Free Falling

by Makenzie Smith

  “Why do they all call you by your last name?” I asked him.

  “Don’t know,” he shrugged. “Just always have. I guess Fontenot sounds cool.”

  Cool. He liked that word, using it frequently. I wish I hadn’t realized that, because now every time it fell from his lips, my insides were going to twitch. I went along with it though, played my part. I smiled. I let him touch me. I tried.

  His friends were nice enough—loud, boisterous, just a tad annoying. I was the only female with them. A few others stopped and chatted, but always left. I was beginning to see why. They were all douches. They said inappropriate things. They liked horrible television shows and crappy music. You knew people like them, those guys who thought they were so cool, but deep down, underneath all the tattoos and hard demeanors, they were posers. Fakes. I couldn’t see what Simon, or Fontenot, liked about them.

  While I was trying to find something, anything, to bond with them over, I felt that needle like sensation, tiny prickles going up my spine. In my peripheral, someone was looking at me. My eyes darted to the bar, and I saw him. Wally, pretending to be occupied with buying a beer, but peeking at me over his shoulder. His hands were busy—rubbing his nose, scratching his chin, messing with his hair.

  With his beer in hand, he walked past our table, he and Simon giving each other a little nod. What the hell?

  “Do you know him?” I asked Simon.

  “Wally? Yeah. He’s a tool. Why? Do you?”

  I was about to answer, to tell him that yes, I did know him, and that we’d been in a relationship, but Simon seemed to forget about me and the question all together. He turned back to his friends, howling at one of their jokes.

  Wally was off in the distance, looming in a corner of the bar. A few of his friends were with him. I saw Lucas and Ian, so Marlowe and Lacey were probably there too. My stomach was tied in knots. I tried not to look at him. And then when not looking at him proved to be torture, I’d sneak a glance. Sometimes he’d be staring at me too, but then casually look away. Nicole was there, but with some guy. Wally hadn’t even noticed her.

  Progressively, as the night wore on, he was getting more and more drunk. Each time I saw him, his stumble was a little more pronounced, his face a little more lax.

  I wanted to leave, but Simon kept asking for “just a few more minutes.” His hand was wrapped forcefully around my thigh now. Gripping it, holding it. Everything about this night was wrong. I shouldn’t have come out with him. But maybe I’d needed to, to see that I didn’t really want him and was only using him for filler.

  “Alright, babe,” Simon said, and stood from the table. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick and then we can leave. You mind closing out my tab?”

  “No problem,” I said and went to the bar. They were busy and two rows of people were in front of me.

  Wally was somewhere in this room. We hadn’t even spoken. Should I try to? No. He seemed pretty drunk. I shouldn’t. I looked over my shoulder and saw him standing in the middle of some tables. Someone was talking to him, but he wasn’t listening. He was looking at me. We didn’t pretend to not see each other. Come talk to me, I tried to tell him. He took a step like he was about to, but then stopped, throwing a hand in my direction and walking off.

  I took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. Why did I still have to love him?

  There was only one person in front of me now. Good. I needed to leave. I had to get away from him. It hurt too badly.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out. I had a new text from Simon. Can’t wait to give this to you, it said, along with a picture of his dick.

  I made a shocked gasp of surprise and shoved the phone back in my pocket. What the hell? I didn’t ask for that!

  “Nice,” I heard over my shoulder. “Real fucking nice.”

  Wally.

  I whirled around on him. “Oh, please,” I said, holding on to my anger instead of my heartache. “Like you have room to talk. Or did you forget that I saw that chick over there full on naked in bed with you?”

  His eye twitched, his nostrils flared, but then he took a swig of his beer. “Whatever,” he said. “Fuck Fontenot all you want.”

  “I’m not fucking him,” I said. We weren’t yelling, but we weren’t whispering. Most of the people around us had noticed that at least some type of altercation was happening, but they couldn’t quite hear what we were saying to each other.

  “Bullshit,” he said. “I saw him with his hands all over you. That fucking, snarky ass smile he keeps giving you. He’s a piece of shit, Kristen.”

