Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never

by C. M. Stunich

  Because she met him.

  She met the man who changed me from a little boy to a terrified young man, and if he wasn't already dead, trust me, I would kill him …

  12

  I blink and suddenly we're up in the air and there are clouds beneath us, white, fluffy clouds that seem less like bits of earth and more like sculptures crafted from the hands of artistic geniuses. Ty has stopped talking and is staring at them, too. There's a can of soda in his armrest that I never saw him ask for and a blank expression on his face that scares the shit out of me.

  “What happened to you, Ty?” I ask, and he blinks, too, and then he's grinning at me from ear to ear with the silliest, most ridiculous facial expression I've ever seen. It's fake, too, and lacks his signature dimples, the ones he doesn't really know he has but that make him so easy to read.

  “You sure you don't want to fuck?” he asks a tad too loudly and folks stare or maybe they never stopped staring, and I'm just now noticing it. “Because I really want to be the first of my friends to join the MHC.” I roll my eyes because I can tell that Ty is done talking. His hands are shaking and his eyes dart this way and that, desperate to see anything but his past. It's like a monster, the one that hides under your bed, that only comes out at night when you're most afraid. This monster stares at Ty and bares its teeth and he cannot, cannot, cannot look at it straight in the face. One day, he'll have to. He'll have to look at it and tell it to fuck off, but for now, he avoids its gaze and stares at my crotch like it's a safe haven, a refuge of some sort. I flick him in the chin and make him look at me. If he isn't ready for his monsters, that's okay, because I'm here and I'm willing to fight for him; I will always be willing to fight for him and that, that is a fact of life, love and happiness.

  “You cannot use sex as an escape,” I tell him although he already knows that. Ty nods his head and reaches for my left hand.

  “I know that,” he whispers softly, grabbing my sea blue ring, the one that somehow has come to symbolize our love, and sliding it off my middle finger, slipping it gently down to its rightful place on my ring finger. The gesture makes my chest tight and my heart thump painfully. “But with you, it's not like that. It's not like I'm escaping, it's like I'm already in friggin' paradise.” I snort with laughter and Ty smiles, leaning over to sear my mouth with a hot kiss, one that burns so fierce that it almost hurts.

  “What a line,” I say as I shake my head. “What a fucking line.” I pause. “If we get caught then it's all on you. I'll tell the air marshal that you blackmailed me into it.” Ty grins like a madman and claps his hands together, garnering yet another set of fresh stares from suits and trust fund kids, executives and lucky folks who think that money grows on trees.

  “You see,” he tells me with all due seriousness, rubbing his strong jaw with long fingers. “This is why I love you so damn much.”

  “Go to hell,” I tell him as he stands up and moves over to the bathroom, a sight for sore eyes in his tight, black jeans, brown boots, and bright, red tee. Getting through security with him was not easy. Prejudice fucks. I watch Ty drift down the aisle slowly, and I'm pretty damn sure that's he flashing me his ass on purpose just to get me in the mood. Either that or it's a distraction technique. I close my eyes for a moment and try to process the start of Ty's story. It wasn't much, but at least he's trying to pry himself open, to let me in, to give me the chance to judge his tortured soul. I already know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm going to give it my seal of approval, whatever that's worth. It doesn't matter if Ty's mother makes mine seem like Martha fucking Stewart or if he worked the corner, if he gave ten dollar hand jobs or screwed girls for petty cash. Those events are just unfortunate circumstances strung together, obstacles placed before Ty, so that he could become the strong, selfless human being that he's evolved into.

  I open my eyes and see that Ty is waiting outside one of the bathroom doors with a smirk on his face, a hot, sharp slash that warms up the air around me, heated by my own feelings and the ardor that's totally inappropriate and absolutely inescapable.

