Life Interrupted

by Kehoe, Kristen

  “Condom?” I whisper against his lips and I feel him pause for a heartbeat before nodding. His body leaves mine for a minute as he reaches to his side and digs for something. And then he’s back and his lips are on mine, his tongue sweeping through my mouth again as he settles between my thighs, the sensation of having him on top of me enough to push the doubts and fears aside. I hear the crinkle of the cellophane packet in the back of my head, note the slight hesitation as he shifts away from and then back to me.

  Our eyes meet and I can’t stand the question in his, so I bring his mouth to mine, groaning as he rocks into me with a gentleness I couldn’t have imagined. And then I think of nothing but him and what he can do to me.

  Twelve

  I lay on my back next to Tripp, so close that I could extend my pinky and touch him, but I don’t move and neither does he. My breathing has returned to normal, but along with it has come a hollowness that began to build in my chest the minute that Tripp’s body left mine.

  Holy shit, what did we just do?

  For a second I imagine what it would be like to roll over and rest my head on his chest, to have him put his arms around me and bring me close, to feel safe and loved by him instead of used. Like last time.

  I close my eyes. No, the last time we had held each other, fallen asleep together. I’d felt loved and cared for, felt the excitement of what was going to come from our night together. Heartbreak had only come in the morning when I realized that he didn’t love me, not like I loved him. There had been hurt, even anger after that first time. Now…now there was nothing. I knew he didn’t love me, had known before I slept with him and shattered that last safeguard on my heart. This time I had used him, and if possible, the pain I felt the first time was nothing compared to the hollow emptiness I was feeling now.

  “I guess you proved your point,” I say and feel him stiffen next to me. Probably thought I was asleep and now he’s wondering how he can walk out of here without talking to me. Nope, not this time. This time, I get to be the one to leave.

  Taking a deep breath I sit up, still not looking at him as I slide off of the end of the bed.

  “What?”

  His voice is husky, low and rough and I imagine him sitting as I hear the bed creak a little, imagine his beautiful eyes a little sleepy, his lids heavy. The vision sends an unwelcome shiver of desire down my spine and I grit my teeth as I crouch down and begin searching for my clothes in the moonlit dark.

  The bed creaks again and I hear his feet hit the floor. He rustles around and I hear him slip on his jeans and zip them while I’m still searching. Shit. I will not have this conversation naked, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him see me on my hands and knees as I look for my goddamn tank top.

  Grabbing the first shirt my hands touch, I slip it over my head and know immediately from the smell that it’s his. It tears at me, this seemingly intimate act of wearing his shirt after we’ve been as close as two people can be, but when I face him I don’t let any of what I’m feeling register on my face.

  “What point, Rachel?”

  His voice is low but his eyes are anything but sleepy. They’re bright and narrow and it takes everything I have not to wither under his stare.

  “I was mad because you insinuated that I was a slut earlier tonight.” I force a casual smile. “I don’t guess sleeping with you was the proper way to prove you wrong, now, was it?”

  I turn, casually I hope, to the closet and dig out a pair of sweats, not bothering with underwear. All I can think about is getting dressed, getting a little bit of a shield in place to guard me from him.

  “Is that what you think this was?” he asks softly and I jump because he’s right behind me. “A way to prove a point?”

  “Wasn’t it?” I ask and grab a hoody at random, unable to see into the closet in the dark. When the overhead light snaps on, I jump and cover my eyes.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Before I recover or put my mask in place, his hand is on my shoulder whirling me around.

  “Careful,” I say, my tone mocking. “You pushing me around is what started this in the first place.”

  He grimaces and I look down so he doesn’t see me flinch, eternally grateful that I’m dressed. “Look at me, Rachel.”

  I shake my head and try to yank my arms free. He doesn’t let go, only shifts his grip. “Rachel, look at me.”

  I keep my head stubbornly down, trying not to react. He releases one hand and I think he’s going to step back, but instead he grips my chin and yanks my face up. Every fucked up emotion I feel for him boils over in that moment and has me slapping his hand away before I shove against his chest with enough force that he stumbles backward. Sometimes it pays to weigh more than a hundred pounds, and this is definitely one of them.

  “Jesus Christ, Tripp, what do you want from me? Wasn’t this enough? I said you win, you were right, I’m an easy mark, just like you told everyone tonight.” My breath is coming in pants and the tears I held back earlier build so quickly that my throat aches to shed them. But I don’t, refusing to show any more weakness in front of him than I already have.

  He steps toward me. I step back automatically, halting his progress. “Is that what you think?” he asks softly. “That I came here planning to have sex with you because I think you’re easy?”

  “I don’t know why you came here, Tripp, and I don’t care anymore. I need you to go.”

  He shakes his head and folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving until we talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. We got mad at each other, it got heated like it always does when we’re together and we had sex. The end.”

  “Don’t be like this.”

  “Like what, Tripp? Honest?”

  “Cold,” he says and I feel the bubblings of rage pick through the hurt.

  “Cold is all I have for you right now. Leave, Tripp. I don’t want you here.”

  “We need to talk about this.”

  “No, we don’t,” I say and try to shove past him. The hell with it, if he won’t leave, I will.

