Truly, Madly, Deeply

by L. S. Scott

  “I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work,” he said, arms crossed over his chest.

  “I’m taking a bath to relax and believe me, it’s working.”

  “You’re pouting because you want to go to the party.” I didn’t answer or look at him.

  “No big deal, just one more thing I’ll miss out on but it’s all worth it to be with you.”

  I regretted it as soon as I finished saying it. It sounded a lot meaner than I meant for it to. I opened my eyes and looked at him to see how my words had impacted. As I feared, his eyes held a mixture of anger and sadness. It wasn’t the anger so much as the sadness that bothered me.

  He started nodding slowly, “You’re right. We’ve made some sacrifices to be together. So, you go to your party. Celebrate the New Year with your friends, and I’ll do the same.”

  “I want us to go together.”

  “I’m not going to a party, that’s liable to get busted, with a bunch of under-age drinking. I wouldn’t just get a ticket, Natalie. It would be a probation violation. So I am not going to Nate’s party. But you go ahead, have fun.” The animosity in his voice was clear and I was sorry I had pushed him.

  “I don’t want you to be mad and I don’t want to fight about this. I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t even want to go to the party.”

  “That’s fine, do whatever you want,” he shrugged. “But you’ll be home alone, because I’m going out.” With that he turned and disappeared down the hall.

  I tried to reverse his decision on the matter, but he made it clear that it was no longer up for discussion. He was brilliant at arguments. One minute I was fitting to go to a party and the next I was begging him to just stay home.

  In the days that followed, he acted as if everything was hunky dory while I, on the other hand, grew more and more nervous. I wondered where he would be going. Who would be there? Would the blonde bitch from the porch be there? Or maybe some of his other booty buddies. I was sure they would and my stomach turned.

  6:45 pm on New Year’s Eve, after a quiet dinner, Jaron showered and began to dress. He shaved, put on a new shirt and cologne. With my hair wrapped in a towel I sit on the bed and watched him mill about the room, putting on his socks and belt and digging his nicer boots out of the closet.

  “Who you getting all dressed up for,” I asked snottily.

  He just smirked, obviously pleased at my discomfort.

  “Why are you doing this,” I whined.

  “I don’t want you missing out on shit because of me,” he said flatly, using my words against me as he tugged his boots on.

  “Is she going to be there?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who?”

  “Maybe, hell I don’t know.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “Not sure.”

  He pulled his boot string tight and pulled his pant leg down. He got his wallet from the dresser, pulled out a hundred and laid it on the night stand beside me.

  “Here’s you some money.”

  “I don’t need it,” I scowled.

  He completely ignored my mood and bent down to kiss me. Sullen, I pulled away. His hand grasped my jaw tightly and turned me to him. He kissed me and paused to look me in the eye stone faced.

  “Be good,” he said and left me sitting.

  The party was packed. There were people there I knew and some I had never seen before. Some were under aged some of age, all drinking, smoking and dancing. It was a miracle Nate hadn’t gone to jail over his parties. Tiffany was gaga over some of the older guys that Nate knew from out of town. Ever since I started seeing Jaron, she seemed to be less interested in high school guys.

  I was having a hard time enjoying myself because all I could think about was Jaron, where he was, who he was with. The same scene playing over and over in my head, Alyssa’s face stuck to his. The PGA punch was my only solace. It was so sweet, you could hardly taste the liquor and the chunks of pineapple, they were delicious. I drank cup after cup until the only thing that filled my head was the sound of the music that thumped throughout the house and all I wanted to do was dance.

  The living room was so packed that you could hardly move. It gave random guys a good excuse for grinding against you. Tiffany didn’t mind too much, if the guy was cute, but I wasn’t interested in being the center of a man sandwich. I just wanted to dance. The coffee table offered the only place I could stand without being humped, so I hopped up on it.

