Firsts

by C. L. Matthews

  Everything I do and have done is planned and precise. She’ll see, and I’ll prove to her I love her in the only way a man like me is capable of. How can she not tell? I tell her with my eyes, I don’t hold back. Words are useless when I show her the truth. Words are worthless unless someone shows you the real meaning.

  I didn’t mean to slip up about my fucking other women in the past. They don’t matter, none of them. When I’m with other women, it’s Leia that I picture taking my dick, and it’s her who I moan for and call out to. How can she not understand they don’t matter?

  I’ve taken her heart, and I never plan on giving it back. Leia doesn’t know why I’ve done the things I’ve done, and I can’t tell her yet either. When I do, she has to understand...she has to.

  “And she trusted you with me? Is she fucking blind?” Leia’s words ring in my mind. Xo is very much aware of our mutual attraction. She may not understand it or how deep it runs, but she’s mentioned how Leia looks at me, talks about me, and all-around acts when I’m near.

  I’ve always been honest about my feelings. Xo doesn’t hate or judge me for it, but she also doesn’t know what we’ve done, and what I plan on still doing.

  Sitting downstairs waiting for Xo to come home, my mind drifts to a past encounter with Leia. One that made me want to slit the throats of every motherfucker who dared to make her feel less perfect in her beautiful, dark skin.

  One where Leia’s only fifteen. She’s even younger than our first true encounter.

  “Sy, why don’t guys want to date me?” she asks, not to intentionally make me jealous, but almost as if she doesn’t feel beautiful. I’m driving down the interstate to mine and Xo’s club. We’re switching off from there. She’ll take Leia home while I work the graveyard.

  “Because they are pequeños mierdas.” Little shits. “You’re beautiful, mi corazoncito,” I say honestly. Boys are too young to appreciate true beauty at that age, and she’ll know soon enough they’re not worthy of her time. When I look over at her, she has tears in her eyes.

  “Did something happen, cariño?” I question worriedly. She’s not one for emotional topics unless they’re necessary, she likes to sit in her bottle of sunshine.

  “Brax says I’m too average for a guy to date me. That’s why you won’t love me,” she cries. When I try and reach out for her, she pulls back as if I’ve personally hurt her. “I know that’s why you love the other woman, and not me. She’s prettier.” She continues to sniffle and avoids my eyes.

  Pulling over to the side of the road, I park the car. Reaching over to her, I unbuckle her and lift her easily to straddle my lap.

  She’s a small, little thing, perfect, really. I hug her to me, inhaling her fresh bergamot and grapefruit scent that always seems to linger long after she’s left.

  “Ya sabes que eres preciosa, ¿verdad?” I tilt her head up, kissing her softly on her forehead. Her warmth brings me peace, her body brings me solace, and right now we’re just us. And nothing else matters but making her feel better.

  “I don’t believe I’m beautiful, Sy.” She swipes her face, wiggling on my lap. When I feel myself stiffening, I practically throw her off me. This can’t happen. It can’t.

  “You are, and I can’t wait for the day you see it yourself, baby,” I say quickly, adjusting and mentally chastising myself for my dirty thoughts.

  Looking back to that first moment, I smile. She’s very confident now, and I know Brax only said shit like that to her because he wants her. Only a stupid man would think otherwise. I’ve seen the way he watches her when she’s turned away. How he puts on a front while adjusting his crotch when she changes clothes.

  I see you, hijo de puta.

  SIX

  LEIA

  AFTER MY SHOWER, I SPEND an unhealthy amount of time trying to come up with a valid reason as to why my Mamá marrying Silas is a bad thing. I come up empty. There’s not a reason in the world other than, I’m in love with your husband that could excuse my behavior.

  And even then, I’m in the wrong. He’s not mine to love, he never was. But he kind of is now, right? He’s my stepfather. That word makes me physically ill, it’s a future topic on Jerry Springer, for sure.

  How could I possibly be in love with my stepfather? What kind of fucked up am I, and why does it feel like he’s just as insane?

  After mulling over an excuse, I chock it up to PMS. Mamá has always been an understanding woman, but disrespecting her won’t go unpunished. That much I’m certain. I put on my night shorts, a camisole, and socks. Don’t ask why I wear socks, it feels odd not to.

