by Kelly, Hazel
Hanging on the back of it was a large poster of some busty, tan model. Her stars and stripes bikini top was straining to hold her breasts in place. It looked like they were lucky to get the shot before it snapped off.
It caught me off guard.
I don’t know why. It’s not like I expected him to have a poster of the cast of Glee like my brother did. Still, her looming presence didn’t exactly set me at ease. I mean, if that was his dream girl, I was fucked. Compared to her, I looked completely average and forgettable. And pale. And fat.
When I finally looked away, Ian was sitting on the edge of his bed watching me.
“She’s got nothing on you,” he said.
I could barely keep from rolling my eyes at the bold faced lie. But I have to admit, it was a nice thing for him to say.
“Come here.” He patted the navy bedspread beside him.
I took a seat next to him and wondered how many other girls had sat on his bed.
“What did you think of the dance?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It was… tough to be honest.”
“Tough?” I turned my head towards him.
“Yeah.” He put his hand under my chin. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you tonight.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think I’d be able to stop if I started.”
I blushed and looked down at my feet.
“Maybe we could pick up where we left off in the wine closet?”
I smiled at him.
He kissed me softly at first, but soon he was swirling his tongue around mine and leaning me back on the bed. I hoped I wouldn’t embarrass myself by doing something horrible like burping in his mouth.
He ran a hand up my hip and it made me feel warm below my belly button. I wanted him so bad. I couldn’t believe he wanted me, too, and that we were finally going to do it in a real bed!
His hand slid over my boobs and he squeezed them through my t-shirt. I could feel his erection growing against my thigh and was glad my chest was finally coming in handy for something.
He rolled on top of me and started to rock against me like we were grinding in a waterbed. Soon my eyelids felt warm and my insides were aching. I desperately wanted to feel him inside me. For real this time. For more than two seconds.
I sat up so he could pull my top off. Then while he pulled his shirt off, I undid my bra and lay back down.
He continued to grope my breasts. I can’t really say it felt good, but he seemed delighted to have full access. However, when he moved his mouth down onto my nipples and sucked on them, it felt kind of nice. Weird, but nice. They got hard like I was freezing even though I was warm all over.
When Ian finally slipped his hand in the front of my pants, I was happy enough with the length of the hair down there. It was shorter than when we’d first hooked up, but it wasn’t sharp like a porcupine’s back or anything. Mostly, I was just grateful that he didn’t mention it. Of course, we were so drunk when we’d hooked up before that he probably didn’t remember how it used to be anyway.
When he discovered how wet I was, he made a noise that sounded like approval, and slipped a finger inside me. I let out a little moan to encourage him, but when he stuck the second finger in, I moaned for real.
“Shhhhh,” he said, smiling at me.
Then I remembered his parents were right downstairs and I pursed my lips.
As soon as he pulled my pants off, I was ready to guide him into me. I was sure he would be better this time. Instead, he did something I wasn’t expecting, something I wasn’t ready for.
He stuck his head between my legs, and I felt his tongue against my clit. I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I laid them next to me on the bed and clasped his comforter.
I wanted to enjoy the way his warm breath and his soft tongue felt against me, but I couldn’t relax. I mean, I knew it was a big deal that Ian Hendricks was going down on me. But all I could think about was whether he really wanted to do it and was he really enjoying himself and how long was he going to be down there?
Finally, I grabbed his head gently. “That’s enough,” I said. “That was really nice, thank you.”
He wiped his mouth against the back of his hand. “How did that feel?”
“Great,” I lied.
He smiled. “I’m glad,” he said, lying beside me. “Your turn.”
“What?”
“To make me feel good.” He rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows.
“Did you just do that to me so that I would give you head?”
“No,” he said. “I did it because I wanted to.”
I felt like I might cry.
“Don’t you want to?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, we’re not even boyfriend/girlfriend?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“You like me, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling stuck. “Of course, I do. I just don’t know if I’m ready for-”
“But you let me go down on you? Don’t you think that’s kind of unfair?”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“But we’ve already had sex?”
I wanted to say I wasn’t sure that counted since he hardly made it inside me before he came, but it seemed like the wrong thing to say.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “It’s just a little head.”
“I thought we were going to have sex.”
“We will after,” he said. “You only have to do it for a second. It’s only fair.”
I didn’t want to be unfair. I didn’t want to be a prude. I wanted Ian to be happy that he asked me to the dance. I just didn’t want to have to suck on his penis to make that happen. But I felt trapped. I felt like if I didn’t do it, he’d find someone else who would.
And where would that leave me?
I told myself it wouldn’t be that bad. Just because I’d never liked someone enough to consider it before didn’t mean I shouldn’t give Ian a chance.
Maybe no one ever felt ready their first time. Maybe I’d even be good at it, and he’d ask me to be his girlfriend. Then I wouldn’t feel like a slut.
