Paper Dolls [Book Four]

by Blythe Stone

Disappearing into the closet I began to take the lingerie off in a dizzy haze. It was dumb of me. Avery loved me. Avery always wanted me. What the hell was I doing?!

  My head spun.

  I was testing her. It wasn’t my idea but I was testing her and this was sick.

  Skylar was a test. The box was a test.

  Every little thing that messed with her head was a test.

  I felt mean.

  I pulled a soft oversized white t-shirt out of a drawer and threw it on so it covered me in all the places I’d been showing too much. It was sort of see-through but not horribly so. I didn’t want to tease her, I just wanted to calm down.

  My hair was already starting to dry and a bath didn’t even sound fun right now. A bath, like a message, sounded like a reward, and I didn’t deserve rewarding with the way I’d been treating her all day now that she was finally all mine and I had her alone.

  I even teased her in front of Holland, wearing the tightest dress I could find, acting extra tense, and dropping heated comments here and there. Holland and I had a very long and open conversation about how romantic Napa was. That was all to tease and pump Avery up, get her hot and bothered, ready to pop like a full bottle of expensive repressed champagne. I thought back on that now. From the moment I got up it was all about winning and that was dumb. I knew I would win anyway. I always knew. Well, I knew I’d win in theory and probably push her away at the last second and take her so I wouldn't have to have my reward.

  I was even testing myself.

  It was messy. Games with Avery were never simple. Somehow they always felt wrong.

  I crawled up onto the bed and pulled my book over. I needed to escape from myself.

  For the time being I ditched Little Girl Blue for an old favorite I’d been gifted by a young shop owner after a secret, yet stimulating, conversation in a small Santa Cruz bookshop. I’d visited the town out of curiosity for the University literature program on a strange fall weekend when I was feeling restless, dangerous, and alone.

  I fingered the book lovingly. I knew its feel well, all ratted, pages soft and loved, it was a fantasy novel, a spin of delicious torturous fiction grounded in an alternate history and completely tangled up in sex, the first in a series, it was Kushiel’s Dart.

  That talk back then, in Santa Cruz, had been about pain and about pleasure. There’d been a living statue right outside the shop that stimulated talk with its lack of clothes. The shop owner saw me staring, she noticed something hungry in my eyes. She probably noticed most of all, that I was curious and I was young.

  I’d been holding the book. I didn’t know it then, what it was about…

  She took me in, gave me free coffee, sat me down. We talked at least two hours before the store got busy and I realized I should go.

  That whole time I’d been turned on. It was off the charts. I’d never felt so invigorated sexually like that. Sometimes when people talk about secret things that they love it turns me on way more than touching ever could.

  I opened to a particular page and it immediately brought me back to my past. I read a highlighted bit:

  “When love cast me out it was cruelty who took pity on me.”

  Only I would think to bring a book like this during a bet this twisted with Avery. I wanted to torture myself. I wanted the pain, it filled me inside, gave me life, helped me breathe.

  I thumbed through the pages to find another favorite quote:

  “Nothing spoils idle pleasure like too much awareness.”

  I laughed at myself sardonically, so loud I even startled myself.

  I tried to wash my odd thoughts and memories away. Stupid crazy person. That was me.

  In my mind there were always contradictions spinning about at all times… No rest for the wicked. No peace for those who dwell on torment and on shame.

  Poor Avery… I could cry with laughter for her and all about me and how it must feel to deal with such a ridiculous creature on a day-to-day basis and have to act like anything is normal or sane or capable of making any small shred of sense from one moment to the next.

  Avery came into the room and I could feel her seeing me but I couldn’t bring myself to look up.

  I felt too guilty. I was a mess.

  It wasn’t Avery’s fault that I’d become insecure about us but I felt myself taking it out on her here and I didn’t like myself when I did things like that. I needed to shut myself down.

  There was just no way I could ever separate emotional play from physical and that was the main problem with us. I cherished her precious mind. I didn’t want to muck it up further. I wanted to build her up and make her beautiful deep within.

