Kiss Kiss

by Various Authors

  She took a deep sobbing breath. “I finally found a police officer who spoke English, and waved around my diplomatic passport, and shouted at him. He put me on the back of his motorcycle and drove me to the compound. And dumped me off at the gate. I think he was afraid to get mixed up in anything … that the guard at the gate would want his information, and that he’d end up getting in trouble. I don’t know. But it was nearly ten o’clock at night when I got home, and Alexandra was throwing a tantrum, and my mother was freaking out, and she grabbed me by the arms when I walked in and screamed at me. How dare I go off and not call, or tell them where I was going. I started to freak out, and screamed at her, and she slapped me, and I ran to my room. I wanted to die. I … I really wanted to die.”

  She inhaled through her nose, making a great sniffling sound, and wiped at her eyes furiously. Then she glared at me, her eyes deadly. “I’ve never told anyone all of this. No one.”

  I just nodded and quietly whispered, “You can trust me, Julia.”

  “I got sick. Really sick. I don’t think there was much blood loss, but it lasted almost a week. And being out in the cold, wet, all those hours. So I spent a whole week out of school with the flu. I barely saw my mother. Carrie came and sat with me a little after school, but Mom made her stay on the other side of the room, in case I was contagious.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “It wasn’t much different later on. Because she decided that me being a slut would be contagious.”

  I winced at the anger of her words.

  “When I got back to school, I saw Harry in the hallway. He met my eye and just turned away. He never spoke with me again. I guess it was a relief when he saw me back at school, that I hadn’t died or caused some big diplomatic incident that would have gotten him in trouble. But I did finally break down and tell Lana, later that year. For a while, she wasn’t speaking with me either, because I’d been so distant when I was with Harry. But by spring, we were friends again, and stayed that way for most of the rest of the time I was in Beijing.”

  “The thing is,” she said, “When you trust people, they can hurt you. And my last week there, we got in a fight. A bad fight. And Lana emailed everyone in our class a story about how I supposedly seduced Harry Easton and got pregnant. She said in her email that we’d had sex in the school building. And she told them how I’d gotten the abortion, and that was why I missed that week of school right before Christmas. And … she included a picture someone had taken. A … horrible picture. The thing is, I don’t even remember it. Harry had taken me to a party, and I’d told my parents I was staying with Lana. He kept telling me I had to drink. I blacked out … I don’t remember that night. But someone took a picture of me, and it was … horrible. Someone forwarded the email to my parents.”

  Mother of God, I thought.

  “The thing is … I’d put my life back together. I had a couple of friends … and I’d promised myself, I’d never let that happen to me again. I didn’t date. I didn’t … I didn’t even go out much with the other kids at school. I stuck to myself, and to Lana, and that was pretty much it. I worked hard. I learned Mandarin, fluently, so I’d never feel lost in the city again. I was never going to be a weak, scared little girl again. But when Lana betrayed me … it … it ruined everything. And the story followed me back to the United States. So my whole senior year in high school, it was … slut … whore. The guys would proposition me in the hallway, or grab my breasts or butt, and the school did nothing about it. They’ve got bullying refined down to a science at BCC. Then I’d get home, and it was worse, because my father was supposed to be on his way to Moscow by then. But Maria Clawson had somehow gotten hold of the email. She took my name out, because I wasn’t eighteen yet. But she published the rest, and Senator Rainsley put a hold on Dad’s nomination, and it sat there. And so every day I’d come home, and my mother was crazier and crazier. Because she thought my dad’s career was ending with a scandal. Clawson had implied in the blog that my father knew about the abortion … that he’d made arrangements for it. And my mother … she didn’t use the same words they did at school. But she meant the same thing. That I was a worthless whore.”

  Holy Christ on Mars, why in God’s name hadn’t her parents helped her? I swallowed. “You got through it somehow.”

  She nodded, slowly. “New Year’s of 2000.”

  She held up her right wrist in front of her face, and she slid the bracelets she always wore up her arm, baring her wrist, then turned it toward me. “If you look closely,” she whispered, “you’ll see the scars.”

  I sucked in a quick breath. I could barely see it—three long, vertical scars that went three inches up her wrists. Bad scars. Tentatively, I touched them, ran my fingers down them. When I did … when I made that contact, tears started to flow from her eyes, too many to staunch or swallow back.

  “I slit my wrists in the bathtub. And this wasn’t some cry for help. I cut deep, and hard—I was going quick. I could feel myself dying, slipping away.” She sobbed. “And then I realized I could hear him laughing. There was Harry, that bastard, laughing at me. Because I’d let him control my life, even years after he was gone. And I couldn’t let him win. I couldn’t let him control my life any more. I couldn’t let him be the reason I died. I think it was almost too late, but … I wrapped a towel around my wrist, squeezing as hard as I could. And I let the water drain. I was so faint—I thought I was going to die anyway. But I … I washed the bathtub down, so you couldn’t see the blood. And I went to bed. When I woke up the next morning, my sheet had blood on it—a lot of blood. But … it hadn’t been enough to kill me. So I got up and threw away the sheet and left, like I was going to school, but instead I went and sat at a coffee shop downtown all day, writing. And I promised myself that I would never again be that weak. I could make it through five more months of school, and then I’d leave home and never go back. I’d never trust again. I’d never … weaken myself again.”

  She fell silent. I could still see the shadow of the snowflakes, running across the room. I took a deep breath, and she did too. She looked … emptied. Her eyes were only half open, her pupils dilated, focused nowhere. And so I whispered my next words. “So … why are you talking now?”