  “I guess that’s what I like then. Piece of shit men.”

  “Oh, so I’m a piece of shit? Is that what you’re saying?”

  I wasn’t. Despite how much I wanted to hurt him, I couldn’t say that. It was bad enough that he thought so little of himself already. “No,” I said. “Because I don’t like you.” It had meant to sound hateful, but came out sounding childish.

  “Liar,” he said. “You fucking love me, remember?” His mouth was set in an angry snarl, his eyes red and watery.

  “Shut the hell up,” I said, embarrassed.

  “There a problem?” Simon said, stepping up to me.

  “Get the fuck out of here Fontenot,” Wally said. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Really?” Simon said. “Because it looks to me like you’re talking shit to my girl.”

  “Your girl,” Wally said, almost laughing. “Your girl! If you think she’s your girl, you’re crazy. She’s been looking at me all night, throwing me her sad eyes. She’s my girl and she fucking knows it.”

  Simon’s hand had settled on my waist and I felt his fingers tense. “That true?” he asked me. “You his girl?”

  I wanted to leave. Tears were in my eyes. “Take me home, Fontenot,” I said.

  “I think that’s the only answer I need,” he told Wally and led me out of the bar.

  I took one last look over my shoulder at Wally. He finished chugging his beer and tossed it in the trash can, never taking his eyes off me.

  Chapter 36

  The entire ride back to my house, Fontenot kept talking about how awful Wally was, how stupid he was, how he didn’t understand what I’d seen in him. I kept my mouth shut, because I didn’t care what Fontenot felt about Wally. And I was still annoyed that he’d sent me a dick shot. A dick shot? Really? What had I done or said to indicate that I wanted to see that? Nothing. He was just being a perv.

  At my driveway, he moved to get out of the car, assuming that he was going inside with me. “Wait,” I said and he sat back in his seat. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t keep seeing you.”

  “But I thought…” It actually looked like my words had hurt him, but then he chewed on his lip and hardened his jaw. “It’s cool,” he said. “Now that I know you were fucking around with Wally Nikolokakis don’t think I’m interested anyway.”

  “Alright,” I said. “No need to be rude.”

  “Not being rude. Just speaking the truth.”

  “Fine,” I huffed. “But I am sorry.”

  “Get out the car, bitch,” were his parting words.

  His profane dig didn’t even hurt me, and I walked calmly to my front door. His tires squealed as he pulled out onto the road and sped away. “Douche,” I said out loud.

  I showered because I was bored and then lay on my couch. No music was playing. The TV wasn’t on. It was just the silence and me—my thoughts bouncing around in my head, eating away at me. Wally had looked good. Drunk. But good. He’d referred to me as his girl. What did that mean? Did it mean anything? Probably not. He was intoxicated and just being confrontational.

  I rolled over with a sigh and then jerked out of my skin when a loud knock exploded through my house. Someone was banging on my front door.

  Nervously, I grabbed a baseball bat that I kept in the front closet and approached the door. Peeking through the window, I saw him. Wally, leaning against the frame, his fist steadily pou
nding.

  I dropped the bat and opened it for him. “What are you doing here?” I asked as he stumbled inside. A taxi was in my driveway, pulling back out into the street.

  “Where is he?” he yelled. “Where the fuck is that asshole?”

  He was rushing from room to room, his fists clenched. I was so stunned that he was there in my home that all I could do was stand in my living room. He was rustling through my bedroom, barging into my bathroom and then he was back in front of me. “Where is he?” he asked, his eyes red with frustrated tears, his jaw tight.

  “Who?” I asked. “Fontenot? He’s not here.”

  “But he was,” he accused. “Is that who you’re seeing now? Tell me the truth,” he said. “Fucking tell me.”

  He was so angry, acting crazy over something that wasn’t even an issue, because I wasn’t seeing him, but it was also none of his business. “Calm down, Wally,” I said. “I’m not seeing him, but even if I were that’s no concern of yours.”

  He made a frustrated grunt and brought his fists to his forehead. “I can’t keep doing this,” he said. “I’m losing my fucking mind, wondering who you’re with, what you’re doing.”

