Two Weeks

by Andrea Wolfe

  At some point, a couple of girls from the event join us at the booth, and Dan's face lights up brighter than the surface of the sun. See, a lot of these girls are pretty riled up after the fights, and some of them will literally throw themselves at you, looking for a little escape from reality.

  I've had them fall right into my arms like dropped stuffed animals.

  One is on Dan's arm and the other is on mine. She's a fake blonde in a very low-cut top, tells me her name is Monica.

  Dan is thoroughly enjoying the benefits of hanging out with a fighter, and I'm glad that I can give him that thrill. I'm not going to judge him for whatever he does, even though he has a wife and kid.

  That's my plan, anyway.

  Monica is cute, and she keeps getting closer and closer to me. I'm pretty drunk by this point, and she eventually slides her hand into my lap and I feel myself harden immediately. I'm unabashedly staring into her cleavage, and she appears to be loving the sleazy attention.

  I peek over and watch Dan schmooze with the other girl. His arm is around her and they're whispering to each other, ignoring us completely.

  "C'mon with me," Monica whispers. I'm unsure at first, but then another look into her almost bottomless, incredible cleavage re-ignites me. I have an idea of what's about to happen, and my primal side is not about to complain. I'm feeling a little more destructive than usual and willing to take the risk.

  We sneak along the back wall and she leads me into the women's bathroom, locking the door behind us. They're private, single-person bathrooms, so no one can get in unless they smash the door down. I no longer have any doubt about what's going to transpire.

  "Fuck the hell out of me, Jackson," she says breathy and low. "You're such a fucking stud, you know that?" She lowers her top and I'm right at her breasts, sucking the nipples, cupping them like I'm going to die if I don't. I kiss her and grind myself up against her crotch. I'm hard as ever, but I realize I'm not thinking about her at all—I'm thinking about Ally.

  Monica hands me a condom and I tear it open. I lower my jeans and boxers and then roll it on. By that point, she's bent over the sink, jeans and panties lowered. She's totally wet and I slide right into her.

  I fuck her relentlessly, reaching around to grab her tits as I'm buried deep inside of her. I close my eyes so I don't have to see that it's not actually Ally that I'm fucking.

  Monica loves every second of it, and comes really hard. But when it's time for me to finish, I can't do it. It confuses the hell out of me.

  I accidentally open my eyes and look into the mirror. I see that the woman in front of me isn't who I want it to be—and that makes finishing almost impossible.

  Someone knocks on the door and Monica shouts "Just a minute!" She's panting wildly, completely out of breath. "Come," she demands.

  While it should happen, it doesn't. Instead, I seize that slightly uncomfortable moment of invaded privacy. For the first time in my life, I fake an orgasm. I groan loudly and pull out of her. "Wow," I say. "That was great."

  Her cheeks are flushed, and she's still breathing like she just got done sprinting a mile. "Jackson, you really are a fuckin' star," she says. "Do you wanna do this some other time? Can I call you?"

  I roll off the condom and throw it into the trash and then pull up my pants and boxers. "I don't think so, Monica," I say. "Thanks for the offer, though." My mind is crystal clear and laser-focused, no longer clouded by the alcohol at all.

  I hear her scoff. "What the hell, Jackson? Aren't I hot enough for that big dick of yours? Just gonna use me like this? Hump me and dump me?"

  I shake my head in disbelief and then walk out of the bathroom, passing by—and ignoring—the small line that has formed at the door. Walking briskly, I stop at the table where a very drunk Dan is making out with the very drunk girl on his arm, shamelessly cupping the girl's clothed breast.

  "Dan, I'm leaving now." I pause for a brief moment to catch his response, but I can't stay any longer. I don't want Monica coming back and throwing a fit in front of them.

  "You don't want to come to a party?" he asks. His speech is seriously slurred.

  "No. It was nice seeing you," I say. "But I've got to go." He smiles and waves me on. It's clear that he's not about to stop. I start walking away, but then I realize I've got to do the right thing. It hits me like a ton of bricks.

