Summer's Desire

by Olivia Lynde

  I lose my mind and start screaming again, bucking and twisting and scratching at him. I'd rather die than lose my virginity to this rapist!

  But all my efforts are in vain, only a mild annoyance to him. He's too strong.

  Seeming irritated by my frantic struggles, he punches me in the stomach, his blow hitting me like a battering ram and knocking the breath out of me.

  He manages to unfasten my pants.

  Chapter 9

  Suddenly I hear the door crashing into the wall, followed by a sound as if from a feral animal. The next instant, Josh is yanked off of me, and the sound of flesh striking hard into flesh fills the bathroom.

  I struggle upright, feeling faint and nauseous, and my trembling fingers fumble to refasten my pants. Through the wobbly tunnel of my vision, I see Seth crouched over Josh's body near the door, his fists flying into him so viciously and fast that I can barely follow their movement. My attacker is already bleeding heavily, his face a broken mess, and I realize I have to pull myself together; I have to stop Seth before he kills Josh. He's too livid to stop himself, and that rapist scumbag isn't worth a prison sentence.

  I stumble toward them. "Please, Seth, stop it! He's had enough. Please stop!"

  But he doesn't seem to hear me, just keeps striking Josh, so I touch him lightly on the back. He immediately whirls to face me and looks at me with wild eyes. In this moment he truly is frightful to behold, looking like a brutal warrior of old and more furious than I have ever seen him. I feel a shiver pass through me—but not of fear, for I know that Seth would never hurt me, but of some other emotion I don't recognize.

  When he takes in my torn clothes and cut lip, Seth's features darken even more. His voice is an ominous growl. "The bastard tried to rape you!"

  I put my other hand on his chest, tighten the one at his waist, and whisper softly—I have to calm him down: "But he didn't, you came in time. I couldn't escape by myself... I tried and I wasn't strong enough, but you came and... Thank you, Seth. Thank you so much!"

  He wipes the blood from his knuckles and slowly raises his hands to my face—the hands that have mercilessly beaten Josh half to death. Leaning into me, he dries my tears with exquisite gentleness, and only now do I realize that I've been sobbing all this time.

  "Shh, Sunny, don't cry. I'm here, and no one can hurt you now. No one can hurt you ever again. I won't allow it!"

  His fervent tone seeps solace into my soul. Yet my lips tremble, and new tears scald my cheeks at his impossible vow. Of course he can't promise to always protect me. In just a few months he'll go away to college, and I'll never see him again.

  But that's still months away in the future, and I don't want to think so far ahead. He is with me now, and that's the only thing that matters. Right now, I can comfort myself with his closeness.

  "How did you know to look for me here?" I whisper.

  His corded body tenses even more. "When I came out of the shower after practice and didn't see Josh with the others"—he throws a fuming glare at my attacker who's lying in an unmoving heap on the floor—"I asked how come he'd left already. Usually he takes forever to shower and change. They told me he hadn't come in at all, just taken off in his cleats, and it was like I suddenly knew. I knew he'd gone after you! This fucking piece of filth deserves to die for what he's done."

  "Maybe." I clench my hand on Seth's chest. "But you don't deserve to go to prison on his account."

  Josh moans once, and Seth strides to him and raises him by the throat, glowering into his pain-clouded eyes. "If you ever tell anyone about today, you won't live to regret it." He sounds absolutely chilling. "And if you ever even think of coming near Summer again—when I get my hands on you, you'll beg for death before I'm through, you fucking whoreson. Understood?"

  "Yes," Josh whispers. With a grimace of disgust, Seth lets go of him, and Josh slumps back to the floor.

  I'm trembling again just from breathing the same air as Josh, and I'm so very cold it's as if I'll never be able to get warm again. Then my savior returns to me and takes my hand, and the first contact burns and I barely contain a flinch, but then I remember—this is Seth!—and after that his touch just feels warm and safe, and that terrible cold disappears. Holding me by the hand, he drags me out of the bathroom and through the empty hallways.