  “How do you think I feel?” I yelled, suddenly, out of nowhere. “I saw you with Nicole and then Sheila tells me that she sees you at the bar all the time. That you’re happy, not affected by this at all. And that makes me feel like shit, because I’m a mess inside!”

  “You think I’m happy?” he said, moving closer to me. “I. Can’t. Stop. Thinking about you,” he said. “All day long. I’m stuck with you. Two months!” he said. “Two whole months and I can’t get you out of my head. Nothing I do fucking works.”

  “Wh-What are you talking about?” I said, a whisper leaving my lips.

  He didn’t respond, but his eyes were truthful. They were red and glassy, partly from the alcohol and partly from this turmoil. He was still slightly drunk, swaying just a little on his feet. I was about to ask him if he wanted to sleep on my couch, thinking that maybe we needed to finish this conversation when he was sober, but then his hands were on me.

  Just a touch at my shoulders, pulling me into him. All on its own, my body curled into him, my hands settling at his collar bone. Both of us were suddenly breathing deeply, lips parted, eyes heavy. One of his hands moved to the back of my head and he pulled my lips towards his.

  It was chaste at first, the barest of touches. We were hesitant, nervous, almost as if it was the first time we’d ever kissed. But then all of our pent up anger and frustration was set loose. I assaulted him with my hands and mouth, pushing him towards the hallway. My legs were tangling with his as we moved, bumping into walls, crashing into corners. Rushed, heavy breaths leaving us as we weaved towards the bedroom.

  Through the door, he pushed me up against the wall, and held my hands above my head, not letting me touch him as his mouth made a hot trail down my neck on onto my breast.

  In a swift movement, my shirt was off, thrown away. With a flick of his wrists, my bra joined it. He leaned against the wall as he took one of my breasts in his hand and squeezed. He groaned at my ear, pushing his body into mine. “Babe,” he said. “I’m about to explode.”

  Deftly, my hands went to his pants and I pushed them down to his ankles. When I saw him spring free, I immediately went to my knees and took him into my mouth.

  “Goddamn it,” he said, throwing his head back. He leaned a forearm against the wall and held my head with his other hand. I didn’t have to move much as he pumped in and out. One of my hands settled on his hip, steadying myself as I took him. He wasn’t forceful, knowing me and my mouth. My arousal was steadily climbing and I moaned around him, loving this.

  His legs were locking with each thrust then suddenly he stepped back and pulled me up by the armpit. He flipped me around so that my back was to his chest and shoved his hand inside my pants. “You want this?” he said, rubbing his fingers against me. “You want me inside you?”

  “Yes,” I said, my hands reaching behind to tangle in his hair. “Please, Wally.”

  He kicked his pants off and led me to the bed. Not even bothering to fully unzip my jeans, he forced them down my legs and bent me over. The weight of his torso met my back as he pushed inside me. We cried out at this missed sensation, this rightness. Too long. It’d been too long since I’d felt him this way.

  He wasn’t rushed. All of his movements were deliberate. Deep. My legs were dangling off the mattress, my face pushed into my comforter. As he moved faster, his hands tangled in my hair and squeezed my hip. Each of his strangled breaths rattled in my ear. I’d missed this. God, had I missed this. Feeling his hot skin against mine, his lean muscles flexing.

  His words were punctuated with each of his hard thrusts. “You feel so fucking good,” he said.

  I was incapable of speech and could only moan, but it was loud, clear that I thought the same as he did. I went up to my elbows and arched my back. My pants were still wrapped around my ankles, leaving me partly immobile, but I moved where I could, rolling and jerking my hips. He groaned loudly, guttural and intense.

  I’d set him off. He stood suddenly and gripped my waist, losing himself now, unable to keep up the sensual movements. “I need you to come,” he said. “God, I need to see it.”

  Breathy and almost a whisper, I said, “Just keep doing that. I’m so close.”