“Please, Kate,” he said. “I want you so bad.”
I wrapped my hand around his dick and pretended I was someone else, someone who didn’t think giving head was a big deal. Someone who wanted to suck on Ian’s penis.
And then I did.
It felt like I was operating a bicycle pump with my mouth. At one point, he put a hand on my head and tried to speed me up without saying anything.
And then I felt him swell and I got scared. I wanted to stop, but he pushed me down on him and shot his hot cum to the back of my throat. And I swallowed it because I didn’t know what else to do.
By the time it was all over, he’d gone completely limp.
I wiped my mouth against the back of my hand and sat up to look at him. He had a big smile on his face and his eyes were closed.
I lay down next to him.
He rolled his head towards me on the pillow. “That was great, Kate. You were amazing. Thanks.”
I was glad I made him feel good, but it didn’t change the fact that my mouth tasted like dick.
“Want to go back to the party?” I asked.
“You can,” he said. “I think I’m just gonna relax for a second.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He rolled onto his side and watched me get dressed. “I’ll be down soon.”
So I went back to the party without him.
And then I washed my mouth out with as much beer as I could get my hands on.
Chapter 12: Dawn
I hadn’t had a cigarette in two days.
Not because I believed I was really going to quit, but because it seemed like I could at least give it a try. Even though it was no different than any of the other times I’d quit under duress.
So I didn’t really see the point.
&
nbsp; After all, preserving my quality of life was supposed to be my main focus now, and smoking was a pillar of my routine. Plus, quitting made my cough a lot worse.
My regular smoker’s cough was a hoarse-wheezy yack. It was the kind of cough I could get out eventually, the kind that has a clear ending. On the other hand, the post quit cough was more of an incessant tickle, and I couldn’t stand it.
So as I sat outside St. Rita’s Hospital with a tickly throat, I wondered how long it would be before I lit up again.
I was alone on the bench with the two things I always took everywhere: my inoperable lungs and my Kindle. It used to thrill me that I could read filthy smut in public without anyone knowing. But when I realized that I could also secretly download books about cancer and dying, it just made me feel depressed.
I could read about all kinds of sick people without anyone looking at me with their eyes full of pity as they wondered why I was spending my spare time reading cancer books.
Not that I had downloaded any yet. If I were going to hurry up and read anything, shouldn’t it be all the Classics I thought I had another forty years to tackle?
Plus, buying those books would make it too real. And none of their titles appealed to me.
Sure, if I could go back twenty seven years and not put that first Marlboro light in my mouth, I would. And I might be okay. But I suspected that I wasn’t going to change my destiny at this stage with fruits and vegetables and the power of positive thinking.
Plus, the doctor said I’d be lucky if I lived another six months. And I hadn’t suddenly found myself regretting all the celery I’d passed up over the years.
If anything, the opposite was true. I was having flashbacks of all the times I’d gone to Burger King and opted for a Whopper Jr. instead of a Double Whopper.
And why didn’t I have it my way more often? Because I didn’t want to get fat or clog my arteries.
If only I’d had to buy my cigarettes the way they sell French fries. Maybe then something would’ve clicked. Maybe I would’ve thought, shit, that’s a lot of cigarettes. Maybe I should cut back.
Of course, now I can eat as many Double Whoppers as I want because for the first time in my life, I’m losing weight without trying. To be honest, I can’t believe the pharmaceutical companies haven’t cashed in on this yet. I can see it now:
The Cancer Diet
“What’s the secret to the latest diet pill? It gives you cancer! Just a little. Just enough to ruin your appetite and make you feel sick! Don’t worry if you can’t control yourself in the face of fats and carbs, just pop this pill and let the virus do the hard work for you!”
Anyway, it’s a good thing Hell’s not real. Cause I was thinking about this atrocious idea while I watched people arrive at the cancer wing of the hospital.
It wouldn’t be long before they were all seated with their appropriate group, ready to support and be supported. I’m not sure why they separated people based on the severity of their condition. I guess it’s probably so those of us that are doomed don’t bring down the people who still have hope.
But I didn't know if I was going to go in anyway. The only reason I was even considering it was that, besides Tina, I didn’t want to discuss it with anyone I actually knew. Because what if being open about it made me feel uncomfortable and I wanted to take it back?
“Just kidding, I’m not dying. Gotcha! Whoa, you were really looking sad for a minute there. My bad. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere! Feel free to treat me normally again.”
Which I know sounds stupid. Especially since I’d been openly discussing difficult issues with other people for years. But when it came to being honest with myself, I had no idea where to start. And at least with a support group, if I didn’t like their brand of support, I could just stop showing up.
Obviously I’d already come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going to use my final days to raise awareness for the illness. I wasn’t going to be brave or try to inspire hope in others. Even though it would be nice to be remembered as a selfless, courageous individual.