  Instead of eating dinner and going downstairs, I lock my bedroom door and force myself to relax. We can all talk tomorrow about their new marriage. When I’ve had a night to recollect my wits, and give Mamá time to cool down. Then hopefully she won’t be as angry at me for walking away.

  Slipping off the clothes I just put on, my ass burns. The sting reminds me of being belted when I was naughty as a child. But it’s more than that, it’s a reminder of the connection I can’t control with Sy. How can I feel so bad yet so indescribably good when he’s around?

  I need to sleep, and avoid them. Maybe we can not tiptoe around each other, and hopefully it’ll be when my ass doesn’t hurt to wear anything. I’m not sure how I’ll sit in class all day tomorrow with my cheeks this sore.

  Fucking, Sy.

  Turning down my dimmer lights, I shuffle to my big bed. Mamá will be upset that I chose to ignore her, rather than be an adult and chat.

  I can’t face her, especially not when Sy just spanked me like a child and then licked my wounds like a lover. I just can’t. Pulling the light blanket over me, I beg for sleep to come. Forcing my eyes closed, I try to shut my mind off. After all, I’ve got a Lit test at school tomorrow.

  ***

  THE NEXT MORNING, I STRUGGLE to find something that doesn’t irritate my sore behind. I settle on a long sundress that’s strapless and flowy. It’s sunshine yellow with a tight bodice. To stay in the school’s codes, I’ll be wearing something to cover the shoulders. I’ve already been suspended twice for wearing clothes I wanted to wear, but were against dress code.

  Apparently I’m too distracting to the boys in school. Why is it my job to stop them from being pendejos cabron? That’s their parents’ responsibility, not mine.

  When I finally finish my hair, I head down the stairs as silently as possible. I’m still trying to avoid seeing them any more than necessary. I'm determined that as soon as I graduate, I’m leaving for Puerto Rico. I won’t be able to watch them love on each other. My heart and ego can’t handle it. And, I’ll be able to help people with addictions. Someday, I might even save someone’s life. If I can save one single person, it’d be fulfilling.

  I make my way to our large kitchen. Mamá isn’t in sight, but Sy sits at our island eating an omelet with chorizo and peppers. My stomach growls loudly, not eating dinner is catching up with me. He’s staring at his phone intently, not even paying attention to me. I take the time to study him. He’s still as handsome, if not more so than the first day I saw him. He has scruff that felt both incredibly painful, and erotically sensual on my backside last night.

  His hair is shorter than normal, he must’ve cut it before he and Mamá got married. A noise escapes my throat, it’s like a dying animal. It’s tortured, wounded, and heartbroken. It’s the sound of a girl’s heart dying from the realization that the man of her dreams will never be hers.

  Worse, he’s her stepfather, and can’t possibly itch the scratch we both have.

  The sound I made is the only thing that makes his attention fall on me. In those eyes is heat that shouldn’t be there, and adoration that I wish wasn’t there too. It’s remorse and torture bound in one, and it fucking hurts.

  If this was an unrequited attraction, a simple girl’s crush or infatuation, it would be easier. He makes it hard when I know he feels something too.

  “Corazoncito,” he speaks first, as if there isn’t an
elephant in the room. “Eat.” He gestures to the plate of food to my right. I watch him intently, wondering how I’m supposed to act. He doesn’t appear mad or upset, it’s like he didn’t punish me last night for disrespecting him and Mamá. Or that I didn’t make myself come at the memory of his tongue on my flesh. No, not at all.

  “Dónde está Mamá?” I ask, wondering where she’s hiding. Sy likes when I speak Spanish. I’m not sure why, but his eyes glimmer every time. And I’ll do anything to see the affection in his eyes.

  “She didn’t come home last night,” he mutters, then sips his coffee. She didn't come home? Did I upset her that badly?

  “Why’d you marry her anyway?” The words slip out before I have the chance to swallow them back down. Fuck. His eyes narrow, he doesn’t like me questioning him, that much is certain.

  “Mind your own,” he scolds. “You don’t want a repeat of last night, no?” His accent is heavy, it happens when he’s angry or emotional. His accent has always been sensual and husky, like he’s just woken up from a nap.