  With my eyes closed and my hands in my hair, I lost myself in the music. My hips swayed and rolled to the sexy rhythm of Pony. I popped open the only two buttons that held my shirt on and let it slide down my shoulders and fall to the floor, leaving me in my tiny tank top that barely came to the top of my skin tight jeans. I didn’t even register the whistles and hooping or the crowd that had cleared around the table to stop and watch me. When I finally opened my eyes, still snapping my fingers and moving to the groove, I turned to find Jaron’s ice cold glare ripping holes through me.

  His jaw muscles twitched, his nostrils flared and his chest rose and fell quickly. I could almost see smoke coming out of his ears. I lowered my eyes and climbed down from my tiny stage and went straight to him.

  “Get your God Damn shirt on,” he growled before I could say a word.

  I looked around in the floor behind me and spotted my shirt between the table and couch and rushed over to get it. When I bent down I felt hands clutch my hips and pull me down on the couch, landing me in a lap.

  I flailed my arms and immediately pushed away in an attempt to get up, but the hands gripped tighter. Before I could turn to see the face of my handsy assailant, my arm was wrapped up in a vice like grip and I was pulled to my feet. Jaron’s other hand was secured around the guy’s throat. He pinned his head to the back of the couch. Still holding on to me with one hand he scowled at the guy without saying a word for what seemed like forever. When it was clear the guy had no intentions of challenging him, he let go.

  I searched the crowd for Tiffany as Jaron dragged me toward the door and caught her watching in shock and awe from the kitchen. I raised my hand to wave good bye and she blew me a kiss with a sympathetic look on her face. Both of us were too drunk to register how much shit I was really in.

  “You can let me go now. I can walk,” I said, jerking my arm from his grip.

  He followed as I stomped on toward my truck. I opened the driver’s door and climbed in. He pushed me over and climbed in behind the wheel.

  “Your drunk ass ain’t driving.” His tone was heavy with anger.

  “Why are so pissed,” I slurred. “You told me to come to the party and you didn’t say one thing about not drinking.”

  He started the truck and threw gravel pulling out. The movement of the truck did terrible things to my equilibrium. I put my face in my hands and tried to stop my head from spinning.

  “I expected you to drink. I didn’t expect you to be shaking your ass in the middle of a table, acting like someone just plucked you off a fucking stripper pole. And if you’re smart you’ll just shut your fucking mouth now.”

  I wasn’t smart in that moment, but I was too drunk to argue. It took all my strength and concentration to hold my head still.

  “Are you gonna throw up,” he asked impatiently.

  “No. Yes. I don’t know,” I answered weakly.

  He pulled the truck over and pulled me out. Standing behind me with his arms around my waist, he held my hair back.

  “Stick your finger down your throat,” he ordered.

  “What? No,” I protested.

  “Yes, unload some of that liquor. You’ll sober up quicker.”

  “No, I hate throwing up.”

  “Do it now, or I’ll do it for you!”

  I knew he wasn’t bluffing, so I clenched my eyes shut and stuck my finger in my mouth. The second it touched the back of my tongue, red liquid spewed out like a geyser. I expelled what seemed like gallons of liquid from my body until I convu
lsed with dry heaves. Jaron untucked his shirt and wiped my mouth with the corner before helping me climb back into the truck.

  He was right. By the time we pulled into the drive, my head had stopped spinning and I was thinking much more clearly. Clear enough to realize his truck was in its parking spot.

  “How did you get to the party?”

  “Someone dropped me off,” he answered vaguely.

  “Who, one of your skanks,” I retorted as if I had a reason to be mad at him.

  He leaned his head from side to side, popping his neck before turning to look at me.

  “Janna,” he said deadpan.

  I flinched as if he had spit in my face.

  “Where did you go?”

  He huffed and shook his head, looking disgusted out the windshield.

  “Jaron, where did you go tonight?”

  “I had dinner with Janna and Greg.”

  My mouthed dropped. He was at a family dinner while I was drunk dancing on a table. Score one for team Jaron.

