My Monster
Page 7
"He makes money out of money," Dianne answers offhandedly as we turn to another street, cruising through the neighborhood. "Where to?"
Landon and I exchange a glance. "I think Sophie's in the mood for some American food," he says. "She needs meat."
It's true, I like meat.
"Burgers. On it," says Dianne, slamming her foot on the gas. We speed off down a boulevard bathed in thick yellow afternoon sunshine. Brown leaves of fall dance merrily in the air as we pass.
* * *
"Your uncle’s some type of millionaire?"
Landon nods, pushing his leftover fries back and forth on his plate. "Some type of billionaire," he says. We're sitting side by side in a booth of an oily diner I would normally never set foot in. But the burgers were greasy and deliciously tasted like heart failure and it's completely deserted. We have much-needed privacy.
"His nickname is 'The Dragon of Manhattan.’" Landon gives me a funny look when he says this, scanning my face as if he's waiting for a particular reaction.
Uh huh. I’ve heard about the Dragon of Manhattan. His name’s Ambrose Sutherland, and he’s supposed to be a young man with no college education who made it huge on Wall Street. I don't care enough about economics to know more, but my dad sure respects him.
"You like getting driven around by the hot blonde assistant?" I ask.
"It has its moments, but this is just temporary until I get my American license."
That seems good enough. I haven't finished asking my questions, though. We somehow made it through an entire meal without talking about anything personal. We mainly made sarcastic observations about the world. I laughed more times than I'm used to laughing in an entire week, and I had moments when I couldn't eat because watching him eat was a little too sexy.
Nobody should be sexy while they eat. But I kept imagining his mouth doing . . . other things.
"What did you talk to Shawn about?"
Landon pushes away his plate and sticks his chin in my direction. "Obviously, we were talking about you."
"You were really chummy about it."
His light-brown eyes flash with a brimming ferocity that makes me curl my hands into fists. "He doesn't have a death wish, that's all. We talked it through like men."
"He's delusional."
"Is he now?" Landon leans one elbow on the table as he turns to me. I mirror this move and face him, edging closer and closer. "You've underestimated him before, Sophie. Are you making that a habit?"
I'm surprised. Shawn really opened up to Landon. He told him everything. How unlike Shawn. "Did you make a bet with him?"
"Now what kind of dick would do that?" he asks me with a lopsided grin.
“A dick who knows he's winning," I say with a chuckle.
I don't think. I don't have to think. I reach out and brush my fingers over his collarbone and then go up, tracing the line of his jaw and sliding my thumb over his bottom lip before I lean forward and kiss him.
What? Was I supposed to wait for him to kiss me?
* * *
In movies, people kiss whenever they damn well please, and have perfect breath when they do it too. In reality, kissing after you've just eaten a burger is a little less than ideal.
And yet . . .
And yet . . .
Whoa . . .
His lips are soft at first against mine, although his mouth parts welcomingly as I slide my tongue inside. Maybe he's surprised that I took the initiative, or maybe he's savoring the moment. I don't know. I don't care, because a second later, he cups my face in his hands and takes control.
His teeth nip my bottom lip lightly, and his tongue moves against mine. Then his lips become rough, demanding, and fierce, and I can barely keep up. I'm short of breath but loving it. His hands trail down my body, feeling, touching, exploring.
For a time, we're trapped in this moment, locked in an embrace that's anything but innocent, sighing against each other's lips. I know where this is going. I know, and I want it.
Because I, Sophie Green, have fallen in lust with this boy.
My own hands set out to discover the shape of his body. I want to make my intent known, and nobody is around to see. It's easy to find what I'm looking for beneath the rough fabric of his jeans, and as I press my fingers down on where he’s hard, Landon releases a quiet moan against my lips.
There's the creak of the diner door opening, and the bang of it slamming shut. I notice from the corner of my eye an old lady with white shoulder-length hair marching between the booths toward us.
Landon untangles from me and shoves himself forward, coming to stand between me and the old lady.
He does all this so fast, I nearly topple into my half-finished hamburger. I'm impressed by how he moves. He stands before her, his whole body tense. I feel the rise of adrenaline as the promise for danger visits my mundane life. I look at the old lady in anticipation.
She's got big, crazy grey eyes and is wearing a plain blouse and a straight skirt that ends below the knees. Her thick legs are swaddled in white stockings.
She moves her gaze from me to Landon. “So, you’re back. Do you remember yet?" she asks in a crazed whisper. "Do you remember your name? Remember what you did?"
"Hullo, Agnes," Landon answers, his shoulders relaxing a little. He knows this lunatic?
"Leave it be, kid. Leave it be. There will be a war on it. A war. You'll find yourself dead again. You always die young. Do you remember that?"
"I can't remember what hasn't happened yet," he says patiently.
“No, you can. And you will. It will be bad again. Your plan won’t work. The Black Death will happen again but it will be worse this time because there’s not much of us left."
"Stop it, Agnes."
"You better not remember!" the woman suddenly roars. "I’ve got old memories of this you. Of what you’re going to do. And they remember what you did before, what you can do. They’re watching, waiting, and won't be forgiving."
