Bend

by K. Bromberg

  I wake with the worst headache. And my stomach is protesting the lack of… everything. I roll out of bed and stumble over to the kitchen sink, my eyes still half-closed. I open the tap and stick my mouth under, draw back to wince at the disgusting municipal water, then resume drinking until my stomach bloats.

  I wipe my mouth and pull the refrigerator open. Empty, save for a few condiment packets left over from a recent trip to Rocky’s Burgers. I need to eat.

  I slam the door and go turn on the shower, strip, wash quickly, and then realize I have no clean towels. I drip dry as I search for clothes. I drag the underwear up my wet legs and say fuck the bra. A couple of stacked tank tops—both white so I don’t stick out—and another pair of cut-off jeans finishes the job. I comb through my hair, brush my teeth and slip my flops on as I drag the door closed behind me.

  My phone tells me it’s seven PM on Monday. I’ve lost six days of life since I met James on the pier. And really, this whole shut-down thing I’ve been doing is not very smart. What if he did turn me in? I was all drugged up on the Ativan, unable to react. I was barely functioning.

  I walk past the Mexican place. I ate there last time so I can’t go there again for a while. I don’t want to become friendly with the food people. I don’t want to be a ‘local’ and have them wave at me as I pass by. So I walk east, the opposite direction of the beach, cross over Fifth and head up Main to find some restaurant I’ve never eaten in before. It takes me a while because I’ve lived here for eleven months, so most of them I’ve entered at least once. But I’m jumpy now. The idea that James could’ve reported me and I wouldn’t have been able to react has me on edge.

  It’s dumb to be careless. Especially when I’ve come so far. I’m a success, right? I took something very valuable from a global criminal organization and eleven months later, I’m still alive.

  Is it by design? If it was so easy for James to pick me out, how hard would it be for the Company men to find me? Have they left me alone for a reason? Did they send James to assess my state of mind?

  I pick a random eatery and scan the menu. I hate Chinese food, so I order the most benign things I can think of. Shrimp fried rice and a large Coke. I need the calories because the walk over has almost done me in.

  I eat alone and in silence as I gaze out onto Sixth Street. Chewing methodically. Thinking about life. James. His attention and the way it made me feel. His little speech on the division of power during sex.

  I have to admit, it makes sense. It put that filthy act in perspective and the longer I think about him, the more intense the throbbing between my legs becomes. I slurp my soda and gather up my trash, tossing it in the can as I leave and head back towards the beach. I’ve got a little while before the sun sets, so I take my time. Looking in the small shops as I wander down Main.

  When I get to Pier Plaza I walk right to the terraced steps and hop onto the first pillar, standing up to my full height. I shield my eyes from the sun and look north. Scanning for him. He said, Come find me. But how? He’s the one who found me. I turn slowly, dropping my hand from my face as the sun beats on my back. I scan the other side of PCH. Watching for men standing still, pretending to do things like look at a phone or window-shop. But there is no one who looks like my James.

  I hop down just as more people start appearing and then make my way to the bottom terrace and park myself against a short pillar in front of the grass. A few yards off there’s a group of skaters doing tricks off the low wall that separates the bike path from the sand. I lean against the rough stone, my chin resting on my knee, and watch them.

  They are my age. All blond, tanned, and shirtless. Handsome even. I don’t normally notice the boys around here. I’ve been too busy being invisible to take notice or worry about stupid teenager things.

  But I’ve seen one of them before. In fact, now that I think about it, I’ve seen him a lot. He surfs in the morning and skates at night. Like this beach is his whole life. His smile is easy and appears often, as does his gruff laugh.

  I sigh as I watch him on his board. He makes it do all sorts of things that appear to defy gravity. He falls, laughs, gets up, does it again. His friends are all the same. Loud, energetic, beautiful.

  He looks my way and I’m too sad to even try and pretend I haven’t been staring.

  He waves. I don’t even blink.

