by L. S. Scott
“What is the matter with you?”
“You are not going to believe who our new coach is,” my eyes were wide and my face ghost white pale.
“Who,” she asked with her brows scrunched together.
“Jason Holbrook,” I whispered through gritted teeth, my hands slightly shaking.
“Oh, shit,” she said and looked at me with wide eyed sympathy. “What are you going to do? Talk about a rock and a hard place. I know Jaron’s gonna freak the hell out, but It’s not like you can just drop the class.”
“I know. I don’t know what to do. I like just hyperventilated in front of the entire class when introduced himself.”
“Well maybe Holbrook won’t find out about Jaron,” she said optimistically.
“Too late, he walked by my desk and saw Jaron’s name scribbled all over my notebook.”
“Smooth move,” she jeered.
“I know, I know. I’m not worried about him knowing about Jaron. I’m worried about Jaron knowing about him.”
“I feel for ya, but I don’t know what you should do.”
I talked to myself all the way home from school, weighing to pros and cons. How was I going to tell him? How would he react? Would he actually kill someone this time? I had no idea, so at the end of the day, I opted to keep the piece and keep it to myself. Deep down I knew it would be a miracle if news of this magnitude didn’t make it back to him, but I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best, preparing myself to jump off that bridge when I came to it.
Each day that passed without incident was like an answered prayer. I kept my head down and my mouth shut in class and worked hard on my paper. I blamed my high stress level on the importance of my research paper and Jaron never questioned it. I felt like I was almost home free when eight weeks had past.
My paper was complete. Greg had proof read it for me and said it was a solid B paper in any college class so he was sure I would get an A and the rumor was that Coach Dean would be returning after spring break.
The stress of school consumed my thoughts. So much so, that I was completely oblivious to that fact that it was Valentine’s Day. Jaron hadn’t said a word. He had been so patient and supportive. Giving me space and time to work on my paper and all the other homework I had. I heard him take deep growling breaths from time to time when I would stay up a little later than him to finish something up, but he never said a word.
By the end of second period, the hall way looked like Cupid had thrown up. Flower arrangements, teddy bears and balloons floated up and down the halls. I had never gotten flowers and balloons from a boy, just Jake. He sent me a rose and a balloon with a card that simply said ‘Love U’ with no signature. He had been doing that since I was in the seventh grade, so I wouldn’t feel left out. When my name was called to the office during fourth period, I smiled from ear to ear. If Jake was sending me my V.Day rose, he must not be mad at me anymore. He hadn’t called me since before Thanksgiving when Jaron hung up on him.
I practically skipped down the hall. My joy took a nose dive when I walked in the office and was greeted by the smug, smiling face of Coach Holbrook, leaned cockily against the counter, talking to Stacey, the school secretary. In front of him was the most beautiful arrangement of roses in varying colors of soft purple, surround by graceful, fragrant bouquets of lavender. I knew instantly that it wasn’t from Jake and I bit back a tear.
“Wow, someone has an admirer,” Holbrook said with a creepy smirk.
“A, no, it’s probably from my brother. He sends me something every year,” I responded, nervous about him having any knowledge of me and Jaron.
“MmmHmm,” he said nodding doubtfully.
I took my flowers and disappeared into the hall, smiling from ear to ear. I sat down in the auditorium and opened the card. It was not a generic, flower shop card with a printed message. It was a folded piece of paper with a hand written note.
I’ll be your dream
I’ll be your wish
I’ll be your fantasy.
I’ll be your hope
I’ll be your love
Be everything that you need
I love you more with every breath
Truly, Madly, Deeply Do.
I know, Savage Garden, but this song always makes me think of you because You are my Everything. And I just want to be yours.
Truly, Madly, Deeply,
Jaron
My heart about burst and it took all I had to make it through the day. I drove straight home after school, thinking of nothing but Jaron. Not my research paper. Not algebra. Not biology. Just Jaron. I had been so neglectful while he had been so supportive. I had avoided conversation for fear of too many questions and he had let it all slide, very un-Jaron like, but he knew how important my grades were and as long as I was at home, he could tolerate it.
