Then, he pushed himself off my car and walked away.
“What did I do?” I shouted after him. But he didn’t stop. Just kept walking without looking back.
~One Month Later~
I waited until he left the room to cry.
His name was Carson, and I had just lost my virginity to him. We met earlier tonight at a house party hosted by my friend Macy’s older brother who had recently returned home from college. It didn’t take me long to get wasted from the Jell-O shots and spiked punch, but despite my intoxicated state of mind, I remained fully aware of exactly what I was doing when I followed him into an empty bedroom. When I allowed him to sloppily undress himself—and me. When I gave him the part of myself that I had saved for Ryan. Or someone like Ryan.
It had been a week since my high school graduation, and a month since Ryan broke up with me. But only a day since I caught Ryan with Brynn.
The pain and confusion of seeing them together, with his lips on her, and the regret they both had in their eyes when they realized I was staring at them, overtook me as intensely as when I found out about my parents. Maybe even more so because this time, the only person in this world who had my back, had just stabbed it.
Now, I had no one.
I hadn’t spoken to her since I saw them together yesterday with his mouth on her breast on our living room couch. I guess she had forgotten that I’d be coming home early after working a half-shift at the restaurant.
In a moment of boozed-up weakness tonight, I had the great idea to drunk-dial her to find out why she did it. I didn’t get an answer, though. Instead, I got a question from her.
Depression and anxiety had been building inside of me for the last month, ever since Ryan said those irreparable last words—I don’t love you. I’ll never feel that way for you. But only after she told me over the phone that she loved Ryan, and she asked for my blessing in dating him, did I fully lose my shit.
I mean… How could he?
How could she?
How long had it been going on?
Was she the reason he broke up with me?
Nothing made sense. Everything in my life had gotten off-track, and I had no idea exactly how or why it happened. My sister, who I idolized, who had taken care of me, and who provided me with every last thing I needed to thrive in a life without parents, had ripped away everything she had given me; all the love and the confidence I had in myself and our relationship were gone.
What a fucking tease.
And Ryan, the man I loved, took it from her and stomped all over it.
That bastard.
I needed to do something—anything—to rid myself of the nausea in my throat. Of the hopeless stabbing in my chest. Of the need to scream my head off and rip out my own heart.
What better thing to do than indulge in liquor and sex? It was the first time I had done either, and the excitement of it all had warded off my self-deprecating thoughts…for a little while, at least. The emotions I felt afterward paralleled the heartbreak, but for some weird reason, the regret seemed worth it. For a few hours, I was able to forget my life. And the subsequent feelings of remorse were a hell of a lot more desirable than the constant worthlessness and anguish that followed me.
At least Carson appreciated me during our brief, awkward, ultimately embarrassing encounter. He desperately wanted me, even if only for a few moments. That’s more than I could say for the people who were supposed to love me.
The shame started almost immediately. I hadn’t told Carson that I was a virgin, and when he realized it, things got awkward. After finishing, he collapsed beside me to catch his breath, and after a few moments of silence, he said, “Uh—thanks for that. I guess I should probably get back out there. You know, back to the party.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, still shaking, “okay.”
I stayed under the covers and held in my tears long enough for him to get dressed and walk out the door, not once looking back at me. The instant it shut, I broke down. But my outburst only lasted a few minutes before I decided to suck it up and get on with my life. Shit happens, and it would be best for me to get used to it.
The next day, I saw the “For Rent” sign at the apartments behind Ricci’s. After seeing the place, they offered it to me, and I moved in two weeks later. The time I had to wait before moving in was spent avoiding Brynn at all costs. It was easy because after I denied her request to date Ryan, she wanted nothing to do with me either. She even said I owed it to her to give her my blessing. She actually had the nerve to resent me for not wanting her to have a relationship with my boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend.
Not that my blessing mattered. She kept seeing him anyway. Because, you know, she loved him.
After graduating high school, then moving across town, I began working more. Even though I remained in my hometown, I lost touch with friends who had no clue what it was like to have to support yourself. Friends who moved away to college. Friends who I had no reason to trust because after Brynn did what she did, I learned that nobody could be trusted anymore. Ever.
I became isolated. Lonely.
Until one night, Carson came to Ricci’s with some friends. I could tell he recognized me when he did a double-take at the sight of me. Thank God I wasn’t his waitress. I tried to avoid him the best I could, but he stopped me on my way to the kitchen just before leaving with his buddies.
“Hey, Zoey,” he called out from behind me.
My shoulders fell. He didn’t even remember my name.
With dirty plates in my hands, I turned to face him, making sure not to look him in the eye. “It’s Chloe.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. Um—how are you?”
I sighed, “I’m busy, Carson.”
“Yeah, okay. I—uh—I had fun that night. You know, at the party…when we…”
Oh God. “I remember.”
He smiled, “I just thought maybe we could do it again sometime.”
The way he said it wasn’t overly aggressive or condescending. In fact, there was a certain shyness—an insecurity—in his voice that put me at ease and made it feel okay to glance up at him.