  He turns and starts talking with his friends and then they bump fists and he flips his board up, grabs it by the front wheels, and walks towards me.

  I sit up straight and panic. Shit.

  He walks up smiling. “Hey,” he says, dropping his board and sitting down next to me. “What’s up? You here alone tonight?”

  “I’m always here alone,” I reply as I study his face, looking for intentions. God, are all boys beautiful? Or is it this beach? I’ve never paid much attention, but two in a week, that’s some good luck.

  He puts out his hand. “Scott.”

  My hand finds his automatically. “Nice to meet you, Scott.”

  He smiles and his blue eyes lift at the corners. “Not gonna tell me your name?”

  I pull my hand back and lean into the pillar, trying to make myself small.

  He looks away, scanning the crowd to the left and right. Then the pier. When he’s satisfied, he drags his eyes back to me. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  I’m speechless.

  “That guy you were with the other night?” he adds. “All curled up on his lap like a pet.”

  “I think you have me mixed up with someone else.”

  “Oh,” he says, nodding his head and looking straight ahead. “OK. Well, then would you like to go for a walk? See the sunset somewhere else?”

  I consider my options. Obviously he’s not interested in the sunset. So I guess I can assume this is an invitation to fool around. And last week I’d have said no thank you automatically. But this week… I realize now why girls chase boys.

  And vice versa.

  “Where’d you have in mind?” I ask, forcing myself to stare him in the face.

  He gives me a crooked grin that is actually quite inviting, and then reaches for my knee and squeezes. “Girl’s choice.”

  “I live down the street.”

  He stands and extends his hand to me. “Let’s go, babe.”

  He holds my hand as we cross Pier Plaza, chatting at me like we’ve been friends forever. “My bro Danny…”

  I could give a shit about his bro Danny and how he cracked his skull doing some skater trick that sounds too ridiculous to be true, but what do I know about skater tricks?

  I only feel his hand in mine. Just like James. Is this all they have to do? The beautiful ones? All they have to do is hold your hand to turn you stupid with lust? I’m certainly well on my way to idiocy, that’s for sure. I can only imagine how I’ll melt into a puddle of goo when I get what I came for.

  And after that… I have no idea.

  When I turn up Fifth Street, there’s flashing lights at the police station, so I turn left on Walnut and take the back way through the alley. I stop us outside the back gate, suddenly nervous about going inside.

  “This you?” he says, nodding his head to my building. He pushes me against the garage and then his hands are on my hips, dipping behind me to caress my ass. His lips are descending on mine before I can even answer.

  And then…

  He’s ripped away and flung to the ground, his head bouncing off the concrete. James is staring down at him, clenching his fists, looking like he’s in professional mode.

  “Stop!” I say, standing between the new guy and the assassin. “You have no right.”

  James looks at me and narrows his eyes. My insides drop, like I just jumped off a cliff, that’s how terrifying he looks. He points to my new friend. “Really? This asshole? He picks up a different girl every night. And if you were fucking paying any attention at all, you’d have seen that!”

  Skater dude is back on his feet, picking up his board, and already walking away. “I
’m outta here.” He turns, walking backwards for a few paces. “And for the record, asshole, I asked her if she was yours. She said no. So you got some work to do.”

  And then he drops the board, hops on, and a few seconds later he’s turned the corner, out of sight.

  James turns back to me, grinding his teeth, clenching the muscles in his jaw. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  I raise my chin in defiance. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back against the garage. “You wanted to fuck him?” His eyes are darting back and forth, searching me, waiting on the answer.

  “Maybe.”

  His hand comes up and palms my throat, his thumb making little circles under my chin. “I give you a taste, then back off to give you room, and you take home the first asshole who asks for your name?” His erection presses against my belly and he dips his forehead until it rests against mine.

  My heart is racing, but for once in my life, it’s for all the right reasons. I reach for his face, threading my fingers through his dark hair.

