For Life

by L. E. Chamberlin

  “Cass, I didn’t, I swear to God. I never touched her. I never touched anybody. I wanted to, for spite, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

  “Well, thanks for making such a big sacrifice.”

  He rankles at my sarcasm and his mouth twists. “You started all this, you know, talking about going away to school. I know it’s going to happen, but you don’t have to rub my fucking face in it.”

  “What?” I whirl on him. “Rub your face in it? Are you smoking crack? When did I ever rub your face in it?”

  “You’re so fucking happy about it!” he shouted. “Fucking Ohio. It’s all you ever talk about. Except with me. With me you pretend it isn’t even happening. But I’m not stupid, Cass. You can’t wait to get rid of me!”

  “I am happy about it,” I reply, stung by his words. “Because I’m proud I got in, Grady. Not because I want to get rid of you.”

  “I hate the thought of you going away. It’s not that I don’t want you to go to college. Obviously. But it’s not going to be the same. You’re gonna meet other guys there—”

  He chokes on his words and I realize he’s about to cry. I’m filled with horror.

  “I’m a whole year behind you,” he murmurs sadly. “A lot can happen in a year, Cass.”

  “Don’t.”

  “You’re going to date other guys, kiss other guys…”

  “Grady, don’t!”

  But he doesn’t stop. “I thought I would be your first and your last, and now that’s never going to happen. That’s why I was so pissed at you.”

  He’s breaking my heart, but his logic is insane. He’s mad at me for something I haven’t even done yet, something I hadn’t even planned to do. “If you think I’m just going to dump you for some college guy anyway then what does it matter?” I flare. “We already broke up - why not just be done with me?”

  “Because I can’t!” he yells, his red-rimmed eyes burning into mine. “When I told you it didn’t matter I didn’t mean you don’t matter. I meant no matter what you do, no matter what I do, no matter what we say we are or aren’t, we belong to each other for life, Cass. There isn't going to ever be anyone else for me to belong to.”

  If I hold myself any more tightly I may shatter into a million little pieces. The effort it takes not to obliterate into a dust cloud right now is beyond anything I thought I had in me.

  My voice is small when I finally respond. “Right now it doesn’t feel like we belong to each other. It feels like we never belonged to each other.”

  “Do you want that?” His eyes plead with me and he takes my fingers in his and squeezes.

  I squeeze back but my words are held hostage in my throat, so I just shake my head.

  “I don’t want to break up. I miss you. I need you.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and tugs me toward him, his other hand pulling my face toward his. “We belong together, Cass,” he murmurs tearfully against my lips.

  It’s those words that undo me. “I want to belong to you! I want you to belong to me!” I sob into his mouth, the salt of my tears mixing with the spearmint taste of his gum. The flowers crush between us and I pull them free and toss them into the backseat. Grady hauls me over him and reclines his seat so I’m straddling him, one leg crushed against the door.

  “I love you, Cassie,” he breathes against my eyelashes. “I can’t lose you. Please. Please.”

  I’m crying so hard I almost miss the fact that he just told me he loves me. I haven't heard those words in fourteen days. “Tell me again.”

  “I love you. You know I do. I love you so much, Cass.”

  “I love you too,” I sob. “I don’t want anyone but you, I swear, Grady.”

  I feel him hard beneath me, and when I wriggle against him he moans my name into my mouth. His hands slip inside my shirt and his fingers have never felt so good on my skin. It’s as if every inch of me is bruised and bloody and his touch is the only thing that can heal me. He moves under me as he strokes me back to health, whispering things that I don’t dare respond to. If I speak the magic will disappear, so I gather his words into my heart and lock them there.

  Cassie

  A powerful pressure between my thighs wakes me up. There’s a swollen, pleasurable fullness in my groin that’s only partially due to my need to pee. My nipples are hard points, scratched to a hyper-sensitive state by my t-shirt. I treat myself to a long, sensual stretch, hoping the slow movement of my limbs will ease the ache, but all it does is intensify my need.