  That dream she had was insane. And apparently it was only one of many and they were all layered and extreme. Her mind was a palace and I was sick to want to explore such a dangerous unsteady landscape but I did. I wanted to wander in there, feel the pleasure and the pain. I wanted to take up space and time, run my fingertips across every piece of her intricate walls. I wanted to become a piece of her that way, reside within. When she’d been trying to map me last night I felt paralyzed. She couldn’t know how badly I wanted all that… To be inside.

  No wonder, I’d been letting her get lost from me.

  I knew I was dangerous in that mental way.

  I’ve known since the start I think. There’s a reason I’d been so very quiet for so very long.

  I ran my hand through my hair and cleared my throat.

  My thoughts right now were dangerous again. Not for me, for her. I could take my crazy. She could not. She’d proven that. Even if she hated it. It was true.

  I needed to come down for her. As Avery would say: I needed to deflate. It was way too easy for me to fuck with her mind and I scared myself in how I could let it get before I actually noticed what I was doing.

  Sometimes I wondered if maybe we did need a chaperone, like all those couples who courted in olden times.

  What I really wanted to do was play Frank Ocean’s Super Rich Kids and just drown in her sexually but we did have that bet now. It felt wrong not to let her have that for a little while, not to let her think. She wanted to repent. I knew that. I wasn’t fucking stupid.

  But I was cruel.

  And I needed to check myself now.

  So, at the very least, I was trying.

  But then I was drunk...

  “Are you avoiding me?”

  She sounded curious, not mad or frustrated.

  I let out a sigh and looked up at her. “Definitely not,” I said, loving the sight of her just there.

  “Hmm, okay. When you left I wasn't sure if I should follow. You're abrupt today. It's intriguing.”

  I laughed and loved her. The sight of her was a lot. She was perfect, after all. Long blond hair, perfect eyes, strong fucking ass, and breasts so perfect I couldn’t imagine them better.

  “I’m trying to calm myself down,” I said. I knew it would make her feel better.

  “Ah, well then I should go because I tend to have the opposite effect on you,” she replied, failing to hide a smile. The lips were my favorite, so pink and plump. I licked my own, tucking my bottom lip into my mouth.

  “Don’t go,” I whined, mad with myself. I didn’t want her to go. I didn't want her to have to deal with me but I didn’t want her to go.

  “I think I'll just sit over here and read my lines.” She went to her bag and pulled out her copy of the script for the play that she and Skylar were in.

  “Oh,” I said, newly intrigued.

  I love when she read things. “I can read opposite if you want.”

  One of my long standing rules, I tried not to ask what she and Skylar were into. I didn’t want that stress but right now it seemed appropriate. I didn’t have to keep things about them undercover anymore. There was freedom here.

  “Okay,” she pulled a chair close to the bed and put the script down between us. “You can take it. I want to test myself, make sure I know my lines.”

  “Okay,” I smiled,
trying to not be excited. I crawled up on the edge of the bed and sat cross-legged so I could face her.

  “We can start from scene two.”

  I flipped through the pages until I found it. “Should I read the narration and stage direction?” It wasn’t necessary for her but it would certainly help me since I wasn’t even too up-to-date with the play. I’d been avoiding it for some time. Too scared to see what she and Skylar had been having to say to each other. Did they have to touch? Did they have to kiss? Was there a whole scene where they dry humped on stage? I didn’t want to know but now I could.

  Apparently, someone in school wrote the damn thing. It won some contest for a local magazine. I pushed it all away as soon as Avery dove in because I was too scared to know more about drama class. Too scared I would irrationally screw things up between her and her friend.

  I guess those fears were moot.

  Things got screwed up anyhow.

  “Sure, go ahead,” Avery said.

  I cleared my throat and tried not to be hungry for the data. “The scene opens in Constance’s living room. It’s empty now. No more family to make everything hard.”

