by Taryn Steele
MY CHEST FEELS TIGHT. I can’t breathe. There’s something tight around my neck. I open my eyes and its Marcie. She’s choking me. Her eyes are small and beady. Her eyebrows are furrowed with rage. Her lips are tight, thin with magenta lipstick. I can barely see the whites of her teeth. She has me pushed up against a wall. My feet are dangling and kicking back and forth. My hands are on her arms trying to pull her hands off of me. Where is her strength coming from? How can she be lifting me up off of the ground like that? Her arms are shaking. Her breathing is coming in short strong bursts now to the point that she is almost spitting on me. I can feel the wet speckles on my face. Before I can attempt to wipe my face of she lets go. I’m falling – and falling – and falling…
I dart up from the bed, my hands at my sides holding me in place. My chest is rising and falling at an insane speed. It was just a dream.
“Babe, you okay? Did you have a nightmare?” He’s right. A nightmare, not a dream.
There’s sweat on my face. That’s what I thought was Marcie’s spit. I could feel it. In a knee jerk reaction, I hop out of the bed and go to his bureau mirror and look at my neck. There’s no bruising or redness. Phew! It was just a dream. No, a nightmare. This whole situation is a nightmare.
“Babe. What the hell happened?” He asks again.
I walk back to the bed, climbing back in – cautious not to sit too close to him. Why? I’m not sure.
“Jameson, what took you so long coming to bed last night? I tossed and turned for what felt like forever waiting for you. I had a headache. I closed my eyes for comfort but ended up falling asleep.”
He reaches out and pulls me close to him and lays us back down on to the bed. The feeling of his body close to mine immediately soothes me. The tingles that run through me as he runs his fingers up and down my arms bring peace to my mind.
“I’m sorry. I had a lot to think about. The whole thing with my mom hugging me at midnight – I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was too late. I feel horrible. Bevan pretty much slapped me upside the head. Told me I need to put my mom in check or else I’m only going to have myself to blame if you walk out on me.”
I snap my head to him knowing I never said that. He can see in my eyes what I’m thinking.
“Relax. I know you didn’t say that. And he didn’t say that either. He was just insinuating that things are just going to get worse. He reminded me of all my other failed relationships and what the cause of them were. Your nightmare. Was it about last night?”
I want to tell him but I’m scared. Scared he’ll be mad at me. Scared he’ll think it will push me to leave him. Scared of the unknown.
“Yes.” I say quietly, not able to make eye contact.
He lets out a huge sigh, rolls me out of our embrace on to his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. I immediately get pissed at myself for telling the truth. Look at him, I tell myself. He just woke up and is already irritated. I did that. I opened my big fucking mouth. I roll away from him so he can’t see the tears starting to burn my eyes. My chest is tightening again. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the burn of the tears coming.
“Hey, get back over here. That wasn’t me being mad at you, rolling over like that. That was me being mad at myself.”
I’m confused. Why is he mad at himself? He didn’t do anything wrong.
“I had a dream… a nightmare… whatever you want to call it. Your mom was strangling me.”
He lets out another huge sigh. I feel one hundred times worse admitting it out loud. I’m not sure why, probably my guilt for adding shit to his plate he doesn’t need. We lay in bed for about forty-five minutes nodding off and on, cuddling and holding each other tight but no words spoken. I heard a door close and a then a lock. I turn around to look at Jameson.
“She said she was going to visit my grandparents today. She won’t be back until close to dinner.” He tells me without even having to ask. “How about I make us some breakfast?” I smile widely and respond with “Pancakes please.”
While Jameson was whipping up the pancakes, I made us coffee. He opened up to me about the conversation he had with Marcie. He told me he called her out on everything that she has been saying and doing from small too big. She claimed that the hug and midnight was her being tipsy. I don’t buy it. I’m not sure he does either. The look on his face said it all. He rolled his eyes, his lips were tight and straight.