  It’s still pretty dark outside and the house is silent. As my eyes adjust to the light, my brain slowly rouses too, reminding me that this intense rush of sexual desperation is right on target. I’m ovulating is all. For about two days per month I want to fuck anything that moves and plenty of things that don’t, and that’s where I am this morning. If I were at home I’d indulge myself in a long, hot, showerhead-assisted soak until I was ready to face the day, but I’m not at home and Donna has a woefully insufficient and attached showerhead. So my hand it is.

  When I slide my fingers inside my panties I’m hot and slick and even my own touch feels like a heavenly indulgence. It’s not going to take me long although I may have more than one or two orgasms in me. That’s okay. Whatever it takes so I won’t walk around all day in a perpetual sex-starved haze. I have too much shit to do to be a slave to my own libido today.

  Grady’s scent wafts to my nostrils. At first I think I’m imagining things, but then I realize that touching him last night marked me somehow. I can’t distinguish any particular spot on my clothing that smells like him, but cedar and musk invade my senses, a powerful suggestion of him that sharpens my greed. Last night comes back to me in a flood of multi-sensory memories - the tortured look in his blue eyes, the unbearable softness of his fingertips on my skin, the need in his raspy voice. They invoke my confusion and my acquiescence right before we were interrupted by the damn dog.

  He would’ve kissed me. Right there, if Ares hadn’t barked, Grady would’ve pressed his lips to mine. He would’ve done it softly, like the first time. Just brushing his mouth against mine, no tongue just yet, a slow and sensuous nibble. My breath quickens as I close my eyes and imagine the taste of his breath, the relief when his tongue finally probes my mouth, requesting access. I imagine our kiss deepening, his grip on my hip tightening. My body sings with the memory of the beautiful, sharp pain that shot right between my thighs when he touched me. His tortured voice groans my name and I feel myself flooding with arousal.

  When I roll to my stomach and bury my face in the pillow the scent of him intensifies. I imagine lying on top of him like I used to, skin to skin, my breasts pressed against his chest, my face buried in his neck. His cock inside me at the perfect angle, so that with just a minimal rocking of my hips he’s hitting exactly the right spot, the place my fingers greedily explore now. In my fantasy Grady twines his hand in my hair and pulls my face until it’s right above his, our lips almost touching. He looks starved for me, his gaze heated, as if his only purpose is to pleasure me endlessly. His lips crush over mine as I clench my teeth around a mouthful of the pillow and silently shatter.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  September 1996

  Grady

  That asshole wants to fuck my girlfriend, and she doesn’t seem to have any clue.

  I watch them carefully at first, wary of her feelings for this douchebag, but she isn’t flirting with him the way he’s obviously hitting on her. Then again, I stole Cassie from another guy. In my back of my mind there will always be some worry that someone else will come along and sweep her off her feet just like I did when she was dating what’s-his-name from band.

  Plus, this dude is in college. I’m a senior in high school. Cassie says she doesn’t care about that, but I’ve met her friends and their boyfriends from other schools. Their “other schools” are universities, not McKinly High School.

  Nah, the more I listen to him the more I realize this guy is a complete tool. No threat whatsoever, except that I don
’t trust him. Really don’t trust him. He’s the kind of asshole they should warn girls about during freshman orientation. Date rape is written all over this fucker.

  Cass brought me to this diner to meet up with a bunch of her friends. Most are other girls - her roommate, Ariel, and some others from her floor crowd into this booth with us. Some guys and other couples are at the next booth over. So far everyone’s been really cool.

  Jeff, the guy who slid in across from us and barely acknowledged me, is not cool and he’s not part of our group. But he’s been here for ten minutes, with all of his focus on Cassie. Her girlfriends are starting to glance over at me, clearly uncomfortable with what’s happening. Her roommate, Ariel, raises an eyebrow at me like, What do you plan on doing about this, big boy?

  “Heading out for a smoke,” the guy says, finally, looking only at Cassie when he does. “Back in a few, babe.”

