by Bourne, Lena
"Or we could have dinner just the two of us," I offer, thinking maybe I shouldn't be pushing him so hard.
"No, I can't miss it. My dad's all about these family traditions," he says and lies back down, staring up at the ceiling. "I guess you can come, if you have nowhere else to go."
I run my hand up across his stomach, and back down. I could just do that all day. He's hard again, and I'm still wet. Sore too, but not much. My stomach is already coiling, heat rising in anticipation.
I slide my fingers over his erection, eliciting a sigh, which becomes a gasp as I take his nipple between my teeth. I take his cock in my palm, rubbing my hand up and down and I could just do this all day too.
"We're out of condoms," he mutters.
I release his nipple and kiss his neck softly, still gripping his cock. "It doesn't matter. I'm on the pill."
"Yeah, so you say," he says.
"It's true, I swear," I say and smile, but it doesn't transfer to his face.
"Fine," I mutter and rub my hand over his cock again. "We don't have to go all the way."
Which finally makes him smile. His fingers find my clit, and I push against his hand, stroking his cock faster. He's tracing the path over my opening, but not entering me.
"There's always anal," he says grinning at me.
My hand freezes on his cock. There's no way, I would die from the pain.
"Maybe when slutty Gail comes back, right?"
His fingers are resting right between my two holes, burning.
"I'm not a slut," I manage.
"Sorry," he says and brushes his fingers back across my clit. "I just thought maybe I'd ask. No pressure."
I release him and move away from his hand. "You think I'm a slut?"
"Oh, Gail, come on," he says and moves closer to me. "I was just kidding."
He tries to wrap his arm around me but I smack it away. "I didn't think it was funny."
"Yeah, I see that," he says. "I don't think you're a slut. Come back over here."
I roll over on my side and close my eyes. The way I chased him, threw myself at him, will never stop following me, never be forgotten. I close my eyes tight to stop the tears from flowing. When I wake up, the sky outside is dark grey and Scott's gone.
I take a long hot shower and stay up, flipping through the channels with nothing really registering, until past midnight. I'd go home, really I would, if only my house wasn't so empty and quiet.
He doesn't come home until much later, but by then I'm already pretending to be asleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"I'm sorry about yesterday," Scott tells me as soon as I wake up the next morning. "I really don't think you're a slut."
His eyes are a perfect forget-me-not blue, and I can't find any anger at him.
"It's not you. I overreacted. Again," I whisper, my voice thick with sleep. "Where did you go last night?"
"Out." Shadows gather in his eyes and I close mine, not wanting to see. It doesn't matter. He can have his secrets, they don't touch us.
"Did you remember to get condoms?" I ask, belying all that about me not being a slut.
He laughs and I open my eyes again, thinking it's probably safe now. "I did."
I'd give much to feel him inside me without any rubber separating us, but his stomach rubbing against mine, and his hands caressing my breasts will have to do for now. His hand slides down my panties, his fingers hot and dry against my clit. I wriggle my hips around, already imagining how he'll feel inside me.
"You know, you're just not wet enough," he whispers into my ear, kissing my neck, then throws off the blanket, sliding down on the bed, his breath fiery against my tender flesh.
I help him pull my panties down, throw my head back as his tongue grazes my clit. My mind is numb, all that exists the wet hotness building between my legs, flames kindled by his soft licks. I reach out blindly, groping for him, searching for his cock. It throbs in my hand when I finally find it, his heartbeat matching my own racing heart.
"Put it in," I croak, because I'm so close he might not get to later. He needs little more encouragement.
My mind is still numb, and I'm still half asleep. His cock thrusting into me is opening the door back into dreamland, the bed soft as clouds beneath me. I'm floating, the waves upon waves coursing through me the only thing real. I feel him come inside the condom, heat spreading down, so close, yet locked behind the rubber barrier. I buck up and imagine the waves overflowing. The explosion is smaller than usual, but it fills my whole body, my whole mind, lasts forever, like a twenty foot wave that won't ever crash and dissolve.