I set the flowers on the entry table, dropped my bag in the floor and went straight to the bathroom, where the shower was running. Without a word, I stripped my clothes off and dropped them in the floor outside the bathroom door. I peeked in the curtain and watched him for a second. His back rippled and flexed as he ran his hands through his hair and rinsed away the shampoo that wound around his body in fluffy, white ribbons on their way to the drain. I wondered to myself, how the hell is he mine?
I slipped in behind him. His muscles tightened and air hissed through his teeth as he flinched.
“You about gave me a freaking heart attack. Your hands are like ice.” He covered my hands with his and pressed them to his hard stomach to warm them.
I pressed my cheek to his back and closed my eyes. “Thank you.”
“So you like the flowers? They weren’t too cheesy?” I couldn’t see his face but I could hear him smiling.
“The flowers were perfect and the note,” I paused to take a deep breath that hitched in my throat. “The note almost made me cry. But it’s not just that. Thank you for everything, for giving me everything, for being my everything.”
He turned to face me and cupped my face in his hands to lift it up toward his. “Am I your everything,” he asked, searching my eyes.
My heart sank. He had been trying so hard and I had been totally self-absorbed.
“Yes, you are my everything Jaron and starting right now, I’m going to make sure you know it.”
I kissed him soft and slow, parting his lips with my tongue, sucking the air from his lungs. He stumbled forward, as if he had become dizzy and placed his hand on the tile behind us to catch his self.
I released his lips and started trailing kisses down his throat to his chest. He placed both hands on the shower wall for support and I felt his chest flex beneath my lips. I licked the warm water from his body, across one nipple, only once. His chest heaved and his head fell back, then forward. He watched me slowly descend to my knees. I took his hard length in my hands and without hesitation, took him in my mouth, licking and sucking and teasing from base to tip, just as he had taught me. His body shook as he tried to hang on, prolong the pleasure, but after only a few minutes of caressing him with my lips, he let go.
“Oh, Jesus Natalie,” he moaned.
I closed my eyes and let the warm liquid run from my lips and let the warm water wash it away.
He grasped my arms and pulled me to my feet, clutching my thighs to lift my feet from the floor. His hips pinned me to the tile as his starved mouth tortured my neck. Taught muscles flexed under my fingers as he grinded into me, coaxing his hard on to return after being drained. I tugged at his wet hair and clawed at his shoulders. My butt cheeks clenched and my legs flexed as I bucked my hips against him.
“God, Jaron,” I groaned through gritted teeth. The hard tip of him rubbed against my clit in just the right way, as if it was made just for that purpose. “Don’t stop,” I begged, fearing he was about to stop grinding and push his way inside me.
“Come on baby,” he coaxed, running his hands up my thighs to reach underneath and slip two fingers inside me.
My body tightened around
him, trying to seize his fingers. When he felt the first surge of convulsions ripple through my body, he stilled and let me squeeze his fingers and rub against him at my own pace, riding the wave of my orgasm. A groaned approval vibrated against the nape of my neck.
When I finished, he drove up and into me, throwing his head back and letting out a guttural growl. With no thought to the running water, he stepped out of the shower, my body hanging from his. We dropped to the bed, and he pressing so deep into me, I felt him it in my belly. His hips rolled, grinding his pelvis into mine while my muscles tightened, desperately trying to pull him deeper.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned into my mouth. He lifted his head and looked into my eyes, his hips stilled as he watched the bliss radiate in my expression. “Fuck me baby,” he whispered, drowning me in his eyes.
I began to pump my hips like a cylinder. Pulling all the way to the end of him and pushing all the way to the base of him, each time, tightening every muscle, collapsing my walls around him, milking him with everything I had.
