiety, the more I tend to make bad decisions. I know this is one of those bad decisions, but I decided a long time ago that if men were going to take this from me anyway, I’d give it away first. It’s better to choose to fuck a stranger in a motel than to go to school and have someone shove his hand up your skirt while you’re just trying to get a bottle of water from the damn vending machine. I know that everyone thinks it’s my fault, because I’m pretty and I’m a slut and I dress like I do, but I was none of those things at eleven – and where the fuck did that get me?

  I go in to pay for the room and gesture down to the last door on the right. #17. Somehow, this place is even sleazier than the one I went to with Jack and… Aaron, was it? Something like that… a while ago. The paint on the door is chipping and the key barely turns before the door’s standing wide open. Some security they’ve got.

  I shut the door behind me and lock it. He looks at me and I strip down to my bra and panties while he watches. He starts to rub himself, but he doesn’t undress. Apparently I have to do everything.

  “Why don’t you let it breathe?” I suggest.

  “What?” he asks, his hand going to town over the front of his jeans.

  “Take it out. Stroke your cock. I’ll watch.”

  I lie down on the bed and he unzips. He’s not as big as I’d thought when I was rubbing him under the table, but he’ll do. He fumbles a little trying to get his jeans off while he strokes himself quickly. It’s already near bursting. He better fucking last long enough to get it inside me.

  I pull my panties down and unbuckle my bra, tossing them both to the floor. “I believe you said something about tasting my pussy,” I remind him and spread my legs. He doesn’t even take his shirt off and he trips over his jeans, which are still wrapped around his ankles, as he moves to the bed. Jesus. Is he a fucking virgin? My God.

  He shoves his head against my cunt and starts licking me, but he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. I try to shift my hips to hint at where my clit is, thrusting against him to get some enjoyment out of it, but he just goes to town like it’s a snack. I give up and lean back. His cock was throbbing badly enough that he’ll give up sooner rather than later. He just better not come before I’m done.

  As expected, it’s not even five minutes before he lifts his head and faces me.

  “I’m-”

  I cut him off. “We came here to fuck. I’m not stopping you.”

  There’s no real foreplay, but I run my hand over my clit a little to get myself further along. I reach over to my purse, hand him a condom, and then he pushes into me, groaning. He doesn’t have a lot of moves, but I angle my body so that his one move helps me and I close my eyes. He makes weird grunting sounds as he thrusts and I try to tune him out. I think of Jack, of his eyes, of the way he kisses me, even though he hates kissing. I think about his body and how his hands feel on mine. I tighten myself around the bar guy I’m fucking and I imagine Jack deep inside of me. It’s really a lot like doing it myself, but the orgasm comes. Just in time, too, because he’s moving off of me and filling the condom within seconds of the last tremor.

  I don’t even clean up. I just get dressed, thank him, and drive home, telling myself that the tears are simply a natural response to the relief of an orgasm. I miss Jack so much. He texts me again, but I delete it without responding. I can’t bear to be around him right now.

  6

  During the summer after freshman year, Jack and I would meet at the common or at the pizza place in town nearly every day. My mom was planning her wedding and I didn’t know what happened at Jack’s house, but he never invited me over. I’d walk the mile and a half each way to see him, though, even on rainy days. Once, it had started to downpour just as I got to the common. Jack was already there and he ran across the street to me, wrapping me in his jacket, which was also drenched, and hugging me to him. Since that day, I’d been hoping for rain again.

  It wasn’t raining on this particular Tuesday, but it was exceedingly hot. New England summers were always like this. For two weeks, it would be unbearable, almost fall weather and we’d freeze, and then suddenly we’d get a heat wave. Most years, we didn’t even have spring. We had winter, a period of gray wetness, and then the air conditioners would be maxed out. We were at max AC temperature now.

  Jack was sitting on a bench by the war memorial. I didn’t realize until I got closer that he was smoking. I didn’t even know he smoked.

  “Hey,” I said as I approached.

  “Hey,” he replied and flicked his cigarette. He looked at the pack next to him on the bench. It wasn’t in my way, but he picked it up anyway so I could sit. Then he held it out to me. “Want one?”

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” I replied, which wasn’t actually an answer.

  “I just started.”

  “When?”

  He looked at the pack. “Three cigarettes ago?”

  I took one out and let him light it for me. It tasted terrible, but I liked the burn. I liked how it made my lungs hurt a little, like there was a finally an excuse for the heavy weight that I carried in my chest. Plus, I liked sharing anything with Jack. We’d basically just hung out in math and at lunch until summer started. And now we mostly just sat here, barely talking, and then ate pizza before we both walked home. The only time he’d ever touched me was the day it rained.

  “Bad day?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Bad life.”

  “Yeah.”

  He ground his cigarette into the wood of the bench and I watched him from the corner of my eye. He was wearing long pants, even though it was hotter than Hell, and a black t-shirt. There was a hole in the armpit, which I noticed when he leaned forward to tie his sneakers. His long hair fell into his face and he blew it out of his eyes while he fixed his laces.

