by Jacob Chance
I slide out of her bed and let my eyes trace over the delicate contours of her face. “Thank you, angel.” I trace my fingertips down the side of her cheek, needing to touch her one more time. “Soon, there will be no more secrets between us. I just hope you’re still around when they’re all out in the open.”
14
Lana
Shivering, I burrow deeper into my cocoon of blankets. I need to get up and put some pajamas on. I’m so cold. I never sleep naked. This last thought has my eyes snapping open, before rapidly closing them again to avoid the bright sunlight coming in through the window.
Oh, my God. I had sex with Zack last night. Where is he now? Is he still here somewhere? I quickly glance around my room before I pull the covers up over my head. I can feel the heat in my face, flushed with embarrassment and I’m not sure why. I’m a grown woman. I can have sex with whomever I want to.
The last thing I remember from the night before was lying in Zack’s arms on the living room floor. He must have carried me to bed. I smile. How sweet of him.
I close my eyes and will myself to go back to sleep but, it only takes a couple of minutes for the shame to set in. I can’t believe I had sex with someone besides Christopher. Why do I feel so guilty? He’s been gone for well over a year now. He’s not coming back for me, and I can’t pine for him for the rest of my life. Our relationship was wonderful until it wasn’t and then it was devastatingly over.
I’m only twenty-three years old. I don’t want to be alone forever, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to be with someone else yet.
Fifteen months ago
Christopher’s behavior has been getting more bizarre daily and I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s been short with me and keeping up with his mood swings is a full-time job. Where has my easy going fiancé gone? Just this morning we had a horrible fight.
“What’s wrong, Christopher? I asked, a look of pleading in my eyes. “Tell me what’s bothering you, honey.” I placed my hand on his arm and he shook it off.
“Nothing, everything would be great if you’d stop constantly nagging me about something being wrong.”
“You’re not acting like yourself at all. I’m not imagining this.” I cried, helplessly throwing my hands in the air.
Something’s wrong, whether he wants to admit it or not.
“I’m leaving for work. I’ll be staying at my place tonight,” he mentioned.
As he grabbed his jacket from the back of the kitchen chair.
“Christopher, why are you being like this? I love you and only want what’s best for you.”
“I love you, Lana, but you’re never happy with me anymore. Maybe we should put the wedding on hold for now.” He leaned forward, kissed my forehead and walked out the door like he didn’t just blow my whole world up.
Despair washed over me. I sank to the floor when my legs gave out and curled myself up into a ball, my head rested on my knees. I sat there crying enough tears to float away on. How do we get back to where we used to be?
Keeping myself from breaking down about having sex with Zack has been my focus for today. When I’m stressed I tend to overanalyze. I’ll recount every single detail, repeatedly, driving myself crazy. To stop myself from doing this, I prefer to organize. I must be on the verge of a mental collapse today because I’ve organized everything in my house. All the things I possibly can. Every blu ray collection and movie I own is now alphabetized. All two hundred.
Each of my plastic containers are now wearing their matching cover.
I organized all the food in my pantry according to size and shape.
I scrubbed my bathroom from top to bottom and dusted every flat surface and inanimate object I have displayed.
I removed all the ornaments from the tree and rolled it up in a dirty moving blanket I saved when I relocated here. Knowing it would come in handy sooner or later, I stored it in the basement.
Now, how am I going to get this monstrosity outside to the curb by myself? With hands on my hips, I stare at the rolled-up bundle like it’s a bomb on the verge of detonating and I must figure out how to diffuse it. Deciding the best plan of action is to drag it out of my apartment, then I can figure out the next step.
I prop my door open with a Princess Peach doorstop Christopher bought me for my twenty-first birthday. He found it in a second-hand store in San Francisco when he spent two weeks there for Techdeck. He said I had to have it because I was his princess. I fell in love as soon as I saw it, and I remember thinking who else would know me well enough to buy me that?
Almost three years later, the answer has always been the same - No one. Until now. Placing my fingers on the necklace Zack gave me I feel hopeful he might be someone I can have a future with. I’m just not sure I’m brave enough to give him a chance. I always thought Christopher was it for me and we were a perfect fit. I guess he’d still be here, if that was the case. Now I’m not sure I should trust my instincts when it comes to men.
Bending over, I wrap my arms around the narrowest part of the tree and drag it with me while I back toward the open door. Unladylike grunts pass between my lips as I wrestle the large bundle inch by inch toward the doorway. With only five more feet to go, I drop the mass to the floor, wiping the sweat from my eyes and forehead. It’s January and freezing cold out, but I’d never know it by the amount I’m perspiring.
I tuck my bangs behind my ear, glancing down at my faded black sweatpants and stained Zelda sweatshirt. I couldn’t look much worse, if I tried. Wiping my palms on my pants, I step toward my nemesis, prepared to wrestle it out the door or die trying.
“Do you need some help?” Zack’s deep voice has me freezing in place. My heart feels like it stops then kick starts again. I spin around, and when my eyes raise to meet his the tempo of the beats increases tenfold. Is it possible for your heart to beat to death?