If I felt myself rage inside with anger at some of the bullshit he tells me she said I talked myself down, usually by gripping on to the kitchen counter, digging my nails in to my palms trying not to punch the wall, and counting to ten in my head. I didn’t want to lash out at him.
This was obviously a shit-storm brewing between myself and Marcie. A storm I never wanted. I wanted nothing more than a nice, caring and loving mother figure in my life. A mother who hugged and I said I love you or I’m proud of you. A mother who went clothes shopping with me. A mother who I could talk to about my feelings with. I didn’t get that with my mom. And I guess I won’t be getting it with Marcie either.
When I first met Marcie she was all of that. Once Jameson and I started getting more and more serious I was elated that I already felt a close bond with her, but it all seems to be backfiring on me now. Marcie claimed that every incident Jameson pointed out to her last night was a misinterpretation, and always tried to turn it around on him, me or both of us. She owned up to nothing, which is what he expected.
I feel like a sad puppy, stuck outside in the rain who won’t be let back in the house. I want back in the house, Jameson is in the house, but his mom won’t let him out to play.
“You don’t meet my standards.”
March 30, 2003
I COULDN’T SLEEP AT ALL LAST NIGHT. My brain wouldn’t shut off. I tossed and turned with an upset stomach making multiple trips to the bathroom for Pepto Bismol.
As I sit here, at this enormous corporate table with more chairs surrounding it than necessary; I find myself cracking my knuckles above my sweaty palms. Jameson looks underneath the table and squeezes my hand. I turn to look at him, he winks with a small smile. It immediately puts me at ease.
The doors swing open and in walk to two fast moving men in suits. They appear completely opposite from each other for two brothers. One is on the shorter side, balding, small wire framed glasses, thin, appears to be in his later forties. He seems scatter brained shuffling all of the paper work. The other is much taller, almost six foot, broad shoulders. He has to be pushing three hundred pounds. He’s really intimidating; he’s not saying anything, just sitting there staring at us.
“Alright folks, let’s close on a house shall we?” the little one speaks. Everyone in the room smiles and laughs a little. We all seemed to be holding our breaths for quite a while. Our nerves took over. Mine and Jameson’s for the purchase of our very first home and the couple seated across from us, the Motter’s, selling theirs to upsize for their growing family.
There was a lot less talking than I expected. It was mostly passing papers back and forth, signatures and brief explanations of what we were signing.
Two and a half hours later we all stood up, the Motter’s handed us our keys, told us trash and recycling pick up was on Thursday’s and they walked out. Jameson and I just stood there for a second, each of us holding a key in our hand. A key… a key to our new life together… a key to our future.
We drove back to Jameson’s apartment to get the cleaning supplies we had purchased over the weekend, and stopped at Subway for lunch on our way to our new home. We couldn’t sit still at the table inside. We were so anxious to get to our new home, even though it was to get dusty and dirty for hours.
We couldn’t stop smiling; the pure joy was overwhelming to us. We finally had our own place, our own home. No more getting woken up at the butt-crack of dawn hearing my dad mowing the lawn at 6:00 a.m. No more Marcie doing anything to be a pain in our ass.
While we were in Jameson’s room gathering our cleaning supplies and maki
ng piles I noticed a shit-eating grin on Jameson’s face. I stopped what I was doing and just watched him. After about a half of a second he could feel my eyes burning in to him. He dropped the box he had in his arms to the floor, took five large steps towards me, grabbed each side of my face with his manly-callused hands and kissed me. It wasn’t just any kiss, it was a kiss that spoke a million words without saying one. It was one of those kisses that you always hear about but wonder if or when it will ever happen to you. The kiss that feels like it has stolen your breath. The kiss that has so much passion and emotion behind it you wonder how you will recover from it. I didn’t want to recover. I wanted to rip his fucking clothes off, show him the passion and emotion behind my vagina with his cock.