  It’s the “babe” that does it. Fuck that. I wait about two minutes and excuse myself from the table under the pretense of going to the bathroom.

  When I step out front, the guy is alone. He looks like any other preppy college asshole - button-down shirt, khaki shorts (even though it’s far too cold for shorts), loafers with no socks, floppy hair, white baseball cap on backwards. He’s fiddling with his pack of Camels and looks nervous when I step toward him. He should look fucking nervous. He just called my girlfriend “babe” right in front of me. He was wise not to touch her, but I’ll bet if I wasn’t there he would’ve.

  I’m happy to see he’s about four inches shorter than me. He looked taller sitting down. Physically, he’s no threat, and though I didn’t come out here for a fight if he starts one he’s not winning it.

  “So what, you’re like the back-home boyfriend?” he says, blowing out smoke and trying to appear nonchalant.

  But we’re not playing that game. “I see you’re interested in my girlfriend. But I also see you haven’t taken your shot. That tells me a couple things about you.”

  He swallows nervously as I step closer to him, just close enough that I’m not yet in his personal space. We look like two guys having a friendly conversation to anyone who passes us by.

  “One, you’re a pussy. Because only a pussy hangs around waiting for an in instead of just asking a girl out if he’s interested.”

  “Who are you calling—”

  I cut him off. “Or maybe - and mind you, I’m still pretty sure you’re a pussy - maybe you’re waiting for something better to come along. Hedging your bets because you think a better girl is just around the corner. Seeing if you can work some angle.”

  Something in his eyes changes and I realize that’s exactly what it is. This guy is a bottom-feeder, every college girl’s nightmare. The guy who acts like a friend, pounces when a girl has a weak moment, and then fucks off like nothing ever happened. Like a bad Hollywood cliché of college guys.

  “I’m going to marry that girl,” I tell him. He rolls his eyes at me and takes another drag of his cigarette, but he’s also taken three slow steps back, so he obviously knows I’m serious. I cover those steps and take another toward him so now I am right in his face, close enough to share his cigarette if I smoked. “Do not even think of fucking with her.”

  He stares back defiantly for about three seconds before his gaze drops to the ground. “Whatever,” he mutters. “You act like you’ve got the hottest chick at this school. News flash, dude, there’s like ten thousand girls here.”

  “Then go follow one of them around,” I growl. “Cassie’s off limits.”

  He shrugs and takes another long drag of his cigarette without saying anything.

  I seriously don’t have time for this asshole. “Are we good?”

  He looks at me, sizing me up. He takes another drag of his cigarette and looks away. Saving face.

  “Yep,” he says, not looking back at me, and I turn and walk back into the diner.

  When I slide back into the booth next to Cassie she snuggles into me and then pulls back, wrinkling her nose. “Ew, you smell like smoke.”

  “Had a little word with your buddy Jeff,” I say. “He was out there smoking. Guess I got a little too close.”

  Ariel smothers a smile.

  “Wait - what did you say to him?” Cassie pretends to look horrified, but when I tell her I warned him off she grins.

  “Called that,” says Ariel.

  “You guys,” Cassie protests. “No, Jeff isn’t interested in me, he’s just…” She trails off and looks around the table. A couple of her friends shake their heads and smile as if to say it’s cute that she’s so clueless. Ariel gives her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.

  “Wait-” Cassie turns back to me. “Did you just get all jealous-boyfriend-from-home on him?” She’s working hard to feign indignation and failing. I can tell by the gleam in her eye she loves it.

  “Baby.” I wrap my arms around her and tug her closer. “I staked my claim is all. That guy will not bother you again.”

  “But Jeff isn’t any kind of threat,” she protests.

  I grin. “Not now, he isn’t.”

  She laughs and her eyes sparkle when she whispers, “I might think this is a little bit hot.”

  We’ve been with her friends since I got here, and we’re way past due for some alone time. She stares at me and licks her bottom lip. Oh, yeah. Alone time, right now.

  “Hey Ariel,” I ask without taking my eyes off Cassie’s mouth. “You coming back to the dorm any time in the next three or four hours?”