  “Not like you’d tell me anyway,” I mutter under my breath, heading for the living room.

  “It’s as though you want me to punish you again, corazoncito,” he growls, following me to the door. I pick up my book bag, jean jacket, keys, and lace up my boots.

  “Just stop, Silas! I’m not doing this anymore. You’re not good for me, and you’re married to Mamá for fuck’s sake!” I scream, not realizing how loud until I see his eyes widen.

  Opening the front door, I leave and slam it in his face. Now who's in control, Sy? If only it were true.

  By the time I’m in first period and class has started, I’m still stuck on the fact that Mamá married Sy. Did I miss something? I know they’re close, but until he literally told me they were fucking, I just thought they were friends.

  Am I delusional? Or did I just not want to see what's right in front of me?

  “Lele,” Brax says from my left. “Lele.” He smacks my arm. Only Brax can get away with calling me such a dumbass name.

  “What?!’ I snap too loudly. Mrs. Henderson gives me the death stare, and I know she’s going to give me remarks at the next parent/teacher thing Mamá always makes me go to.

  “Jesus, what the fuck crawled up your pretty ass?” Brax shoots me a and don’t you lie to me look.

  I feign a smile, “I didn’t sleep well.”

  He doesn’t believe me, it’s there in the you’re a lying sack of shit quirk of his brow. He smiles anyway and mouths after class. I know it’s inevitable, so I nod and get back to work.

  By the time class ends, I’m rushing out, praying I can avoid whatever talk Brax has planned. But I never said it was the brightest idea, as he’s yanking my arm within minutes, pulling me into an empty classroom.

  “Jesus, Leia. What the hell is up with you?” he nearly hisses. His face is full of compassion, his normal calm appearance is nowhere to be found, though. He’s worried about me, and it’s the first time my best friend doesn’t seem to be a little bitch. He’s tough, don’t get me wrong, but he usually uses this bullshit attitude to cover his true self.

  I stare at him for a moment, really looking to see him. It’s weird that he appears more brute than soft today. His hair looks like he raked his hands through it repeatedly. Did I really not notice him in class? I don’t think I noticed anything. I’m not even sure what Mrs. Henderson taught, or who even showed up. Shit. Today was our Lit test. Did I miss it?

  Was I really that distracted? I can’t recall a single conversation, topic, or homework. Did we have homework? My eyes must look like saucers, since Brax pulls me into a hug. The panic attack seizes me, making me pant. I don’t react to panic attacks like most people. It only feels like the world is closing in, I don’t hyperventilate or shake. I just tend to zone out instead. My mind feels cloudy, and when I start to fall, he catches me.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Brax soothes, holding me. He rocks me back and forth, whispering reassurances until I feel grounded again. He’s never called me baby before. Why is he being so sweet and very un-Braxton-like? “I’ve got you,” he repeats over and over until my breathing evens out.

  “I—I’m okay,” I shudder from our closeness, and his warmth. Brax untangles himself from me and kisses my temple softly. When he stands, he pulls me up with him.

  “I tried getting your attention earlier. I have a surprise, but you were so sketchy. I didn’t want to upset you further.”

  I adjust my dress, trying a brave face. To seem in control, when my life is falling apart around me. “So, what’s up?” I feign interest, but right now, unless he’s telling me we can ditch today and get wasted, I’m not interested.

  “I know we said we’d go to Puerto Rico this summer, but—” Brax says, while pulling something from his bag. “I bought us tickets for Spring Break. It’s a few weeks out, but it’ll be great.” By the time he’s shown me the tickets, I’m squealing and jumping up and down.

  This. This is exactly what I need.

  It’s not ditch day at school, but this is even better than that. I kiss his cheeks, his forehead, and hug him tighter than ever before.

  He starts setting me down, and when I slide down him, I feel something. Something hard and unexpected. I gulp, I’ve never seen Brax like this. It’s odd, and not as uncomfortable as I’d have thought. Why haven’t I ever thought of him in this way before? We spend more time together than apart, and I share everything with him.

  He sees me eyeing him, and readjusts himself. Interesting. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, Brax is more gay than straight, right? What is with the men in my life, lately? I laugh, I can’t help it, I bust out laughing. And he’s not happy.