"I don't have anything to wear," I say later, when I wake up at three. "Can we go to my house first?"
He's already dressed, drinking a coffee by the kitchen table. "I guess. But are you sure you want to come?"
I wrap the blanket around me and walk over to him, taking a sip of his coffee. It's cold and bitter. "Yes. And we should go now, so I can get ready."
Half an hour later we're standing in my living room, the silence not so terrible now.
"I'll just be a second," I say and head for the stairs.
"Mind if I have a drink?" he calls after me, and I tell him to help himself.
I take a shower, then try on five outfits, before finally setting on a shimmery black turtleneck, my pencil skirt and a pair of knee high boots.
"Will you be much longer?" Scott asks, just as I'm curling my hair. He's standing in the doorway, clutching a half empty glass of whiskey.
"No, I'm almost done."
"That's what you're wearing?" he asks, and I feel his gaze warming the back of my thighs.
I straighten up and unplug the curling iron. "Yes, why? You don't like it?"
He grins and finishes off his drink. "I like it. Just hurry up, we have to go."
I chase him back down, because I can't concentrate on applying eyeliner with him staring at me, sending tingles all across my body.
"You have a really nice house," he says meeting my eyes in the reflection in the French window when I come down. His glass is nearly full again. "And that garden. It's huge."
"It's pretty big, yeah. Should we go?"
He finishes his drink in a single swallow, and I take the car keys from him. He tells me to park in front of his house though, saying it's not too much of a walk.
"So, it's just going to be your family there then?" I ask, my teeth gritted to keep them from chattering. "Your dad and your brothers?"
"Yeah," Scott says. I wish he'd put his arm around me, but he's walking a few steps in front of me. "And Andrew's girlfriend Tina, like I told you. I don't know if Mike's bringing anyone."
Kate's in Long Island, she called me last night, so I'm pretty sure Mike'll be alone. But I don't say it.
"Can't wait to meet them," I say instead.
"Just don't expect too much." Something about the way he says it makes my stomach clench, and not just from nerves. I'm seriously considering cancelling, but it's too late now and I can't afford to do any more insane things in front of Scott.
My thighs are frozen to the bone before we finally reach his dad's house, which is just like every other on the street, with a wide porch and not much of a front lawn. The light over the door reveals chipping white paint.
"You grew up here?" I ask, because I don't really feel him beside me and I need to hear his voice. "It's nice."
"Sure," he says, and steps onto the porch, holding the front door open for me.
The house smells like turkey and cranberry sauce. The front door opens into a wide hallway leading to a set of dark stairs, with doors opening into the other parts of the house.
"Scott, is that you?" a woman yells. "We're in the kitchen."
Scott takes my jacket and dumps it on a rack by the door. A short, curly haired woman is smiling at me from a doorway to my left.
"And you must be Gail," she says and takes a step toward me, extending her right hand. "I'm Tina."
The man I saw at the cemetery with Sco
tt that first time appears behind her. He's wearing glasses, and his shaved head is reflecting the kitchen light. Tina steps out of the way. "Andrew," he says and shakes my hand firmly. He looks older than Scott, lines already edged into the skin around his eyes.
Andrew is the spitting image of Scott's dad, except that the latter still has his hair, and is much thinner. He gets up from the kitchen table and shakes my hand too, smiling wide. "Nice to finally meet you, Gail."
I smile back and tell him likewise, fighting the urge to look at Scott, though I feel his eyes piercing the side of my face. His dad is taller than me, and nearly as thin. Neither him nor Andrew look like Scott, and they're both shorter.
Tina asks me what I want to drink, and Andrew's by the counter, mashing up the potatoes. My heartbeat slows in my chest, my anxiety evaporating. They're all so friendly, and I don't feel like a stranger at all.
"And where's Mike?" I ask as Tina hands me a glass of wine.
Scott's grabbing a beer from the fridge. "It's only like five after six. And Mike's always at least half an hour late for family functions."