  But he's walking much too fast, and... "Seth, stop!" I come to a standstill and force him to stop as well. I'm panting lightly from the effort it took to keep up with him, and I'm holding my stomach. Josh got me good with his punch.

  Seth sees me touching my middle and his expression darkens again. "He hit you in your stomach?" His voice is sheer menace.

  I nod hesitatingly, then hold fast to his hand when, spinning around, he makes to go back the way we came. I can't let him do that; Josh is banged up badly enough already.

  "It's not so awful, really. It just aches a little," I lie. "Please don't leave me!"

  Of course, Seth hears my lie just as he always used to and he shakes his head, looking mad and frustrated. But he stays with me.

  He bends down, putting one arm behind my knees and the other at my back; in the blink of an eye, I'm aloft in his arms, and my hands curl instinctively around his neck. Then he heads with purposeful strides for the building's exit and he's holding me so carefully, so tightly to him, that I'm not jarred at all by the movement.

  "What are you doing?" I'm breathless and my heart is once again fluttering wildly in my chest, but this time it's not because of fear.

  "I'm carrying you outside."

  "I can see that," I remark with forced lightness. "The question is why you're carrying me."

  "Because you're hurt and I don't want you to walk." He says this as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be carrying me—and who knows, maybe it is. Right now, it certainly feels that way to me: natural and inevitable. Nestled in his protective embrace, I feel small and cherished and safe.

  I feel as if I've come home.

  We've already reached the deserted parking lot, and he's managed to open the passenger door of his black BMW without putting me down. With utter gentleness, he settles me in the car seat and fastens my seat belt. But as soon as he straightens up and leaves me to stride round the car, insidious cold closes around me once more, freezing the air in my lungs.

  In the absence of Seth's touch, I remember those other hands on me earlier—the hands that knocked me around and bit cruelly into my flesh and brought me pain and terror—and my skin starts crawling. Fists bunched tightly against the insane urge I have to rip at my own flesh wherever Josh touched it, I follow Seth's progress with desperate eyes, clinging to the sight of him like a lifeline.

  It can't be more than a couple of seconds until he reaches the other side of the car and slides gracefully inside... but for me that short time expands to an eternity beset by horror. Seth's barely in his seat and still turned away from me to shut the door when I tear free from my seatbelt and launch myself at him, climb on his lap, and bury my face in his neck, clinging to him for all I'm worth.

  "Sunny!"—that's all he says, just my name on a shattered whisper.

  And his arms come around me, their touch hesitant at first; but when I still can't get close enough to him, he embraces me tighter, giving me what I need. He doesn't say a word, just curls his strong body around me and shelters me throughout the storm of shudders that convulse my frame.

  "I'm s-s-sorry," I choke out at one point when I still can't stop trembling, and then it's him who shudders against me once.

  "Don't!" he tells me fiercely. "Don't you apologize for this!" And he holds me even tighter.

  Even after I finally stop trembling, stop feeling cold—he keeps holding me.

  Gradually, I become aware of the world around me. I notice that evening has fallen and that the car's console is digging painfully into my back. Actually, my entire body feels like one giant ache, courtesy of the tussle with the scumbag.

  But most disturbingly, I become aware of Seth. He's so
much bigger than I that, sitting on his lap, I'm completely engulfed by him. And wherever his body touches mine, which is everywhere, my nerve endings are now blazing with an overload of sensation.

  Luckily, I'm saved from having to think about my weird physical reaction when I remember how I practically attacked Seth by jumping onto his lap—and I'm overwhelmed by sheer mortification. Then I realize that I'm still clinging to him like a limpet, and I'm so embarrassed I swear my cheeks must be glowing neon-red.

  Without raising my head, I try to detach myself from Seth, but his hold doesn't loosen so in the end I'm forced to look up. "Umm... You can let go of me now."

  His eyes are stormy blue with concern. "You're okay?"

  "Yes, I'm okay now." Then, very softly: "Thank you, Seth."

  He studies me intently for a moment longer—trying to decide, maybe, if my assurance that I was all right was overly optimistic. He must be satisfied with what he sees, though, because he gives a sharp nod and releases me at last. I quickly scramble back to my own seat and refasten my seatbelt.

