by A. J. Pryor
As they’re walking towards my door Paige turns, “You know Addy, three years ago you would have taken that ring and moved to New York, no questions asked. I’m proud of you for kicking his ass to the curb, even after Damian took off.”
The minute the door closes, I wish I’d asked them to stay. My apartment is too big, too quiet and holds too many memories. That damn red pillow sits smack in the middle of my sofa, a heart-breaking reminder that I don’t know if I’ll ever get him back. How is it possible that in the span of five years I’ve lost two great loves? If it’s true that a person only experiences one great love in a lifetime, then I’m royally screwed.
Fuck, I’m heartbroken—again.
Taking off all my clothes, I crawl onto my bed and let the cool crisp feeling of the clean sheets blanket my skin.
How did I let Matt put that ring on my finger? I will forever walk around wondering how I let him trap me.
My phone rings, and I run into my living room hoping it’s Damian. Maybe he finally wants to talk. I’ve sent him so many texts over the past few hours and he hasn’t returned even one. I grab my phone only to realize it’s Matt’s new number. Instantly my heart deflates. Hitting decline, and blocking his number my frustration boils over.
What is wrong with the male race? Are they so testosterone driven they can’t see further than their dicks? Why the fuck would Matt think I’d answered his call? I’ve been so clear, laid it out plain and simple in black and white. He doesn’t do it for me anymore.
Opening my sliding glass door as far as it will go, I walk onto my balcony and chuck the damn phone as far as I can, listening to it break and smash all over the concrete below.
I feel liberated, and I fist-bump the air. He can’t reach me. Finally, he can’t torment me with his damn phone calls.
Shit, no one can reach me, not even Damian. And that’s when I realize it’s finally happened. I’ve lost my fucking mind.
I slam the sliding glass door shut and crawl back under my covers.
Closing my eyes and trying to sleep, thoughts of where Damian could possibly be plague my mind. I hope like hell he isn’t out doing something crazy and stupid. He has to know I’d never pick Matt over him. How could he not know that? Because I never told him I loved him. Shit, he thinks I still love Matt. He accused me of that just last week. God, how could I be so naïve?
Hours go by, and all I’ve done is stare at the ceiling. At two in the morning, I finally hear a car approach, then a door slam. Wrapping a blanket around myself, I walk into the entryway and look out the peephole. I hear footsteps. They’re heavy, pounding each concrete step as he comes up the walkway. I’m about to open the door and make him talk to me when I hear it, his voice, deep, husky and slurring every word that comes out of his mouth. He’s drunk, and as I watch him approach the top step, he’s swaying, not keeping his balance, talking on the phone. Everything inside my system feels slow and heavy, like molasses is being poured into my veins and through my body. This isn’t the time for us to hash things out, but I can’t leave him like this either.
My mind is screaming at me to stop my motions, to let him go, but I can’t. I open the door.
“Damian.”
His head flips around, his eyes looking into mine, but he’s not looking at me, he’s looking through me.
I’ve lost him.
“Well, look who it is. The adulterer.” His words are slow and deliberate, his body leaning back onto the railing that leads down to our parking spots.
Stepping out into the cool night air, the wind picks up a corner of the blanket covering my body, exposing a decent amount of leg and causing goose bumps to erupt all over my skin.
“Come inside, I’ll make you some coffee.”
A wicked smile crosses his face. “I’m not in the mood for coffee, Ms. Peacock. How about a little drunk—” thrusting his hips in my direction and wagging his eyebrows he takes a step closer. “You know, tit for tat. I fucked you when you were so drunk and begging for it, how about a little recipro . . . reciprocation. It’s the least you can do.”
Taking another step closer, I immediately take one back. Anger begins to worm its way into my gut, spilling over into my blood and making my heart beat audible to everyone within a five-mile radius. He left me to fend for myself tonight. So caught up in his own emotions he didn’t once stop to think how I was feeling.
