It's a lie. How could he look back at those days and think about anything other than what he did? Anger swells in me, but I know it will pass.
He kisses down my chest, and as his face reaches my navel, he grabs the sides of my panties. He slips them off and leans back, throwing his shirt over his head, revealing those abs. He adds his jeans to the mound of clothes he's created.
As he undoes his pants and hurries out of them, I crawl across the bed, open the drawer, and retrieve the condoms and lube. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me so that my back is pressed against his chest. I feel his lips behind my ear—the warmth of his touch crawling across my flesh, wherever he touches radiating with delightful sensations.
He grabs the condom and lube from me and I hear him preparing himself behind me. I rest my hands on the mattress. Then I feel the pressure. It builds and builds as he slides into me. His arm wraps around me as he continues to thrust. He kisses behind my ear. I lean back and he follows until we're upright, him continuing to penetrate me, filling me with his shaft, which feels so erotic.
This is how I want him to fuck me. I don't want him to see my face, see my weakness. I want to be treated like any girl he'd fuck on the street—like the object he uses me as.
He massages his fingers across my belly and kisses softly across my back. He leans back so that my back is arched and my breasts fall to either side. He cups his hand around my neck. I feel like I'm totally in his control—his to use how he wants. Because that's all I've ever been to him.
If that's the case, why would he say that he cares about me? Why lie to me about how he really feels? Why can't he just fuck the shit out of me and shut up?
He releases my neck and slides out of me. I turn to him and he scoops me up again, laying me on my back. He descends so that we're looking into each other's eyes. I preferred it when he couldn't see me, when he could have just been fucking any girl. Not me.
There's that soft look, the one that always makes me feel as if he cares so much. He kisses me, spreads my legs, and inserts himself. The pressure feels delightful, and as he thrusts, he tucks his face against my cheek and whispers, “Lana, I care about you so much.”
He thrusts so hard I gasp, but I can't tell if the gasp is from the surprise of his movements or his words. Why would he say that?
It kills me, because I’ve wanted to hear these words so badly for so long, and now that they're offered freely, it seems cruel. Surely he's just caught up in the moment, confused as men sometimes are in the middle of sex. It doesn't mean anything to him right now...not what it means to me.
My body tenses because suddenly I wish he wasn't inside me. I wish I wasn't enjoying this so much because I hate him. I hate what he did to me. I hate what he's doing to me. I hate that I really want him to feel the way he says.
Try as I did to convince myself I could enjoy these experiences knowing they wouldn't last, I've always known it was a lie, because with each encounter, I feel more and more attached to him. And knowing he must go pains me to my core.
Another push sends a pool of delicious sensations rippling through me, shaking me from my anger and reminding me that, though I know it can't last, if this is all I have to look forward to, then I should take advantage of it as I would a finite amount of water in the desert.
Take me, Jarek. Do whatever you want to me. Hurt me as much as you want, because no matter how much it hurts, it'll never be as bad as it was before.
Each kiss, each turn of his head, each stroke of his finger, draws me back into him, and evokes a little girl within me, begging, “Please don't leave me. Please don't ever leave me.” I don't feel bad for myself, but for her, because I know how sad she can get.
He pulls out of me and stretches out beside me, lying on his back. He props his dick up and eyes it. “Come on,” he says with a playful smirk.
I quickly obey and straddle him, sliding him back inside me, allowing him to fill me. He strokes his hands back and forth across my thighs as I push off my knees to give him leverage. His pelvis bobs up and down, each entry exciting more nerves than the last. He rubs one hand under my breasts, his thumb sliding across my flesh as if he's just appreciating my body. With his other, he slides it and cups it so that he can thumb my clitoris, exciting the nerves so much that it forces my muscles to twitch and pulse in surprising ways.
He releases my clitoris and sits up, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close as he kisses my lips. He rolls me onto my back, kicking his legs out so that soon he's on top of me and forcing his way in again. He grips my shins as he continues forcing himself in and out.
All I can think now is how much I want him to make me his, to own me once again. As I look up, his eyes are closed. Is he imagining someone else? Some prettier girl? Someone he's fucked in the past? But soon he reopens his eyes and scans my body over. The pressure inside me intensifies as he grows harder. He swoops down so that his face is right before mine again. I feel his thumb against my clitoris, stimulating me so that I can feel how close I am. “Lana,” he says, reminding me of that time so long ago when he said the same thing.
What could he possibly have to say to me now? Why can't he just fuck the shit out of me and leave it at that?
“You're everything to me.”
The words hit my ear, electrifying every part of me and coupling with my current arousal so that my body transforms into a fit of quivers. My head jerks around violently as I come, feeling overwhelmed with sensation, my body shaking as he grabs my wrists and pins me down as I hear him cry out. His expression twists as his pelvis slams into mine and he collapses in a similar fit of convulsions.
As he lays on me, I feel each breath, and his warm, damp flesh against me. I can't help but feel a terrible crash, so much worse than anything I've experienced before.
Those words that did me in, that gave me such satisfaction, fill me with guilt. Why did I have to enjoy them so much? I hate myself for having basked in the lie, the deceit. How stupid am I that even for a second I believed him?