  “You’re mine,” he growls. “I told you to come find me when you were ready.”

  “I looked, but no luck. So I played the only card I had. And look at that.” I smile with satisfaction. “Here you are.” I tilt my head up and meet his gaze. The sun is gone now, only the light of the stars illuminates him. And still, I see everything so clearly. “I didn’t have to find you, James. All I had to do was make sure you found me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  HARPER

  He turns away, but not before I catch the grin. His back expands as he takes a breath. Probably to tuck down his amusement so he can keep playing the pissed-off asshole routine.

  All my life people have assumed I’m stupid because I’m quiet, I never interrupt, and I follow directions. But I’m quiet because saying less is always more.

  I never interrupt because you always miss the parts better left unsaid when you don’t let people finish.

  And I follow directions because it keeps things on an even keel, sailing pun intended.

  I haven’t always felt this way about things. But back when we were little I once asked my brother why he was always so accommodating with the demands of the Admiral. We were about eight and I was spending my days that summer learning how to sail the ship to windward, while he was working in the galley, learning how to cook potatoes or something. But his answer that day has always stuck with me. ‘Pick and choose your battles, Harp.’

  I thought about that piece of advice endlessly since that day. Pick and choose your battles. Accept that you cannot win every time, until you’ve got a sure thing. Battles are always a win and lose. Give and take. And ever since then I’ve been saving up my losses for the only battle that counts. The one that wins the war. So when the strong wind comes and wants to take me off course, I lower my sails and go with the current. I save that loss up for another day. But all these things are conscious decisions. I am attentive, but silent. I have come to terms with my life, but—hopefully—only for the moment.

  “So you were trying to make me jealous.” He turns back to me, his expression a flat line again. But I already know he likes the devious side to Harper.

  “I was,” I reply.

  “Do you know what happens when I get jealous?” He steps towards me and puts both hands around my neck, his thumbs caressing my jaw in those little circles that will have me dreaming about them later. My body responds with the now familiar tingling between my legs and I am suddenly hot with want.

  “No,” I say softly.

  He stares at me for a few moments and then dips his mouth down to mine, resting his lips against my lips. “Who’s in charge, Harper?”

  “You are,” I reply obediently.

  He gently knocks his forehead against mine and huffs out a laugh. “What are you doing?”

  “Being good. You want to be in charge, then be in charge. I’m not a control freak.”

  He takes my hand and pulls me towards the building. I dutifully follow him in. We descend the steps to the basement side by side, and then he leads me into the mechanical room and gathers my key from behind the loose cinder block where I hide it. He shoots me a glance to see if I’ll carry on about him knowing where it is. But I don’t, so he leads me back out, opens my apartment door, and waves me through.

  I stand there in the little entrance, waiting for his directions like this is his place and not mine. He stops and stares at the closed door before turning. Like he needs a moment to make a decision. When he turns his eyes are aflame with passion. He puts his hands on my arms and pushes me back against the wall. His thigh wedges between my legs, rubbing against that spot where I know all my carnal desires can be fulfilled, and I moan. He takes that as a yes to his unspoken question and his mouth finds mine.

  He bites my lip and takes me by surprise. I whine at the pain and then taste the blood but before I can react to that, his tongue is licking it away, tangling with my own tongue inside my mouth for a few seconds, then he latches onto my top lip.

  “Mmmmm,” is all I get out before he nips that one too. I raise my hand to push him off but he grabs my wrist and hoists it up above my head.

  “Do that again and I’ll tie you up.”

  I take a deep breath and look away. So very unsure of what I’m doing.

  “Limits, Harper? You better say so now. This won’t be some romantic fairytale fuck you’ve read about in books.”

  Shit. There have to be limits. Right?

  “Do you trust me?” When I look back, his gaze is serious. So very, very serious.

  I shake my head because this question is easy. “No, not really, James. I mean, I want this. I do. But what we have is like a… a… tenuous respect and nothing more. Like the way you respect a large dog you’ve never met before.”