  Ty enters the bathroom, and I turn my head forward, back towards the large, gray seat in front of me, determined not to give myself away by acting too anxiously. After all, I've seen one too many horrible scenarios in movies regarding the infamous Mile High Club. I suppose now I'll get to find out if it's really a reality or if Ty's just shitting with me. I want to erase his pain, though, give him something else to occupy his mind for a little while. After all, he did the same for me on the bus, took something that used to be my weakness, twisted it around so that it was not only a distraction technique but a bonding exercise that drew the two of us together in ways that I can still barely understand. For so, so long, sex was just this thing, this dangerous activity with physical and emotional consequences that I ignored in desperation, wildly fighting to fill that emptiness inside of myself. Now, my feelings for Ty and my family sit there and make my heart tight with love, and sex has become … something else. It's just pleasure and not pain, another way for me to show Ty how I feel and vice versa, a stress reliever, exercise, relaxation … It's all of those things and more. It's something for him and me alone, just the two of us. Just us. Us, us, us.

  I swallow hard and stand up, trailing my fingers along Ty's armrest as I move away from our seats and find the door, open it, and step inside. Well, okay, I don't step inside. I can't really step because there's nowhere to step. The bathroom's about half the size of the shower stalls back at the dorms.

  “Ty,” I say as he sweeps me in and presses me up against the tiny counter with the hard lines of his body. Already, I can feel the stiffness in his pants, needy and hungry for me, desperate to forget. “There's not exactly any room in here for the two of us.” Ty smiles wickedly and reaches down between us, making me glad that I'm wearing a skirt. If I'd been wearing pants, this whole charade would've been virtually impossible.

  “That's okay,” he tells me as his zipper slides down and he pushes my panties aside with his fingers, brushing his calloused skin across my warm heat, making me bite my lower lip to keep quiet. “Because I'm going to be inside of you soon enough. That oughta help with the lack of space.”

  “Ty,” I whisper because he's talking too damn loud and right now, with him pushing against me, I just can't seem to care. I grab my lover's face between my hands, soak in that look in his eyes, that set of his jaw, memorize the glint of the poor bathroom lighting on his eyebrow ring, his lip ring; I study Ty's curved lips, his strong cheekbones and the slight dip of dimples that I cannot even express how glad I am to see. “Promise me something before … ” I gasp and have to close my eyes to keep my groans in check; Ty is sliding into me so wicked slow, and I can feel the hot burn of his gaze raking my face, taking me in, memorizing me the same way I'm memorizing him.

  “Anything,” Ty whispers against my ear, breath warm as it tickles my skin, slides through my hair like gentle fingers. He grabs my ass with his rough hands, pulls me forward into him so that we're pressed tight, taking advantage of all that tight space to come together, to find solace in one another's arms. When we're like this, Ty and me, it feels like two halves of a broken heart are coming together, clicking into place, starting to beat. Blood flows between the two of us, nurturing, reviving, soothing.

  “You said things will change between us after this,” I begin and Ty pauses, looking up and over my shoulder into the mirror behind us. I see his own reflection flickering back from the deep chocolate of his eyes. Deep down, Ty is scared, oh so scared. I wrap my arms around him and dig my fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt. “And I understand that. That's okay. Change is good. Even the best things have to change or life gets stale, but promise me that when it comes to us, things will only change for the better.”

  “God, I love you, baby,” he says, but he doesn't say yes. He. Doesn't. Say. Yes.

  “Ty … ” I begin, but he cuts me off by thrusting hard into me, sliding warm and deep into my very soul. I bite into his should
er, taste his warm, sweaty flesh between my lips and join the Mile High Club, certainly one of life's finest, fucking achievements. Ty slams his ringed hand into the mirror and it cracks, splits right down the middle with a sound like grating glass.

  “Oops,” he says, but his eyes are half lidded and heavy. He is halfway between here and there, between the past and the present, loving me but barely registering why. Ty is checking out, but I can't stop him because there's a woman at the door knocking.

  “Excuse me,” she asks. “Is everything okay in there?” And I have these terrible movie references playing out in my head, warning me that as soon as the door opens, the entire plane will be watching.