“Hi.” My voice is husky. I didn’t answer his question, but it’s the best I can do right now.
He smiles, his feet already moving in my direction. With every step, he takes, I get warmer until I’m convinced I’ll burst into flames. Death by spontaneous combustion also known as Zack.
“Let me get this for you,” he says, ignoring my awkward reaction to his nearness. He bends down, picking the bundle up like it’s a Charlie Brown Christmas tree and not the oversized one I’d chosen. His biceps bulge and I can see his tattoos peeking out between the bottom of the short sleeves and the bend of each of his elbows.
My mind flashes back to the night before, remembering how my eyes traced over those tattoos and watched his muscles ripple under them when he thrust his cock inside me. He quickly moves into the hallway and starts toward the stairs.
I run after him, my embarrassment over my reckless behavior from last night temporarily forgotten. “Where are, you going?” I yell, leaning over the balustrade.
“I’m taking this out to the curb for you.” His voice echoes up to me.
When Zack comes back inside, I’m in my kitchen making myself a cup of coffee. I peer over my shoulder at him. “Would you like some?”
He remains silent, shuffling closer and closer until he cages me in at the sink. Reaching around me, he turns on the faucet, before soaping up his hands. I bite my lip as I watch, remembering what his hands did to my body last night. When he’s done rinsing he grabs the towel from the counter and wipes them dry like he has all the time in the world. Time does seem to stand still with him so close to me. Releasing the towel, his hands grip the lip of the granite on either side of me.
When his lips touch my ear I shiver. “Are you ready to talk about what happened last night?”
I chew on my bottom lip. I was hoping we could avoid having this conversation. I shake my head.
“No?” he questions. “That’s too bad, because I really want to talk about it, and I want to repeat it as soon as possible.” His lips skim my ear, and I shiver. “I’ll let you pretend it didn’t happen for now.” His nose rubs along the back of my neck and my legs
tremble. “You can have the space you need to work it all out in this super brain of yours.” Sliding his hand into my hair, he grips it as his lips trail delicate kisses below my ear. “I’m not going to wait for too long, Lana. I’m coming for you, and you need to be ready for what that means. I can’t hold back with you anymore.”
He turns my face over my shoulder and takes my lips in a quick, passion filled kiss. When he pulls away, my balance is off, and I grip the countertop in front of me. “Don’t make me wait too long.” He gently bites the bottom of my earlobe before walking away.
I don’t turn around and watch him. I close my eyes. Feeling him pressed against my back was enough. The imprint of his hard cock is burned into my memory.
15
Zack
Leaving Lana’s with a hard on is nothing new. She’s so fucking sexy, and she has no idea. I could practically see the gears turning in her mind. I wish she’d relax and accept that we slept together. Accept it and repeat it over and over. Goddamn. I can’t wait to be inside her again. I’m going to be patient with her and let her have some space for now, but she’s not getting away from me.
She’s already mine; she just doesn’t realize it yet.
“Mom, it’s just me,” I yell, not wanting to alarm her when she hears the door close. Not that she hears me, anyway. Odds are she’s in a drunken stupor, it’s how she spends ninety-nine percent of the time. This is the way she’s been for the past few years; ever since my father died. I thought she’d be better off without the daily abusive treatment she was subjected to, but she’s fallen apart without his tyrannical ways. Incapable of thinking for herself and making simple decisions, she prefers to drown life’s sorrows in whatever bottle of booze she can find. These days, seeking out her next drink is the only area she’s competent.
Walking from room to room, I find her in the living room, asleep with a cigarette still burning in the ashtray on the end table next to her. Fuck. She’s going to burn this house down someday and herself along with it. Shaking my head, I stamp out the cigarette.
“Mom,” I tap her on the shoulder. “Mom,” I say with more volume and another tap. Nothing. She remains in the deep untroubled sleep of an alcoholic.
My hands on my hips, while my eyes peruse the room, I take in the empty dishes all over the coffee table and the ashtray full of cigarette butts. Shaking my head, I blow out a long sigh and begin to clear the dishes away. Stacking them in my arms like a Jenga puzzle, I carry them to the kitchen. Rinse, load, repeat. Three trips between the living room and kitchen, and the coffee table is once again clear. I empty the ashtray and secure the trash bag before carrying it to the curb, along with the ten other bags that have been piling up in the garage. Tomorrow is trash day.
I wipe down the kitchen counters and quickly clean her downstairs bathroom. I don’t want to be here anymore. This place brings back all the feelings of helplessness I experienced at my father’s hand. It’s a miracle my mom is still alive.
There was one time when I was sixteen, he strangled her right in front of me. Paralyzed by fear and what I was seeing, I couldn’t move. It was only at the last second when I punched my dad in the nose that he finally let her go. She fell to the ground gasping for air, and he became preoccupied with stopping the blood flowing from his nose. That was the first time I ever fought back, but not the last.
Eight years ago
“Where have you been?” My father’s voice grinds out through clenched teeth. Fuck. Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment - this isn’t going to go well. Missing my curfew by ten minutes is no different than coming home two hours late in his eyes. The only difference is the severity of the punishment.
Pleading for leniency won’t do me any good. There’s no changing his mind.