I am about to slam the door in his face before we both say something we’ll regret, when he grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. Holding onto the blanket tight with my left arm to keep it from falling, adrenaline is coursing through my system and I pull on my arm, trying to free it from his iron strong grasp.
It’s impossible.
Bending down to reach my ear he whispers, his voice pointed and the smell of whisky rolling off his tongue, “I’m not interested in dirty seconds. I wouldn’t fuck you tonight if you got down on your pretty little knees and begged me.” Gasping in a shocked breath, I pull on my arm again, furious that he thinks he can talk to me this way. “I would never hurt you, Addison, but you’ve destroyed me.”
He releases my arm and staggers to his front door, never looking back.
My heart feels like it’s on a race to nowhere. Her scent is everywhere, her being a permanent fixture in my apartment. Every time I close my eyes, haunted green ones stare back at me. I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again.
I have a raging headache and it feels like I swallowed a thousand cotton balls. I’m also completely naked and have a wicked case of morning wood. The smart me should go over, knock on her door and talk this out. Figure out exactly what it was I walked into last night, but the stubborn me, the part that reminds me I am my father’s son, no matter how hard I want to prove everyone wrong, wants her to come crawling back to my side. Beg a little harder for my forgiveness.
God, I’m such a prick sometimes.
The strong scent of coffee begins to filter throughout my room, and my hopes rise that she’s already here, knowing how much I need her. I hear footsteps in the living room, she’s trying to be as quiet as possible, but the walls are so thin, there’s no way I can’t hear the creak of the wood floor and gentle closing of the refrigerator door. Her soft footsteps near my room and my dick instantly reacts.
Awesome, we can hash this out right here and then get to making up, because I miss my morning girl.
Throwing the covers off and laying back on my arm, I can’t wait for her to see how much I fucking need her. My cock begins to pulse, understanding it’s about to go home and I get the sudden urge to stroke myself. Knowing how much that one act drenches her sweet core. Slowly I grip my cock and slide my hand up and down the hard length. My hangover is quickly vanishing and my desire is growing stronger by the second as my door slowly begins to open. I’m pulsing in my palm, her lust filled eyes invading my thoughts and shining bright. Her luscious lips opening in desire as I conjure up the best image of her I can, waiting for her to open that damn door all the way and replace my hand with her mouth.
My body is trembling, my hand working myself into a frantic need for release. It feels like it’s taking forever for that door to completely open and my balls are beginning to tense, my gut coiling up tight as my orgasm starts to crest. I try to hold off, try to still my hand needing to watch her face as I come, but it’s useless. My hand pumps faster, my grip tightens and her eyes shine brighter, her tongue juts out licking those perfectly curved lips. I’m done for, semen spurting out of my cock, my fist gripping myself tight as with a loud groan, I come all over myself.
Sitting straight up in bed, I’m covered in my own semen, my apartment silent, and the bedroom door firmly shut.
What. The. Fuck?
A dream. A fucking vivid as hell wet dream that I haven’t had since I was fourteen. That woman is going to make me lose my fucking mind. My heart is pounding furiously, and I’m panting as sweat coats my skin. And while I do have the makings of the world’s worst hangover, there is a lingering scent of coffee in the air.<
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Even after an intensely satisfying orgasm, I’m still sporting an enormous hard on as my body realizes what it craves is the real deal, not some conjured up image of my morning girl, but her, in all her perfect glory.
The excitement of having Addison here in the flesh begins to fade as memories of last night filter through my confused state. Matt, whiskey, Addison in nothing but a blanket her eyes filled with anger, and I was such a dick.
She let him put a ring on her finger. I couldn’t stay there and watch her struggle to take it off, couldn’t see another man’s mark on her body. It took enough strength not to kill him right there on the spot. I’d left her, alone—with him. Having no idea what he’d do to her once I was out of the picture. At this point, I’m just as bad as he is.
Fuck! I have to apologize and hope like hell she forgives me.
