by Eden Bradley
I flop down on the bed, toe my sandals off, letting them drop onto the floor, where they fall with a small thunk that satisfies me somehow. I think I understand suddenly why some people punch walls when they’re mad. And just as quickly, I realize this is one of the first times in my life I’ve truly been angry with anyone, that I’ve felt this, allowed myself to feel this.
How absurd is it that this is progress for me? But it is.
I cover my eyes with my hands, pressing, trying not to think; it’s making my brain hurt. And I jump when the door slams open, crashing into the wall.
Jack is standing there, his face grim.
“Jack, you scared the hell out of me!”
Oh, yes, I’m still mad. And it feels good.
He is silent, watching me for a moment. Then he crosses the room so damn fast I don’t have time to realize what’s happening until he’s on me, his hands pressing my shoulders down into the pillows. His mouth comes down on mine, hard and bruising. I don’t want to return his kiss, but I do, my lips opening, my tongue twining with his.
I’m still mad. But his mouth is so sweet, some mixture of coffee and that Jack taste I could never describe, writer or not. And his cock is hardening against my thigh, that and his hot, thrusting tongue, the weight of his body on mine making me melt beneath him.
He pulls his mouth away long enough to mutter, “Goddamn it, Bettina,” as he tears his shirt over his head, then mine.
I help him wordlessly, our clothes coming off quickly. And just as quickly he is rolling a condom down over his rigid cock and spreading my thighs with his, just sort of pushing my legs out of the way so he can get inside me.
One sharp thrust and he’s in, and I’m so damn wet it doesn’t hurt; he just slides home. Our hips angle and pump, bones clashing together, and I think from some vague distance that I’ll have bruises when this is over. Doesn’t matter, though. What matters is Jack’s mouth on the rise of my breast, biting into my flesh, my hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his smooth skin. Jack fucking me, fucking me, until I can barely breathe. Then his hand going down between us and pinching at my clit.
Pleasure rises, crests, and my anger, that bit I can still feel, joins with his, driving us both on. We are panting, groaning, Jack muttering a few curses as he slams into me. And I am taking it, loving it, needing it.
Soon his fingers and his cock are really working their magic, and I come, a hard, shattering torrent of sensation, rocking me.
“Jack…fuck! Jack…”
“I’m coming,” he tells me from between clenched teeth.
His body jerks, thrusting harder, and I hold on to him, as though I will drown. Maybe I will, without him.
Scary thought. I shove it away, focus on the hard push of his chest against mine as he gasps for breath, the scent of his sweat, the wetness sticking our bodies together.
“Bettina,” he says finally.
“What?”
“Don’t fucking do that again. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He’s quiet for a minute. Then, “Do we need to talk about this?”
“No.”
And I don’t. For once, I really want to not think, not talk.
“Okay,” he says, leaning in to brush his lips along my jaw, then over my lips. “Okay.”
Then he’s kissing me, and I’m kissing him back, and it’s not like those pre-sex kisses that are all about heat and need and spiraling desire. No, this is just about kissing each other, our lips meeting, parting, meeting again, the soft touch of our tongues. And his mouth is so soft on mine, my head is spinning.
Don’t think.
I shut my brain off, just let it go blank, and lose myself in Jack. I shut out the fear and the questions and the doubt with which I am constantly torturing myself. And it feels good.
I’ve been here for just over a month. Time has gone by in a blur of sunny days spent writing on the beach, meals with the group, swimming in the ocean. My writing is going well. Viviane has been teaching me to cook in a wok. Jack has been teaching me how to come almost instantly and in more ways than I ever imagined.
He’s also taught me something about staying in the moment. He still hasn’t promised me anything, but I’m learning to be with him without that. I’m still uncertain what it is I want from him, ultimately, what it is I truly need. Meanwhile, he gives me everything I desire.