  “Everything is fine,” I say, but my voice sounds breathy and just a bit husky. I kiss Ty's lips, bite his ring, suck it into my mouth and taste hot metal, run my hands up his shirt and find his nipples. Ty is a marathon fucker, as strange as that may sound. I figure it's from all the practice, but I cannot friggin' think like that or I see red, so I just remind myself how good he is, how long he can go, how his rhythm is so in tune with my body. Ty's thrusts match me pulse for pulse as I squeeze around him and forget, if briefly, my mother, his mother, my baby, Noah Scott, the dog, just everything. This is why I was so addicted to sex: it's better than booze at erasing the worries, and it's private. Most people can spot a drunk a mile away, but not a sex addict, never a sex addict.

  “Ty,” I whisper, trying to keep my vision from spinning, trying to focus on the myriad warning signs and regulation posters that clutter the white, white wall behind the sable haired Butterfly God that fucks like a devil and loves like an angel. “Hurry up.”

  “Can't,” he says, panting, bracelets jingling, body tense and hard.

  “We don't have time,” I groan though the last thing I want to do is stop. Ty's cock is warm and hard and his body is shuddering against mine, so I hold him tight and fierce and I promise myself that I will never, ever let go.

  “Fuck time,” Ty whispers as he pauses, grabs my face in both hands and locks gazes so deeply into my black, black soul that I can't find the strength to breathe. “I need you right now, Nev. I need you so, so bad, and I'm sorry. I am so fucking sorry.” Ty doesn't tell me what it is that he's sorry for, but I have my guesses. Instead, he tugs my head to his chest and tangles my hair around his ringed fingers. Ty presses us tight, bodies mingling, heating, bleeding pain and sorrow all over one another, so that we're empty of that, so that there's room for other things like love, friendship, forgiveness. Ty comes inside of me, spills more of himself into a place that already belongs to him, as I wrap my legs around him and hold his broken body until the emotion passes and he steps away, cleans us up as best he can, and offers me his hand.

  Outside the door, a flight attendant waits with thin set lips and tiny, green eyes in her long, horsey face.

  “We have a one person limit for each restroom,” she tells us seriously. I glance around the plane but nobody's looking. Somehow, someway, Ty and I have done the silliest, stupidest, most impossible task there is. And I'm not talking about the Mile High Club though in truth, it is kind of impressive. I'm taking about falling in love.

  “Got it,” Ty says as he pulls me to him and nibbles my ear. “So it's like a monogamous toilet, right? I can deal.” I grab my bad boy's hand and pull him away towards his seat, terrified that the giddy glow in his eyes will soon fade to pain.

  I hate being right.

  13

  So Ty and I touch down at the airport which is a big, fucking hullabaloo of screaming children, grumpy parents, and hoity-toity old folks with rolling suitcases and Hawaiian shirts. It's as crowded, cluttered and busy as I'd expected and that's before I walked outside and caught a glimpse of the iron and concrete, the steel and glass, that absolute insanity that is New York City. Suddenly, my throat is tight and I can barely breathe. I am so out of my element here. I am a Midwest girl who fled to the Northern bits of California and managed, just barely, to adapt. Now here I am in a place that is so foreign to me that it might as well be another country.

  “I'm going to rent a car,” Ty tells me as he takes in the slew of yellow cabs, tourists, and this general feeling of rush, rush, rush that makes me sick. “The hospital my mom is staying at is actually outside the city limits, closer to Aurora. I doubt we'll able to get a cab to take us all the way there.” Ty shrugs and then sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose with his ringed hand. He doesn't want to be here; I don't want to be here. Noah had promised that the airport would be dead on Christmas Day; he was wrong. “Come on.”

  I follow Ty back inside and we meander over to one of the rental car desks whose line is longer than the Empire State Building is tall, and finally, after much grumbling from McCabe about cost, manage to wrangle ourselves up a very fine midsize sedan whose price tag is so astronomical for a three day rental that I practically have to force my hands to my sides so I don't deck the counter agent. After all, it isn't really her fault.

  “Fuck me sideways,” Ty grumbles as he tosses our bags in the trunk and looks around, blinking like he's just woken up and found himself in hell. “Christ on a Goddamn, Fucking Cracker.”