  I’d actually dressed up a little. I’d been trying every day since we’d started meeting here. I was wearing blue shorts and a white tank top. They made me a little uncomfortable, especially when I was walking alone, because guys would roll down their windows and whistle at me or yell dirty things to me, but so far no one had tried to touch me. Including Jack. He had never looked at me the way all the other guys did, and yet he was the only one I wanted to look at me that way. Today, I’d worn eye shadow and lipstick. I didn’t know if it looked good. I thought I looked like a clown, but so far, Jack hadn’t even noticed.

  I kept smoking the cigarette. He sat up and lit another and we waited in silence, watching the kids at one of the houses across the street run through a sprinkler. I was on my third cigarette by the time Jack spoke to me again.

  “Your hair looks pretty today. Did you do something new?”

  Of course, my hair was the only thing I hadn’t changed or put any effort into, mostly because I had no idea how. It usually just lay flat against my head. Luckily it was shiny and on super sunny todays like today, it almost glowed.

  “New shampoo,” I lied.

 
“It’s nice.”

  “Do you think I’m ugly?” I blurted out.

  He dropped his cigarette. It wasn’t even intentional. It just fell out of his hand like he’d lost all memory of how to hold it. He looked down and stomped it out before it lit anything on fire, although it was sitting in the middle of a concrete slab, so we were probably fine.

  “Why would you think that?” he asked.

  “It’s just… you’ve never looked at me like… well, a girl.”

  “I didn’t think… I mean, Alana, I see all the other guys and what they do and I hate how they look at you. I hear what they say to you, and it’s even worse when you’re not around. The things they’ve asked me in gym and whatever-”

  “Wait. What did they ask you?” I dropped my own cigarette and stomped it out. I could feel anger rising in me.

  “Nothing. I don’t want to say it. Forget I even mentioned it.”

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “No, it’s… awful. I don’t want to use those words, to talk to you like that.”

  “Please, Jack. I want to know.”

  He blushed and mumbled an answer, but I couldn’t hear it.

  “What?”

  “They asked if you were good at sucking cock.”

  I laughed. “That’s it?” They’d asked me that for years.

  “And they asked me…”

  I shook my head. “Just say it, Jack.”

  “They asked me how your pussy tasted.”

  “They say those things to me, too,” I told him.

  “Oh, and there was one more thing.”

  “They want to know if you’ve fucked me?”

  He blushed even brighter and stared at his feet. “Well, yeah, but… they said something really bad. And I don’t even know if it’s true and I don’t really want to know if it’s true. But, also, I guess… I don’t want them saying those things behind your back.”

  “What?”

  He looked up at me then and it was a good thing I could anchor myself with his gaze. The words coming from his mouth were like tiny icy daggers that spun the humid air around them into darts of cold agony as they pierced me, each syllable a slice at the resolve and the shell I’d built. His eyes met mine as he spoke and they were the only warmth left in the universe.

  “They asked me if you taste like your father, if I could still taste him inside you.”

  The cold shattered. The shaking came from nowhere. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make the world turn back upright. It was distorted, twisted at a 90 degree angle, and I could see Jack’s eyes but everything else was just noise and memory. Tears spilled down onto the bench between us. I didn’t want to cry in front of him, but worse, I had never wanted Jack to know. Not that. He knew I was a slut. He knew what the guys said about me. He knew half the school claimed they’d fucked me, that they all knew exactly what my pussy tasted like. None of them did, of course, because the only person who had ever touched me there was my father. But now, Jack knew I definitely wasn’t a virgin and he knew what I’d done.

  He reached up and wiped my cheeks clear and then he hugged me. It wasn’t like the hug in the rain, where he was trying to protect me. This time, it was the hug I’d wanted from him since I’d met him. His hands moved under my hair and clasped the back of my neck.

  “You are beautiful, Alana. But not in the way those guys say. You’re so much more,” he said.

  He was shy and sweet as he pressed his lips to mine. I’d never kissed anyone by choice. He tasted like cigarettes and a little like my tears, but I wasn’t sure if those were from his lips or mine. It was so innocent the way that he held me, the way that he kissed me, but I was dirty. Jack was pure; he was good.

  When he pulled away, he looked embarrassed. “I don’t want you to think I’m like those guys,” he said. “Of course I think you’re pretty. I noticed it when I met you, but I’m not…”

  I nodded. “It’s okay. I know.”

  He kissed me again, this time letting his tongue test its limits, and finding me willing. I had never thought about those things that I’d done with my father, at least not as something anyone would want to do, but Jack awakened something in me. I wanted to feel his hands on me. It confused me, but I couldn’t deny that I was curious about it.

  This time, after the kiss, he smiled. “Do you wanna go out with me?”

  “For pizza?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “No, like, be my girlfriend.”

