In Control (The City Series)

by Crystal Serowka

  The party was a bore. I’d tried drowning my suffering in a bottle of whiskey I’d found downstairs, but even that didn’t do the trick. Wren was off catching up with his guy friends, who were busy retelling stories from when they were in high school, and as interested as I was in hearing Wren’s, I didn’t give a shit about Samson or Jay’s.

  I hid in the basement, thinking it was the best place to not be discovered. Knowing Porter was somewhere upstairs gave me more heartburn than my favorite Mexican joint. I’d seen him twice now, more times than I’d seen him in the last four years. When I saw him last night on the beach, I swore it was my imagination. We couldn’t actually be in the same spot; that kind of thing only happens in the movies. Hearing his voice made it too real, seeing his crooked smile made everything about my past reappear. Then seeing him in the living room, his body two inches from mine—it was all too much to handle.

  I recalled the last glimpse I had of Porter four years ago. He was standing on his porch, looking at me like everything that happened between us was a mistake. His blank stare shouted that his love, or what I thought was love, was all make believe. He made me think that I was crazy for trusting him.

  But I knew he loved me. I knew it in the way he held my hand, in the way he kissed my lower lip, in the way he touched my knee. He loved me for 171 days. At least that’s what the calendar I stashed away said.

  I’d gone four entire years without thinking of Porter’s face. Thoughts of him were buried deep inside of me, and I was easily able to cover them up by sleeping with other men. To my surprise, it worked, and I was able to forget all about him as time passed. The list of guys I’d slept with grew, but I began to forget what Porter Henning looked like.

  “Kingsley!” Wren called. He walked down the steps to find me nestled in the corner of the room on the floor. The bottle of whiskey sat atop my lap, half empty. “What are you doing down here by yourself?”

  “I wanted to give you some alone time with your friends. So you could catch up.” I didn’t tell him that I was actually avoiding Porter.

  “I want you around for that. You’re a part of my life,” he said, kneeling down in front of me. “I don’t want you hiding down here.”

  “You could hide with me,” I suggested. I wiggled my eyebrows, hoping he’d take the bait. Sex was my way of switching off the pain. It allowed me to get lost in the moment of satisfaction, rather than allowing the sadness to weigh me down.

  “K, not here. We just saw your ex-boyfriend. If it wasn’t for him roaming around upstairs somewhere, maybe, but I can’t get hard knowing that dude is right up there.” He pointed to the ceiling and my eyes followed.

  I wondered where Porter was at the moment. Was he looking for me? Did he go back to look for the girl he was talking to when I first arrived?

  I wore the saddest expression I could. “Not even a little hanky panky?” I pouted. I needed something, anything that could make me forget for a few minutes. I was ready to rip off Wren’s clothes and make him take me.

  “First of all, did you really just say ‘hanky panky’? Secondly, why the fuck am I questioning this when you’re sitting there, practically begging me?”

  His smile made me breathless and after taking the bottle of whiskey off my lap and setting it off to the side, he bent over my body. Every Porter thought in my mind vanished as I stared into Wren’s eyes. I wrapped my legs around his torso as his lips traveled the length of my neck. His breath hit my skin, followed by his tongue trailing the area. I moaned when I felt him harden against my thigh, ecstatic that he forgot all about Porter as well.

  Wren reached his hand up my shorts, pushing my bikini to the side. He pushed his fingers inside of me, and I could think of nothing except how much I wanted to live in the moment. I wanted to replay it, over and over, whenever I wished. Only his fingers, his lips, his body could give me exactly what I needed. He fulfilled my needs and somehow gave me the essentials to look my past in the eye and tell it that it no longer owned me.

  He groaned against my mouth as his thumb circled my clit. Our heavy breathing was in sync and the faster he moved his thumb, the more anxious I became. I grabbed onto the sides of his shirt, quickly pulling it off of him. I needed the feel of his heartbeat against my chest. After removing my shirt and bikini top, I pulled Wren’s body down. The weight of him made my breathing speed up even more. I grabbed his hair, unable to keep my legs still. His fingers were performing the greatest strumming solo, sending waves of pleasure from my abdomen down to the tips of my toes. I could say that I felt pleasure, but the word seemed so insignificant.

