Chaos and Control

by Season Vining

  When my hand wraps around his hardness, Preston sits back onto his heels. His lips fall open as my hand slides up and down his length, bringing him pleasure for the first time. Preston rests his hands on his thighs, fingertips curled into his own flesh. He feels warm and heavy in my palm, smooth skin stretched tight. The muscles of his stomach flex with each strained breath. I am mesmerized by the way his body reacts to my touch. Preston’s grunts come faster now. I know he won’t last long.

  I increase my efforts, alternating between watching his face and watching my hand work him over. I can’t decide which one I want to see more.

  “Wren,” he says. “God, Wren.”

  I smile at my name on his lips in this erotic prayer. I want to hear it again. Preston presses his forehead to mine and captures my lips. Our kiss is cut short when he cries out, his fingers curling into my waist.

  “I can’t wait to have you inside me,” I whisper.

  “Wren!” he shouts as he explodes inside and out.

  I keep up my motion, making sure he’s satisfied. When I look up at his face, he is all pleasured smile and tranquility. He is gorgeous in his afterglow.

  A few moments pass as we both catch our breaths. I wait for our time together to get awkward, but it never does. We are comfortable here. Preston pulls up his shorts and gestures to my now-soiled T-shirt.

  “Sorry about that. I’ll grab you another.”

  He stands and pulls a new T-shirt from his closet, tossing it on the bed. I strip out of the dirty one, and he takes it from me, his gaze on my chest.

  “I’m up here,” I say, teasing. His eyes snap to mine, and he gives an apologetic grin.

  “I’m just going to shower real quick.”

  “Okay.” With high shoulders and the muscles of his neck corded and tense, I feel like he is fighting to keep it together. I look into his eyes, not knowing what he wants or needs from me.

  “Don’t leave.”

  “Okay,” I repeat, almost a whisper. His body seems to relax, and he gives me a crooked smirk and a nod. My heart pounds in my chest at the thought of staying here with him, at the mere idea that he wants me to.

  “Will you stay?”

  “I promise.” This time my voice is firm. I am stating loud and clear that I want to be here as much as he wants me here. When Preston disappears into the bathroom, I throw myself back onto his bed, a wide grin splitting my face. After a needed deep breath, I mouth the word “Yes!” over and over while kicking my feet and waving my arms around in victory.

  “Wren?”

  I freeze and raise my head to find Preston at the foot of the bed. His crossed arms and raised eyebrows display his amusement.

  “Oh. Hi,” I say.

  “Are you okay?” There is no genuine concern in his tone.

  “Uh. Yeah. Fine.”

  Preston nods, grabs some clothes from his dresser, and heads back into the bathroom. As soon as the door closes, I slap my hand over my mouth to cover the giggle that erupts. I press cool fingers to the heated flesh of my face and smile up at his ceiling.

  After his shower, Preston joins me in bed. He picks a movie on Netflix, then makes us grilled cheese sandwiches, which he insists we eat at the table. While I sit in his kitchen, watching him eat his sandwich with a fork and knife, I’m ecstatic at the surreal day we’ve had. Something has shifted between us, something big enough to let Preston be comfortable with me in his space. I take a bite of my sandwich and hide my grin behind what’s left of it.

  “Thanks for letting me stay,” I say as we wash and dry the dishes together.

  “Thanks for staying.”

  Those three words mean so much. I can see it in his face, in the way his body leans into mine, in the way his fingers brush my bangs from my face.

  I fall asleep tucked into his side while Preston writes in his moleskin notebook. There are no dreams or nightmares to greet me, only absolute contentment.

  There is no known variable

  No equation or principle

  That compares to the feel

  Of her hands on me

  This is a baby’s first step

  Bigger than fame and fortune

  The discovery of masturbation

  This is everything

  Every list disappears

  Every worry wiped clean

  Her taste

  Still coats my lips and breath

  And I’m surprised

  I want it there

  She is a land to be discovered

  Tracing road maps on her skin

  Winding highways and

  Intersecting roads

  X marks the spot

  - Preston

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Lonesome Jubilee

  Tuesday, I join Bennie and Preston at Vinyl. John Mellencamp plays through the speakers, and I nod to the familiar beat. As I approach the register, Preston gives me a wave from the front-window display and Bennie slides an envelope across the counter.

  “This one is from Indianapolis.”

  I groan, holding up the newest piece of mail. Dylan’s face shoots through my memories, and I am jarred from my place at the counter. I walk to the front window and stare out at the mostly empty street. I don’t know where he is or what he’s up to, but he knows exactly where to find me. A vision of his heavy fists coming toward me, and my fingers claw at my ribs. If he did those terrible things to me, someone he supposedly cared about, I have no doubt he’d hurt Bennie or Preston. He’d probably go after them just to spite me.

  I rip the envelope open and, this time, the only thing inside is a five-dollar bill. I sigh and drop my head into my hands. Dylan loves to torture me, and this is only further proof. The last time we fought, he called me a five-dollar whore and threw the money at me. With bruised ribs and the taste of blood in my mouth, I hadn’t been able to argue.