His father glares at him from where he's stirring the cranberry sauce on the stove, and Tina busies herself with tossing the salad, vinegar and oil drops flying.
"Don't start, Scott. We're having a quiet family dinner tonight," Andrew warns, putting a lot of emphasis on the word 'quiet'.
"What, I'm just saying." Scott opens his beer, and takes a long swallow. With all the whiskey he already drank at my house, I'm not sure it's a good idea, but I don't say anything. The tension in the room takes a while to dissipate though, my anxiety rising again.
Scott's standing beside me now, but it's like he's not even in the room. His mom died in this kitchen, I remember suddenly, and I'd give my right arm to have my own mom with me now.
After I ask her at least five times if there's anything I can do to help, Tina finally relents and lets me help her set the table.
Mike finally arrives at six thirty. His dark eyes traveling over my body as we shake hands, make me wish I'd worn something less tight. I have no idea what Kate saw in him, but I'd much rather he wasn't looking at me at all.
"So, we're just waiting for your other brother now, right? And then we eat?" I ask Scott while we're all sitting down at the table. I say it a second before I realize, all the seats are taken and there's no place set for anyone else.
Mike's glaring at Scott, his lips curled up into a snarl. "Oh, no, Gail, Derek's not coming tonight. But I'll let Scott tell you why."
Scott seems to be ignoring both me and him, but the temperature in the room drops like someone opened the window, tension coiling all around us.
I drape my napkin across my lap, looking down at my hands.
"I thought Marjorie and the kids would be here, at least," Scott says, sounding like he's in another room.
Andrew's arm freezes as he's reaching across the table to top up my glass of wine. He opens his mouth to speak, but Mike beats him to it, "Marjorie never wants to see you again, Scott. And who can blame her?"
"Can we just eat?" Tina mutters, but I'm not sure anyone but me hears her.
Scott's glaring at Mike, who's glaring right back, and the menacing tension between them is thicker than the walls.
"I thought maybe she'd make an exception tonight," Scott says and chuckles, but it's a hollow, mirthless sound.
"I wouldn't, if I were her," Mike shoots back.
"Stop it, both of you," Andrew says. He's not wearing his glasses now, and I notice he has the same eyes as Scott, recognize them by the black shadows.
Scott goes to get another beer, his chair rattling in the silence.
His dad starts carving the turkey, and I smile at him as he places the first piece on my plate, but he doesn't really see me.
Scott comes back, and slams his beer onto the table too hard, sending foam frothing from it. I hand him my napkin to wipe it off, but he ignores me, the beer now seeping into the tablecloth.
I'm still waiting for them to go around the table and talk about what they're thankful for, rehearsing what I'll say and hoping I won't come across as too strange, but they all just start eating.
I cut a small piece of the meat and bring it to my lips, even though I've never been less hungry in my life. The silence in the room is so absolute, I can hear a clock ticking in another room.
Scott leans back and takes a long swallow of beer, again glaring at Mike. "Well, maybe next year, when I'm gone, Marjorie will come too."
His dad gasps and drops his fork with a clank. "Don't talk like that, Scott."
He took the words right from my lips. My heart is thundering, and my cheek is twitching. Tina lays her hand on mine, but I barely feel it. What's he saying? Gone?
"Why not, Dad?" Scott snarls. "It's been Mike's number one goal for the last three months."
"You're such a drama queen, Scott," Mike says, his eyes blacker than tar. "There's nothing to worry about. Besides, didn't we spend like the whole of last Sunday discussing this thing as a family?"
"You made your choices," Andrew says, glaring at Scott now too. "You're the only one in control of your life."
Scott slams his beer on the table, thick foam frothing over the rim again. "Spare me your new age bullshit, Andrew."
"Nothing new age about it, just hard facts," Andrew counters.
"Stop this, right now!" his dad yells, his voice high and brittle. "Can't we just have a normal family dinner once. Just once."
"Sure, why not?" Scott says and starts eating. "It could be the last one, after all."