  Every bad and good thought was pushed away, and I was able to just exist. The release gave me exactly what I needed—it allowed me to drift from my mind. As always, involuntary words spilled from my lips and I voiced every pleasure.

  “Fuck, Kingsley, you’re so loud,” Wren hissed into my ear.

  My breathing refused to calm down and I wanted more. I wanted him inside of me, filling me, keeping the thoughts at bay. “Fuck me,” I ordered. “Now.” I unbuttoned his jeans, pushing my hands into his boxers and wrapping my fingers around the thing I needed most.

  “Wren, you down here?”

  A voice, I think it was Jay’s, came from the stairs. Expletives quietly flew from Wren’s mouth as he tried composing himself. Thankfully, since the corner we were in was in the far back of the basement, Jay wasn’t able to see us from the stairs.

  “Yeah, I’ll be up in a second,” Wren grumbled.

  “Is everything cool down there?” Jay asked.

  “Yes. Fuck! Go upstairs!” Wren yelled.

  I laughed against his chest, knowing how angry Wren was getting the longer Jay asked questions.

  “Geez, dude. Chill,” Jay said. His loud footsteps up the stairs told us we were in the clear.

  Wren looked down at me, shaking his head. “You always insist on having sex in the most fucked up places, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining when I gave you a blow job in the NYU library.”

  He nodded. “You’re right.”

  Wren dressed against my every plea for him not to. I tried sitting on his shirt and making sexy gestures, but nothing was keeping him there.

  “Kingsley, we need to go upstairs and join the party. Since when did you start becoming so reclusive?” He grabbed his shirt from underneath me too easily. With one hand on my side, he moved his fingers the slightest bit and I jumped away.

  “Just so you know, tickling me will not work in every situation!” I shrieked.

  “It worked in this one, though.” He finished putting his shirt on and stood up. “C’mon, pretty lady, get your ass upstairs.”

  Leaving the Hendersons wasn’t an easy task, and after fifteen minutes of debating whether or not I wanted to take the chance, I finally threw on my black hoodie and a pair of jeans. I kept my shoes off, thinking they’d make too much noise on the basement steps. I’d gone up and down them of plenty of times, so I knew which ones to step over.

  I treaded carefully, only making one mistake as I stepped onto the second stair from the top. It squeaked loudly and my heart pounded in my chest. I listened for Mr. or Mrs. Henderson to come to the door, but heard nothing. At this time, they’d typically sit in the living room and watch the nightly news program. Mr. Henderson would be lying on the couch, a beer perched on his stomach. Mrs. Henderson would be in the beat up recliner she’d brought home last year. Most likely, she’d be sitting up, but her eyes would be closed. She usually fell asleep in the chair each night after dinner, so I only needed to be concerned with Mr. Henderson.

  The door to the basement opened quietly, so I was able to squeeze my body through the small space and step into the hallway without notice. The living room was just off of the hallway, and since the couch and recliner faced away from the doorway, my chances of not being seen were good. I tiptoed across the floor past Tommy and Brian’s room. Their bedroom door was halfway open, but they were too focused on their video game
to notice me.

  When I reached the outer wall of the living room, I took a deep breath, hoping to see the familiar setting. I peeked around, and just as I suspected, the Hendersons were in their spots. I couldn’t tell if Mrs. Henderson’s eyes were closed since her back was to me, but I could hear her snoring over the TV. Mr. Henderson coughed, sending me back against the wall. He began channel surfing, and I knew that was my chance to open the front door. I dropped down to my knees, praying with all of my might that none of the other kids came downstairs. As I crawled across the floor, I listened intently to the living room TV. Since the front door would be locked by the time I got back, I’d made sure to unlock the window in the basement. I’d never gone in or out of it, but I had no other choice.