  “Did Noah … ” I begin as I climb into the passenger seat and Ty takes the driver's side. He puts one of his long, long legs in and turns to face me with the keys dangling from his hand and an unhappy look plastered across his pretty lips.

  “Noah didn't pay for everything,” he says, and then, in typical Ty fashion, tries to turn something that he finds offensive into a joke. “Do you have any idea how much that coffee in the terminal cost me? Makes this fucking car look cheap.” He stops talking and sees me looking at him, wondering how the hell he can afford this on a grocery store salary.

  “Fucking fuck, Never,” he says which is so damn literate I can barely stand it. Ty adjusts his seat to accommodate his tall form. Despite warnings to the contrary, Ty already has a cigarette in his mouth and is lighting up.

  “How verbose of you,” I say and then immediately regret it. I don't want to fight with Ty, not now, not when he needs me more than ever. Noah's words echo painfully in my skull as I watch the cherry on Ty's cig burn bright against his face, highlighting the curves of those cheekbones, making his skin glimmer with orange light. The only thing that can separate the two of you are yourselves. “I'm sorry,” I begin though the words are not easy for me to come by. “I just – ”

  “You just wanted to know if I paid with blood money?” he asks with a sigh as he drops his head and then presses his fingers to his temples. “Which is fine because I did.” I swallow hard and try not to show him that somehow, this car now feels dirty to me, like I can't stand to have the upholstery touching my skin. I love Ty and I don't judge him for what he did, but I can't stand thinking about it. He sold himself for money; I sold myself for brief respites from the pain. Are we really all that different?

  “Okay,” I say and that's the only word I can get to come out.

  “I'm sorry,” Ty whispers. “I don't have much money left from … that, and I try not to spend it unless I need it, but baby, I already did the dirty deeds, and we need the cash.” I look over at him, trying not to frown, happy that he said we, but positively certain I don't want to know about those deeds. Want and need are two entirely different things. I reach over and pluck the cigarette from Ty's mouth. His ringed fingers come up immediately and snatch me by the wrist. “Baby, don't,” he says, and we just stare at each other, just fucking stare.

  Ty's brown eyes look like melted chocolate now, all gooey and formless, like he cannot figure out what he should be feeling or what he wants to feel.

  “Why?” I ask as he releases me and sits back, closing his eyes, black eyelashes resting on the pale skin of his face. “I thought we were quitting after?” I try to remember Noah's words from just a few hours prior, how Ty is just scared, and I try to tell myself to wait, that he's not ready, but Goddamn it, I'm scared, too, and I want to say it.

  I have your baby inside of me. Help me.
I don't know what to do with it. I don't know how to react. Please, please, look at me and say you understand, that you know. Tell me something stupid. Tell me you'll use your whore money to buy a crib and a car and that we can still go to school because we'll make this shit work. Tell me that we'll rent a house and take our dog and we'll both grow up to be good people who raise good people who stop the cycle of abuse in its tracks and make life something beautiful. When I found you, my soul was a barren tree, stripped of its leaves, flowers, stripped of life. When I first met you, you started something; you nurtured me and cherished me and I didn't even know it. Now, I'm ready to blossom and all I need is you to say you understand.

  “You've done so damn good,” he replies lamely and then cracks a smile. “Wouldn't do anyone any good to stop now, yeah?” I roll my eyes and slam my door, hard. Ty notices, but he doesn't say anything and neither do I. I want to cuss him out, threaten to leave, run off and deal with this myself, but I don't. Ty needs me now more than ever. How could I do that to him?

  So instead I sit there in silence and tug at my chip earring, the one that I never take off, that reminds me with each turn of my head that I am a survivor, a survivor of my own, dark heart and my bloody memories. I survived the murder of my father, the betrayal of my family, the loss of my dignity, the depth of my feeling. When I think of things like that, it's hard to stay angry at Ty. After all, my only real problem is that our love has taken root inside of me. Ty has proposed and yes, it might be just because of the baby, but does that matter? I have never been a person who values marriage above all else. Love is love is love; marriage is law and paper.