The others know, even though no one says anything, other than an occasional veiled remark. But none of it is cruel. Audrey, on those rare days when she comes back to the group from Charles’s house, is quiet. She’ll sit across from us on the sand, glancing up from her notepad, and sometimes I’ll catch her doing it, catch the expression in her smoke-blue eyes. Sometimes she looks merely curious, as though she wants to ask me about it, what’s going on between Jack and me. Sometimes I swear she looks almost hurt.
Jack thinks she’s just upset that neither of us has gone to her, confided in her. But what’s happening with Jack and me now feels private. I want it to be. We’ve already shared plenty with Audrey. This is ours.
Anyway, I don’t understand what she has to be upset about. She’s with Charles every night and often during the day. She has her life. We have ours.
I miss her. Maybe Jack does, too. I’m not sure I want to know. I miss her magic, the dynamic light that is Audrey. I miss the sex a little, too, as impossible as that seems. Jack has satisfied my body in every way. Well, almost every way. Being with Audrey was different. Softer. Safer. I miss that feeling, and I just miss her. It makes me sad. And that’s how Jack finds me this morning when he wakes up. We’re in his bed, and the fog is heavy beyond the sheer curtains. The rumble of the ocean seems muffled by it, a white blanket of quiet outside.
“What’s up, baby?”
Oh, I love it when he calls me that; it makes me shiver all over. But not so much today.
“I don’t know.”
“Come here.”
He pulls me into his arms, and I lay my head against his chest, breathing him in, as I’ve done so often these past weeks. But today it doesn’t comfort me as it has.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think it’s possible that some of us…that I…can’t be made happy?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I should be happy now.”
“Aren’t you?”
He shifts so that he can look at me, his dark brows drawn together. God, he’s beautiful.
I really should be happy.
“I…I don’t know what I am. Sometimes I am. But some times I let myself think too much.”
“Then don’t think.”
He laughs and pulls me in tighter, kissing my head, but I struggle, pulling away to sit up.
“Jack, please don’t do that.”
He sits up, too. “Don’t do what?”
“Don’t condescend. I’m not some little thimblehead.”
“I know that.” He’s looking hard at me now, his green eyes gone dark. “Don’t you think I know that?”
Why am I doing this? Making him angry? But I can’t seem to help myself.
“I just think…I can’t stop thinking about Audrey. And about you. I mean, what exactly are we doing here, Jack?”
He sighs softly, as though he knows he shouldn’t let me hear him, the classic male sound that means some woman wants to talk about emotions and they don’t want to deal with it. I have never been that woman before. I sigh, too.
Finally he says, “We’re just being together. Enjoying each other.”
“And then what?”
He looks at me, his brows drawing together over his mossy-green eyes. They are so damn beautiful. He is so damn beautiful.
My chest feels heavy, as though anticipating something I don’t want to hear. But I don’t even know what I do want to hear. I’m a mess. As usual.
“I don’t know.”
I sigh once more, turn away.
“I don’t know what you want me to say
,” he tells me. “I want what we have right now. I don’t know how to think beyond this. But tell me, Bettina, do you? Because from what you’ve said, we are in exactly the same place when it comes to this stuff. Relationships.”
“I…” I shake my head. “No. You’re right. I don’t even understand why I’m doing this.”
But as he pulls me back into his arms I know I’m lying. I know exactly why I’m doing this.
I’m in love with Jack.
I have a new secret now. But I’m good at keeping secrets. My whole fucking existence has been a secret, unnoticed until now.
And so I fall into his embrace as I always do, smiling, letting his kisses, his touch, soothe me, so I can pretend it’s not true.
But it is. I’m in love with Jack.
We’re on the beach, having just finished a picnic lunch. Jack and Leo have gone back up to the house to help Kenneth with some car problem, and Viviane and Patrice are lounging beneath the umbrella, heads together, brainstorming some plot issue of Viv’s.
Which leaves Audrey and me.