  “He’s getting closer,” Bennie says. I nod and make my way back to her. Worry lines appear as three horizontal creases on her forehead. “What does it mean? Do you think he’s just trying to scare you?”

  “He’s definitely trying to scare me. Otherwise, he would have just shown up here. Guess you don’t need the element of surprise when you’re psychotic.”

  “Another one?” Preston asks. He steps to the counter and stares down at the envelope. That pretty frown appears. The sight of him after our mutual orgasms and sleepover has me flustered.

  “Call the police, Wren,” Bennie says.

  “Crowley police? And tell them what? That I’m getting nonthreatening mail from my abusive ex who may or may not be looking for revenge because I drugged him and stole his money?”

  “Do you think the deputies in this town have anything better to do?” Bennie asks. “At least tell Sawyer. I’m sure he could check in on this guy.”

  “She’s right,” Preston says.

  Preston wears a murderous expression, and while I appreciate his concern, that look does nothing to quell the constant, overwhelming desire I feel for him. I grab the envelope, crumple it up, and throw it in the trash.

  “Preston, can I talk to you?” I ask.

  Bennie shoots me a look, but I ignore it. He nods and follows me to the back of the store and into the storage closet. I hop up on the table and lean back against the brick wall. Only now, in the silence of our standoff, do I hear the sound of The Cure. Bennie must have changed the album. Robert Smith’s haunting voice permeates the air, providing lyrics to the beat of my pulse.

  “What can we expect from your ex?” he asks, leaning against the wall opposite me.

  “That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” I say with a dismissive wave.

  “Well, I do.” The timbre of his voice holds my attention. “This guy isn’t done with you. I need to know what to be ready for.”

  I blow out a breath toward the ceiling. “I don’t know. He’s nuts. He’s violent, possessive, controlling. He thinks he owns me.”

  “People don’t own people.” The anger in his voice sends a chi
ll racing up my spine. His large hands curl into fists at his sides and press into the cinderblock wall. Preston closes his eyes, taps his wristwatch four times, and refocuses his attention on me.

  “Sometimes I feel like you own me,” I confess, trying to distract him. “I think about you constantly, Preston. My mind always comes back to you.” His breathing picks up. It’s the only reaction to what I’ve said. “I think about what’s going on in your head and how I wish I could help. I think about your hands on me, your kisses.”

  Preston stalks forward, wedging himself between my thighs. He leans his forehead against mine. My fingers curl around his waist and slide down to hook into his belt loops.

  “I think about you, too,” he says. “If you knew how much, you’d probably be worried.”

  “Not true. Tell me what you think about.”

  Preston closes his eyes now, and his hands come to rest on my thighs. His thumbs sweep back and forth in an arc, just under the hem of my skirt.

  “In certain lights, your hair goes from a flowery lavender to silver. Your eyes are so honest, and you never look at me with pity. There are thirty-six freckles on your cheeks. Fourteen on the left,” he says tapping my cheek. “Twenty-two on the right. Your asymmetry is beautiful.” He taps the other side before running his finger down to the corner of my lips.

  I smile and shake my head, amazed at his observations, humbled that anyone sees me so completely.

  “And your mouth. Your mouth makes me fucking crazy, Wren. The biting, the licking, the way you smile when you say my name. And how your lips form the words when you’re reading. The way your delicate fingers play with the collar of your shirt when you’re thinking or nervous. You create this chaos inside me, and at the same time, quiet it.” Preston places four kisses on the side of my neck, his lips trailing up to the shell of my ear. His breath heats my skin. “I don’t know if I’m crazier with you, or without you. But I know I’m crazy about you.”

  “Preston,” I whisper in the space between us. His honest, beautiful words leave me speechless. “I wish I had beautiful words like you do. For once, I wish I were more transparent.”

  He steps back and tucks his hands into his pockets. “I feel like I’m getting lost in you.”

  “And that’s bad?” I ask, hoping he can’t hear the hurt in my voice.

  “I don’t know yet. I’m not sure where this is going or what you want for your future. I’ve already told you I’m no good at relationships. What if I can’t be what you need?”

  “What if you can?”

  “What if I try, Wren, and then you decide it’s time to leave Crowley again? What then?”

  I don’t have an answer for him, so I stay quiet. The front door chimes, and Preston looks toward the swinging door.

  “I better get back out there,” he says.

  I nod and watch him disappear into the store. Each moment between us seems more intense than the one before. Each one leaves me more breathless and with more questions than answers.

  …

  “Maybe I should just leave,” I tell Bennie as she flips the open/closed sign in the front window. “If Dylan comes and I’m not here, maybe he’ll just move on.”

  Bennie sighs and pulls the register drawer. “If he’s going to come this far, what’s to stop him from following you and finding you somewhere else?”

  She carries the till toward her office in the back of the store, and I follow. “I’m good at disappearing. He won’t find me.”

  “And live the rest of your life hiding from this asshole? I don’t think it’s a good idea. Have you talked to Sawyer yet?” I shake my head. Bennie unlocks the office and sits at her desk. “I think it’s best for you to stay here. You have people who care about you. We can help.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  She groans and drops the stack of one-dollar bills she was about to count. “Then do what you want. You always have. But think about this. What if Dylan comes, intent on his revenge, and you’re not here? What if he takes it out on Preston or me? You said yourself, he’s a psycho.”

