by Landis Lain
“Oh,” said Chauncey. “It’s like that.”
“Yeah,” said Damon, hoping that Chauncey was not too drunk to see reason. Fortunately, Chauncey was happy when he was drinking and thrilled about the earlier game.
“Man, why didn’t you say you had dibs on the biddy?” he complained good naturedly.
“Excuse me,” said Brielle, trying to free her hands. Chauncey released Brielle’s hand. Damon held the other one firmly.
“My bad,” said Damon. He pulled Brielle close and slung an arm around her shoulders. She looked mad enough to skin Chauncey with her bare hands.
Charlene came up to Chauncey and he walked off the dance floor with her without a backward glance. Damon pulled Brielle into his arms and started to move to the music. She followed his steps easily.
“Excuse me,” repeated Brielle. “The biddy?”
“It’s only a figure of speech. A biddy is a little chicken,” explained Damon. “Like a ‘chick’. Besides, he didn’t mean anything by it, he was drunk.”
“That football head,” said Brielle, disgusted. “Humph. As though I’d ever talk to him. And I knew what he meant by biddy. I wasn’t mad about that, anyway.”
Damon raised an eyebrow.
“He showed me this quarter and flipped it and asked me what were the chances of him getting heads tonight,” said Brielle, still ticked. Damon froze and Brielle stumbled
“What the-,” he said, instantly enraged. He righted her. The look on his face frightened Brielle so much she tightened her hold on him.
“Don’t do anything,” she said. “He was drunk.”
Damon’s jaw was tight. “That’s no excuse for talking to you like that.”
“It’s okay, Damon,” said Brielle. “He was trying to be funny, that’s all.”
“Ha-ha,” said Damon. “It’s not funny. I’m about to get some things straight with him.”
“Look, don’t let him wreck this night,” pleaded Brielle, grabbing his arm as he went to pull away. “I’ve been having such a good time.”
“Okay,” said Damon, still staring a hole in Chauncey’s back, as though making a note of where to stick the knife. He was still holding her loosely. Brielle changed tactics.
“Fine, be like that,” said Brielle, disengaging herself from Damon’s arms. “If you want to act stupid more than you want to be with me, I’m outta here.” Damon shook his head to clear it and looked at Brielle. With her heels on, she almost met him eye to eye.
“I’m straight,” he said, and exhaled audibly.
Brielle still looked angry.
“You going to be salty all night?” asked Damon.
“I’m deciding,” she said, folding her arms in front of her. Damon fondled one hand and then reached up to touch her hair, just behind her left ear, in a feather light touch and sent a thrill through Brielle.
“Don’t be mad, okay,” he wheedled, murmuring into her ear.
“I can’t even stay mad when I’m around you,” said Brielle with a mock pout.
Damon laughed and took her back in his arms to finish the dance.
“You are a very cute chick,” he said and pulled back into his arms, resolving to talk to Chauncey on Monday. “I like you better when you’re smiling.”
A little later, Damon convinced Brielle to go and sit with him in the car. They got into the back seat and talked for a little while. Brielle complained about the cold and Damon took off his jacket and helped her put it around her shoulders. He hugged her close.
“I’ll keep you warm,” he said. “Alone, at last.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. They had been kissing for a few minutes when Damon stopped, breathing ragged. He took off his glasses and tossed them into the front seat. Brielle looked at him with a question in his eyes.
“They were getting fogged up,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat. “You make me hot.” He’d already pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.
Brielle was feeling hot, too. So hot she was scaring herself, but she didn’t say anything because she liked what she was feeling. She could feel Damon’s heart pounding though his dress shirt. He caught her hand and eased it into his shirt. She could feel his smoothly muscled chest and her own heart started pounding, too. He eased the straps of her dress down. He hugged Brielle to him and felt her warm soft skin. Both of them moaned. Any thoughts of secondary virginity flew out of Damon’s head on wings of lust so strong he was shaking. Since they were both tall, maneuvering in Damon’s back seat was not that easy.
The windows of the Taurus were cloudy with steam. Stopping was the hardest thing that Damon had ever done. He was aching and sweating and mad at himself for starting the whole scene. Well, not the whole thing. He’d started out with the plan for a little innocent kissing and stroking. That went well. Except the next thing he knew, the straps of Brielle’s fragile gown were down around her waist and Damon’s hands were all over her breasts. Even that hadn’t sounded warning bells in his head. What made it worse was that once they got past the initial reluctant stage Brielle was all in and had left it up to Damon to stop things. Didn’t she know that dudes weren’t reliable when it came to stuff like this? He might have a mental commitment to secondary virginity, but hanging out in his car with her smelling like something good to eat, baby soft love was going to take him straight back down the path to sex. Which his body protested, felt good. No, beyond good. Like something that you never wanted to end but would kill a brother in the end because it was like a drug. Do it and crave more.