I raised an eyebrow, “You mean all two minutes of it?”
His grin turned to a disconcerted scowl. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad. Was it?”
“Why,” I squinted. “Do you think it was good?”
His shoulders dropped, “No. Not in the slightest. I admit it, okay? It was not my best performance,” he sighed. “But I know I can do better. Let me make it up to you. Please?”
My head tilted, “Make what up to me? Finishing so quickly? Leaving me lay there without a second glance?” I brought my face close to his, challenging him and teasing him all at once, “Forgetting my name?”
“Yes!” he shouted. “All if it! But mostly the sex!”
His outburst caught the attention of the Ricci’s diners.
“Shh!” I set the plates on an empty table, took him by the elbow, and pulled him down the hall toward the restrooms where I proceeded to scold, “You’re causing a scene!”
“I’m sorry. Look, when I realized you were a virgin I panicked. The thing is, I’ve never been someone’s first before. It was the last thing I expected and I freaked out. My first instinct was to dodge the situation and that’s what I did. And yeah, I regret my idiot reaction.” He took a cautious step toward me. When I didn’t back up, he gently took my chin in his fingers, lifting it so that I met his stare. “Trust me when I say that it’s not like me to finish before the girl. If you gave me another chance, Chloe, I promise you it would be worth your while.”
As pitiful as it sounds, the only real highlight of my life in the last few months was the look of desire in Carson’s eyes the night of the party. The way he made me feel wanted…before we had sex. He had the same look in them now while his fingers brushed against my cheek and combed through my hair. Something about his need for me—for my body—exhilarated me in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time, even if the re
ason behind it was simply to repair his bruised ego.
“We don’t even really know each other, Carson,” I said, seriously considering his proposition, yet still a bit reluctant. “And I’m not looking to get involved with anyone right now.”
He chuckled slightly, “I’m not promising you a relationship, Chloe. I’m just promising you a good lay.”
His blatant honesty made me smile, “Oh, I see. So you feel bad because you think you traumatized the virgin, huh?”
“Yeah,” he grinned, “something like that. We can’t have you going through life thinking sex is always like that conundrum that I gave to you.”
“No,” I replied. “We wouldn’t want that. Tell you what. I get off at eleven. Meet me here, ready to make it up to me, and I’ll consider doing it again. But you’re going to have to bring your A-Game this time because I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
He lit up at my proposal. “Oh, it’s on. It’s so on.”
I shrugged and started toward the kitchen, calling over my shoulder, “We’ll see.”
Throughout the rest of my shift, a nervous anticipation set in. One that lightened my spirits and brought a smile to my face more times than one.
Later that night, Carson met me after work as expected. I momentarily considered taking him to my apartment but decided it would be best if he remained unaware of exactly where I lived. Instead, we had sex in the cargo area of his aging SUV.
The sex was better—at least it wasn’t painful this time—but what I loved most was the way he needed me in that moment and the way he appreciated me afterward.
He hummed as he slid out of me, “Mmm, tell me that was good for you. ‘Cause damn, girl, it was fucking good for me.”
I wanted to laugh at how corny that sounded, but I didn’t. Instead, I pressed my lips to his.
“Yeah, it was good. Thank you for that.” I repeated the words he said to me at the party, the night I gave him my virginity. His words had replayed in my mind constantly ever since then; “Uh—thanks for that. I guess I should probably get back out there. You know, back to the party.”
I pulled up my panties and pulled down my skirt while he buttoned his pants. Once I was fully dressed, I felt the need to leave fast. He had satisfied me. I had gotten exactly what I wanted, as did he, and there was nothing else either of us needed here. “I should probably go. See you around, Carson.”
As I climbed over the headrest of the backseat and opened the back door, he asked, “Hey, can I get your number?”
I turned around and smiled, “We both know what this is. Let’s not ruin it by pretending it’s anything more. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay,” he nodded, bewildered but in complete agreement. “Take care, Chloe.”
I never saw him again after that night. But I was glad it happened. Because it made me realize what I needed: to be the eye of a man’s desire for only a few moments. Anything more would be too much. Too painful. Anything less would be too lonely to bear.
Within the next few years, I took that belief fully to heart, enjoying my brief encounters with various guys whenever I felt alone or insecure. Which was often. I tried to choose the ones who were like me—clearly disinterested in relationships—and those guys were usually pretty easy to spot, but every once in a while, I got their motives wrong. In those cases, when they wanted more than just one-night, when they wanted a girlfriend instead of a quick fuck, I was thankful for my rule of never giving out my number or letting them know where I lived.
Sex became better and more creative the more I had of it, until there came a point where I needed the sex just as much as I needed to feel wanted by the men who were giving it to me. It became an addiction. After a while, though, I grew tired of the revolving door of men and became lazy, spending multiple nights with the same guy. Unfortunately, the more time I would spend with any given one of them, the more they would want out of me. More than I was willing or able to offer.
