A Terrible Love

by Eros, Marata

  “Did I make it good for you?” Castile asks and I nod, shy again. He notices my braid and gives a small, almost disciplinary look of disapproval and a flutter in my chest rises with the thought of my disobedience. My little rebellions thrill me and tease him.

  I ignore his subtle reprimand and instead answer, “Very.” I look up from beneath my lashes and his face blooms with a rare full grin, my vague insurgence forgotten.

  Then a thoughtful look comes over his face. “What were you asking me before?'”

  What? I think, in my post-coital stupor I'd forgotten.

  “Oh... it seems irrelevant now, but I think of you about half the time as 'Castile' in my head...” I waffle my hand back and forth. I just didn't always think of him as Devin.

  He chuckles and I give him a sharp look. “Actually, funny you mention it, I go by Cas to my friends.”

  “Really?” I feel my brows rise in surprise.

  He nods.

  “Cas,” I try it out. I think I like it.

  He pulls me closer and whispers along my temple, “Why don't you try using it when I'm buried inside you, Jess...”

  I flush at the reminder of what we've done and when I look up I stare at those lips... where they've been and the heat on my face deepens.

  He chucks a finger under my chin and cups my ass with his hand. “Mine,” he says, squeezing once hard and slaps it quickly.

  It makes heat spark where he'd just had his mouth thirty minutes before and he sees the expression on my face.

  His face grows thoughtful for the second time, darkening with desire. “Maybe not so vanilla after all.”

  I walk to the back of the bike without looking at him.

  Because Devin... I mean Cas... he knows what I'm thinking somehow.

  Always.

  *

  Cas walks me to the dorm entrance, opening the door and I punch in my security code. When I turn he meets my mouth like we're in perfect synchronicity. My arms wind around his neck and I stand on tiptoe to reach him.

  Reach him I do.

  We pull away, breathless, my hand covering lips swollen with his kisses, the last one laying another tender layer on top of the preceding pecks.

  “I'll text, Jess,” he says simply, his body in the shadows of the dimly lit vestibule.

  Then he leaves.

  Cas leaves me in the foyer of my dorm room. My body grows cold without the heat of his.

  I turn away so he can't see the shine of my eyes if he were to look.

  I have a feeling he doesn't.

  I open the main door and climb the stairs.

  I never see that Devin Castile is indeed watching me. He stays in that spot for minutes after I'm out of sight.

  I wish he'd stayed with me, I was in for the fright of my life.

  Moving down the long corridor of the dorm I make my way to my room. The door is standing ajar and I sigh. Damn thing, it never latches properly.

  I push it open and Mitch Maverick is lying casually on my bed.

  “Hey dancing girl,” he says and I quietly shut the door behind me.

  I can still smell Cas all over my body, in my body- everywhere. I'm instantly on guard.

  The bigger question is why Mitch is in my room.

  He sits up and spreads his hands away from his body. “The door was open... I couldn't get you by text,” he says in lame excuse.

  I put my hands on my hips. “I was out with Cas, I had it turned off...”

  “Cas? You mean Castile?” he asks and I nod.

  “Yeah, it's his nickname,” I say.

  Mitch frowns, his pale eyes like a cats in the gloom of my room. Disconcerted, I reach to turn on my bedside lamp. His casual invasion of my space is not cool. He studies me as I pointedly avoid his eyes. It's so awkward I can hardly breathe. I wanted to be by myself and think about what had just happened to me. What I've done.

  “Come on, Jess, don't be pissed. I had to see you!” he says, gathering me against him.

  Of course, it's a shock after I've been with Cas, whose touch and body feel like I was meant to be against him, touched by him.

  “Stop,” I tell Mitch and he backs away.

  “What's the problem, Jess?” he asks and those eyes seem to hold mine against my will.

  “We were going to go out tomorrow night, right?” I remind him, my eyes trying to adjust to light from only the bedside lamp, watching his expression.

  “Yeah, I just wanted to see you quick before tomorrow,” he says, his eyes pleading with mine.