  Reluctantly, I turn around and go back to the table. "You really should come with me, Dan," I say. "Your wife probably wouldn't like this."

  The girl looks at him with disgust. "Your wife? I thought you said you were single!"

  "Sarah, c'mon! He's just kidding!"

  "I'm definitely not kidding," I say, my words stone-cold. "Let's go. I let you have your fun, but I'm not about to let you ruin your marriage.” My stomach feels sick as I think about what I did in the bathroom. I don't want Dan to feel the same way tomorrow.

  This is weird.

  The girl scoots out of the booth and leaves in a huff. She looks absolutely pissed. And when she finds Monica and hears about what happened in the bathroom, she's probably going to be even more pissed.

  I want to be gone by then. As long as I can get out now, I'll be fine since they probably won't remember anything tomorrow.

  I miraculously get Dan out of the bar and back to the arena parking lot. He's so drunk that there's no way in hell he would have even been able to sleep with that girl. I saved him from embarrassment—and I saved his marriage.

  We drove separately, so after wrestling his keys out of his pocket, I toss him into his Dodge Neon and lock the door from the inside, leaving the keys on the passenger seat. "Sleep it off before you drive home," I order. He's already slumped against the wheel and snoring as I close the door. I try the handle to make sure it's locked; it is.

  I sit in my truck in silence for about ten minutes before finally starting it and driving off into the night. The trip home is about fifty miles, so I have plenty of time to think.

  And I think the whole way home.

  4

  Ally

  Suffocation has to do with a lack of oxygen or asphyxiation. Yet, I sit in my room all night and can't seem to breathe. It's like I forgot how to do it. Nothing will jump start my oxygen-starved lungs.

  Max doesn't try to call me. Even if he had called, I wouldn't have picked up, especially with what Angela told me. She claims to be taking the "moral high road" by telling me about the pregnancy, but I don't think I agree.

  My life was totally destroyed in one evening by one phone call, even if she was trying to "stick up" for me.

  I stare at the walls of my room, recalling my high school breakup with John Wentz, my first boyfriend. The memories, coincidentally, overlap with the time when I last knew Jackson Ames.

  And that only makes it weirder.

  John aggressively pursued me all throughout my freshman and sophomore years, years that were plagued with insecurity and discomfort. I finally gave in during the summer before my junior year. John was tall, handsome, and intelligent. He ran track and was very good at it. His parents were incredibly proud of him.

  By that point, I couldn't resist him anymore, and his extended dedication made me believe I was making the right decision.

  I fell in love with John fast. He bought me flowers, took me on dates. We often made out in his silver Crown Victoria in the movie theatre parking lot, even when it was freezing cold outside. Typical teenage rom-com mushy stuff. It all feels very surreal when I think about it now.

  We were a good couple, no doubt, even with our respective flaws.

  A lot of guys were hitting on me around that time, and I really felt that John was the best possible choice for me. John was good to me.

  We never actually had sex, but we did fool around quite a bit. Second base is as far as we got—before he cheated on me.

  Senior year, John took evening college classes through a local university that were hosted in our high school classrooms. And then, as if I never existed at all, he started sleeping with
some college girl in his class, claiming she was more experienced and more his "type"—after I confronted him.

  I found out when I spied them holding hands and walking down the hall together after one of the classes had ended.

  He didn't even tell her I existed. That's how petty I was to him.

  The similarities to my current situation are kind of eerie.

  I was at school late that night to do something for student council. Part of me wished I had never seen them at all and had just been oblivious to what was going on behind my back. I wouldn't have known or suspected a thing.

  Just like now.

  I remember how it all felt, especially in this room. It hasn't changed much since then. It was agony then and it's agony now. It left me jaded about boys and sex until my sophomore year of college.

  I leave my room only to refill my water bottle and use the bathroom, doing my best to avoid my parents. I debate changing everything in my life, from my appearance, to my job, to my diet, to my routines. Anything even remotely related to Max.