  “I didn’t intend-” Avery said apologetically.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, reading the scene, Skylar’s part.

  “I wouldn’t have-”

  “Be quiet,” I said. Skylar’s part was the part of the upset party, the wronged, or so it seemed.

  “Should we just…”

  “Can’t you stop talking for one minute?” I asked emotionally. “Can’t you just stop?!”

  It was funny now. This scene sounded a lot like us.

  “I need a second,” I said, after the moment's pause that was called for in the play.

  Avery waited. I watched her try not to show how she felt.

  “I need you to talk to me,” she said, looking up.

  When her eyes hit mine I felt a little scared and excited, like she’d seen through my facade.

  It made me happy though.. She was talking to me through the play.

  “It’s not a good time,” I said, sadly, shaking my head. The scene had bitterness and I didn’t know what it was about.

  “I don’t care,” she said, lifting her eyebrows and staring at me still.

  “And it’s always on your terms, isn’t it?” I swallowed bitterness, staring back at her. The scene was about that. It wasn’t just us.

  “You like to think so,” she said, sadness punching her. “You like to think it’s that way but it’s not. I have no choice,” she spoke bitterly. “You put me where I am.”

  “Right,” I scoffed. Bitterness abounding. “I’m the broken one. I’m the mess. Right?!”

  “I didn’t say-”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I shrugged sadly.

  “It matters,” she was the bitter one now. “It all matters.”

  “Right,” I said, disbelief.

  “You invited me here, remember?” She asked.

  Her eyes were hitting me harder right now. I felt sad.

  “I did,” I said, reading the line.

  “So how are these my terms?” She asked, broken.

  “They’re not,” I had to realize.

  I hated the scene now, simply loathed it, it was too much.

  “You said you could do this, remember?” She asked.

  “I know,” I said, reading Skylar’s line. I wanted to ask who’s play it was but I’d break scene if I did so I stopped myself.

  It just felt oddly fitting.

  “So, you've changed your mind. You’re throwing it away. Everything. Me?” She asked.

  “This isn’t my fault,” I read.

  In the play Skylar’s character was supposed to walk to the door and start to open it.

  “Wait!” Avery yelled and reached out to touch my arm, wrapped up in the dialogue. “I can’t do this without you.”

  “Yes you can,” I read. “We won’t be apart. We just won’t be together.” I finished after a beat.

  I turned my head. The character opened the door and left.

  Avery looked so sad. It made me want to take it back. Even if it wasn’t us I couldn’t see her like that. It was as if something had really happened.

  “Aaaaaand scene,” she said, laughing at her absurd comment.

  I wasn’t amused, just upset. It wasn’t real but saying those words to her and the way in which I’d connected the story to ours made me edgy.

  “No…” I said, closing the book and trying not to seem so rattled as I got up and went to her.

  I don't think I’ll be reading with her again any time soon. That was definitely disturbing.

  She was still sitting in her chair but I crawled up onto her and forced her to kiss me, touching her neck with both of my hands, feeling how sad it would be if we actually did have to say those horrible things.

  This was her play?! She was acting out her worst fear and mine. Every day?

  Why?!

  I tasted her, needing her to feel me again. It hurt to know this secret now. The thing she’d be playing out with Skylar and not me.

  “No,” I said again, loving her, wanting her. I forced her to fill me up again until I knew she was mine and that was gone and I felt the wine and got dizzy.

  Of all the things to enjoy pretending…

  “I hate that play,” I said decidedly, moving my mouth away just enough to speak softly to her. I wanted to take a lighter to the pages and burn them up in front of her. I wanted her to know how stupid I thought it all was.

  It was bullshit. Nothing like us.

  “Baby, it’s fiction,” she gasped.

  She looked to the photocopied pages on the bed.

  “It isn't us and it won't be.” She stopped me from kissing her again and looked at me. “Look at me.”

  I did and I found stubborn certainty there.