But something caught my attention as I watched the people walking into the building. I couldn’t help but notice that they fell into two categories.
Some of them looked really sick. Like stereotypical cancer sick. Chemo sick. These were people who had no choice but to face the illness head on. Cause there was no hiding what they were going through.
But the rest of them looked okay. Not visibly sick. Just normal looking. Healthy even. Like they could still walk around amongst the most tactless people in society without having to ignore obvious whispers.
And suddenly, I had an epiphany.
I was still a member of the second group! Just because the cancer was going to catch up with me eventually didn’t mean I couldn’t outrun it for a little while. I needed to enjoy my life while I still had the chance. Surely that would beat sitting around feeling sorry for myself and waiting for death. After all, I had lived on my own terms. It was only right that I die by them.
Chapter 13: Kate
I never flushed the toilet while I was purging until it got so full that I had to. It was vital that I see how much food I’d thrown up and how digested it was so I would have an idea of how close I was to being empty.
Plus, I couldn’t risk attracting unwanted attention. Or interrupting my rhythm.
After all, if I lost my flow, sometimes the easiest thing to do was to binge some more until I was bursting all over again. On days when that happened, I could spend up to four hours binging and purging.
It was mentally and physically exhausting.
The day I got caught I was having a particularly difficult time. Before I sat down and had dinner with my family, I scarfed a bunch of French fries in secret on the way home from practice. And I didn’t chew them up enough. As a result, they were scratching the shit out of my throat on their way up. Even the obscene amount of soda I drank with them wasn’t making a difference.
When I started to sweat, I knew I had to hurry up or I’d get too lightheaded to continue. Then I’d have to sit on the bathroom floor until I felt better, and I might have to start over. Which was the worst thing I could think of at that moment.
Until I heard a knock on my bedroom door.
I stood up. “One second. I’m in the bathroom.”
“Open this door right now.”
It was my Mom. And she sounded pissed.
“One second.” I tried to keep my voice light, but I knew I had to buy some time. My hand was covered in puke, and I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know how red my face was.
“OPEN. THIS DOOR. NOW.”
“Hold on! Jeez.” I pushed down on the toilet handle, but nothing happened.
She knocked again. It sounded like the knock the police used when they were outside the wine closet.
My heart was pounding. I tried to flush the toilet again, and a big bubble just rose to the top of the sludgy vomit. I looked around for the plunger. I usually kept it in my bathroom. But it wasn’t there. Chris must have borrowed it.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I tried to strain my voice so it sounded like I was mid-diarrhea or something equally unpleasant. “Can I come talk to you in a few minutes, Mom? I don’t feel very well.”
“No.” I could practically hear her folding her arms. “We are going to talk now.”
I gargled with mouthwash and tried the flusher one more time in vain before closing the toilet lid. I turned on the faucet to give my fingers a quick scrub and before I turned it off, I spritzed a shitload of lavender air mist towards the toilet. Then I turned on the bathroom fan.
“Open the door Kate!”
“One second!” I called as I stripped off my clothes. Then I wrapped a towel around myself and closed the bathroom door as softly as I could.
I stepped up to my bedroom door, exhaled, and swallowed.
“What is it Mom?” I opened the door a crack and peeked around just enough that she would be able to see I
was in a towel. “I was just about to get a shower.”
She raised a hand in the air. It was holding an empty bottle of Skol Vodka. I tried to remember the last time I’d drank Skol. It was before school started sometime last summer. The girls and I went thirds on it. I think it came to around four dollars each for the whole handle.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
“Try again.”
“Can we talk about this after I get a shower?”
She put her foot against the door so I couldn’t close it.
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Drinking vodka?”
I could see a vein popping out along her temple. “You know, normally I would be mad about that. But not this time.”
“Why are you mad this time?”
“Because you’ve been driving around with this in your car.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Yes you have!” She was holding the bottle in the air like she was thinking about clubbing me with it. “It was in your trunk!”
“Shit.” No wonder it went missing. It was like a yard sale back there.
“Shit?” She stuck her neck out. “Shit?!” She shook her head. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
I shrugged.
“Mind if I come in and have a word?”
I wanted to say it wasn’t a good time, but I could tell she didn’t really mean it as a question. So I opened my door and stepped to the side.
She came in and sat on my bed. I stayed standing. I wanted to keep her eyes from looking towards the closed bathroom door where my puke filled toilet sat, steaming like a swamp.
“Do you think I’m an idiot, Kate?” Her eyes were sad and her expression was pathetic. I liked it better when she was angry.
“No. Of course not.”
“So why do you lie to me like this? About everything?”
“I don’t lie to you about everything.”
“Do you understand how much trouble you could’ve gotten into if the school had searched your car? Or if you’d been pulled over?”
I nodded, but all I could think about was getting her out of my room.