by Sara Cate
Her hands are on his face, tilted at an angle so I know their lips are locked. He pulls away from her face and looks up, his eyes meeting mine as soon as they open.
His eyes stay on me, and we’re both frozen, stuck in a torturous moment while we both wait for his next move.
When she notices him stopping, she turns her head to see what he’s looking at, and I wait for her to see me watching him, but he grabs her face and kisses her before she catches me.
My insides spoil, harden, break, and I’m lost in my jealousy as he kisses her against the counter.
I have to pull myself away, rushing toward the pool house. My breathing grows frantic, angry, desperate. My paints are still all out, and I realize in the back of my mind, I have to close them up before they warp and dry. The open can of magenta is sitting on the scaffolding next to the chartreuse, and I hate how bright they are. I hate how vibrant they look and how dull I feel in comparison. So, I grab the blue quart, considering for a moment that I could toss it against the wall, watch it splatter against the work I’ve done. I imagine the blue paint staining every surface around me.
Tears prick my eyes.
Instead of throwing it like I want to, I grab the lid and mallet, slamming it in place before I can do anything stupid. Bile rises in my chest as I turn and run. Dashing across the yard, I run up to my room. The house is silent as I crash into my bed.
When my face hits the pillow, I scream.
I hate Alexander Caldwell more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my entire life. I hate his beautiful eyes and the way he looks at me. He’s made me feel like a stupid child who dreams of being his woman, and I hate him for letting me believe it for so long.
Alexander
Sitting in the unpacked office, I scroll through old photos on my phone. They go back at least ten years when I helped my best friend, Tyson and his wife, Diana, open a new gym on the west side of town. Most of the pictures are of us working on the opening ceremony, the thrill of that day, the excitement of watching our hard work pay off and seeing those customers roll in. Tyson was the brains behind the business. I was the investor and his support. We ended up investing in and launching half a dozen more businesses—until last year, when I ruined everything between us, and he stopped talking to me.
When I hear Sunny’s music in the pool house, I try to avoid going out there. I already know things are going to be awkward. I don’t know why I kissed Cadence. I could blame it on her coming on strong or the five margaritas I consumed by that point, but those would be excuses. The truth is that I kissed her hoping I would feel something, as if my overwhelming attraction to Sunny was genetic, and I could feel something like that for her sister. I was wrong. Of course.
Kissing Cadence felt like the kind of kissing that sad people do when they see another sad person. Cadence and I are too much alike for my own comfort, and I’m sure if we got together it would be messy, end badly, and wouldn’t be all that much fine while we were in it.
None of this changes the fact that Sunny saw it.
I’m just one fuck up after another with this girl.
I’m just a fuck up in general.
When it’s time to face the music, literally, I walk out there, lingering around the door while she works. She won’t look at me. She thinks I won’t notice, but even though I’ve been hanging around for at least fifteen minutes, she’s been keeping her head down, working quietly without acknowledging me.
Technically, Sunny and I have no romantic ties to each other. To her, I’m her too-old neighbor and her friend. What she is to me feels much more complicated. But either way, kissing her sister shouldn’t be any reason to give me the cold shoulder, and it only proves that I brought this on myself. I crossed a line, and feelings got entangled.
She turns her music up as she works. It’s something moody and depressing. She loves that shit. I never should have let her connect her phone to my speakers.
I don’t have anything to work on in the pool house, but I’m not leaving. I need to be around her. There’s not a goddamn place in the house I could go that wouldn’t feel like a hundred miles away from where I need to be. Plus, she’s in a long skirt today, and she keeps it draped over her legs while she sits on the scaffolding, using one bent knee to steady her hand while she works.
“I can’t listen to this anymore,” I whine as I move toward one small box in the corner with plans to unpack it.
She doesn’t respond. Playing silent treatment. Cute.
Snatching my phone out of my pocket, I immediately kick her device off the speaker’s connection and replace it with my own. Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t do anything when I put on the Stones.
A couple songs play while she works, and I start growing irritated. I didn’t realize how badly I needed her attention until she stopped giving it to me. It’s like I’m suddenly the teenager, and she’s the adult. I’d stomp and scream for her to look at me if it worked.
Satisfaction starts playing, and I watch her head tilt. She bites her lip.
“Dance with me, rain cloud.”
“Don’t call me that,” she mutters.
“I’ll call you what I want.”
She shakes her head but keeps it down, her eyes glued to the paint on the tray.
“Dance with me,” I say again, my tone more commanding this time.
When she doesn’t move, I snake my hand around her waist and pull her off the scaffolding. I expect her to fight, but she doesn’t. She lets me pull her to her feet and, once I have her in front of me, she stares at me with a blank expression. It’s my favorite expression of hers.
“You’re mad at me,” I say, twisting her hips in my hand. Her body brushes against mine, and I realize how dangerous this is if I want to keep things the way they should be between us.
No response. Her hips move with my hands on them, but she’s not moving on her own.
She’s driving me crazy on purpose. Her big eyes trained on the wall behind me and those pouty lips pursed in annoyance, my patience wears thin.