"You're only bringing all this up 'cause you're too much of a baby to face the shit you cooked up on your own. But none of us can help with that," Mike snarls. "What will your girlfriend think?"
She's thinking she should get up and leave, that she should never have come here. Gone?
I try to grab Scott's hand under the table but he snatches it away, pointing at Mike. "I just want them all to know what's going on, so there's no surprises later."
Tina's cutting up her turkey into little pieces, and Andrew is rubbing his head, his eyes darting from Scott to Mike to his dad and back. Scott's dad is staring out the window, his face lax, like the heat rising over the table is not hot enough to burn my cheek.
"Maybe if you stopped doing all that coke, I'd feel safer. It's seriously starting to mess up your brain. Not that you weren't always a psycho," Scott says and then Mike's on his feet lunging across the table, knocking over the cranberry sauce. Scott's chair crashes to the ground as he stands up, but Andrew's already holding Mike back, dragging him from the room.
"This is bullshit!" I hear him yell in the hall. "You're all on his side. Just like always. I'm leaving."
The front door slams, and Andrew's back, glaring at Scott. Their dad is staring at the dark red stain spreading across the tablecloth.
Tina wraps her fingers around my arm and pulls me to my feet. "Let's start clearing up."
I take my and Scott's barely touched plate, and follow her into the kitchen.
"You just had to start this shit today," I hear Andrew say, his voice razor sharp.
"What? He started it," Scott protests. "And it's all true."
"You're both exactly the same," their dad says. "And you do this every time."
"We're not the same," Scott says, but his voice is farther away now, and I can see Andrew leading him into the hall. A moment later the front door shuts behind them.
"It'll be fine. Something like this happens every time there's a family get together," Tina says and rubs my arm. "I'm sick to death of it. Though usually we at least get to finish dinner first."
My lips curl into a smile to match her own, but there's no sentiment behind it. She leaves me get more plates, and I go to the sink and start piling the dishes in the washing machine. I hope Scott comes back soon, so we can leave. Only I won't be able to ask any questions, because I promised I wouldn't.
Scott and Andrew are standing on the porch, just to the side of
the kitchen window, talking softly. The window's cracked open and I step closer, hoping to hear something. It might be the only way I can get some answers.
"Mike's been taking unnecessary risks all year," Andrew says, the anger gone from his voice. "I'm sick of it too. Me and Tina are leaving."
"What do you mean, leaving?" Scott says.
"You can go too," Andrew says. "And you probably should, if what you've been saying is true."
The way he says it, like all Scott said before about being gone is a certainty, makes bile rise up in my throat.
"What about Dad?" Scott asks.
"What about him? He's a grown man, I'm sick of babysitting him," Andrew spits.
"You can leave that out. I'll wash it by hand," Tina says, and I nearly drop the pot I'm holding.
Scott comes in a minute later, looking at me like he wants to apologize, but I can't meet his eyes, afraid all he'll see are the questions.
He pours a glass of water and drinks it.
"I told you not to expect too much," he says and grins.
His eyes are clear, and dark blue in this light, and all I really want is to hold him, tell him everything will be alright. But I can't, because I really don't think it will.
Andrew comes in, carrying the turkey.
"Go be with Dad," he says to Scott. "We'll finish clearing up."
I brush past Scott and wait by the door while he gets another beer.
"Maybe you should stop drinking," I whisper as he passes, but he ignores me.
In the living room, his dad is sitting on the sofa, gazing at the cold fireplace, clutching a tumbler of vodka. A row of picture frames is arranged on the mantle, a tall woman with long blonde hair smiling at me from the center. It's Scott's mom, I'm sure of it, because he has her eyes. She's wearing a long white dress that's dancing around her legs in the wind.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Scott says, but his dad is still just staring at the mantelpiece like we're not even in the room.
I walk closer to get a better look. In the picture next to his mom, a younger Scott's got his arm around the shoulders of a bulky kid. In the next one, Janine and a blond woman and standing are either side of a tall man, holding one of his arms each, while he squints at the camera. The last picture is of two cats, looking away from each other.