I reached for the zipper of his pants. “I want you so fucking bad.” I whispered against his lips. He made no attempts to stop me. Pulling his pants down I squeezed him gently, he groaned into my mouth, the sound seemed both indignant and erotic. He was so hard. I slid my fist up and down his length. Every time he quivered in my hands my breath hitched, making me wet at the thought that I could make him feel that way.
Jameson grabbed me by the waist spinning me around and dropping me slowly to his bed. “If this is what happens to you when we buy a house remind me to play the lotto so I can buy hundreds of houses,” he mutters in to my mouth. His hands slide up my legs, bunching my skirt at my waist. His thumbs edge the line of my panties sending small shivers throughout my entire body. He abraded my skin ripping my lace panties off. His tongue fondled my aching clit. He was like a lion feasting on a gazelle. He was growling with hunger as he licked and sucked my wet, throbbing pussy. My body was quivering, my vision blurry from the intense desire pooling within me. His hands moved back and forth between my ass and my breasts, kneading and grabbing wherever and whenever he could.
“Yes,” I shrilled, feeling my orgasm forming. My body was trembling on the edge of a desperate release. “I’m so close – Please – Oh God – Please.” Sucking mercilessly he worked my clit with the tip of his tongue. Everything compressed savagely, then released in a combustible eruption of gratification.
I didn’t care how he took me but I needed more. I needed him inside me. Jameson carefully sat me up cupping my face and kissed me hard. I could taste myself on him.
“Roll over, on all fours,” he instructed me.
I did as he instructed, already arching my back for him, and he shoved into me. I let out a low whimper at the force to which he pushed. His breathing was getting heavier, his grunts louder with each thrust he made. Each thrust harder than the last. I tightened around him and he cursed under his breath. I wanted him to come. I wanted him to come because of me, because he was inside of me. I want to be the only one that can be the reason he makes the sounds of pleasure he’s making right now.
I knew he was close. His breathing was coming in quick short bursts. “Oh God, Hillary!” He muttered. “I’m gonna come.” His body began to shudder above me. I could feel him quivering inside of me. He relentlessly pounded in to me over and over – I could feel the hot rush shooting through me, then dripping down my inner thigh. The sound of him coming, of his grunt and his moans of pleasure are music to my ears. He kissed me up and down my back as he came down from his orgasm; and I lay there at his mercy for however long he wanted.
April 5, 2003
Our new home is full of chatter and clatter. Friends and family are visiting and helping us clean so we can be ready to move in on Friday. My mother and grandmother are in the kitchen. Marcie is in the bathroom. Lily is all over the place. Mom’s friend Jane stopped by with a big bottle of champagne. While I am outside on the deck chatting with Jane I can hear some type of yelling inside; moments later Marcie is storming out of the back door, blowing by Jane and myself. We go inside and I can see a look of irritation on my mother’s face, my grandmother has her head down while mopping the floor. “What the hell was that all about?” I ask to the open room. “Marcie was yelling at your grandmother for putting too much Pine Sol in the bucket to wash the floors. She said the smell gave her a headache.”
“I told her it’s the way I clean, and I’ve been doing it my entire life professionally. I told her if it bothers her so damn much, she should open a window or get the hell out. So she got out. I don’t care either. I’m trying to help you kids. All she wants to do is complain,” my grandmother says, sternly.
“Wow! Go Grandma!”
Jameson comes down from upstairs. We all turn to stare at him, me giving him that knowing look. “Aww, crap! What happened?” He rolls his eyes. He knows it has to do with him mom. You can see the look of mental exhaustion on his face to go along with the already present physical exhaustion. His shoulders droop, his hand immediately goes up right to his forehead, hoping to rub the pain away.
“Your mother yelled at my grandmother for the way she was cleaning the floors.” I tell him.
“Fucking Hell.” He mumbles under his breath. “Where is she now?”
“Saw her storm outside, all in a fucking tizzy.” I tell him but refuse to make eye contact because even though I’m pissed at Marcie I don’t want him to take the blame for it. If I look him in the eyes, he will feel that this is on him. Without a second to spare Jameson storms out the back door to chase after Marcie.