Landon grabs me by the arm. "Let's get out of here," he says, shoving past the old lady and trailing me behind.
"They're watching you," the woman repeats after us. "They're watching to see if you're the same you that you were last time."
"Landon, the bill," I manage to say just as we're out of the diner. I wonder what Agnes was talking about, but I don't think that even she knows.
"Don't worry about it. I already paid," he says, exhaling and shaking his shoulders as he lets go of my arm. He starts walking down the street, seemingly at random. He looks rattled.
"Are you okay?"
He shakes his head from side to side. "Old people scare me."
I snort. For someone who’s uncomfortable with the elderly, he sure was patient. "Look at you, big boy, scared of a little old lady."
He turns to me with a rueful grin, taking my hand in his. "Hey, Agnes said some profound things just now. I'm still trying to figure it out."
"It was like she was a walking, breathing Dao De Jing,” I say. We cross the street. I look at all the unfamiliar shops. I don't think I've ever been in this part of town. Landon still seems tense, but I decide to drop it. Every neighborhood has its local crazy elderly person. There's no point analyzing it. "Where're we going?"
"My place," he replies. "It's just around the corner over there."
I scan his profile. Things were getting good at the diner, but I assume we would've had to go to his place sooner or later. "You live with your uncle here?"
"No, I live alone. I didn't want to go to a school in the city, so he got me a place here."
"Why not?"
He threads his fingers through mine and leans toward me to kiss my jaw below the ear. "There's no Sophie Green in the city."
Fine, don't tell me your reason. I don't really care. I like it that he's mysterious, and as long as I get to see him naked, I'm willing to put up with half-truths.
* * *
Landon's apartment is small but expensively designed. All I see is impeccable order. It has the l
ook of a place someone only comes to sleep.
"Want something to drink?" Landon asks, ambling into the brand-new state-of-the-art kitchen. I can tell that it has never been used. He opens the silver refrigerator door to reveal that it's mostly empty inside. "I've got . . . orange juice and water."
"I'll go with water." I can never understand juice or other sweet beverages. I sit down on the grey sofa, moving aside the small bright-red cushions. I hate sofa cushions. Landon grabs the water and two glasses and walks over, placing them on the glass coffee table.
He sits next to me, and we both sip water. There's a moment of supreme awkwardness. It's like neither one of us wants to talk right now. This whole water-drinking is a social ceremony since somehow, we can't straight-out pick up where we left off.
Why can't we? I'm tempted to just go out and say it, but maybe, since this will be my first time, I'm a little less than confident enough.
No. That's not how I know myself. I put the glass down on the coffee table with a clatter. "Landon, why don't you show me your room?"
He chortles and nearly drops his glass. "You're amazing."
"I'm just being honest here. I really want to see your. . . room."
His eyes crinkle slightly when he laughs again, putting down his own glass. As I look at him, it’s like there's an army of caterpillars in my stomach. "Well, Sophie"—he gets up and offers me his hand—"why don't you come see my room?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
* * *
We don't make it to his room so fast. Halfway across the living room, we start kissing. He's taller than me, but like this, I get to feel his body in a different way. Several moments later, we shuffle across the threshold into the bedroom. I'm incapable of seeing the details. I know there's a big double bed, and soon enough, I'm lying flat on my back on it with Landon on top of me. His skin smells so nice. I want him to take off his shirt, but he's taking off mine first. He touches me with clever fingers. My whole body comes alive beneath his touch.
Oh. There goes my bra. And finally, his shirt is off. I'm so excited, it hurts. I want to see his whole body. He pulls back to help me out of my jeans. I notice several pale, long, thin scars that run from his chest to his stomach. They don't look like surgery scars.
They sort of look like claw marks.
Off go my jeans and my panties. For the first time in my life, I'm completely naked in the presence of a boy. I feel no shame. I love my body. I love being naked too.
I'm loving everything about what's happening right now.
Then he does something very generous and unexpected. He's down at the foot of the bed, parting my thighs. And oh! That's also a first for me. His mouth makes me rise, rise, rise. . .
"I think I have a condom in my bag," I murmur, breathless and warm. He shakes his head, reaching to the bedside table.
Of course he'd be prepared. I know he's no virgin. It already paid off that he isn't a novice. The wrapper of the condom crinkles. I curiously watch what he's doing. Even though I’m more relaxed than I have in my entire life, just looking at his body is making me excited all over again. It's beautiful.
Suddenly, the tune of Hakuna Matata plays out of nowhere. Landon freezes. I rise on my elbows. He heaves an exasperated sigh as he gets to his feet and picks up his jeans, digging out his phone in the pocket. He looks at the screen with his brow furrowed and then answers.
"What?" he barks. Well, that's better than how I would’ve answered. "Right now? I'm in the middle of something important."
He sits down on the bed next to me, slapping his palm over his eyes. "Okay, okay. Understood."
I hear a man's deep voice from the phone. I can't make out what he's saying. Landon's hand falls from his face and comes to rest on my stomach, his fingers distractedly dancing around my navel. "Yes, Charlie told me. I'll be there after I take Sophie home."