  When I look up again, I see that he's still watching me. I'm so discomfited by the way I jumped him earlier that I don't know what to do with myself. It doesn't help things that Seth's eyes are shuttered again and I have no idea what he's thinking.

  He's probably counting the minutes until he's rid of you, stupid! Dejected by that thought, I overcompensate by rushing into speech: "Thank you, also, for giving me a ride back to the Andersons' place." Now please take me there already and put me out of my misery!

  A bit of my anxious mood comes through in those harried words, I think. Seth cocks his head curiously, scrutinizing me for a few more (interminable) seconds.

  Then: "You're welcome," he murmurs. His lips curve into an almost grin and I blink, dazzled. It's a good thing that I'm sitting down, because suddenly I feel a bit shaky.

  A moment later he turns the key in the ignition and the car is in motion.

  * * *

  Seth hasn't put on music, and we aren't talking. Still, now that I've calmed down a bit, the silence between us isn't awkward but somehow restful. I remember how, in those long-ago days when we were so close it was as if we shared the same soul, neither of us ever felt the need to fill the quiet with useless words, just for the sake of it. We were always at ease with each other, even when spending hours with no words spoken between us.

  Ever since he started driving, I've been helplessly sneaking glances at him. Every once in a while, I'd try to drag my eyes from him and find something else at which to stare—the dashboard or the window or jeez, anything else; but every time, and after only a pitifully short resistance, I'd fall prey again to that terrible compulsion of looking at him.

  He was beautiful as a boy, but as an adult—he's devastating. His profile is flawlessly chiseled, the classic severity of his features alleviated by the sensuality of his lips. His thick hair is still damp from the shower he took after practice, and the inky strands falling over his brow make my hands itch with the impulse to push them back. The way his jersey molds his powerful torso should be outlawed. Heavens, even the effortless ease with which he handles the car is sexy beyond words!

  Again, I force myself to look away, utterly disconcerted. I don't know what's been wrong with me lately, why I've been regarding Seth so... so... Covetously! And why I've been feeling so different with him—alternately hot and cold, but always off-balance and always with those pesky butterflies wreaking havoc on my insides.

  Oh, stop lying to yourself, Summer! You know exactly what's wrong with you.

  I give an internal sigh. Defeated, I close my eyes and force myself to confront the truth. It's a truth that I've tried to keep buried ever since I saw Seth again, but it refuses to stay under and instead keeps throwing me for spins.

  My childhood companion, my best friend, has grown up into the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. And it would be okay if all I felt was some detached admiration for his undeniable godlike hotness. The problem is that "detached" is the very last thing I feel toward Seth. What I actually feel is an explosive attraction the likes I never imagined that it even existed.

  The irony is killing me. I—who've never had even a single crush on a boy!—have managed to fall in mind-bending, senses-shattering, body-enslaving lust with Seth, my former best friend who hasn't wanted to be my friend in more than five years.

  I've loved this boy with a pure, boundless love practically all my life and I hate this new attraction that is now muddling my feelings. It's unwanted and definitely unrequited, and I don't know what to do with it. Except try to get over it. I'd die if Seth came to suspect the truth of my feelings; I couldn't stand to see the pity in his eyes.

  His right hand touches lightly upon my left where it's resting on my seat, and I can't stop a small shiver of pleasure. I grit my teeth, exasperated with myself. I really need to get myself together, I can't keep acting like this with him!

  "We're here," he tells me.

  I open my eyes and see that the car has stopped—not in front of the Anderson residence, however, but in an unfamiliar, somewhat rundown neighborhood.

  I turn to Seth with questioning eyes. "I thought you were taking me to the Andersons."

  He shakes his head. "I need to make sure you're all right first. Besides, you look like a wreck survivor." His jaw turns to steel. "We need to patch you up before you head back."

  I look at him for long moments, probing his ardent eyes. All I can read in them is concern and... affection? No, something deeper, darker than mere affection. Something that somehow calls to my own buried desires. I slam the door shut on that thought.