  I don't want to tell them, not yet. I want to drink myself into oblivion, but I also can't leave the house. I know I can't. And although I know my dad has some scotch hidden in his cabinet downstairs, I don't feel motivated enough to go dig for it.

  I run into my mom in the kitchen and I fake the biggest yawn I can and tell her that I'm tired out from the day. I struggle not to completely break down in front of her. Even though I haven't shared that many personal details with her over the years, we're inextricably linked as mother and daughter and there's nothing I can do about that. But from the outside, I remain stoic.

  She buys my excuse, however, so I don't have to speak another word.

  After returning to my room, I realize I can't feel anything. And after running into my mom, I realize I haven't cried, haven't shed a single tear since the call with Angela. My tear ducts are as dry as a desert and it doesn't feel like that will change. I'm totally numb.

  I fall into a very bitter, very austere slumber shortly after that.

  ***

  My ears are ringing when I wake. I sit up and look around the room. It's still very early, and the sun's low position in the sky confirms this. My mouth is as dry as my eyes, and so I gulp down some of water, totally cognizant of how it feels trickling down my throat. It's nice.

  I pick up my phone and check for notifications—I didn't miss any calls or texts. It's only a few minutes past six, and I'm never up this early. However, I feel totally awake. Painfully awake. I make the mistake of checking my email. There's one from Max. I touch it on the touch screen and read:

  Ally,

  I'm so sorry you had to find out about Angie and me the way you did. I know you were busy when I called, and after she told me that she told you, I knew you wouldn't answer if I called again. So I'm sending this message.

  What she told you is true, but that doesn't mean it's simple.

  This hasn't been easy for me either, but I know that I'm making the right decision in the end. This probably seems really cruel to you, but I swear it's not. We both still love you, and nothing will ever change that. I just hope that we can all remain friends and stay strong throughout this whole thing. It will obviously take some time to adjust, but I promise, everything will work itself out in the end.

  I've still got some of your stuff here, so you can stop by when you get back—

  I stop reading and toss my phone onto the foot of the bed. I'm worried that I'll actually puke if I read any further. Max is a total asshole, that's very clear. No doubt remains. I'm the one suffering, and he manages to turn everything around and put the spotlight on himself just because he knocked up my best friend and has to deal with the consequences.

  Well, fuck him.

  There's an ache inside me, and I quickly realize what it is. I want to go for a jog. I need to go for a jog. I want to run my troubles away. I want to flood my body with endorphins. Natural highs. Whatever.

  I thank every god in the universe that I brought along my workout clothes and running shoes. If there's one thing good about Red Lake, it's the fact that there are plenty of places to run. The trails are excellent and the scenery is even better.

  And as the name Red Lake suggests, there is actually a beautiful lake to run along.

  I put on a sports bra and a pair of running shorts and dig for my shoes in my suitcase. I find them at the bottom and throw them on. I don't expect to see anyone else, so I don't wear a shirt. While my parents do get up early, they definitely don't get up this early, especially not on a Sunday.

  I don't run into them before I leave, just as I expect.

  I leave a note on the counter and then head out, leaving the front door unlocked. My iPhone is strapped to my arm and I've got ear buds blasting upbeat music in my ears. I start slow at first, and not long after, I'm sprinting and feeling all of my worries evaporating. I find a happy medium between the two speeds and prepare to run until I pass out.

  It feels really good.

  ***

  Jackson

  I wake more hung over than I'm expecting. I was sober enough to drive home—well, at least it seemed that way—so this comes as a shock. It's really fucking early, but I'm having trouble falling back to sleep. I'm sore, but I want to go for a run, especially since I'm awake and it's already a really nice day.

  I vow to have coffee when I return. However, I eat a protein bar so I'm not literally running on fumes.

  After doing a few stretches, I throw on my shorts and running shoes and head out to the porch. I look off into the field, out toward the lake. It truly is a beautiful day. I'm finally starting to feel a little better. I remember how I toppled my opponent last night and secured myself a place in the finals.