  He did. Pounding harder. Gripping tighter. Before I knew it, we were both tensing—all gritted teeth and held breath. It was the most intense orgasm he’d ever given me. After a last, long push into me, he fell on the bed, his chest rising and falling quickly.

  Trying to catch my breath, too, I watched him. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. This, being with him, touching him, it all felt so right. I needed to pretend that nothing else had happened. Just right now. Just for this moment. I needed to imagine that nothing between us had ever changed. Tentatively, I reached over and smoothed some of his hair off his forehead. He gave a pleased sigh, and held my wrist, telling me to keep caressing him. While he calmed himself, I kept up my movements, rubbing my fingers into his scalp, running them through his hair.

  When his breathing finally evened out, he grabbed me, helped me get my jeans off my ankles, and then moved me to the top of the bed. Naked, on top of the covers, we fell asleep, wrapped around each another.

  Chapter 37

  Wally’s strong hands pulled me out of sleep. My house was dark, no light seeping in through my curtained windows. It must still be night, I thought. I was drowsy with sleep, barely opening my eyes as he began kissing and caressing me. It was slower this time, more relaxed and gentle. I could feel his desperation. Groggy and half-awake, he made love to me again.

  After we finished, he pulled the blanket over us and nestled in close to me, burying his head into the crook of my neck. His arms and legs held me tight, a warm cocoon bringing sleep back effortlessly.

  I felt his absence as soon as I woke. Rolling over, I saw my bed empty. It was only me, wrapped tightly in my thick blanket. Light was pouring through my bedroom window now. My finger nervously played with a stray string hanging off the pillowcase as I listened—listened for any sound from him, any hint or signal that he hadn’t left.

  My house was perfectly silent. No rustling in the bathroom. No clinking of dishes. No quiet coughs as Wally tried to clear the sleep from his throat. Tears stung my eyes and I rolled onto my back. He wouldn’t have just left, I thought. Not after everything he said last night.

  Maybe he sent me a text message. Maybe he had to leave, but didn’t want to wake me. I searched my nightstand for my phone and didn’t see it. It must still been in my living room. Naked, I grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and walked briskly down the hall.

  My phone was on my dining room table and I snatched it up, hoping, wishing…

  Nothing.

  No message. No missed call.

  A pained gasp pushed out of my lips and I walked, slowly, like a zombie to my couch. I saw it then
—a white square resting on my coffee table. Fumbling, I grabbed it, my eyes scanning the words quickly. Over and over I read it, my heart sinking, breaking, a little more each time.

  Sorry. I shouldn’t have come by last night. –W.H.N.

  I crumbled the note and tossed it across the room. I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t even huff or grunt, too afraid that even a single noise would bring out my true emotions, and I’d turn into a blubbering mess.

  Why did it have to be him? Why did he have to be the one that I fell in love with? This broken, self-destructing man.

  Anger came, hot and fury ridden. I held onto it, fed off it. He wasn’t going to do this to me again. He wasn’t going to come into my life and say I can’t stop thinking about you then run away. He was going to face this. He was going to have to deal with his choices. It didn’t matter that he was drunk last night. He chose to take a cab to my home. He chose to say those words to me, to kiss me, to have sex with me. And he was going to deal with those consequences. I wasn’t going to sit back and let him screw with my emotions and mess with my head. He would listen to what I had to say.

  I showered and got in my car with one destination in mind. I considered going to his house first, not wanting to face his coworkers that didn’t even know who I was. When they mentioned me to him, told him that I said I was his girlfriend, what had he said in reply? Nah, man. That’s just some chick.

  But I didn’t want to face his roommates or neighbors either. Both options sucked. No matter where I went, whether he was there or not, I was going to look like a fool. I decided that I didn’t care.

  His piece of shit, ugly, beat up car was sitting in the parking lot at the skydive hangar. I parked and went inside. The guy behind the desk was the same as the last time I’d been there. He didn’t recognize me. “Is Wally here?” I asked.

  “Should be coming back soon,” he said, looking back down at his phone. “Went up for a jump a while ago.”

  “Tell him that I’m waiting for him,” I said. “I’ll be in the parking lot.”