  Mitch is the safe nice guy, I remind myself. I need to go easy. I can't let the sexual consumption of me by Devin Castile put me off-balance.

  “Right... okay, just- text me or something. It was scary to find someone here in my room,” I say emphatically.

  His eyes shift away from mine to the doorknob. “You should get that fixed, Jess.”

  I lift my hands up in an I give up gesture. “I've got a work order in but they're not that concerned.”

  He laughs. “Typical school response.” Then his expression grows serious. “But with Amanda's body found...”

  I snap the main room light on, the glare washes over Mitch and a trick of the light casts a shadow over his usual pale gaze. I straighten and he does too.

  I suddenly become aware of how tall Mitch is.

  How he's in my room with me by myself.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  I shake my head, it's my paranoia again. I need to calm down. I clasp my hands together to stop their quaking. Mitch moves forward and rubs his hands up and down my arms. “It's okay. I know it's upsetting... but I'm here.”

  I look up into his face and he smiles, my sudden anxiety dialing down. I nod. “You're right. I can't believe they haven't caught this creep yet.”

  “Me either,” Mitch agrees, raking a hand through his hair.

  “I haven't been excluded from the running already?” he asks, winking while he stuffs his hands in his front jean pockets and I watch the muscles ripple. He's leaner than Cas but has the same sort of athletic grace.

  I think about the last four hours spent with Cas, his body moving against mine.

  Then I think about the promise I made to myself, the one he made to me: just fucking.

  It hadn't felt like just fucking, I think.

  I stiffen my spine and squish my emotional roller coaster, banishing thoughts of one man while I stand in front of another. “No, not yet, Mitch.”

  He grabs me in a bear hug and plants a kiss on the top of my hair and I wildly think I might smell like guy, having been plastered against Cas for hours. If I do, he says nothing, pulling away with a small secret smile.

  Mitch puts his hand on the knob. It rattles inside its shank. “I'll text a time tomorrow...”

  “Okay,” I say, shutting the door behind him. I begin to turn away then a knock hits the wood and I jump.

  I open it and it's Mitch again. “Sorry about scaring you, Jess.”

  I smile at him. He's forgiven. Can't fault a guy for being eager.

  Or can you?

  “And get this knob fixed... anybody could get in.”

  The threat of what's happened on campus sits between us and I find myself nodding again.

  He was right, I’m vulnerable without that lock working perfectly. I knew from hard experience that most predators need opportunity. I certainly didn't want to give that to anyone.

  I laid my forehead against the door, hearing his footsteps retreating down the hall.

  What was I doing?

  My cell vibrates, wedged inside the front pocket of my jeans it trembles with urgency.

  Keeping my head where it is, I snatch it out and bring it around in front of me, scrolling down the virtual path of messages.

  I was terrible at erasing them.

  What r u doing? Carlie

  Nothing, just got back from Cas's. Me

  Who? Carlie

  Oh yeah.

  He told me I can call him Cas. Me

  Ar
e we looking for wedding dresses yet? Carlie

  I roll my eyes even though she can't see me. She sounds smug even through the text.

  No, gawd, remember? Just sex. Me

  Riiggght! XO girlfriend ;) Carlie

  She is such a pain in my ass. But I'm smiling.

  Let's go out. Carlie.

  K. Me

  I push the cell back in my pocket and sit down on the rickety stool in front of my vanity mirror. My one braid is a thick mess with more hair escaping than held.

  I comb the mess with my fingers, trying to detangle it and finally, when it's all untangled, I run a wide toothed comb through it. Finishing there, I remove all my clothes, the panties last. I grin at how well-used they look and throw them into the hamper with a content smile.

  I take my makeup off with a wipe and reapply a little, combing my hair neatly, then mess it up to get it back in that half-done bun I like to throw it in just as Carlie knocks on the door. She strolls in without waiting for a reply.

  I frown at the knob again and she sees my face.

  “What is it ya grumpy bitch?” she snarks.