  He grabs my wrist leaving me no choice but to face him. The dam breaks and tears spill over, slipping down my face even as I try to swipe at them and stem them off. I hear him suck in a breath before my hand is released, his face visibly paler as he stares at me in shock. “Is this what you wanted, Tripp, to stick around this time and see me cry over you?”

  His eyes widen. “Rachel, no. I—”

  “Well here it is, here’s me crying over you. And it’s not the first time. Does it make you feel better? Are you happy now that you know you still have me? That I won’t ever want someone the way I want you?” The tears come harder now and I make no move to stop them. “Take a good look, Tripp, because it’s the last time. I don’t want to see you again.”

  His eyes flash. “Rachel—”

  “I said no, Tripp.”

  I push past him, ignoring his sharp inhale and his pale face. He says my name once but I ignore that, too, and grab my keys before walking barefoot to my car, noting as I speed away that he made no move to follow me.

  ~

  When Stacy opens the door to my tear ravaged face, it takes everything I have not to break down again. “Rae, it’s so late--oh my god, what happened?”

  Her voice goes from sleepy to clipped and authoritative, telling me that she’s already in crisis mode, ready to shove her emotions to the back and deal with what needs to be done before taking the time to cry. My sweet, driven and sometimes emotionally unstable, hundred and ten pound sister is ready to rescue me, the slut of the family with no moral compass.

  “I slept with Tripp tonight and then I walked out on him because he doesn’t love me and I love him too much to watch him leave me again.”

  Her eyes widen (probably at the word again) and she stares at me as I stand there in my oversized sweats and bare feet, his t-shirt and my messy, lopsided ponytail a testament to my story. I wait for the recrimination, the disgust
, the I-told-you-sos, but none come. She simply stands there staring at me as she processes what I’ve said. I watch her battle—and win—some internal war and then she steps back and motions me in, putting her arm around my waist in a gesture of support so simple it makes me want to weep again.

  “You need a cocktail,” she says and, inexplicably, I laugh. Holding onto her, I let her lead me down the hallway, hoping that the love coming from her can fill the aching emptiness inside of me, even just a little.

  ~

  “I knew it was going to hurt; even as I was stripping my clothes off, I knew this is how it would feel. I can’t really blame Tripp, or anyone else.”

  Fortified by two glasses of wine and a bucket of salted chocolate caramels, I sit on Stacy’s couch with my feet on the coffee table, my arms wrapped around a pillow. Stacy hasn’t said anything since I finished my second glass of wine, which is probably why I told her everything. From my hook up with Tripp two years ago, to the night I met and slept with Marcus, to Dean and the party tonight. All of it, my entire sordid social life that now lays open between us like a depleted bag of candy—something that was enticing at first and now just makes your stomach hurt as you look at the remains.

  “Oh, I don’t know. You can blame Tripp. He is, after all, the one with a girlfriend.”

  “Who I know about.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t to blame, just that you’re not alone.” I laugh, oddly comforted. That’s the thing about Stacy—when it comes to her own life and crazy ways, she has no ability to reflect and come up with a rational response; yet, when it comes to me, even as irrational as she’s been at times, when I really need her she’s there with just the right thing to say.

  “Want to know what really hurts?”

  She nods and I swallow the rest of my wine before setting the glass down and turning to face her. “I’m afraid he’s right.”

  “About what?”

  “That I’m a bad mom. That my bad choices will hurt Gracie later in life. That I won’t be able to teach her how to be a good person because I’m not even sure how to be one myself.”

  “Rae, don’t you dare.” Her voice is like a whip, bringing me a jolt and all of a sudden, Bossy Stacy is back. For once, I’m glad to see her. “You’re a great mom. And of course you can teach her how to be a good person, you already have.”

  “How can you say that after everything I just told you? I hooked up with my best friend, twice. I got pregnant after a one night stand with someone I didn’t know then and barely know now, someone I’m afraid to leave my daughter—our daughter—with. What kind of role model am I for a little girl?”

  Tears are threatening again and for a minute I think about the fact that I’ve never cried this much, not even when I learned I was pregnant. When I ran to Tripp and he promised it would be okay. I’ve never had Tripp, though, and after tonight I won’t even have his friendship.

  “So you haven’t been a nun,” Stacy says, shocking me with both her non-judgmental behavior and her attempt at humor. “But you have been honest. You screwed up but you had your baby and you now take care of her—which means not trusting her with the baby daddy because you know he’s not trustworthy. Just because you have a kid doesn’t mean you stop making poor decisions. Look at Dad,” she says and for the third time in less than an hour I wonder what the hell came over my sister. She’s relaxed, almost (dare I say) humorous tonight. The righteous indignation she wears like perfume isn’t even a scent in the air. What the…

  “Are you pregnant?”

  This brings her up short. “What? Why would you ask that?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Stacy Ann, are you pregnant?”

  And then she can’t keep it in anymore. Her smile blooms, her eyes water up and not for the first time tonight we are both crying, but this time there’s an air of satisfaction, of hope to our tears. As I hold her close and babble out generic mommy wisdoms, I realize that she’s put her news to the back burner to comfort me.