She’s been writing furiously on her notepad today, but after the men have gone she puts her pen down on the colorful woven blanket and watches me. I keep trying to write for a few minutes, scribbling on my pad of paper, but she’s distracting me. Finally I lay my pen down, too.
“What is it, Audrey?” My voice is a little sharper than I intended.
“Want to walk with me?”
I do. And I don’t. I’m a little afraid of being alone with her. Afraid of what we’ll talk about. What we won’t.
“Sure. Yes.” I turn to Viviane and Patrice. “Will you two be here for a bit?”
“For a while,” Viviane answers. “You can leave your things here, if you want. If you’re not back when we go, we’ll take everything with us.”
I nod and Audrey and I stand up. She turns to head north, in the opposite direction from Charles’s place, and I follow.
The day is hot, the sun beating down on the water, making it sparkle so brilliantly I can’t really look at it, even with my sunglasses on. Even the damp, foam-strewn sand at the water’s edge is warm beneath my bare toes.
We’re quiet until we’ve walked a ways up the beach, leaving Viviane and Patrice behind us.
“So,” I say.
Audrey turns to me.
“So.”
She smiles at me, brilliantly, the old Audrey once more, and the sense of awkwardness disappears, leaving me wondering why it was there to begin with.
“I’ve missed you,” I tell her, the words pouring out before I can stop them.
“I’ve missed you, too. And Jack.”
My heart stutters for a moment, but then she says, “You two seem happy together. I’m glad.”
“I…thanks.” I look down, digging my big toe into the sand, sweeping it in an arc as I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts.
“Just remember what I said, Bettina. About not letting them get to you.” Her gaze is a little intense now, but that’s Audrey, isn’t it?
“I remember.”
And I do. Even though I’ve let myself go a little, with Jack, a part of me is still intent on protecting myself. From hurt. From love, maybe.
I don’t like to think of what I’m doing that way, but there it is. It’s the truth.
We walk a little farther, Audrey wandering closer to the waves washing up on the beach, pausing, the cool water swirling around her ankles. I stand next to her and let the waves move the sand in and out in thick, wet surges beneath my feet. And I have once more that sensation of the world filling me up and falling away that I so loved as a child. Only now it feels like some sort of symbol for my life.
I hate it when I get philosophical.
“He and Viv used to be together, you know,” Audrey says so quietly I can barely hear her over the hammer of waves on the shore.
“What?”
“They used to have a thing. It wasn’t serious. Well, not for Jack, of course. But Viv…”
“Viviane what…?
Audrey turns to me. Her smoke-blue eyes are enormous, the whites as white as her beautiful teeth. The contrast against her summer-tanned skin is dazzling.
She says simply, “Viviane’s heart was broken.”
“I…oh.”
I don’t know what to say. I hate to hear this. I love Viviane.
I love Jack.
“Audrey, why are you telling me this? It’s none of my business.”
“Isn’t it? You’re with Jack now, Bettina, and I’d hate to see the same thing happen to you. I care about you, you know.” There’s an edge to her voice now that makes me uncomfortable. Why is she really telling me this? I nod.
“And,” she goes on, “I think you’re a bit…fragile sometimes.”
It sounds like an accusation. Or am I imagining things? My insecurities getting out of hand again. “You think I’m fragile?”
“Don’t be so insulted, Bettina,” she says a little too carelessly. “I just meant that you’ve been hurt before.”
“Haven’t we all, Audrey? Aren’t we all a bit fragile somewhere along the line? Aren’t you?”
As I say it I understand that it’s true. She’s being a little harsh with me, a little mean, but I feel for her. All of Audrey’s magic and brilliance is real, but some of it, at least, is to cover up. It’s to protect that part of her that, just like me, is still a little girl who’s afraid of the world. It makes me angry and makes me love her all at the same time.
Which still doesn’t explain why I’m crying.
I shake my head and wipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I just realized that I’m not the only one who’s scared sometimes.”