  "Okay." My voice is faint, almost breathless. "Thank you for doing this."

  Why not accept his help? It's not as if I really want to see Jessica or Louise, especially when I can be with Seth instead. And of course that I can't show up at the house like this, all bruised and battered. What was I even thinking?

  But why is Seth doing this for me? Why does he care? I decide not to question it and just go with the flow. I want to be with him so much.

  He leaves the car, and after what seems like no more than a moment—jeez, I still can't get over how fast this boy can move!—my door is opening and he's releasing my seat belt, then picking me up deftly in his arms. I don't even bother to protest his caveman tactics; he'd just ignore me because I'm hurt and he's obviously entered ultra-protective mode.

  Besides, I'm not stupid enough to cut my nose in order to spite my face. Safety, joy, instinctive comfort—I find it all here, in his arms. I lay my head on Seth's chest, breathing in his woodsy scent.

  I hear him engaging the car's locking mechanism, and then he starts walking. He easily carries me over several flights of stairs, finally stopping before a door marked 23A. Again he manages to unlock, open, and close the door with no apparent effort and without jostling me once.

  The entrance to his apartment opens directly into a modest living room, where he lays me on the couch. I see two other doors, one leading most likely to his bedroom, the other to the bathroom. There's a small kitchen area at the other end of the living room, and Seth heads for the beat-up fridge in there, returning to me with a frozen bag wrapped in a clean kitchen towel.

  "Hold this to your cheek; we want to get the swelling down." After I comply, he leaves me again, this time heading into the bathroom.

  I take advantage of the opportunity and gaze around me in open curiosity.

  The apartment isn't much to look at: the walls are sorely in need of a new coat of paint, the floor is scratched and carpet-less, the brown sofa I'm sitting on is torn in a couple of places. There are only a few other pieces of furniture from what I can see, and an ancient-looking TV set. Still, the apartment is tidy and clean, and anyway, this is where Seth lives and I would never turn up my nose at any home of his.

  Seth returns with an antiseptic bottle and cotton balls.

  "Do you live here alone?" I ask him.

  "Yes, for the last two years."
<
br />   "For the last two years?" I'm confused. "But two years ago you were only sixteen."

  He pushes me gently in a reclining position, and I lay back, supporting my head on the armrest. Then before I realize what's happening, he lifts my bent legs with one arm, sits down as well, and then resettles my legs on his lap. After which he leans down toward me in a fluid motion and proceeds to scrutinize my grazed lip.

  I keep completely still, staggered at our intimate pose. Inside me though, it's the furthest thing from "still" that there could possibly be; instead, flickers of fire are surging and sizzling in a carnival of sparks. All of a sudden I feel woozy.

  "Breathe, Sunny!" he orders softly, and I let a rush of air fill my lungs.

  "I've been earning my own money since I was thirteen," he tells me in an abstracted tone while leaning closer and examining the small cut at the corner of my lower lip. "With Grams gone, it was either that or steal or starve to death. I could hardly expect Mom to feed me." A thread of bitterness has surfaced in his voice.

  "I didn't want to steal or starve, so I found a way to earn money. Then Mom got into stealing and begging money from me, to feed her drug addiction. By the time I was sixteen, I was beyond sick of dealing with all her shit, so I filed for emancipation, cut all ties with her, and moved to my own place. Best decision I ever made."

  He's started cleaning my lip with the antiseptic and I flinch a little.

  "Sorry," he murmurs and blows gently above the corner of my mouth, where my skin is stinging. His lips are so close now that I would only have to lean forward a little and I could feel them on my own.

  The moment this thought pops into my head, I press the frozen bag harder against my bruised cheek, embracing the resulting throb of pain; and for good measure, I dig my nails into the palm of my other hand to stop myself from being stupid.

  Still, my internal fight leaves me shaken.

  Fortunately, he finally retreats a little, removing the temptation of his lips from my immediate reach. He's staring at me with very intent blue eyes, his gaze focused on my mouth. And I know that he's only doing this to examine the small wound there—yet still I'm beset by new waves of desire flowing through me. Once again I have trouble breathing.