My phone is on my nightstand and I reach for it. Shit, she called and texted me all last night and I never replied. Throwing on my track shorts, I race onto my balcony.
Hers is empty.
I crawl over the dividing bars and try to open her glass door.
It’s locked.
I knock. Hard. There’s no answer.
Shit.
I crawl back over to search my junk drawer for her spare key. It smells like coffee and . . . Addison. She was here this morning. Had to have been. I hadn’t been fully asleep during that dream, my mind hearing her walk around, my body reacting to her closeness. A full pot of coffee sits on the counter with her favorite mug placed beside it ‘wine me dine me 69 me’. Her presence is everywhere, filling my home and invading my mind. Something crashes in my bedroom. “Addison?” Scanning my apartment for any sign of her I walk quickly in that direction. “Addison?”
It’s empty.
A framed photo that had been precariously hanging on the wall has finally fallen to the ground on its own accord—glass shattered everywhere.
My need to see her outweighs any thought of cleaning that mess up and as I race towards my front door, I grab the mug.
I don’t knock, I’m not subtle, and as fast as my fingers will allow, I let myself in to her apartment.
It’s eerily quiet, no smell of brewed coffee, no reality television blaring from her screen, not anything to let me know there is a living soul anywhere in this place. I walk into her bedroom and I know instantly.
She’s gone.
Her bed is made, the curtains open allowing the morning light to filter in. The closet door is wide-open, empty hangers litter the floor.
She left me.
Placing the mug on her nightstand, I pull out my phone and call her.
It goes directly to voicemail.
“Addison, where’d you go? Come back, Baby. Come home so we can work this out. I’m sorry I freaked out.”
Sighing with the weight of a thousand pound dumbbell settled in my gut, I sit down on her bed and wonder how in twenty-four hours I could have lost her.
Heading back to my place I look over the railing to the parking lot, her car is noticeably absent.
I call Reed.
“What the fuck, Dude, it’s our day off. Why you calling at seven on a Saturday?”
“Sorry, man, but I lost Addison.”
“Talk.”
“Not much to say. We got in a fight. I turned into my dad for a few hours and this morning she’s missing.”
“Shit. I’ll be right over.”
Hanging up I call Paige.
“This cannot be good news. Why are you calling me, Damian?”
“Is Addison with you?”
“What? No. She’s supposed to be making up with you.”
“Paige, she’s missing.”
“Missing?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. I woke up this morning and she’s gone. It looks like she moved out.”
“What did you do to my girl?”
“I screwed up, Paige.”
“You have to make it right.”
“I’m not sure I can. Where would she go?”
“I have no idea. She told us she wanted to be alone. That was about eight last night. Haven’t heard from her since.”
“What about Mia?”
“I just texted her, she hasn’t heard from her either.”
“Paige, if she thought I’d screwed up beyond repair, would she take him back?”
“No.”
“How are you so sure?”
“Because she’s stronger than that, even if she doesn’t believe it. And if you don’t believe it, then you don’t deserve her either.”
Silence. I pull the phone away and look at the call ended glaring me in the face.
I probably don’t deserve her, but I don’t care. We aren’t going to end like this.
“One espresso, please.” I can’t afford this, but I’m in desperate need of caffeine. Having to bolt before Damian woke up and found me in his kitchen, I didn’t spare a second pouring any of that black coffee into my to-go mug. A little over two hours later, and I now have a raging headache to add to my puffy eyes.
“That will be fifteen seventy-five.”
“Excuse me?” There’s no way I heard her right. The constant pounding between my ears must be interrupting my hearing.
“I said that will be fifteen—”
“Seventy-five. Are you serious? Starbucks isn’t even that expensive.”
She lifts a pierced eyebrow at me, her Taylor Momsen goth eyes staring me down. “This. Isn’t. Starbucks.” The bright red lipstick she’s wearing cracks as she does her best to keep up the tough girl frown.