His lips parted and he fought to keep his eyes open and connected to mine. When I picked up the pace, he dropped to his elbows, clutched handfuls of my hair and drilled into me with so much force it pushed tiny little whimpering gasps of air from my body each time our bodies connected. His body trembled and he jerked inside me as he came, moaning unrestrained.
He rolled over, pulling me to his side, his chest heaving. “Holy shit, I should send you flowers more often,” he joked.
I smiled and kissed him on the neck. “It wasn’t the flowers Jaron. They were just a reminder of all the other things you’ve brought to my life that I’ve been taking for granted the last few weeks. And, I’m sorry.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘taking for granted’.”
I absent mindedly rubbed the swell of his chest with my fingertips. “I’ve had my head stuck in a book every day lately, even on weekends.”
“As long as you’re here, in my space, and I can see you, hear you, smell you, I’m happy. I might could use a little more face time, but we’re ok, baby. I understand.”
I threw my leg over his body and rose up to straddle him, pinning his hands above his head, bringing us face to face. “Face time, is this what you had in mind,” I asked, biting my lip and smiling impishly.
“This is exactly what I had in mind.”
On the Friday our papers were due, I turned mine in with confidence and on Monday when they were being handed back to see our grade, I was anxious to see how well I had done. Holbrook walked around the room and laid each research paper on the desk in front of its author, saving mine for last. He walked by my desk and laid the paper face down. I flipped it over and there on the front in red ink was the only D I had ever received in my life, a D- to be more specific. My mouth went dry and I couldn’t swallow, could barely breath. I looked up to the front of the room to find him staring straight at me waiting for my reaction. I felt my nostrils flaring and I bit the inside of my lip to fight back the tears. If looks could kill, I would have accomplished what Jaron set out to do all those years ago.
I returned my attention to my paper. Flipping through it looking for red marks and notes, but there weren’t any. I wasn’t even sure he had read the paper at all. It was clear that my grade was purely given to me out of spite because of Jaron and a history I had nothing to do with. The sound of my classmates discussing their grades and laughing, pleased as punch, filled the air around me. It was crystal clear that I had received the worst grade in the class. Fuming in silence, I waited for the bell to ring. When the sound erupted in the hall, I jumped out of my seat and bolted for the door.
“Natalie.”
My skin crawled at the sound of my name coming from his lips. I stopped at the door and the class filtered out around me. I turned slowly, mechanically, to face him, but held my place, my arms crossed over my chest, clutching the big, red, bogus D- against me. When the room emptied, he walked to the door and closed it softly. I stood frozen and shaking with anger. Standing less than a foot from my back he began to speak.
“I can see you are disappointed in your grade.” He paused as if waiting for a response, but got nothing. “There’s still time. There are things you can do to get it up before final grades go in.”
There was no mistaking his suggestion. My stomach rolled and the bile rose to the back of my throat and rendered me speechless.
“I’m in my office in the field house until about 5:30 in the evening on Tuesday and Thursday. If you would like to work on it, come see me. It would be a shame to bring your GPA down with one research paper.”
Coach Holbrook, scumbag, stood close enough for me to feel his breath on my neck. He gauged my reaction for a few seconds that seemed like hours, before turning and opening the door to dismiss me. My eyes were glued to an inconsequential spot on the wall until I whirled, nostrils flaring, to flee his presence.
I headed straight out the nearest exit, avoiding Tiffany, Richard or anyone else who might ask me how I did on the big paper. My Bronco roared to life and I headed straight home. I was about to have a melt down and I needed some privacy to do it. The tears held off only half the distance before tumbling from my eyes. By the time I reached the front door I was heaving and sobbing and coughing to the point of making myself sick. In a whirlwind of sobs, sniffles and gagging, I flew through the door and straight to the bathroom to hug the toilet. It was only seconds before Jaron was standing over me.
“Baby, what is wrong with you. Are you crying because you’re sick, or are you sick because you’re crying?”