  Mrs. Henderson asked Mr. Henderson a question, and I crawled quicker, hoping neither one of them were thinking of leaving the room. If I didn’t get to the door in two seconds, one of them would discover me. If they found me trying to sneak out, I don’t think bruises would be the only thing left behind. I took a deep breath, and the moment I heard Mr. Henderson laugh, I was out the door. I stood behind a nearby tree for a few minutes, making sure my escape went unnoticed. The front door stayed closed, and I gave a sigh of relief, knowing I made it out alive.

  Porter was already standing at the corner we’d planned to meet on by the time I got there. His blonde hair was slicked back, making him look far older than fourteen. His jacket was buttoned all the way to the top, keeping out the brisk February air.

  “Good, you made it out!” he exclaimed, giving me a high five.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t easy, but I doubt they’ll notice I’m gone.”

  “Let’s get going. All the good booze will hopefully still be there,” he said, holding out his gloved hand for mine.

  We were headed to Porter’s friend Greg’s house. His parents left yesterday for an anniversary cruise and left Greg’s grandmother in charge. Porter told me that Greg’s grandma was ninety years old and deaf in one ear, and because she went to bed by seven, she wouldn’t be able to hear a thing from his garage.

  We took a cab since Greg’s house was a twenty minute walk from where we met. Porter paid the driver and as we walked up to the garage door, I could already hear the music blaring from inside. The second we walked in, I could smell the mix of different alcohols, everything from vodka to whisky to tequila. I could smell the weed being passed around, and judging by their obnoxious behavior, the crowd seemed to have already been there for a few hours.

  “Porter!” Greg yelled as he rushed toward the door. “Glad you made it.”

  They performed some sort of handshake that made me dizzy by just watching. Greg said hello to me and told us each to grab a drink. There must have been at least thirty kids crammed into the small space, and I was certain the party would be broken up by the police. I knew I had to act as if I wasn’t worried about that. I needed to show Porter I could have fun just like him.

  I followed him to the corner of the garage where a tall keg was set up. There was a table next to it with a spread of red plastic cups, bowls of chips and pretzels, and a plate full of chocolate chip cookies. Porter filled cups for both of us and we toasted to the night.

  “Tonight we’re gonna get wasted!” he exclaimed, clapping my cup with his and making the foam spill over the edges.

  “To wasted!” I acted out my enthusiasm, deceiving Porter into believing I was just as excited as him.

  We took a sip, or rather I took a sip and Porter gulped his down. He yelled over the music that he was going to say hey to his other guy friends and he’d be right back. I watched him push into the crowd, and even though I’d seen some of the faces surrounding me a few times, I didn’t know them well enough to go up and talk to them. I stood safely by the food table, pretending to be busy by looking over each item arranged. The cookies were calling my name, and I hadn’t had many sweets since Porter used to treat me to them at Cafe Grumpy last summer. I shoved one into my mouth, washing the chocolate taste down with beer. They tasted unbelievable, and I peeked over my shoulder before reaching for another one.

  “Wow, those look good.”

  I quickly turned around, my mouth still full. “They’re—” I chewed and swallowed. “They’re delicious.”

  The boy gave a kind smile, and outstretched his hand. “My name’s Andy. You’re Kingsley, right?”

  Andy looked older than the rest of the kids here. His dirty blonde hair was shoulder-length and looked as if it hadn’t been washed in weeks.

  “Yes,” I warily answered. I shook his hand, immediately noticing the red track marks that colored the inside of his arm.

  “I knew it. I’ve seen your face around. I mean, how could you not notice your face? It’s gorgeous.”

  Andy reminded me of a young Mr. Henderson, and I was tempted to walk away, but didn’t know where I’d find Porter.

  “Thanks,” I said as I searched the room.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Andy’s eyes were bloodshot. His lips were cracked, like he hadn’t had a drink of water in days. I looked at his hands, noticing the sores on his knuckles. I was getting scared being in his presence. I didn’t feel safe standing here talking to him, and I wished Porter would come and save me soon.