  The rest of that summer was like that – sweet and cute and innocent. We never did more than kiss, and we didn’t even kiss every time. Jack was still struggling with his own problems at home, but we were happy. My mom was about to get married and Jerry, her fiancé, was a great guy. On those nights in midsummer, when the days lasted nearly into the next, I believed that my past was something I’d finally move beyond, something that I could overcome in the years ahead. I believed that there was still good left in the world.

  7

  I’m at home, of course, sitting in my room, drawing, when Jack texts me really late on Friday night. He says it’s important, that I need to come visit him at work tomorrow, that he has a favor to ask. I don’t know why he even explains, because if he asks me to go somewhere, I go.

  I stay up late working on my drawing, and end up sleeping most of the day Saturday, barely making it to his work in time after I shower. I dressed up a little, because I’ve been missing him. It’s been a couple days since I even heard from him, except for last night, and I feel a little empty. Although he’s made it abundantly clear that we will never date again, and although I know it’s the best thing for us both, I still need Jack in my life. He’s my best friend, and he’s the only person who really knows me. Except Dave, but it’s been two years since Dave even spoke to me. I try not to think about abandonment, but it always seems like the people I don’t want in my life don’t leave until they’ve brought the world into ruin. Meanwhile, the people I do want around? They just pack up and go. I guess it’s to be expected; I seem perpetually dusted with the collateral damage of my past.

  Jack gets in the car and tries to turn the heat down as soon as he’s inside.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “It’s a fucking sauna in here.”

  “I’m cold,” I snap. I don’t want to fight with him, but for some reason, I feel angry all of the sudden. I light a cigarette and stare out the window. He doesn’t talk until I finish the cigarette and start a new one, although he does try to turn the heat down again. It’s kind of pissing me off.

  “Stop touching the fucking heat,” I tell him.

  He sighs and then responds. “I’ve had a crazy couple days.”

  I keep smoking and keep looking at the parking lot. The overhead lights flicker, although I don’t know why. It’s not windy and there’s no movement. It’s desolate, just endless stretches of tarmac and newly painted white lines. In the distance, there is a clump of trees, and the glow from the light pollution of the box stores behind them.

  “Yeah?” I reply.

  “I talked to her.”

  I know immediately who her is. The princess. The sweet blonde girl at the club. The one who has come between us, and the one who will finally be what Jack needs. I don’t want to feel angry, to be bitter. When I was fourteen and everyone hated me, Jack was there, despite the way they treated him, too. He has always been there, except for when he’s wrapped up in himself and his own head, but he would want me to be happy. I need to want that for him, but I feel like I will never understand fully why he can’t love me the way I love him. I can’t help but think that it’s because I’m damaged, and that makes me feel even worse.

  “Actually, well…” He trails off, and I get it. He hasn’t just been busy; he’s been busy with her. I hope they just went to a movie, but I know Jack. He doesn’t do movies. No matter how much he cares for this girl, he doesn’t know how to be in a relationship. Our implosion and the situation with Dave made him swear off commitment.

>   “Did you fuck her?” She didn’t seem like the type, but I look at him and I can almost see the nervous boy who kissed me on a park bench for the first time. He has it bad, and he has no idea. This girl is going to be the end of everything if she’s just looking to have fun.

  He nods and I think about the sex I had this week. It was clumsy and fast and somewhat ineffective. “Was she any good?” I ask, angry again because if she was, it just confirms how little value I have.

  He doesn’t reply, just nods again. It’s in his silence that I understand so much. Since we broke up years ago, Jack has always returned to me. Although he wasn’t technically my first, and not even my second, I’ve always felt like I lost my virginity to him. Because he was the first I chose. And I was his first. Even after we weren’t a couple, we taught each other everything we know, but now, as we sit in the deserted lot on this cold fall night, I see something new in him. For all his mindless hookups, I have never once doubted that Jack and I would be together again. I never questioned that, once he got bored, he’d end up with me. Maybe not in the way I wanted, but it was something. Sleeping with his strawberry princess has changed that. If she’ll have him, there will never be more of us.

  He sighs. “It’s her birthday. And she’s interested in experimenting. So I thought…”

  I laugh. He doesn’t understand what he’s asking, but for the first time ever with Jack, I see how damaged we are. I realize that he, like everyone else, thinks I’m beyond repair, that sex will always separate me from people. I wish it hurt, but instead it feels almost like relief. I’ve been clinging to a guy I knew half a decade ago, but now, I realize the Jack sitting in my passenger seat isn’t that boy. His own demons have corrupted him; together, we will never be anything but miserable.

  “Are you mad?” he asks. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. I love Jack. I always have. I loved the awkward kid in my math class, I loved the destructive broken boy who tried to hang himself in his closet, and I love this man who is already moving beyond me. And even though I understand he will never love me the same way, although he still sees the shattered girl he once protected from the rain, he does care. He just needs to look forward and I’m holding him back. I’m holding me back.