He stooped behind me and rubbed my back until I finished then handed me a wet rag and a glass of water. I collapsed in the floor, back against the wall, knees drawn to my chest and held the cool wet rag over my eyes, struggling to regain some composure.
Jaron set in the floor beside me. “What is it baby,” he asked his voice heavy with concern.
My chest jerked as I took several deep breaths and tried to calm down enough to spill the awful truth. I was terrified of what he was going to do.
“I got a D- on my research paper,” I started.
“Bullshit! Greg said it was a really good paper.”
“My grade had less to do with my paper and more to do with, you.”
He stared back at me, blank confusion on his face.
“Please don’t be mad at me?” His jaw tightened.
“Natalie?”
“Coach Dean’s replacement for the nine weeks was Jason Holbrook.”
Jaron looked away for a second then stood, punching the bathroom door. My tears started again.
“So he gave you a bad grade cause he knows you’re mine?”
I nodded, my face buried in the wash cloth.
“Is that it?” I debated on whether to leave it at that or spill it all.
“Look at me!” I dropped the rag and looked up at him through swollen eyes. “Is that it?”
It was no use, I could see in his eyes he already suspected and I couldn’t lie.
“He said there were things I could do to improve my grade, to come see him after school in the field house.”
His fists clenched and he full on assaulted the bathroom door, leaving it full of holes and barely hanging on its hinges. I buried my head between my knees and awaited my punishment for not telling him I had spent an hour a day, five days a week, for eight weeks in the same room as the man who raped his sister. He stood with his back to me, his hands on his hips, looking up at the ceiling for the longest. He finally turned around and looked at me.
“Are you going to be ok,” he asked, concerned but very irritated.
I nodded. He took a deep breath. “I’ll be back,” he said leaving the room.
“Where are you going?” I called after him to no avail.
Before I could get to my feet the front door slammed. By the time I reached the front porch, his truck was on the county road heading to town. I knew exactly where he was going and I felt panic g
rip my chest. Surely he wouldn’t kill him. But, he obviously was not thinking rationally, or he wouldn’t be headed out after him. He had just gotten off of the five year probation he got for the first beating he doled out and now he was about to do it again. I jumped in my Bronco and headed out to try and catch him, knowing full well he had way too big a head start.
I called Janna on my way to town and got voice mail. “Janna please call me. Jaron has gone after Coach Holbrook,” I said after the beep and tossed my phone in my seat.
When I got to the school, I saw Jaron’s truck parked half hazard in a parking spot and he was no-where to be seen. I ran toward the front doors, listening for commotion. Then I heard the whistle sounding in the distance from the direction of the football field. I sprinted in that direction and just cleared the buildings in time to see Jaron’s broad shoulders marching through the gates of the football stadium. My feet moved almost out of control and my lungs burned as I ran as fast as I could go down the hill. I had a clear view of Jaron, but there was no way I would reach him before he reached his target.
The whole thing was like watching a car wreck in slow motion. Jaron hoped the chain link fence around the field and without stopping, grabbed a helmet from the bench and in three very determined strides, swung for the fences just as Holbrook turned to look his way. He was able to get an arm up just in time to absorb some of the impact before falling to the ground.
The whole field erupted. Jaron pounced on him. With a hand around his throat he pinned him down and began punching him. He connected at least three times before another coach and a large guy from the football team pulled him off.
They held Jaron back as he struggled against them. I stood at the fence and watched helplessly. The depths of Jason Holbrook’s madness showed in his eyes when he stood and looked at Jaron, not with fear or anger, but with satisfaction. He spit blood on the ground and smiled.
The players crowded around their coach and Jaron was finally let go. He grabbed his hat and approached me at the fence. My eyes darted from him to Holbrook and I noticed his blood stained teeth smiling at me from the field and I began to shake. Jaron followed my gaze and then looked back to me, grabbing my face in his hands.