  “My boyfriend,” I revealed. I needed Andy to know that I had someone that would come looking for me if he tried to do something.

  “I figured you had a boyfriend. You’re much too pretty to be alone.” He reached up and stroked my cheek, and just like that I was brought back into the memory from the night it happened.

  I flinched from his touch, but was too scared to back away. I kept my eyes closed, terrified to look into his.

  “Let’s go somewhere. This place is a fucking bore,” he muttered. He reached for my hand, but as he did, something came alive inside me.

  I pictured this person, this Andy, as everything I hated. He represented the pain I’d endured all of these years. The bruises, the tears, every single bodyache I’d ever had as a result of someone’s hand. For so long, I’d held every ounce of pain inside and never allowed anyone to witness it. The moment he reached for my hand, I split it two.

  I pushed him against the wall, beating on his chest with my fists. The crowd around me stopped what they were doing and focused on the scene in front of them.

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me! I don’t ever want your hands on me again!” I screamed, tears pouring down my face. I couldn’t stop hitting him. I didn’t ever want to stop hitting him. Mr. Henderson was standing right in front of me and I wanted to kill him.

  “Kingsley!” Porter came from behind me and wrestled my body away from Andy.

  The crowd circled around us, and I couldn’t stop thrashing my legs, trying to get free of Porter’s hold. He was able to pick me up, dodging my flying fists. He demanded I calm down and stop fighting him, but I couldn’t control my anger. I’d never allowed it to surface until that moment, and now that it was set free, it was on a mission to cause harm.

  “Kingsley!” he screamed, keeping both of my hands clutched in his.

  By the time we got outside, I was crying to the point of hyperventilation. My limbs had become weak from fighting Porter off. We sat against the garage door; I huddled in his arms. His heavy breathing was all I heard; I knew the crowd inside was still stunned from what they saw.

  “What the fuck just happened?”

  I knew he deserved an answer. He’d just witnessed me going crazy on a complete stranger, something I never thought I could ever do.

  “I thought he was going to hurt me,” I confessed. “He tried taking my hand, and I got scared.”

  “So you started beating him?”

  “I don’t know what got into me.” I couldn’t tell Porter that Andy reminded me of Mr. Henderson. I couldn’t reveal that when Andy touched my cheek, it felt the exact same way as when Mr. Henderson did it.

  “Shit, Kingsley,” he muttered.

  For a few minutes we sa
t in silence. My body was still anxious and shaky, almost like it was anticipating something bad to happen. Greg came outside to check on us, but it wasn’t for my benefit. He was making sure we weren’t causing a scene outside. He only asked Porter if everything was all right, leaving me to realize that everyone inside thought I was the crazy one.

  “Porter,” I said, turning to him to explain.

  His eyes were half-shut, though. He focused on the cars passing by, not giving any indication that he heard me saying his name. I called his name again, and when he looked at me, I noticed the size of his pupils. They were twice as large as normal. The blue of his eyes was almost completely gone. He gave a slow smile, almost like he was performing it in slow motion.

  “Porter, what’s wrong with you? Did you take something inside?”

  His laughter gave me the answer I needed. He must have been given something while inside the party. The only thing I could think to do was get Porter back to his house. He needed to sleep off whatever was in his system. I needed to somehow help him into his room without his parents discovering him. I helped Porter stand up, feeling the clamminess of his hands.

  “Do you hear that?” Porter stopped walking and whispered.

  “Hear what?” I looked around, searching for whatever he was talking about.

  “I don’t know. I think it walked away.” He started laughing as he stumbled over his own feet.

  I held onto his arm, keeping him from falling over. I hailed an oncoming cab, thankful that we could find one at this time of night on a Saturday. Giving the driver directions, I allowed Porter to lean against my side. During the drive, he tried climbing over the seat to change the radio station. The driver demanded that if I didn’t control him, he would drop us off at the police station, fully aware that Porter was underage and on something. I pleaded with Porter to sit still, telling him he could change the radio station when he got home. That seemed to control him, and he slumped against my shoulder for the remainder of the ride.