When I met Logan, it was as if the stars aligned in the sky because he gave me what I needed without ever expecting anything more from me. What we had was so easy. The comfort between us had been refreshing.
The attraction was purely physical, and neither of us ever tried to get to know each other on a more emotionally-intimate level. We never wanted to. That was how we both liked it because in some capacity, we knew we’d be incompatible in any other way than sex, and neither of us wanted to ruin the physical companionship we offered to each other.
Until Liv came around. He changed after he met her. And when he rejected me for her, I forced myself to believe that I loved him, which then triggered me to try to get him back. But it wasn’t love; it was just comfort and familiarity. Mixed with amazing sex.
It was just. So. Easy.
When Liv took him away from me—took the arrangement I had with him away from me—something cracked inside. The thought of having to start all over again with someone different, of having to get my needs met by yet another stranger, pushed me to do uncharacteristic things to try to save what I thought I had. Things I now regret.
CHAPTER Twenty-Two
~Chloe~
Present Day
I’m not leaving you. Had to go to work. I’m a phone call away.
I flipped the note over.
Or text, email, FB message…whatever.
The note was the only remnant of Matt left in my apartment when I woke up the next afternoon. Part of me felt disappointed that he had already left. The other part of me welcomed the relief of not having to worry about an uncomfortable ‘morning after’ moment.
I couldn’t believe I had slept so late. I hadn’t gotten a night’s (or in this case, day’s) sleep like that in forever. But then again, Matt had kept me up until dawn, placating my carnal appetite for hours, exquisitely fucking me to the point of exhaustion. The memories of it continued to flash in my mind. Images of him in the hallway, on the bed, in the shower. The expressions on his face. The taste of his skin. The heat of his touch. All of it still fresh.
Usually, I wanted nothing to do with a guy the day after, but with Matt, I found myself simultaneously satiated in the glory of all that happened with him last night, craving more, and worrying that now that he had gotten me out of his system, I’d never see him again.
I had to find out where he stood. I couldn’t take not knowing. I had to reach out to him.
I took my phone from my handbag and started a text to him because, let’s face it, I’d rather have him reject me by text than hear it from his voice.
Me: How did you do it?
Matt: Do what?
Me: It.
Matt: You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, Sunshine.
Me: Last night. How did you make it last so long?
Matt: Oh. That. It’s a secret. I’ll never tell.
Me: You totally should tell. Not telling is a disservice to men everywhere.
Matt: Now I’m really not telling. Are you trying to make me jealous?
Me: Don’t fret, Tiger. There was only one thing on my mind when I woke up today. And it wasn’t another man.
Matt: Details. Need details.
Me: Let’s just say, I woke up wanting things. Wanting you. Instead, I landed my vibrator.
Matt: Why didn’t you tell me you had one of those things? Would’ve made things so much more interesting last night. ;)
Me: Oh! Burn! As if they weren’t interesting enough…
Matt: Interesting? I can think of another word for it.
Me: Fine, mind-blowing. Same diff. Let’s do it again.
Matt: Name the date and time, I’m down.
Me: I’m off on Tuesday. How about 4pm?
Matt: That’s Christmas.
Before I could reply, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. The screen display said ‘Matt.’
“Hey,” I answered.
“Tell me you have plans for Christmas,” he said, bluntly.
“Uh—I—I have plans.”
“With people? Like, family?
Friends?”
“I happen to enjoy a Christmas movie marathon in the comfort of my own home on Christmas. It’s tradition. So what?” I cursed myself for not realizing that Christmas was on Tuesday.
Other than an overly-dramatic sigh from his end, the line went momentarily silent. Then, he spoke, “Come with me to my parents’ house.”
“What? No!”
“Why not?”
“Because, Matt, I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not going to go meet your family.”
“No, you’re not my girlfriend. But you are my friend, and friends don’t let friends be alone on Christmas.”
“Stop it. I’ll be fine. I’m not your responsibility,” I said, repeating his words from last night. “Besides, I like watching movies. I make Christmas cookies and apple cider with cinnamon sticks and cherry whiskey, and then I enjoy them whilst watching my movies!”
He groaned, “That’s weird, Pink. Actually…it sounds pretty damn delicious. Why not drink your whisky whilst hanging out with me and my people? I promise, we’re a lot more fun than a damn TV screen.”
“Your people? Are you some kind of cult leader or something?” I teased.
“Nah, not a cult. Just a group of decent people. Listen, my family is laid-back. They’re not going to make you feel uncomfortable. I’ll let them know ahead of time that you’re just a friend, and they’ll be cool with it. You will not be alone on Christmas, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll pick you up at two. Be ready.”
With that, he ended the call, dead silence on the line as he hung up without a ‘goodbye.’
I held my phone out in front of me as if looking at it would clear up the disoriented state Matt had just left me in.
What the hell just happened?
A moment later, my phone buzzed with a notably bossy incoming text from him.
The Fragile Line: Part One (The Fine Line #2) Page 12