  “Don’t do that,” he chastises, and then folds his arms.

  I try stifling my giggles, but I can’t. This has been a fucked up year. It really has. Brax takes my face in both hands, effectively silencing me. “Can I finish?” he rasps grumpily. Goosebumps cover my skin. No, no. This is not allowed to be a thing, I mentally scorn. In answer, I nod quickly, backing up a step.

  “I’ve already talked to Xo, and she’s given me the go ahead. Your dad’s family is out there, and so is hers, and Sy’s too. Your dad’s siblings have a place for us to stay nearby. It’s a small town, but I figured it’s cheaper than a resort. And you said you wanted a more realistic feel to the culture—”

  “Wait, my dad’s family? But I don’t even know them!” That’s the only thing I really got out of the entire conversation. I know their names are Azalea and Silva, but we’ve never met before.

  “Danté insisted—”

  “YOU TALKED TO MY FATHER?!” My chest tightens. In all the years he’s been gone, he talks to my best friend before me. It hurts knowing the man I wished for, hoped would run back into my life and stay, decided to not confirm anything with you.

  “Yes, he—”

  “WHAT IN THE EVER LOVING FUCK?!” I yell louder than necessary. When was my dad in the picture again? He barely talks to me, barely writes when he’s in and out of the slammer. Is he out again? What does he want? He better not try and get back with Mamá.

  He’s always trying to get her back. He’s no good for her—no good for us. The thought crosses my mind that maybe that’s why she and Sy got married. Maybe she needed an excuse? Then I smile. Maybe that’s it, maybe Sy is just a buffer, and he really does care about me.

  While I’m having an inner battle about this information, Brax is apparently trying to talk to me. He smacks my ass hard, making me hop and screech. It still throbs from Silas’ beatings last night. Fuck! I rub it tenderly, wondering why my behind has been brutalized so much lately.

  What’s with all these men thinking they can spank me? Jesus, they need help. All of them.

  I slap his arm. “That fucking hurt! Jesus, Brax!”

  “You wouldn’t calm down, and Xo said if you ever sassed me, I had the power to spank you.”

  “She wasn’t serious! Good lord!”


  “Need another?” he asks with narrowed eyes. I shake my head vehemently. “Good, girl.” Flipping him the bird, I stick out my tongue.

  “So, Puerto Rico?” he questions, popping the awkward bubble surrounding us.

  “I guess,” I tease, still rubbing my ass. I glare at him even though I’m excited to get back home. Maybe this time, I can see abuelita. She might actually want to meet me. Maybe I’ll even see Dad. He’s bound to be there. He'll probably be annoying as shit with his usual, “stay with my family,” nonsense. Something tells me I'm not wrong about seeing my dad—it’s inevitable.

  Brax and I skip out on third and fourth period and drive around until we find a taco shack. Brax knows I have a thing for tacos, and knows I’m stressed.

  “So, your mom married Silas?” he asks, scarfing down his fifth taco.

  “Yup,” I nod, not elaborating.

  “Doesn’t make sense to me. Especially if he loves you,” he says with bitterness in his voice that makes no sense. Is he jealous? Is that even possible? Brax is more gay than bisexual, he has to be.

  “Makes sense to me…I guess.” It doesn’t, but admitting anything that could get Sy in trouble isn’t about to happen.

  “Hmm,” he ponders out loud. “Sounds like he was stringing you along, Lele.”

  “Stringing what along? He doesn’t love me, we don’t have anything, and it’s none of your business, Brax.”

  “I was just going to say—” he growls, standing up and walking toward his car. “That he doesn’t deserve you, and you can do a million times better.” With that, he gets up from the picnic table, tosses the remaining tacos, and opens his door, slamming it shut. Stunned speechless, I meander to the car and mull over what just happened.

  What the hell just happened?

  SEVEN

  LEIA

  LET ME TELL YOU A little about dear ol’ dad. He’s a Black Puerto Rican like me. He’s tall, broad shouldered, and buff as hell. When I was little, I’d call him, mi oso since he was my bear. Every time he found his way back home, he protected me, loved me, and made sure I never went to bed scared.