  Whatever I’ve thought before, however easy it is to forget at other times, it hits me here and now that I really do have someone who loves me, who takes care of me.

  “I’m so happy for you, Stace. Thanks for listening.”

  She sighs with her head on my shoulder. “I love you, Rae. It’s going to be okay.”

  I nod. And then something else hits me and I grin. “Christ, I can’t wait to watch you get fat.”

  Thirteen

  When I wake up to a text from Dean Sunday morning asking me if I’m all right, the self-disgust I was sure had eased last night comes racing back to swamp me. However messed up I am, Dean doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.

  Texting back, I ask him if we can meet up later at his house and then I go to find Gracie in the kitchen, already eating blueberry waffles with Nick and Stacy. Though my head aches and my eyes feel like I rubbed at them with sandpaper, I watch Stacy and realize just how significant the change in her is. I didn’t have the “pregnancy glow” everyone talks about. I think that’s reserved for people who are excited when they find out they’ve created life, not teenagers who are throwing up and wondering how they’re going to take finals and tell the guy they don’t talk to that they’re having his baby. I don’t know if it’s the extra hormones or the vitamins or just the realization that she’s finally getting the family she’s always dreamed of, but my sister is without the hard edge she’s carried around the last few years.

  When I see Nick grab her hand under the table and squeeze it before pulling it to his mouth to press it to his lips, it’s all I can do to look away. Now I know how she’s felt all of these months watching me with Gracie, inadvertently flaunting the one thing she couldn’t have. She and Nick are never going to be apart. They found their match, their best friend, the person who wants to be with them through it all. I found mine at the age of eight, but like most things in my life, my love was too fast and too strong to stay forever.

  ~

  Dean sits next to me on his front porch step, his forearms resting on his knees, his eyes searching my face. If I hadn’t cried so hard last night, I might have had some tears to give him, but right now all I have is the truth. I’m a little sluttier than I led you to believe and I slept with the same boy who called me names at the party last night because, despite my better judgment and herculean efforts, I’ve loved him my entire life. I’m sorry.

  “Are you okay?”

  I blink when he asks me this, in shock that he, the victim, is asking me, the traitorous slut, if I’m okay after I’ve just confessed to cheating on him. Maybe he really isn’t that smart.

  “Isn’t it more appropriate to ask if you’re okay?”

  He offers me a wry smile and leans his elbows back on the stair above the one we’re sitting on. “I have to say, I didn’t think this was why you were coming over today, but I’m not all that surprised. Your friend was ready to challenge me to a duel over you last night. And before I can think to accept and defend your honor, you’re already punching him yourself, taking away my chance at being chivalrous.”

  I wince. “Sorry, punching Tripp has become a habit over the years. I don’t even think to let someone do it for me.”

  “I don’t think that’s all that’s become a habit,” he says and I brace for it. Here it comes, the outrage at being deceived. “You’re his habit, Rachel, saving you, protecting you, keeping you. Honestly, after watching you two scream at each other last night I knew that we’d end up here eventually. Maybe not this soon or before I had a chance to woo you with my college boy charms, but I knew this,” he says pointing from me to him, “was a long shot.” His wry smile is back and for one minute I wish that this was the boy I wanted. This boy who has been nothing but perfect, who has made me feel nothing but special and adored and cared for.

  But he’s not, and I can’t change that.

  “Can I ask you something?” I look over at Dean’s question to find him looking at me, his eyes slightly squinted in concentration. I no
d. “Have you told him how you feel?” I freeze for a second before shaking my head no. “Have you asked him how he feels?” I shake my head again and Dean blows out a breath before sitting up to lean forward. “Why not?”

  “Dean, it’s not like that. We’re not like that.”

  “You slept together but you’re not like that?” I pause and then shake my head. He frowns. “Rae, when I saw you together last night, it was obvious.”

  “What was?” I ask, but I know. It’s obvious? Translation: you’re obvious.

  “How you feel about one another.”

  I shake my head. “How I feel about Tripp is complicated.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “What about how Tripp feels about you?”

  I give a small laugh and am eternally grateful that my tears appear to be dried up. “I think we proved last night that Tripp can’t feel for me, not what I want him to anyway.”

  He sits there and stares at me for another minute, and I can see his mind working, see that he wants to say something else, but then his arm is around me in a friendly gesture. “I’m sorry, Rae.”

  Again, I wish that I could feel for him even a fraction of what I’ve felt for Tripp my entire life. “Dean, we’ve been over this, I’m the one who’s sorry. We really need to work on your outrage. If you go through college like this, girls are going to be walking all over you.”

  He laughs like I want him to. “You’re right. I’ll have to use this to my advantage—go drown my sorrows at a sorority party and be a dick all night.”

  “Nothing better designed to ensure some lady companionship than a guy who couldn’t care less.” I pat his knee. “Add in a tortured-from-my-cheating-skank-of-an-ex-girlfriend attitude? You’re golden.”

  “I guess you did me a favor then.”

  I laugh despite myself and lean my head on his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

  “I guess we can still be friends, so long as you know that whenever we fight I’m going to bring this moment up and you’re going to have to give me my way.”