I can’t go another fucking second denying this thing between us.
Digging my hands into her hair, I pull her close and whisper, my mouth only inches away from her ear, like a secret. “You’re mad that I kissed her because you want me to kiss you.”
She tries to pull away, but I hold her close, boring my stare into hers. I see her eyes widen, and I know she thinks I’m going to kiss her.
“Don’t you understand?” I ask, letting my thumb graze the skin between her nose and lips, the soft ridges there, the warm breath from her nose.
“Understand what?” Her voice is just above a whisper.
“I care about you too much to kiss you. What I did the other night when I was drunk was uncalled for, and I’m toeing this line of insanity with you, Sunny. What I want and what I can have are two different things, and it’ll drive me insane, but I won’t give in because I am a stain, Sunny. You don’t want what I would do to you. To me, you are perfect, pure, spotless.”
“So, you kiss my sister? My sister, Alex.” She has a look of disgust on her face.
“I’m sorry, Sunny. I’m all kinds of fucked up. I’m doing everything I can not to kiss you, and that was stupid. I know it. But not kissing you would be the most noble fucking thing I’ve ever done. And it will kill me.”
When I finally let go of her face, she’s breathless. The pure expression of understanding crosses her face, and I swear I might drown in her eyes if I don’t pull away, but before I can move, she pulls me toward her, burying her face in my shirt. Hugging her to my chest, I kiss the top of her head.
It’s like my fucking heart is being ripped out of my chest.
She finally backs away, and the song changes to Beasts of Burden. She smiles and twists her hips ever so slightly.
Fuck yeah.
Taking her hands in mine, I send her into a twist and she comes back, pressing her body against me. Together we sway to the music, holding each other close but not too close.
Her attention, her eyes, her touch on me fuels the beating of my heart.
For the first time in my life, I feel completely fulfilled by another person. I may have unopened boxes in my house and feel like I’m floating on a life raft, lost at sea, but Sunny is my lighthouse, and as long as I have my eyes on her and she’s shining those beautiful eyes at me, I’m not doing too bad.
I can’t fuck this up. Coming here, buying this house was my last ditch effort at growing up, getting a real grasp on my life, being able to look myself in the mirror without seething hatred at the reflection, and if Sunny is what keeps me moving in the right direction...I can’t fuck that up.
It dawns on me when she laughs, the warmth in her voice sounding so familiar that my attraction to Sunny isn’t just about her body, her age, her innocence but how she makes every goddamn cell in my body come to life. She defines me, accepts me, sees me, and I swear to Christ, it fucking feels like love.
And it scares the ever-loving piss out of me.
Sunny
When I creep through the house that night, I get a bad feeling in my stomach. It’s like a sixth sense, knowing when something bad is going to happen. The TV is too loud, but no one is sitting down watching it. Cadence is in her room with the door shut, which is a sign that Mom is off the deep end. My sister has the good sense to ignore my mom when she’s in one of her bad moods, but she has the liberty of being her favorite and not infuriating her by just existing.
Cadence is probably also avoiding me. We haven’t spoken since the kissing at Alexander’s yesterday.
I almost go back to his house then. I should, but hindsight is as they say 20/20, and when I look down the hall and my mom is sobbing into her margarita, I know it’s too late.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” she spits at me.
I don’t answer, just turn and walk toward my room.
“You think you’re so perfect. So smart.”
Cadence steps out of her room. “Mom, stop,” she says, either groggy with sleep or high...or both.
Mom ignores her. She stalks toward me, carrying her wide rimmed margarita glass which is now almost empty. My mother is the kind of drunk who hides it well. She doesn’t sway or slur, but her personality changes in the way that only those who are close to her have the honor of being able to see.
I swallow down my nerves in the doorway to my room, knowing that I’m cornered prey. If I disrespect her or shut the door in her face, I’m only fueling her rage. If I knew how to talk to her, I would defend myself, but I’m unable to form the words that would make my mother love me.
Cadence always tells me I was a mistake. That mom only wanted one, but I figured everyone heard stuff like that, in good lighthearted fun. More than half of the population was probably a mistake. It’s not our fault. But my mother has been taking it out on me as if I was responsible for her not taking her pill or my dad not pulling out in time. If I could have stopped those cells from splitting, then I would have.
“Don’t you fuck him, Sunny. Do you hear me?” she says, taking a drink.
“Mother,” my sister whines, rubbing her head as if this is painful for her.
“I’m serious. Men like Alexander Caldwell would eat you alive, and you’d only be ruining your sister’s chances. You keep your legs shut, Sunny. Men like him can’t help themselves.”
I want to vomit. My mother sees me as nothing more than bait. The virgin pussy walking around tempting poor unsuspecting men who don’t know any better. She once yelled at me a couple summers ago for wearing a bikini in front of Cadence’s friends, which to her wasn’t fair, if I, and I quote, “wasn’t going to do anything about it.” I didn’t even know what that meant at the time.