“I was with Zoe. When I dropped her off her parents wanted me to come inside for a few minutes. They kept me longer than I planned,” I lie, hoping he can’t see through it.
I had every intention of arriving home on time until Zoe decided to suck my dick. We’ll be going to separate colleges in two weeks and she’s eager to please me. She wants us to remain a couple even though we’ll be in different states.
She’s attending UMass and I’m off to NYU. I don’t plan on carrying on a long-distance relationship. I’m only eighteen and there’s plenty of other pussy to try out, but for now I’ll take what she wants to give me. And tonight, it was head. Not even the fear of one of my father’s beatings could have kept me from seeing that blow job through to the end. Once I’d shot my load down her throat, there was a moment’s panic while I thought about the repercussions of missing curfew.
“I’m not stupid, boy. You were getting your dick wet.” He rises from the recliner.
“No, I wasn’t,” I argue as he walks toward me. Fear grips me, its icy cold fingers squeeze my throat making it difficult to breathe. I fight the urge to flee, even though every fiber of my being is screaming at me to.
He grips my hair on top, tugging hard; clumps are being pulled out. I follow his hand, leaning my head back. He slaps me across the right cheek, hard.
My eyes water at the unexpected sting and before I have a chance to regroup he backhands me across the left one. The metallic tang of blood on my tongue clues me in my lip is split. I confirm it by tracing my tongue over my bottom lip, grimacing when I feel the slit. It feels large and there’s a good amount of blood.
Do I need stitches?
“You still want to lie to me, boy?” He pulls harder on my hair. I arch my back to keep him from ripping out chunks. I know I need to get out of his hold.
My thoughts race and jumble while I try to come up with a course of action. My father takes care of it for me though, when he pulls me backward once more. I claw at his face and gouge at his eyes, my arm stretched out as far as possible.
Catching him by surprise, he loosens his grip and I pull free from his hold. My scalp is on fire, my breathing is labored and all I want to do is hurt him. My teeth clench as the anger courses through me. My chest puffs with each breath.
No one should feel this way about their dad. He steps toward me and my right fist meets his jaw with a satisfying crack.
He stumbles back two steps and I follow. The rage takes over and I want to fuck him up so bad he never lays another hand on me. I strike him again, this one a left cross to the eye. His eyebrow splits, blood trickles down his face. He stands there eerily grinning like a demon or something out of a horror movie.
“Feeling froggy are you?” He gestures with his hand for me to come closer. Scared enough to piss my pants, I know this is the time I need to take a stand. I can’t back down now.
Oblivious to what might be coming, I charge forward a battle cry falling from my lips. I make it two steps before his fist slams into my jaw, catching me right on the sweet spot. I’m out like a light before I even hit the ground.
Rubbing a hand over my hair covered jaw, I can still feel the bastard’s punch now. I learned a valuable lesson that day - to keep my hands up and protect my face. I’m glad he’s dead, I only wish it could have been me pulling the trigger.
It’s been three years since he died at the hands of Jack Doyle, a Boston Police officer. That day, the two Boston cops went to my parent’s house to break up a domestic dispute, which wasn’t out of the norm where they were concerned. While they were questioning my parents, my father pulled out a gun, aiming for my mother. Kyle McKenzie, one of the officers, stepped in front of her and took a bullet to the head. His partner immediately shot my father. One small bullet did what I could never do and now I would never have the chance.
I wanted him to die by my hand and for a long time I blamed Kyle McKenzie and his partner for cheating me of the opportunity. I even went so far as to seek revenge, using Kyle’s girlfriend Janny as a pawn to do so. I grimace as I think about how I stalked Janny. I took it too far; masturbating over her drugged form and even touching her when she wasn’t aware.
I won’t go so far as to say I’m remorseful, I don’t d
o remorse. Time has made me realize my anger might have been displaced. Instead of being directed at my father for all the hell he put us through, I channeled it into hating Kyle for being the catalyst for his death.
16
Zack
Waiting has never been something I’ve enjoyed, but I’ve learned the value in staying the course. Lana’s been avoiding me for three days now. I gave her some space and hoped she’d come to grips with what we did, but it doesn’t seem to be happening. She needs a reminder of how great we are together.
Staring out of one of my living room windows, like a hawk searching for prey, I wait for her to return home from work. When I see her car parking along the curb, it’s time for action. Shrugging my coat on, I leave my apartment and head down the stairs. I have to make it appear I’m leaving and not like I’ve been sitting, watching, desperately waiting for her to come home.
When I step off the final step, Lana is coming in the front entrance. I grip the edge of the door in my hand, holding it for her. At first, she’s startled by my presence, and then flustered by it if her pink cheeks are any indication.
“Hey, how are you?” I ask, as though I didn’t just have my cock buried inside her three days ago. I restrain the urge to slam her up against the wall and kiss her until she begs for it again.
“Hi,” she replies, then bites on her lip. She stares up at me, her large eyes shining an emerald green today. When we were together the other night, I couldn’t tell what color they were. The lighting was too dim. Finding out what color they are when I’m buried inside her is on my short list of things to do.