  I laugh. “Oh, that stupid knob...” I throw up my hands and tell her the hassle it's become.

  Carlie's amused expression sort of fades. “I don't know if it's okay that Mitch was in here... I mean, stalker-much,” Carlie observes, twirling a piece of dark hair in a tight circle then letting it spring free.

  I think about what she says as I roll my lips together, applying the last of a barely-there colored lip-gloss. It promises four hours of staying power. Yeah, right.

  “I don't know,” I say, “I think he just..., wants to win my hand or something.”

  Carlie looks at me, narrowing her eyes with more than a little suspicion, dismissing La Hunk for the moment. “Huh.”

  She suddenly brightens. “Well, how was it on your 'date' with Devin. Oh, I mean, Cas,” she says, all ears.

  But I'm just not ready. It was still too raw... powerful. I can't diminish coming together with him by laying out all the gory details casually. It doesn't feel right.

  I get cagey and she can almost see the curtains drop on my response, holding up her hand. “Too new?”

  I grimace. “Yeah.” Images of his hands and lips everywhere; outside of me... inside, rise like the tide in my mind.

  Carlie leans forward, watching my face. “I'm dying here: just give me one morsel, then I swear... I'll leave ya alone about it for like, five days.”

  I can't help it, I bark out a laugh, smearing the gloss on my teeth as I do.

  We smile at each other and I say softly, “I don't want to be with anyone else.”

  Carlie's face falls. “Oh no.”

  I lock gazes with her and sigh. “Oh yes.”

  “That's bad,” she says, biting her lip, then her eyes find mine again. “What about Mitch?”

  I let the moment stretch without answering and her eyes grow wide and Carlie opens her mouth to speak but I answer anyway.

  It's the truth for once. “I don't know.”

  11

  Mitch picks me up at the curb and this time, we're not going to Skoochies. It's an unspoken consensus that Cas bounces there and it would be beyond awkward if I show up with my date.

  I don't share, rattles in my brain uncomfortably again.

  I shove it away, and take a covert sniff of my outfit; I decide I smell like I always do after a shift at Java Head: coffee laced with vanilla. I was a walking, talking latte.

  Mitch greets me with a quick peck and shoulder squeeze, dragging me around to the passenger side where he opens the door with a flourish, swinging his dark bangs out of his eyes, the pale orbs revealed like a curtain opened, silver dollars shining down at me.

  “What?” I laugh

  He grins. “I'm taking you somewhere nice...”

  “Oh?” I look down at my short skirt, black opaque stocking and heels, the straps twining around my ankles like slinking snakes.

  Mitch's eyes travel my figure, when that light gaze reaches my face again I blush at his pleased scrutiny.

  “You look perfect.”

  I think of Cas instantly, telling me I was perfect in a soft moment of confidence. I cast my eyes down, willing myself into the moment with another man. It's more of an effort than I care to admit.

  Mitch puts a gentle finger under my chin and our gazes lock. “What?”

  I shake my head gently and say, “Nothing.”

  He gives a sardonic tilt of his lips and says, “If you say so.”

  “I do,” I say, slipping into the Camaro and shutting the heavy door behind me.

  Mitch gets in the car and slides behind the wheel.

  “Where are we going?”

  He winks, “You'll see.”

  *

  I let my held breath out at the view. It's Salty's at Redondo Beach, a little sublet of Seattle, a finger of the city of Kent travels here but technically it's really in Federal Way. It's strange what a person finds out when they're in hiding.

  Pretty much everything's considered. I'd looked at many different places to settle and finally decided on the University of Washington. I can't lie to myself, the decision had been motivated by distance and underlined by beauty.

  As Mitch guides me to our table, I take in walls that are not made of drywall, but glass. They are the frame for the ocean, and beyond the vast grayness of the churning water, the Olympic Mountains rise like great snow-capped jewels of icy ivory, the sunset washing them with colors of tangerine, hot pink and gold. In the end, the imagery became a little disturbing. The whiteness of the snow became washed in the deepest red before night settled.