I can feel the kink of tension in my neck already, so I decide to take a five-minute break myself. I step out on to the front step to grab a bottle of water that we left out there in a cooler. I take a seat, twist open the water and let the cool refreshment sooth my dry throat. I can hear two voices arguing behind me, they must be at the far end of the driveway near the garage. It’s not clear what is being said but I definitely heard Marcie say “She put too much in. I couldn’t breathe.” I can feel my blood starting to boil. “I don’t give a shit if she put the whole bottle of cleaner in. She’s here to help us and she’s elderly. Have some damn respect.”
I immediately smile when I hear Jameson stand up for my grandmother.
“So what, you don’t want me here then?”
Oh, good Christ! Pack your bags Jameson, she’s taking you a guilt trip.
“I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth. All I said was show some respect, but if you can’t then you are free to leave.”
Wow! I didn’t expect that from him. I’m actually proud of him. I know that was tough since it’s him mom and all but after all the shit that she has been pulling it has probably been a long time coming. I just want to survive the next few days and wake up in my own home with no parents around nagging us.
I go back inside. The same time I am entering through the front door Marcie is coming in through the back door with Jameson right behind her. She doesn’t make eye contact with any of us. She walks with her head down and goes back in to the bathroom. No apology to my grandmother. Why am I not surprised?
“No one will ever believe anything you say about me. If you try I will tell everyone you are crazy and have you put in a psych ward.”
April 11, 2003
THE HOUSE IS CLEAN, PAINTED, DECORATED, and furnished, so what better time than now to have a house warming party. Parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, you name it; they will be here. The weather is perfect to have people inside and out. The only thing I’m worried about is my future mother in law pissing off our guests.
People are freely walking about inside and outside, Jameson and I are giving tours as new people arrive. We can hear the happy chitchat outside as people enjoy themselves on our lawn chairs and the new picnic table my dad built us from scratch.
As I’m walking through the dining room on my way outside, I hear my Aunt Chrissy and Uncle Manny shouting hello as they walk through the front door. My face immediately lights up. My Aunt Chrissy is my dad’s eldest sister and my godmother. Her and my Uncle Manny don’t have any children of their own. They have quite a few of us godchildren though.
“Hi guys. I’m so glad you could make it.” I say, unable to contain my excitement.
&
nbsp; “Hi honey. It’s such a cute house. I’m so happy you are finally free of your mother,” she admits.
My aunt has never been a fan of my mom. She knows how crappy I’ve been treated by her since I was a teen.
“Come on in and let me show you around,” I tell them.
“Okay, but first can we give you and Jameson your house warming gift? We want it to be in private,” she tells me.
“Of course. Let me go get him.”
Before I can even turn around Jameson is walking in through the back door. “Hey Chrissy and Manny! Thanks for coming!” Jameson says, cheerily.
I take him by the hand and lead him in to the living room, Chrissy and Manny following. “Hon, I was just about to get you. Chrissy and Manny wanted to give us a house warming gift in private,” I tell him.
“We said no gifts. We just wanted everyone to come check out our first home and eat some food,” Jameson says.
“We don’t care. We love you both,” Chrissy tells us handing us a card. Jameson hands it to me to open. As I read the cute little poem on the front of the card about a couple’s first home together something slips out from inside of the card and drops on the floor. Jameson bends down to pick up and gasps.
“Five-hundred-dollar gift card to Home Depot!”
Holy Crap!
“This is too much. We can’t accept this.” I declare.
“You can and you will. When we got our first place we struggled and it was hotter than hell. We got this for you in hope that you two would be smart and get yourselves a couple of air conditioners.” Aunt Chrissy tells us.
“Auntie, you know I’ve never had air conditioning. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. This is too much.”
“We love you both. We are not taking back the gift card so say thank you, shut up and show us the house.”
“Thank you both so much. We will definitely be getting air conditioners.” Jameson tells them.