“Yeah, yeah I know. You’re ‘Intelligentsia Coffee’, I get it.” Storming past the wooden booths, the ultra-hip skaters that just strolled in with their blue mohawks and the array of dogs leashed to poles outside, I walk three blocks down and find myself staring at the Pacific Ocean. Fleeing one seaside town to end up in another wasn’t really my plan, but somehow I’m in Venice Beach.
Walking south, I take in the tattoo parlors, bike shops and smoke stores that advertise water pipes. Everyone knows that’s just a fancy word for a bong, they’d probably get more business if they had a neon sign stating, ‘we sell top of the line bongs here, handmade!’
I’ve never been to Venice Beach before, and for a city right on the ocean, it’s nothing like my small town Santa Barbara. I could venture to say a day in this town would make a person more cultured than they ever wanted to be.
A small café is selling coffee to go and for a buck. Score! I take my Styrofoam cup and keep walking. The first few sips do the trick, and my headache begins to fade as I continue to take in my surroundings.
Shouting brings my attention ahead and my feet stop moving.
Is that what I think it is?
Slowly taking one step at a time, I move closer to the ginormous obstacle course that’s built right on the sand. My eyes can’t focus on anything but the bright colors in front of me, the massive size and the crowd that’s lined up outside.
“Hey lady watch where you’re going!” A bike speeds by and I’m immune to the fact he almost ran me over.
I’m here.
The set of American Ninja Warrior, exactly where Damian and I were supposed to be today.
Damian. My eyes fill with tears and my heart constricts. He doesn’t trust me to choose him; he doesn’t trust me at all.
Sitting down on the bench outside the stage, I can see the employees setting up for the show. From this vantage point I can almost view the entire set, be able to watch the contestants as they try to tackle their events. My eyes lock onto the bar that I know is the Salmon Ladder and my heart rate incrementally climbs a notch.
For hours I sit and watch, all the while, my mind is formulating a plan. It’s not until I watch Kacy Catanzaro complete the Salmon Ladder, when I jump up and shout in triumph, taking whatever strength she just used to complete that task and filtering it through my own system, that I finally know what I have to do.
“You don’t smile anymore.”<
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“What?” I’m at Emily’s bedside, playing a tough round of hangman when she drops that tidbit on me. She’s back at the hospital for one of her last chemo treatments.
“You used to always smile. Now you look sad.”
I give her a half-hearted attempt at a real grin, but fail miserably and go for the truth. “I am sad.”
“Girl problems?”
“What do you know about girl problems, Emily?”
“You smiled!”
I laugh a little. “I did?”
She fist bumps the air. “Yes, you did!”
Two weeks have gone by. Two fucking weeks and I haven’t heard a single word from the woman who crashed into my soul. Hours feel like days, days feel like weeks and each week has felt like the longest year of my life.
I’ve moved into her place. Sleeping in her big white bed, drinking out of her coffee cups and watching all of her recorded shows. Her cell never rings. Goes directly to voice mail each time I call. And texts? Forget it, they show up as undelivered.
Her friends are worried, and I’m losing my mind. I spend all my time at the track or with Emily, only walking into my place to grab some clothes. I’ve even succumbed to showering in her bathroom and using all her girly soap to get as much of her as I can.
My heart is broken, and I’m a complete mess. But I need to get my shit together around this little girl. She has enough to deal with to not have to worry about me.
“I’ll be okay, Sweet Pea. You worry about your health, and I’ll do my best to smile more. Deal?”
“Deal. What happened?”
Scratching the side of my head, I’m not sure how to answer this question. “We got mad at each other and she left.”
“Go after her.” She says this like it’s a no brainer.
“I would if I knew where she was.”
“Hellooo. Isn’t that what cell phones are for?” Wow, she’s pretty sassy for an eight-year-old.
This time my smile is genuine. “She won’t answer her phone.”
“Track it. You know, like GPS style.”
That makes me laugh. “GPS style? You’re watching way too much television in here, Emily. But I like the way you think.”