  It looked like spilt blood.

  I gave an involuntary shiver and Mitch leaned in next to me. “Cold?”

  I give a tiny shake of my head, swinging my hips, I gracefully sit in one motion and Mitch pushes in my chair.

  He really is perfect for me: cultured, lacrosse athlete, scrumptious to look at, thoughtful...

  But he wasn't ready for my secret and he isn't Cas.

  I know that Devin Castile is temporary. That it was a game of sex and chemistry. Nothing that hot can last; it'd be spontaneous combustion.

  I look back into Mitch's eyes as he quietly orders wine that I'm not old enough to drink. Somehow, the waiter misses carding me.

  Could it be the one hundred dollar a plate price tag? I guess when the restaurant is pulling in that kind of revenue, they can overlook pesky things like underage drinking.

  “So how's ballet, Jess?”

  I play with the stem of my wine glass, watching the deep burgundy slide and slop inside the fine crystal, my short natural nails pink against the translucent stem.

  “It's good,” I say.

  “Really?” Mitch drawls, leaning back.

  I laugh. “No... it kinda sucks, actually.”

  We look at each other. “Why?”

  “Is lacrosse difficult?”

  Mitch's eyes change from soft to hard instantly. “Yes.”

  I lift a shoulder, watching his eyes latch on to the skin exposed by the peek-a-boo design of the shimmering silver material and answer, “Ballet is the same.”

  “I watched you dance at the turn out.”

  I wait for him to expound and Mitch doesn't disappoint.

  “You were made to dance, Jess.” He leans forward with an unexpected intensity. “In fact, I'm not sure why you're in college at all? I'm in lacrosse because I got a scholarship and it's paying my way, but what's a future for lacrosse?” He gives an easy laugh sounding like a snort. “There's no career.” His eyes land on mine with weight. “But you... you could be that. A dancer.”

  I nod, it's all I want. But already I'm older than I should be. I lost two years hiding from Thad that I can't get back. But now I had my chance, I wasn't going to lose it for anything.

  That TV screen with dear old stepdad sprung in my mind again and I ignored it.

  “School's just a fall back.” I look into his eyes and see his
encouragement so I go on, “I love ballet but let's face it, I can't dance forever...”

  “How long?” he asks.

  “It depends on the dancer... maybe mid-thirties?” That seems so far off but I watch people age all around me. I won't be immune. I might be twenty now but too soon, life would take me for a spin and I'd be old.

  Mitch takes my hands across the tablecloth, the moon a witness that shadows the water in a faintly glowing pumpkin color. “Let me share your life, Jess.”

  I look into Mitch's eyes and immediately want to draw away, my panic at divulging details an all-too-familiar defense mechanism. Anyone gets too close, and I instantly pull back.

  He intuits my retreat instantly, gripping my fingers tighter and I make a small distress sound. He releases me just as the food comes and I gratefully concentrate on my plate.

  “Jess,” Mitch says softly as the waiter moves away into the shadows to await our slightest demand.

  I force my eyes to meet his.

  He smiles and I give a small smile back. “Too fast?”

  “Yeah,” I laugh a little. “I'm not ready for...” I wave my hand back and forth. “All this,” I say, looking around at the rich foods, shining silver cutlery, the cut glass and flowers on every table.

  “Should I just go for it then?”

  Like Cas, is the unspoken end to that question and I get angry, my hunger and promises forgotten.

  I let out a huff, putting my tines on the plate as it should be, upside down and to the left, his eyes flick to my small, unconscious movement, then lift to meet my eyes.

  “I like you, Mitch, I do. And I'm going to be honest.”

  “That'd be nice,” he says with thinly veiled sarcasm.

  I lean forward. “This was your idea,” I remind him.

  He sighs. “True, go on.”

  “I have an arrangement with Cas.” I let the statement stand there between us like a glass wall. As impenetrable as any but frustrating because you can see what you want so clearly.