My guilt transforms into rage. What kind of bastard is he to say something like that to me—to a little girl? But I'm not a girl! I'm a woman. I'm a woman he's done this to already. He must know how I feel. He must know what he's doing to me. What he did to me. Why did he hurt me like that?
As he offers soft kisses, I can't kiss back. I'm in shock, hardly knowing how to respond to what just happened. Surely I should just forget it, as he no doubt will. But I don't want to forget. And I hate myself for that.
Chapter Eleven
“I owe you a big thank you,” Janet says as she scratches her fork through a layer of syrup across the pancake I've made her. It's what I used to make her for breakfast when we were kids. I guess I should say it's what I attempted to make her when we were kids. It took a long time for me to get the consistency just right, but by thirteen, I was a pro.
I'm not so liberal with my own caloric intake. I've prepared yogurt with strawberries and blueberries, which I've also made as a side for Janet.
I set her bowl of yogurt beside her pancakes. “It's not an issue,” I say as I head to the fridge to retrieve some orange juice for her. “I assume you know you'll be staying here for a while.” She smirks. It's the following day, the day after discovering what an ass Kirk really was and hearing Jarek express his feelings to me.
I pour a glass of orange juice for her, which she quickly thanks me for, but it's evident she's thanking me for a lot more than orange juice.
I set the carton on the table. “Janet, I love you so much. You know that, right?" The sad look in her eyes assures me she knows where this is going. But she should expect it after last night.
“He was upset,” Janet confesses. “Although I don't think he had much right to be upset.” A guilty look flashes across her face. “I checked his phone. I know, that's awful, but...We've had issues before.”
I sit across from her. “Oh my God.”
“Not everyone's perfect, Lana. A relationship is about compromi
se, and working through things. And so we worked through it. I thought. And when I checked his phone, I didn't see anything, right? All good. But Kirk's pretty smart. I figured he'd delete the texts, so I decided to check his pictures. I mean, why would he think I would check there, right? And there was this early-twenty-something girl. I just got so fucking mad.”
“Shouldn't you have been the one kicking his ass?” I ask.
“When I confronted him, he just got so mad. Said it's no wonder he did that in Dallas, because I obviously didn't trust him. And then he just got aggressive...and...well, you know.”
“I'm assuming this wasn't the first time he's gotten...” I let my words trail off, because she must know what I'm referring to. She shakes her head.
I just can't believe that all this time that I've known them, I never found out. That's surely why Janet kept me at a distance all of these years—so I wouldn't find out, so I wouldn't see her battle scars. However, Janet never seemed like someone who would just sit back and take it.
“How did it get that far?” I ask. Her lips quiver. She glances around as if she doesn't want to confront me directly. I feel like that's how she got into this mess to begin with.
“You remember the beginning?” she asks. “It was so wonderful. I mean, the boyfriend I had before him was Rodney Berger from senior year, and he didn't even remember my birthday. But Kirk remembered everything. Every little thing I said I liked. One time, I told him how much I loved Hall and Oates, and the next time I came over, he played a mix CD so that 'Maneater' played right before he dropped me off. Then he acted so cool about it, and it was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen. And the notes he wrote...telling me how much he loved me, how much he wanted to be with me. I'd never had a guy want me that much. Need me that much. He was perfect.
“I know what you're thinking. There had to be signs. And there were. I had this friend, Steve. He was a gay guy I'd met in Bio 101, but Kirk used to get so jealous. This guy was practically riding in on a unicorn when he entered a room, but Kirk just couldn't take how close we were. He said it made him uncomfortable when I hung out with him. Said it wasn't appropriate to hang out with a guy—any guy—behind his back. I'm not sure if he actually had a problem with it or if it was just his way of getting me to cut off my friends. Everyone had some fault. The girls were jealous of me, and he didn't like the way they undermined me or the guys looked at me the wrong way. He didn't like you or Kelsey telling me what to do. Said I was letting you all get away with murder because you were big sisters. And I bought it.
“Some part of me didn't. Some part of me knew there was something off. And when he got mad, oh he'd get so mad. But Lana, when he did love me...I felt like I was the whole world. You remember the way Daddy made us feel. That's what it felt like with him. He knows how to make you feel like nothing else in the world even exists to him, and the moment he looked away, oh, it just made me want to die.
“The drinking...I guess that made it easier. But after a while it didn't because he'd yell at me about that, too. And the fights. That's how it started last night. I'd been drinking when I decided to check his phone. Seemed like such a good idea, and then confronting him seemed like just as good of an idea. I should have known better. He's so irritable when he comes back from a trip. He just gets so angry, like he's furious when he's reminded that we're married. Like he'd rather be anywhere but with me. Sometimes I would catch him looking at me while I was reading a book or watching TV, and there would just be this hateful look in his eyes. And I thought I deserved it.”
“What in the world made you think that was what you deserved?”