  He stepped out of the truck, reached in and pulled me across the seat. I was too confused to protest. With his hand still wrapped around my arm, we walked up the steps and into the house. He shut the door behind us and led me straight to the bathroom. He flipped the handle on the shower then stood inches from me, glaring down.

  “You have ten minutes.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded obediently. When he left me I hurriedly undressed jumped in, soaped, rinsed and hopped out, brushed my teeth and headed down the hall in my towel. I spotted Jaron’s jeans and boots in the bedroom floor as I passed the door. I followed the sounds of glass thumping softly on the dining table. I found him sitting in the dark, sipping whiskey from a small glass.

  I moved timidly across the kitchen to join him. Before I could sit, he grabbed my towel and tossed it in the floor.

  “You don’t need that,” he sneered. With his barefoot, he shoved my chair out from under the table. I started to sit. “No. On the table,” he said, motioning with his chin. I frowned. He propped his elbows on the table and lifted the whiskey to his lips. He sipped it, swirled it around a bit then smirked from behind the rim. “Hmph, what’s wrong? You can take off your clothes and dance for a bunch pricks but not me?”

  I didn’t answer, just looked away ashamed. “Dance!” he yelled, slamming the glass.

  On wobbly legs, I climbed the chair to stand on the table. As if on cue, Closer by Nine Inch Nails, began to thump low and eerie from the living room speakers. I closed my eyes and listened, letting the music take me away. Forgetting I was completely exposed and that Jaron was looking at me with a strange mixture of loathing and lust in his eyes. My hips rolled and my hands roamed my own body to the erotic melody.

  When the music was reaching its end, I dropped to my hands and knees and opened my eyes to return Jaron’s intense gaze. His chest rose and fell in a way that indicated his arousal. I began to crawl slowly toward him, my eyes never leaving his. He sprang from his chair like a coiled snake, knocking it backward. Before I could blink, he slammed me to the table and dragged me to the edge. The bare skin of my back stuck and skidded across the varnished wood. His mouth crashed into mine as he held me in place with his hand around my throat.

  His tongue searched my mouth forcefully. His teeth tugged at my bottom lip. Rough fingers bit into my breast. My heart beat erratically and my head spun. Before I could react, he flipped me to my stomach. My feet touched the floor and I tried to stand but was forced down by his hand at the back of my neck. He pressed my cheek into the table and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

  “You wanna act like a whore, I’ll treat you like a whore,” he hissed. I felt his hand make one pass between my legs and I whimpered pitiful and wanting.

  “Huh, feels like someone likes being treated like a whore,” he smirked, referring to the dampness already pooling between my legs.

  Without warning he pushed into me. I gasped. Pressing his hand into the small of my back, he slammed into me over and over. I could feel the tip of him thumping my cervix and with each pinch of pain; he brought me closer and closer to orgasm. With a final, deep thrust, he jerked inside me and his body shivered. He pulled me from the table by my hair and latched on to my neck, sucking and biting until I recoiled in pain.

  Mercifully, he turned me and set me on the table. Leaning forward with his hands on either side of me, he pressed his forehead to mine. His rigid body shook slightly, as anger rolled off. While he worked to control his breathing, I ran my fingers up and down his back in an effort to soothe him.

  My lip quivered. “I love you Jaron,” I whispered in a pleading tone.

  He placed one hand on the back of my head and one on the small of my back and slid me to him. My legs wrapped around his waist and my head lay on his shoulder. He lifted me and carried me, clinging, to our bed. He attentively caressed my body, ensuring my orgasm, before making love to me and holding me until I fell asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Glad to see you made it through New Year’s Eve in one piece,” Tiffany said smiling, wrapping her arm around my neck as we walked up the steps of the high school.

  “Yep, me too. What about you? Anything interesting happen after I left?”

  “Oh you know, a little of this a little of that.” She smiled impishly.