Even though Brielle had become the aggressor, Damon put a stop to things by easing away from her and holding her in place with his hands on her shoulders. Sex would be great with Brielle, but not yet. He was shooting for the long run, right? She was too young and he was going someplace else besides Lansing and if he did not stop now he was going to say screw it. No, he was going to get screwed, which his body was all for in the short run. The condom his brother David had pressed on him before he left the house was burning a hole in his wallet. Ten more seconds and the short run was going to win out. Girls should have a warning label stamped on their chests that they were like crack. One hit and a brother was all in. He shook his head again.
What brought his mind straight crash landing out of heat and sex was when Brielle unzipped his pants. He jumped like she’d hit him with a Taser, grabbed her hand and reared back, away from her.
“Damon,” she asked, uncertain. “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong.”
“No, baby,” he said, gently.
“I have a condom,” she said. Damon sat up so straight his spine cracked like knuckles.
“Where the heck did you get a condom?” he demanded.
“From Sammie,” said Brielle, easing into a sitting position. “She said just in case.”
“Just in case?” he asked incredulous. “Sammie?”
“She got it in health class.”
“You came here planning to have sex with me? You do that with all the dudes you go out with?” He knew he was acting irrationally but couldn’t stop himself.
He felt the punch coming and only partially blocked it.
“What is wrong with you, girl?” he asked, holding her hand away from his face, glad he had taken off his glasses. He touched his nose with his other hand. His mother would kill him if he broke another pair and he’d have to explain why Brielle had punched him.
“Who are you talking to like that?” Brielle asked though clenched teeth. “What you trying to say?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’m just surprised,” he said. “I’m sorry.” She was right, even if he did not like the fact that she carried a condom around in her purse. He wasn’t even quite sure what he was apologizing for, but he had seen his father do it with his mother and it always helped to back down.
“We cannot do this.” His voice was emphatic. He unconsciously stroked her left breast with his hand as he said it and Brielle caught his hand in hers and tossed it away. She struggl
ed to get away from him but the quarters were tight and he was stronger.
“You don’t want me?” her voice was small and dejected. He could see the sheen of tears in her eyes before she looked away.
“Of course.”
“Then, what?” She turned to look at him.
“I love you,” he said, firm and clear, meeting her eyes.
“You do?” she was wide eyed and stunned.
He nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
“So why not?” she asked, clearly confused. “You did it with that Sasha girl and you said you didn’t even love her.”
“I know,” he said. “And that’s why we need to stop.”
“I don’t get it,” she said. “You have sex with the girl you don’t care about but me, who you say you love, you don’t want to touch me.”
“It’s not like that.” He reached for her and she slung his hand away.
“Get off me.” Her voice was tight and angry. She looked away in embarrassment.
“No,” he protested. “Don’t be mad.” He grabbed both of her hands in his and leaned in to kiss her. She snatched her head to the side.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just want to kiss you. I lost my head for a second, but we are not doing the rest.”
“I thought that you love me,” said Brielle, snatching her hands back. She was struggling to pull her straps back up, fluffing her hair into place and glaring at him all at one time.
“And I respect you,” he said. “And I want to be with you more than anything. We just need to wait.” He leaned over to kiss her. At first stiff and unresponsive, she softened and let him kiss her. He was back on top of her. Bad idea.
“We are not ready,” he said, backing off again. “We gotta finish high school and college and get jobs and stuff. We don’t want to wreck things by going too fast, okay? You don’t want to get pregnant.”
“Condom,” she said.
“They don’t always work.” He was still aching and Brielle was back looking at him as if he was something sticking on the side of her shoe. He rested his forehead on hers for a long moment.
“Okay, we stop because I love you and I’m older and I want us to be careful. And I want it to be better than it was with Sasha, okay?”
She was still puzzled but no longer looked as though she wanted to kill him.
He sighed, shifted, and pulled them both into a sitting position to try to give himself some relief. Dress pants were too danged tight. He tried to focus on getting her dress back in order. He wouldn’t let her re-button his shirt.
“Don’t touch me, okay?” he asked. Brielle dropped her hands.
“Let’s go back inside.” She nodded.
“Are you mad at me?”
She shook her head.
“Are you mad at me?” She returned the volley. “You look like you’re in pain.”
“Naw,” he said, “Just uncomfortable. You pack some powerful juju, girl. I need a minute to get back some control.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. “I want to wait for you. For when it’s right, okay?”
She still looked a little hurt, but kept silent.
“The back seat of my car in the school parking lot is not the right place for your first time,” he said.
She looked around at the steamy windows. She could just make out other kids milling in the parking lot. Her expression cleared and she smiled at him.
“Oh,” she said.
Damon shook his head to clear the lust from his brain. He held out his hand to pull her out of the back seat. She nodded and put her hand in his, uncertain.
“What?”
“I couldn’t stop,” she confessed, and bit her bottom lip. “I wanted-,”
“I know,” he said. “Me, too.”
He took another deep breath, breathing in her scent. He wanted to dive right back into the back seat.
Then he grinned, full of mischief. He grabbed her hands, yanked her upright into his arms and gave her an affectionate kiss on the lips.