  I fall into the leather chair across from Bennie’s desk and scrub my face. “I’ve thought about that. I don’t know what to do, Bennie. Running feels natural for me, you know?”

  “I know it does. But stick around, kid. We’ll figure something out. If he is coming here, we’ll keep you safe. And you’ll be on home turf, you know? If you’re going to be stubborn and not make an official report, please just talk to Sawyer about it. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”

  “Maybe,” I say, playing with the hem of my shirt.

  “No maybe. Promise me.”

  “Fine. I promise I’ll talk to Sawyer about Dylan.”

  “I’m heading to The Haystack for a few drinks. You want to come?”

  “Do you need me to come?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

  “No. I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. But call me if you need help getting home,” I insist.

  “Fine, kid. Sure you don’t want to join me? My treat.”

  I shake my head and leave her office more confused than when I went in. Leaving Crowley would probably be best for everyone. I never planned on staying here permanently. Why not go now? Why not save everyone the trouble? I doubt Dylan would hurt anyone here. He wants me. He’s coming for me. If I were gone, he’d probably move right through Crowley.

  Climbing the stairs to the apartment, I press my hand to Preston’s door and wonder where he is. As much as I like him, as much as I want him, I don’t know if we could ever work. Maybe we’re too different to be together—polar opposites attracted like magnets. He is an anchor to this place, weighing me down with his perfect words and praising lips. We want contradictory lives. I need change and adventure. He thrives on routine and order. He seems happy to make furniture, eat at the diner, and live out the rest of his days in this town. Just the idea of that feels suffocating.

  The moment I enter Bennie’s apartment, her phone starts ringing. The sound kickstarts my heart into overdrive and fills my stomach with dread. I know I’ve got to go. I don’t belong here. I never did. My sister survived fine without me, and so will Preston. I can’t think about the what-ifs. I can’t think about anything but putting this town behind me to keep everyone safe.

  I ignore the continuous ringing of the phone and hurry into my room, throwing some clothes and shoes in my bag. I dig out the cash I have stashed away and throw that in, too. After strapping on my boots, I make my way through the kitchen with determination. At the last minute, I grab a photo of me and Bennie from the fridge and tuck it into my pocket. When the door clicks closed behind me, I lean against it and exhale. Tears fill my eyes as a heavy crushing weight pulls at my back, trying to tie me down to this home.

  My brain teeters back and forth between what I truly want and what I think is right. Inside, I know I don’t want to leave. I want Preston and Bennie. I want days with my sister and nights with that man. I want to talk Bennie into getting matching tattoos. I want Preston to let me love him.

  I want to stay.

  I spin, beating and kicking at the door. The loud thud of my boot and fists against the wood echoes down the hall. My fingers claw at the painted wood, and I rest my forehead next to the silver letter A attached below the peep hole. It matches the B on Preston’s door. This is his doing.

  I trace the letter with my index finger, leaving behind smudges on the shiny metal. The phone rings inside Bennie’s apartment again. Dylan’s menacing voice echoes in my head as I step away from the door. I tug my bag up onto my shoulder and take a deep breath. Don’t overthink this. Just go.

  I head down the stairs, keeping my eyes on the ground. Moving quickly past the store, I force myself out the back door, flinching when it slams behind me.

  “Wren?”

  Preston’s voice fills my heart with hope and dread simultaneously. I turn to face him and in the setting summer sun, he is so beautiful. His skin appears bronze, and his
questioning eyes look like honey. I tell myself to go, just leave. But my feet don’t listen.

  “Going somewhere?” There is accusation to his tone. It locks me in place.

  Suddenly, my boots are the most interesting thing to see. I don’t even look up when I answer him.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Because you feel like you have to?” He drops the cardboard box he was crushing and steps toward me.

  “Because I want to,” I reply. Preston takes another step toward me. I retreat.

  “You’re lying. For someone who has honesty at the top of her list, you sure are good at lying to yourself.”

  I finally raise my gaze to his before looking toward the sunset. “If Dylan comes here and I’m gone, he’ll just move on.”

  “And what?” he asks. “You’ll run forever? Put us all in your rearview mirror and never look back?”

  “It’s going to happen one day anyway.”

  “What about your sister, Wren? You can’t leave her again.”

  “She did okay without me the first time,” I say, wrapping my fist around the strap of my bag. I try to keep my voice level and calm, to solidify that I believe the things I’m saying. Preston closes the distance between us. I press my back to the brick wall, out of room.

  “What about me?” he asks.

  My eyes meet his, and I can’t stand all the expectation I see there.

  “Better to end whatever we have now, Preston. I mean, we’re incompatible. Right?” I look out at the sunset and use every bit of strength I have to keep from crumbling into his arms. “I want… Well, I want adventure. Not this town. I want to explore the world. You want to build your own. Here. In Crowley. I just can’t do that.”

  “That’s bullshit. You’re afraid.”

  I turn back to him, my mouth open. He stands tall, shoulders square, challenging me.

  “I’m not scared of Dylan,” I reply, adjusting my bag.