Alex’s name coming out of her mouth makes me want to punch her. I hate her for saying it, his first and last name, like that.
After what he told me tonight, as he held me in his hands, making me feel like I was actually worth something, worth keeping and loving, I hated the way she tainted that good feeling with her ugliness.
“Once men get the virgins, they never want to go back.”
“Just shut up,” I say before I can stop myself. It comes out through my gritted teeth, but I have to defend myself. I have to defend Alex.
But as my mother’s fist comes crashing across my cheek, I regret it. The pain of being truly punched comes more from the shock and humiliation than the impact, and as I hold my face in horror, my jaw hanging open as the sting spreads through my face, I realize how badly I wish my life was different. I wish my family wasn’t so broken and the love between these walls overpowered the pain. But it doesn’t.
Lost in her rage, she swings again, making impact two more times: again on my face and once on my shoulder.
“Mom!” Cadence screams as she pulls her back. I’m already on the run, trying not to cry, as I take off in a sprint down the hall toward the back door.
I hear the scuffle between my mom and sister, and I sense the rage in my sister’s tirade. Before I hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs, I hear Cadence shoving my drunk mother into her bedroom and shouting, “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you.”
My head pounds and it feels like blood is pulsing out of my face as I cross the yard toward Alex’s house. I pause in front of the pool house not sure where to go from here. When I left just thirty minutes ago, he was already in bed, assumedly asleep.
He said he would take care of me. He’d want me to come in.
So, with shaking fingers, I open the patio door and step into his kitchen. The house is silent, and I have a sudden tempest of fear flood my body when I remember that I’m standing in someone else’s house. I just broke into Alexander Caldwell’s house, and he could think I’m insane for it and tell me to never come back.
I need water. The need to just do something other than stand there like an idiot is the only thing that keeps me moving, so I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it, gulping down a whole glass full before the tears start.
What am I doing here?
I’m about to turn twenty years old, and my life still feels like it’s in the hands of someone else. I always thought adulthood would be exciting, but all I feel is lost. I can still hear her voice, the loathing hatred in her tone when she spoke to me. Why am I still living with her? Why did I come back after one semester of art school?
A loud sob escapes my lips.
My mother’s hatred for me has only intensified since Dad left, and it only makes me sob harder thinking about how invisible I am to him. She hates me, and he just doesn’t care.
But I stay.
A sudden vision of me in ten years, still living with my mother’s disappointment and begging for my dad’s attention. Maybe I’ll be like Cadence, searching for love between the sheets with the wrong guys.
The stabbing pain in my chest presses down with each gasping inhale.
“Alexander,” I cry, hoping he can hear me in his room.
“Sunny?” His voice barely registers as I bawl into my hands in his dark kitchen.
He runs toward me, engulfing me in his arms without question. For a long time, he doesn’t say a word, even when my cries get louder, and I feel my body shaking.
Finally, once I can manage a full inhale, he whispers. “What happened?”
He’s in nothing but his tight boxer shorts, my wet face pressed up against the smooth skin of his chest.
I can’t speak. For some reason, telling him what happened feels like reopening a wound I just stitched up. With care, he wets a washcloth and wipes the moisture from my face.
Since the tears started, they won’t stop no matter how much I beg them to.
“What did she do?” he asks, looking into my eyes.
“She was drunk,” I mumble.
“I don’t care. Did she hit you?”
Biting my lip, I nod.
“Jesus.”
He holds me against his chest again, and I try not to let the water works start running again and focus instead on
the texture of his warm skin against my cheek, the sparse patch of chest hair beneath my fingers, and his hip bones pressed against my stomach. I am swallowed by him. I never want to come up for air.
Carefully, he refills my glass with water and hands it to me with two white pills.
“The good stuff,” he says, and after I glare at him skeptically, he finishes. “Ibuprofen.” With a small smirk lifting my lips, I toss them back.
His hands reach for my face, cupping my cheeks and pulling my gaze to his. “Are you okay?”
I try to nod, but he sees through it, giving me that knowing glance.
“You’re not going back there,” he whispers into my hair.
No words escape my lips because I want to believe him. For a moment, I’d like to pretend what he’s saying is true. That this place is my home, and I never have to go back.
“You need some rest,” he says, pulling my body away and cradling me in his arms. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Before I know it, he’s resting me on his still warm bed, and I cling to him like a child. It might be a cheap shot, but I want him near me more than I want anything else.
“Don’t leave me,” I gasp when he tries to pull away.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I shift my body to the side, leaving him room to crawl in next to me.
“Sunny,” he says as a warning.
“Just lay down next to me. We’re just sleeping. We did it when you were drunk.”
“Yeah, but that was different. I don’t trust myself.”
“I trust you,” I whisper through the darkness as I curl my body into a ball, pulling my knees to my chest. Sleep is already threatening to pull me under, my eyelids getting heavy.
It takes him a moment before he releases a long sigh. Finally, his weight settles on the bed next to me. His soft touch along my hairline carries me under, and I drift off to the sound of his gentle breathing in bed next to me.