“And if we don’t get out of this car and get me away from temptation, we’ll both be in trouble,” he growled playfully into her neck. He released her and spun her around slowly so that he could make sure her dress was in order.
“Anyway, I’m kinda young to die,” he said. He leaned into the car and searched the front seat for his glasses. He stood up and perched them on this nose.
“What?” She straightened his tie. He wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and slung one arm around her to pull her close.
“I just remembered that your dad told me to bring you back in the same condition I took you out in,” he said with a grin. “I’m not trying to get killed tonight.”
Brielle burst into laughter. He released her, held open the door and followed her back into the building.
She hesitated.
“What?”
“Thank you,” she said, biting her bottom lip. Damon squeezed her hand
“I love you,” he said. “It’s cool.”
“I love you, too.”
“Let’s go dance.”
November
Sasha
“What are you going to do?” asked Gail. They had left the doctor’s a few minutes before.
“I’ve grown to really love you, honey, but you know you cannot stay here and the trip to the hospital just underscores that you are going to have to make some plans.”
“I know,” said Sasha in a tiny voice.
Sasha glanced out the car window on the way back to the shelter and watched the snow whipping past the window. She shivered. Sasha was always cold; the temperature had dropped precipitously in the last few weeks and there was close to a foot of snow on the ground. Thanksgiving had come and gone. The ladies at the shelter had tried to make it festive. There was a donated turkey dinner. Theresa and Avery had cooked it. But now they both were gone, having found someplace else to live. Friday after Thanksgiving, Theresa had gone into labor and the ambulance had come. After that, she was gone. Avery moved out the next morning with her two silent children. Sasha had cried for two days, feeling like she’d lost her best friends.
“So,” asked Gail. “Have you been able to make any arrangements for when the baby comes?”
Sasha shook her head. “No. I don’t make enough money to save up the security deposit. Welfare won’t help. They say an apartment is not affordable on what I make. Plus, after I have the baby, I can’t work for a while. I would just end up homeless again.”
“What are you going to do?” Gail looked worried. “You cannot live on the street. It’s the dead of winter already and this is Michigan. It’s only going to get worse. And if you are homeless at delivery, the baby goes into foster care.”
“They would take my baby away?” asked Sasha in alarm. She didn’t want a baby but she didn’t want anyone else to take the baby from her.
“Until you have a home to take the baby to, it is in the best interest of the child to go into foster care. If you were both minors you could go into the same foster home, but since you are already eighteen, that’s a no go,” said Gail.
“What a stupid rule,” said Sasha, rolling her eyes. “They should be glad I didn’t have a baby when I was sixteen.”
“Yes, well, we are all gratified that you waited until technical adulthood to get pregnant,” said Gail, dryly. “But since you are already eighteen, and have finished high school, you don’t fit the criteria of most programs. You cannot continue to ignore this, honey. Time is getting short and your options are few. You are not the only pregnant woman out there and funds for programs for young women like you are not abundant.”
“Young women like me?” Sasha was weary. “Girls gone bad, huh?”
“Young but adult, healthy, pregnant,” corrected Gail. “The system does not consider you to be special, dear.”
“Okay,” said Sasha. They pulled into the parking lot and walked into the shelter in silence.
>
“Come to my office,” said Gail. “We need to talk.”
“You said your mama only hit you the once,” said Gail, sitting down with Sasha in her office. She took her thick glasses off and polished them with the corner of her shirt. She put them back on. “That was when she found out that you were pregnant?”
“Yes,” said Sasha. She missed her mother sometimes so much that she ached with it.
“So, she is not usually violent?”
“No,” said Sasha, shaking her head. “I mean I got a couple of spankings growing up and mama is really churchy, which is a pain but she’s not that bad. I had my own room and my own cell phone. She said she was trying to get me a car my second year of college if I got really good grades.”
“Would you be afraid to go back home?”
“No.”
“So, she is like - a nice lady?”
“She was okay,” said Sasha, sadly. “Until I messed up.”
“So,” said Gail. “Have you talked to her since you left home?”
“No,” said Sasha, tears stinging her eyes. “She hates me.”
“Most moms don’t hate their children,” said Gail. “It’s in the mom’s rule book.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Sasha looked down at her hands.
“From what you tell me, your mom sounds like a real horror,” said Gail.
Her head snapped up and she glared at Gail.
“She’s not,” said Sasha defensively. “She used to buy me stuff all the time. She told me she loved me. She prayed over me all the time. She loves me.”
“Really?” asked Gail. Sasha said nothing.
“Do you think she’d go to counseling?”
“We went before,” said Sasha, with another shrug. “A long time ago.”
“Did it help?”
“Some,” admitted Sasha. “What do you think?”
Gail pointed to the phone on her desk.
“I think you need to call your mother.”
“I’m scared,” Sasha said.
“You need to call your mother,” repeated Gail. “You are going to be a mother in a few weeks. You need to at least try. If she won’t let you come back, we’ll try to figure something out.”