The man on the phone laughs and says something else. "She's out of this world," Landon says with a smile, eying me. "Okay, fine." He hangs up, throwing his phone on the bed beside me and ruffling his hair in annoyance.
"I'm sorry." He lies down next to me, wrapping his arms around me. "That was my uncle. He needs me to help him with some event."
"You already told him about me?"
"The crazy, sexy redhead who threw a sandwich at me? I couldn't shut up about you." He starts kissing the side of my neck, making his way down to my collarbone. "I really hate how he orders me around," he complains into my skin.
I assume we can't finish off what we started. I can't even begin to describe how disappointed I am. I silently get up and begin fishing for my clothes. If we stay like this another moment, the torment will drive me crazy.
Landon groans and picks up his phone to call Dianne.
5
I Hate Taking It Slow
I finish cutting the kiwifruit into squares and add it to the yogurt. I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel before putting the bowl of yogurt on the tray by the huge mug of herbal tea and taking the whole thing to Esmeralda's room.
"Landon, I didn't take you for a Disney guy," said I.
"The Lion King is the best film ever made," was his reply.
I snort when I think about it.
Esmeralda is cocooned like a caterpillar in a mountain of blankets. Her eyes are puffy, her nose is streaming, and her hair is eight times its usual size. "Somethin' funny?" she asks in a voice that sounds like a pitchfork grating against asphalt.
I put the tray next to her bed and arrange the pillows so she can sit up.
"Just remembered something that someone said," I reply.
Esmeralda sits up and takes the bowl of yogurt that I pass her. Tina is at work, and of course, without her mom, Esmeralda didn't eat anything all day long. "It's good you came, Sophie. I'm beginning to hear things."
"Like what?" Mental sickness fascinates me.
"I just heard you say you laughed at something someone said."
I nod my head. "Would I ever say that? Eat your yogurt."
"Yes, ma'am." Esmeralda loads a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth and chews the kiwifruit slowly. Her phone that's lying on the bed at her side starts beeping, and an onslaught of messages appear on the screen. From what I notice, most of them are emojis.
Esmeralda drops her spoon into the bowl and picks up her phone. She reads the messages and laughs out loud.
"Is that your ‘star’?" I ask.
Her thumbs dance over the screen as she writes a message to her mysterious beau. "Sure is," she says, giggling.
"Make any progress?"
Esmeralda looks at me with an expression of someone seeing rainbows, chocolate, and unicorns. "Just in spirit, nothing physical."
I can sense the disappointment somewhere in there. I hear you, girl. I give a one-shoulder shrug. Esmeralda goes back to her phone.
"I almost lost my virginity today." I sort of blurt it out.
"What?" Esmeralda drops her phone into her yogurt. "Shit, shit, shit!"
I take the paper napkin from the tray and fish out her phone. Without a word, I begin wiping it clean with tissues from the box by the bed.
Don't get me wrong, I don't feel the need to talk it over. What happened between Landon and I was awesome, but it doesn't become any less “happened” if I keep it to myself.
But there will be consequences for keeping secrets this big from Esmeralda. I'm an amazing liar, but I just don't feel like lying to her.
"It still works fine," I say, passing the now slightly sticky phone back to her.
"Can you get me the wipes from the dresser?" she asks, testing to see that all is in order with her mobile universe.
I get up and step toward the dresser.
"Who?" Esmeralda asks.
"Landon."
"And?"
I hand her the wipes. "Oral sex happened."
"You-him, him-you, or both?"
"Him-me." There's little I can do to hide my satisfied grin. I sit down and begin telling her everything.
And
by everything, I mean I begin with Shawn, because let’s face it, Landon would never have happened if it weren’t for Shawn.
* * *
Shawn arrives at my house at exactly 6:28 the next morning. I know this only because that's when he calls me on my phone. I don't pick up, of course. I look out the window of the school bus and grin.
My mom calls next, and I tell her that it was a misunderstanding and I didn't know Shawn was coming to pick me up. She laughs and backs out of the situation with as little awkwardness as she can manage.
* * *
Thank God it's Friday. I love Fridays. Every human being on this planet loves Fridays.
First class of the day is biotechnology. I'm early. I choose my seat, and . . .
And for the first time in my life, I wait.
I'm not some lovestruck puppy. Landon and I have unfinished business, and I'm hoping to finalize the issue by this weekend.
In the following minutes, whenever someone walks into the classroom, I exercise an insane amount of self-control not to look up quickly to see who it is.
I keep my head on the desk and pretend to sleep.
A warm hand comes down on the back of my neck, caressing and soft. Masculine fingers sneak into the back of my shirt from the top, pressing on those upper back muscles that are always tense.
Heaven. It exists.
I stay like this for a time, allowing the second hand to join the first and for the skilled fingers to knead both my shoulders.
At some point, I feel like a reward is due.
"Mmm . . . Landon, that feels so—” I tilt my head all the way back to look into Landon's face.
But it isn't Landon.
"Morning, Fee," Shawn says, landing a quick peck on my forehead.
I turn my head, my gaze pointing to the front of the classroom. Shawn's still standing behind me, still with his hands on my shoulders. Goddamit, Shawn, could your hands please stop feeling so nice?