“I'm not you, Lana. I never believed that good things would come my way, or that I could face everything in the world fearlessly. The world's a scary place. When Daddy...” She doesn't finish. I understand why. “It was just a lot. Before that, I thought I was like you, that I was fearless and that I could take anything on. And then when that happened, I realized that everything was a lie...the world was a mean, terrible place that could take anything good and wonderful from you in a moment.”
“I was never fearless,” I say. “And I never thought I could handle anything.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Yes, you did. Especially when we were kids. Don't you remember sneaking off into the woods at night?” As a kid, I enjoyed running through the woods at night. One time, I made her go with me so that we could sneak into this little ditch I'd discovered. I brought a flashlight and a book so I could read to her. It was a stupid idea because it scared the shit out of both of us, but I used to get into all sorts of trouble like that.
“I was so scared,” she said.
“I was just as scared.”
“But you did it, and if you hadn't been pushing me, prodding me, I wouldn't have. I never did it again after that night. But what did you do? You kept doing it, because you didn't want to be afraid. That's not me. That's never been me.”
“Well, some things are a lot scarier than the woods at night,” I say.
“It's not just the woods,” she insists. “It's your life, your job. You see an obstacle and you face it. You aren't afraid of a challenge. I've always taken the easy way out because...it's easier.”
Janet's version of my life is a childish dream, because as I look at my relationships and lack thereof, I know there are some things I'm too afraid to approach because I'm not willing to feel that way ever again.
“I just want you to be happy,” I say.
“It's a little late for me,” she replies, “but you need follow your heart, Lana. You can only fight it so long.”
“What?”
“You're still not over him.”
“What I said the other night...”
“This isn't about the other night. I see the way you look at him—even now, after all these years.”
I blush. It's as apparent as I feared. “I understand why you think that,” I reply. “But Janet, if there ever was a chance for us to be together, to be happy, it's passed, and it can’t return.”
Her expression shifts to one of concern. “I don't know what happened, but don't you think you can move past it? Clearly you're willing to forgive him enough to talk to him again...”
“I don't want to talk about it, but what Jarek did was so cruel that, as much as I care about him, as good as he seems to be now, I can never distance myself from what he did.”
Lana presses her fork into her pancake. “Was this in college? Was it why he left?”
“It's about that.”
“What happened, Lana?” I shake my head. “You can't bottle all this up forever,” she says. “You were always so private, so quiet, and you never let anyone help you with anything. Sometimes you have to open up. You don't have to do everything by yourself.”
Yes, I do. I gaze at the clock on the stove. “Oh, look at the time,” I say, trying to change the subject. “I guess I should head to the store. I need to pick up a few supplies for the get-together tonight.”
Janet rolls her eyes. “Are you seriously going to that? We just had her birthday party.”
“And now her Women's Club needs to have their post-fundraiser meeting. You knew this was the busiest time of the year. We don't have to do much more. Aren't you coming?”
“Yes, but I thought you might have wised up after that last one. Ugh. If I see any more snooty people after this, I swear I'll scream.”
“Thank you for helping me with Janet...and Kirk.”
“Anyone else would have done the same thing.”
After breakfast with Janet, I meet Jarek for lunch at the pizzeria where we met previously. He enjoys a slice of pepperoni pizza while I snack on my rabbit food. Considering everything that has transpired, it's strange meeting him out like this. It feels as if we should be meeting in a more intimate setting to discuss something so close to my heart, but that's not the sort of relationship we're in. And though he offered to come over to my place, it's my job to set boundaries.
Jarek glances around uneasily.
“Did your Dad ever tell you about my life...before I started staying with you guys?”
It's strange to hear him bring it up. Back when he stayed with us, it never came up, and though I was curious, I could tell by the look in his eyes, by some darkness within him, that it wasn't something to press about. “You were abandoned by your mother.”
“Kind of the truth, I guess. But there's a little more to it than that. Back then, I just avoided talking about it altogether.” He hesitates, as if he's considering not continuing. But then he does. “She had issues. I didn't even know what they were at the time. One day, she'd be the most delightful person in the world. Social, caring, charming. The next she would be a nightmare, filled with rage and fury. I couldn’t ever determine which side of her I'd be getting when I came home from school.” From my limited knowledge of bipolar disorder, this sounded familiar. “Once when I was fifteen, she was particularly upset when I came home. Crying. As a kid, I wanted to cheer her up—or at least figure out what was wrong, so I approached her, but she lashed out at me. She beat on me with her fists and shouted at me, saying I was the reason her life was so fucked up. She said if she hadn't met my dad then things would never have gone wrong. And then she told me who he was. She'd never mentioned it before. She had been sixteen, and he was a cop. Evidently, he was the boyfriend of a mutual friend, and one day he showed up at her place, she thought just to talk. She didn't think it was a good idea. She tried to keep him from coming in, but he insisted that he was worried about her friend. She let him in and it wasn't long before she figured out what he really wanted, and she fought and screamed out, but it was useless.”
I'm disturbed, not because he's sharing this with me, but because I'm amazed I've never heard this before. Because I feel that it's something I should have known.
Every Time He Leaves (The Raeven Sisters Book 1) Page 16