  There’s some muffled giggling from around the table. Cassie squirms a bit in the booth and puts her hand on my thigh, high enough to make her intentions perfectly clear.

  “Absolutely not,” Ariel replies. “Won’t be there before two or three.”

  “I’ll buy you breakfast tomorrow for that.”

  “Deal. Just please put some shorts on or something before you fall asleep. I like you, but I do not want to see your naked ass.”

  I promise I will be dressed by the time she returns and tug Cassie out of the booth. “Nice meeting you guys,” I call as I head out the door to stake my claim a bit more fully.

  Grady

  I’m up before the sun. Even Ares looks disgruntled about having to run this early, but if I don’t move I’ll explode. I spent another long night tossing and turning and thinking about Cassie. I need to sort my shit out and fast. I creep down the hall and can’t resist the urge to brush my fingers across her bedroom door when I pass it. Last night comes back to me in a flood and when we’re out on the sidewalk I push my body in the hopes of exhausting my head.

  When I met my last girlfriend, Yveta, I responded to her because there was nothing about her that reminded me of Cassie. Blond rather than dark, petite rather than tall, and easygoing rather than tempestuous, she was beautiful and kind and uncomplicated. I chose her because she was inherently different from Cassie, and in my mind I could never compare the two. Apples and oranges. After years of purposely fucking only women who resembled Cassie in some way, I found someone who was nothing like my ex-wife, and it was a blessed relief.

  I took her out to dinner and found she was great company, a pleasure to talk to, and beautiful to look at. Unlike many beautiful women, she knew her value and made me work for it. Yveta was worth every second of the wait.

  The more time we spent together, though, the more my heart was divided. There was nothing I could put my finger on, no deficiency in her character or our relationship. She was supportive, affectionate, sweet as a dream. There were times I made love to her and felt the presence of something deeper floating just beyond my reach. We were passionate together, but there was always some missing, unidentifiable element, and its loss left an ache inside me.

  I made the decision to try. It had been seven long years, and I was no closer to Cassie than I was the day our divorce was finalized. After years of Cassie avoiding eye contact, forcing smiles, and treating me like a stranger, I looked at Yveta’s delicate alabaster shoulder one morning
while she was sleeping and decided it was time to start living in the present.

  When I asked Yveta to come home with me for Thanksgiving and meet my family her blue eyes filled with happy tears, and I felt a moment of incredible pride that I had done right by her. She’d already met the kids, but this would be the first time they’d spent any real time together. They seemed to like her, and my mom was curious about this woman whom I’d been dating for the better part of a year.

  My family welcomed her with open arms, of course. We had a great time in Delaware and for the first time in forever it seemed like I might actually be able to move on. Cassie was losing her grip on me - or, more accurately, I was losing my grip on her. Letting her go. Finally putting the past behind us.

  But a week or so later, when I was making love to Yveta, I was seized with a horrible sadness. I knew I’d been kidding myself and I was never going to feel the same way about her that I felt about Cassie. There was something in the autumn air that made my ex-wife weigh heavily on my mind, some intangible essence of her all around me. It wasn’t fair to Yveta. She was competing with a memory.

  When I ended things she was far nicer to me than I deserved. To be clear, I knew what I was losing. I knew what I was willingly giving up in favor of a snowball’s chance in hell. Cassie had moved on to the Nordic Douchebag (my secret name for Adam), and chances were excellent they would eventually tie the knot. I didn’t care. I couldn’t put Yveta second, and that’s all she was ever going to be. Cassie had already taken the top spot in my heart and she had never left it.

  The night I ended things with Yveta I almost drank. I’d been years without a drop or even an inclination, but that evening I fought against an urge so powerful it almost got me. I loathed myself. I mean, I’d rejected a lovely human being who had never been anything but good to me. What kind of piece of shit does something like that? And for what? Cassie was never, ever coming back. My dream was unhealthy. It was an obsession, really, and a waste of time. I knew that, rationally. But I also knew my own heart.