“Maybe,” she says grudgingly. She isn’t looking at me any more, and I can feel the walls going up around her.
She’s angry with me. Half pretending not to be. She pretends a lot. I wonder if that brilliant smile she gave me earlier was even real, or some sort of setup, then hate myself a little for even thinking this.
“What are you afraid of, Audrey?”
She shrugs. “Everything.”
Her answer hits me like a punch to the stomach. It’s as though I was the one who said that word. It’s as though the last few minutes have been a slowly blossoming epiphany, despite her passive-aggressive behavior. And I’m a little less scared, because she shares that with me.
Still, in the back of my mind is the image of Jack with Viviane. And Audrey. I don’t like it.
Is he scared, too? Is his habit of sleeping with everyone merely an escape for him the way books and staying locked in my house have been for me?
But I don’t have time to think about it; Audrey takes my hand in hers, and the old heat is there, instantly. She’s looking at me, those eyes, that fairy magic, focused on me in such a way, the rest of the world has ceased to exist for her. I understand now that this is part of her power. But I find myself mostly immune to it. Mostly.
She leans in, pulling me closer, and I am surrounded by her lovely scent, like flowers and citrus and the beach itself. She brushes her lips over mine, whispers, “Come on, Bettina.”
Her lips are soft, sweet. But I pull back. This is not what I want, even though my physical desire for her is still there, sharp and beating like a pulse between my legs. But my head, my heart, knows this isn’t right for me.
I smile, and because I don’t want to hurt her, reach up and run my hand over her hair. But she pulls away, a sharp, jerking motion. Her dark, elegant brows are drawn together, her lovely red mouth in a small pout.
“What is it with you, Bettina? Don’t tell me you don’t want me, that the sex isn’t good enough, because we both know damn well it is.”
Her eyes are a blue blaze of fury. She’s really angry now, full-blown mad, and it makes me want to apologize, which is what I usually do. But I know there’s nothing to apologize for. I don’t owe her this.
“Audrey, I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you, I can’t deny that. But�
��my heart is with Jack. And no matter what happens with him, that’s where I’m at right now. That’s where I want to be.”
“Okay, fine.” Audrey nods her head, takes a step back, frowning. “Whatever. I understand.”
“Do you?”
She smiles, then, all brilliance again, but it’s fake, I can tell. Other than the smile, her face is pure stone. “Yes. Absolutely. And I’m happy for you. For both of you. Just watch out for Jack. He’s a user, you know. Always has been. He’s just like me, Bettina. And I’m not sure you’re the kind of girl who can handle it.”
Her words are cruel. I don’t believe her. I know she’s hurt, feeling rejected. But I know there’s no point in arguing with her. I don’t want to do that. I swallow my hurt, look out to sea.
“Just take care of yourself, okay?” she says, her voice a little softer. “Promise me you’ll do that.”
“I will. I’m learning how, whether you believe that or not. Being with each of you has taught me something about that.”
I turn to look at her and she just stares at me, her smoky-blue eyes clouded, shuttered. I can’t quite fathom what she’s thinking at this point. I don’t want her to be angry with me. But I’m not going to lie to her, either.
Finally, she shrugs. “I’m going back.”
We move down the beach, a little distance between us as we walk, and it makes me feel sad. She stops to pick up a shell, puts it into my hand, folding my fingers over it. She doesn’t say anything, but I feel it as a gift from her. Her not fighting me for Jack is a gift, because I would surely lose.
After lunch with the group I go to my cottage, and find Jack waiting for me there. He pulls me into his arms with a growl.
“What took you so long?”
“I was helping clean up. Which you could be better about, Jack.”
“I was much more interested in getting you alone and naked,” he says, nuzzling into my neck.
“I admit that sounds better than washing pots and pans.”
He’s dragged me over to the bed, laying me down on my back, his long body next to mine, propped up on one elbow.
“So what else did you do today?” he asks me, and I love this; that he wants to know about my day. It feels so normal.