  His eyes dart back and forth. It’s his tell, I realize now. His darting eyes are weighing in on me, letting me know he’s formulating an opinion. Which is good, I guess. Either he’s reevaluating me or he never really solidified one in the first place.

  He brings the hand above my head down to my side and kisses me on the nose. “OK.”

  “OK?” God, please don’t let him change his mind! “James, I—”

  He places his fingertips over my lips, then leans in and licks the one he bit and sucks on it for a second. “I need to know how you want it, Harp. Or I might go too far. And…” He cups my face in his hand and pulls me close, right up next to his hard thickness inside his jeans. “And I don’t want to do it wrong. It’s a big deal for you. Even I understand that. I might hurt you so I need to know what you want.”

  What do I want? I want to have sex. And feel the pulsations of an incredible orgasm.

  “I need to know if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” I say quickly. “I am, I swear. I want to and if you stop this now, I’ll go find that skater guy!”

  He smacks my ass. Hard. I yelp and try to scoot away from his hand as it comes back for more, but he holds me tight and this time the smack hits my bare thigh.

  I squeal loudly at that one.

  “Say you’re sorry,” he says, staring me in the eyes.

  “Sorry, I was just—”

  “You were just trying to bait me, and I don’t like it.” He stares down at me, his eyes narrow and his jaw set.

  He’s totally not kidding about that so I chew on my lip, taste blood, and then nod. “OK, I’m really sorry. It was a bad joke. I’m not interested in Golden Boy back there.” He eyes me suspiciously, but I can tell he’s more interested in being playful than angry. Even so, I nod and reassure him. “I swear.”

  “So you’re ready?” His fingertips slip under my tank top and then his whole palm presses against the bare skin of my waist. His hands are a little cold and this temperature difference sends chills up my whole body. My nipples perk to attention immediately.

  I put my hand around his neck and lean up on my tiptoes and peck him on
the cheek. “I’m ready.”

  “No limits?”

  “Just… be nice.” I smile sweetly because I don’t know what else to do. I have no clue about any of this shit. Some of the things he’s said I don’t even understand. He thinks I’ve been dreaming about my first sexual experience growing up? Well, he’s wrong. I never read any books about how other girls experience a first time. I had one very clinical discussion about sex with a retired Company medic when I was sixteen. And it was not very enlightening beyond don’t do it until you’re married, because I was promised to someone back when I was six, and that promise dictated that I be a virgin when I was given away.

  He growls into my neck. “Fuck, Harper. You’re driving me crazy. You gotta tell me what not to do, or I swear, I’ll do it all. I’ll just do it all.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I just want it to feel good. I just want you to touch me and make me feel good. Make this loneliness go away for a little bit. Make me…” I stop and look up at him. His attention is rapt. Like he’s hanging on my every word. “Make me feel wanted.”

  He lifts my top over my head in one move. My nipples bunch up as the cool air touches them, and then his fingertips roll one back and forth. My heart begins to race inside my chest, my breath becomes ragged and uncontrolled. He palms my breast and his lips find my mouth, his tongue thrusting in this time. Not waiting for a response, just taking me the way he wants. He unbuttons my shorts and drags the zipper down. His other hand slips down my panties and finds my completely soaked folds.

  “What do you call this?” he says, thrusting his fingers inside me.

  I laugh. “What?”

  “Pussy,” he whispers. “You call it your pussy next time I ask. When you want me to lick it”—oh God, I almost orgasm at the thought—“you say, ‘Please lick my pussy, James.’”

  I can’t breathe. And I don’t think I can say that without exploding. His fingers begin a slow thrust and my knees go weak.

  “Would you like me to lick your pussy, Harper?”

  The way he says my name. The way he touches me. The way he does pretty much everything right now. I’m at his mercy. “Please lick my pussy, James.” I’m surprised he heard my words, that’s how low I speak them.