  “We are strong. Our relationship is solid. We’ve both got our crazy but we love each other too much to walk away. Okay?”

  I searched her. “Okay,” I said, a judgmental air coming off of me. I wasn’t the one rehearsing this scene… Dwelling on it. Living it, every day. I wasn’t the one she needed to tell that to.

  But then at least she was saying it. At least she appeared strong.

  I still didn’t like the stupid play.

  I leaned in slow and liked her bottom lip before sucking it with my mouth. I bit, just a tad, before leaning my head up higher and kissing her open mouth slowly, letting my body sit upright on hers and her hands squeeze at my hips, twisting my shirt on my skin and pushing me down into her less careful now.

  She felt too good again. I didn’t want to move away. I felt the skin of my thighs ontop of hers and how open I was. If it wasn’t for the bet…

  I forced myself to pull away from her, all calculated and low. I placed an open hand on her chest and drew our lips apart.

  “I want to see art tomorrow,” I said, distracting myself. My eyes traced all her spaces, her expression. She was art, tangible art. I wanted to kiss every inch of her but I knew right now that’d be no good. I’d only excite her, force her to lose. Then it’d be sex sex sex… I really did want to see what kind of fortitude she had. Sex with us had been complicated the last few days.

  I let my hands feel her, leading one of them up into her hair and lightly tugging as I watched her eyes flare and her eyebrows momentarily pop up. Her mouth falling open just a bit as she made a small sound.

  “Maybe go for a long walk up at that winery on the hill we passed,” I sighed, still touching her.

  I was aching for her in a good way. I purposely refused to wear underwear and I felt her hands on my skin beneath my shirt, rubbing on my sore muscles and causing me to smile in that relaxed and pleased sort of way.

  I think she was teasing me now and it was so so good. I was a sucker for silent receptive Avery. I liked when she tried to be inside me and read my mind. It was hot.

  “Maybe we can go to the market,” I felt my tongue hit the roof of my mouth
and my eyebrow lift as I stared. “Find a few fresh things… You can let me cook for you?” I suggested, seeing her.

  Her hands moved beneath my shirt and she quietly groped me, being generous. My eyes drifted to a close and I let myself feel her, the addiction of thirst coming over me again. She pushed my body flush to hers.

  “Napa should have excellent produce,” I continued to ramble, body grinding on hers just a bit. “I can hand-make you some pasta… Sweet cherry tomatoes… Fine olives… Rustic grilled cheese… I could roast you some vegetables… Use fresh herbs… Take my time… Even bake...”

  I realized I was daydreaming, a tad, about taking care of her as her hands traversed me. When I opened my eyes I saw her watching me. Without realizing, I’d been comfortably trying to ride her for a small addicting spot of time.

  When she stopped me with her stare I smiled a proud smile. I really liked us like this.

  “What?” I wondered. She’d run her hands up onto my breasts and been careful, my whole body pushing into hers on instinct, back arching. I loved when she touched me like this. Her soft hands slow and thorough, I loved the way they pushed into my skin. I’d let out a small moan without noticing. That was probably it, probably why she just stared.

  When we were alone- everything was better. No other commitments, no other distractions. Misunderstandings were harder to come by right now. It was confusing but I really liked being just hers.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked, looking down on her as I rolled my hips again and panted a small bit.

  I thought of the show I’d left on in the living room, the book I’d left on the bed that called to me to try and stop me from this.

  Avery’s hands though… Avery’s eyes…

  I couldn’t stop.

  She was worshipping me.

  “I was thinking that I'd like that and that I like this.”

  The truth living in her eyes comforted me and excited me at the same time.

  “Really?” I teased. “And that’s all?”

  “You have perfect skin and I like touching it,” she shrugged a shoulder. “I'm a simple girl.”

  “Mmmm, you are far from simple,” I warned. She always tried to downplay herself and consider herself less-than. I couldn’t have that. No, no, no.

  I ran my hands over her shoulders near her neck and watched her hear me.