  “Did you hook up with one of Nate’s friends?”

  “No one hit a homerun, but, the bases are definitely loaded.” She raised her eyebrows and looked up at me through her curled lashes.

  “You’re such a ho,” I laughed.

  “Says the girl who asks her boyfriend for spankings,” she chided.

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes and turned away to conceal my crimson cheeks. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “See ya.” We went our separate ways in the hall.

  Grabbing books from my locker I could hear talk in the hall about the new coach. Everyone seemed to be excited about it, like he was a big deal or something. I had him for first period history class so I was about to find out what all the fuss was about.

  I strolled into the classroom and grabbed my usual seat by the door. I sat and chit chatted with classmates until the tardy bell rang and the door clicked shut. I turned to face the front and watched the new guy stroll across the room and set his notebook on the desk. He was tall broad and appeared to be in decent shape and young too. I rolled my eyes thinking how pleased Tiffany would be. His hair was very short, clean cut preppy style and his skin really tan. It was clear he spent a lot of time outdoors. I would say he was good looking, not Jaron Blake drop dead gorgeous, but definitely handsome, and when he looked up at the class and smiled, the room seemed to be a little brighter.

  “Good morning everybody. I’m sure everyone knows that Coach Dean is taking some time off and I will be your teacher in this class until he returns. The circumstances are unfortunate and I hope he is able to come back soon, but I am pleased to be back at my almamatar. Some of you already know me, but for those of you who do not, my name is Jason Holbrook. You can call me Mr. Holbrook or Coach Holbrook, which ever you prefer.” He paused and smiled to let the information sink in. I sat clutching my desk top with white knuckles trying not to hyperventilate. Holy Shit!

  I closed my eyes, breathing in deep and out slow, the only thought in my mind, how the hell am I going to tell Jaron? I’m not, that was my answer. I knew there was no way in hell he would be able to handle this kind of news. It would be like a nuclear bomb being dropped. I opened my eyes to a figure standing right in front of my desk, eyeing me closely, as the rest of the class observed.

  “Young lady, are you ok?” he asked in a soft tone.

  “Yeah, sorry, allergies,” I lied.

  “Do you need to step outside a minute, get a drink?”

  “Actually, yeah. I think that would help.”

  I rose from my seat and walked behind it, squeezing between two desks, to increase the distance between me and Holbrook, self- consciously and irrationally think
ing that somehow Jaron would smell him on me. To my chagrin, he followed me to the door, opening it for me and placed his hand on the small of my back to usher me out, a subtle but domineering gesture that sent a chill up my spine.

  I made a bee line for the exit and paced on the sidewalk trying to figure out what to do. My first instinct was to feign illness and haul ass home. But what would that accomplish? He would still be there come the morning and every day after that until Coach Dean returned, if he returned. So, I sucked it up and returned to class.

  He was taking row and called my name as I took my seat.

  “Here,” I said sheepishly, staring straight ahead. I felt him looking at me for a moment before moving on to the next name.

  He informed us that we would be using the next nine weeks to pick a historical topic, research it and write a paper. That paper would carry all the weight of our nine weeks grade, so he would let us use our class time for research and he would help us with anything we needed assistance with in reference to that paper. In other words, he would hang out in class with us while we worked on our paper and he did nothing.

  I kept my eyes on my notebook, pretending to take notes on what he was saying. I paid no attention to him strolling around the room or the fact that he was walking up the isle behind me. He stopped and looked over my shoulder at the open notebook on my desk. I had wrote down a few of the things he had said, but what was of more interest to him was the inside cover of the notebook that had a large doodle on it, Natalie loves Jaron. I turned to look over my shoulder and caught him looking and quickly closed it. He seemed to have no reaction and strolled on by to his desk. After fielding a few questions, he let class out early. I was the first out the door.

  I waited for Tiffany outside her classroom, pacing in the hall. When class dismissed I grabbed her and dragged her away.