  And then I think about that stupid blonde and her friend, just looking to fuck anyone as long as they said they were a fighter. I couldn't stand groupies, yet I had fucked one in a bar bathroom last night. At least she had provided a condom.

  I wonder what I would have done if she hadn't given me that condom. The thought worries me, especially with how out of it I felt at the time.

  What makes it even weirder is the fact that casual sex is the only sex I've had since I broke up with my ex a few years ago. Why was I so repulsed by it last night?

  I thought about Ally the whole time and failed to finish because it wasn't really her.

  Why the hell am I so focused on her? She pissed me off and I wanted to get back at her by sleeping with her. Hell, I still want to do that. But something feels weird.

  I walk down the deck steps until I'm in the backyard by the garage. The rabbits are out already, and they flee toward the front yard. Or maybe they just have business up there and are just eager to get started.

  As I'm enter the trail, I notice someone else running, a girl. She's wearing a sports bra and tight shorts and she's sprinting really fast. I'm taken aback, initially bracing myself because she looks like she's fleeing an attacker. I keep my eyes peeled, looking for whomever is chasing her—and ready to save her if necessary.

  But there's no one behind her, and my motives change fast. I sleazily watch her chest bounce as she's running, hoping that my glances remain furtive.

  I'm thrilled to be a man sometimes.

  She's seen me already, however, and now she's coming toward me. I debate pretending to do something else, but then I notice it's Ally Moore and she's flying at me like a very sexy projectile.

  The sun is glowing around her outline and she's so bright I can barely look at her directly.

  She slows down and I bring my gaze up so it's not obvious what I was doing. My gut tightens immediately and I'm once again shocked by my body's response to seeing her. I've got butterflies in my stomach and I'm confused as hell about it because I thought I hated her.

  Her hair is in a ponytail and it's bobbing wildly behind her head. Her stomach is toned and flat, and her legs are so perfectly slender and long. I want them wrapped around my waist. Right now.

  I feel li
ke my insides are on fire. My legs are wobbly. I feel like I'm about to give a solo class presentation in fourth grade science and my whole reputation as a "cool guy" is on the line.

  "Jackson?" Her voice is full of exasperation. She comes to an abrupt stop right in front of me and yanks her white ear buds out of her ears. It's like she just leapt from an airplane and suddenly landed here in front of me.

  "Hi, Ally," I say quietly. "What the hell are you doing out here so early?"

  She pants and says nothing, bending forward, hands on her thighs. I inadvertently catch a glimpse of her cleavage and I really hope I don't get an erection right now because that would be awkward. I want to be classy for some reason I don't understand.

  "I couldn't get back to sleep. So I went for a run." Although she's totally out of breath, there's something else hidden in her voice that I'm wary of.

  "Same here," I say. "It's a good place to run."

  "Right," she says. She looks up at me with those gorgeous eyes, and I'm quiet again.

  "You were going really fast," I say. "And you weren't just doing short sprints because I saw you running like that for a long time."

  "Just trying to blow off some steam," she says. "I'm kind of... dealing with some stuff." She looks down at the ground and then right back to me. "Jackson?" she asks. I'm all ears, and she continues immediately. "I forgot to bring water. Do you... live here?" She points at the house where I've lived most of my life, a curious expression on her face.

  I laugh and instantly relax. "Sure," I say. "Follow me. I might have an extra water bottle even."

  She smiles and touches my arm. I'm not sure why she touches it, but it feels so warm, and her touch seems to ripple through me like I'm a pond and she's just tossed in a huge rock. A boulder.

  We walk along the garage toward the deck that I just left. "Y'know," I say, "if you need to blow off some steam, I can definitely help you with that."

  She shoots me an incredulous look. "Excuse me?" she snaps.

  I stop and face her. "Oh, shut up," I say. "I meant boxing. Just because I'm a guy doesn't mean I only think about sex." I smirk and try to joke with her. "There's at least one minute every day that I don't think about it."