  Her face seemed to break apart, her eyes suddenly watering heavily, and she sobbed, “Because I’m tired of being so alone!”

  She put her hands to her face and began to shake in great, horrible sobs, and I skipped right past her warnings not to touch her. I pulled her to me and held her tightly, and she broke down completely, crying against my shoulder, her fists dug into my back. At that moment, I wanted nothing more in the world than just to find a way to give her one minute, one hour, one day of happiness. We stayed that way until she cried herself to sleep.

  Just for now (Julia)

  When I woke up in the morning, the sun shone through the window, reflected off the snow in the Quad and glared off the walls with white light. I quickly became aware of three things. First, Crank was spooned behind me, his lips just brushing the back of my neck. That felt … really nice. Second, his right arm was curled around my side, and his hand was cupped around one of my breasts. Not exactly what I had intended to wake up to. Finally, he had an erection. There was no question that was what was pressing up against my backside.

  He was dead asleep, and the last thing I wanted to do with him in this condition was wake him up. Which presented me with a problem. How was I going to pry his hand loose from my boob, and get out from under his arm, without waking him up? Because if he woke up, he was going to want to do something about that other problem. And honestly, feeling his breath, and the slight touch of stubble against the back of my neck, not to mention his hand…it made me want to do something about it, too.

  I felt … different this morning. Drained emotionally. Yesterday … from the confrontation between Sean and his dad, the incredibly sad scene of Jack and Margot, not to mention Crank … and then me suddenly spilling my guts … all of it was just too much. I felt lik
e someone had taken a wire brush to my skin. But I felt something else, and it was strange, and confusing.

  I woke up happy.

  Part of me wondered if instead of trying to escape from Crank’s arm, I should cuddle in, wake him up, wake that up, and do something about it.

  Part of me was still terrified. He’d held me tight, while I cried myself senseless last night. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Oh, right. Because it had never happened. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt safe and comfortable.

  I closed my eyes and just lay there. I was warm, and for right now, I just hoped he didn’t wake up. It was easier to not have to decide anything right now, to not feel any pressure of any kind. Maybe it was better just to take things slowly. I was leaving for San Francisco in a few weeks for the holidays, after all. That would give me some time to explore this and figure out exactly where I was headed.

  I wasn’t looking forward to going to San Francisco at all. I’d managed to get out of going home for Thanksgiving this year, but Christmas was another thing. They expected me, and there was no getting out of it. School was closed from mid-December until late January, five full weeks. Five weeks with my mother browbeating me daily, telling me what a disappointment I was, telling me she didn’t raise me to be a whore.

  I wasn’t what she thought I was. I never had been. But she didn’t take the time to find out. She took the side of a malicious gossip over her own daughter. She believed the things that Maria Clawson had written about me. And I knew why. Because it was easier than looking at herself. It was easier than looking too closely at the fact that during that same time period when I’d been involved with Harry, she had her own secrets.

  But for now. For now I was curled up in bed with Crank. And I didn’t know where this was going: I didn’t know what it meant. But for now, it felt safe. So I decided to close my eyes and go with it. It scared the hell out of me. But sometimes, you just have to walk through that fear. So I clasped my hand over his and let myself drift.

  He stirred when I touched his hand. His breath sped up, and he stretched, which had the effect of pressing him up against me. I felt a mix of anxiety and excitement. Then he froze, and he said, very quietly, “Well, that’s awkward.”

  I could pretend to be asleep and let him withdraw. But I didn’t want to, so I whispered, “Only if you let it be.”

  I heard him stop breathing for a second. Then he said, “You’re awake. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …” and he started to pull his hand away.

  I held on, didn’t let his hand go.

  His breath quickened. And then he whispered something that brought very sudden tears to my eyes. “I don’t want to screw this up, Julia. I don’t ever want to be a person who hurts you.”

  And then he kissed the back of my neck, his lips just touching the top of my spine, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. I squeezed my eyes tighter, feeling his body down the length of mine, and pressed his hand harder into my breast. His lips moved slowly, just barely touching my skin, along my neck, up the side of my face. I turned my head to the right, bringing my lips to his. He was slow, tentative, his lips touching mine. My mouth opened, just slightly, and his opened, and for just a few seconds our tongues touched, and I shivered, my whole body awash with sensation. He ran his tongue along the edge of my lip, and I felt myself smiling. I turned my body toward his, my arms twisting around his body.

  When I turned, he lowered his head, bringing his lips to the base of my throat. His stubble was rough against my neck, and I sucked in a breath, my body pressing against his as if it had a mind of its own. His lips traced the edge of my jaw, up to my ear, and I found myself tilting my head back, giving him room. I let out a soft moan of pleasure, all of my attention focused on that one spot, where his lips touched my body.

  I gasped when he suddenly pulled back and opened my eyes. He’d backed up, and he said, “I want to see you. All of you.”

  He didn’t have to ask me twice. I nodded, quickly, and he reached forward and lifted my shirt, lowering his face to my belly. I whimpered a little as his tongue explored my belly button, even as he raised my shirt off my head with his hands. He moved his head up, and ran his tongue along the edge of my breast, and I grabbed his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle as he teased me, moving around, but not quite touching my right nipple. Then his teeth grazed my nipple, and I gasped. A part of me couldn’t help but mentally compare this to Willard, who would have been all finished by now, leaving me bored and feeling slightly used. Crank was … different. I’d never been with a man who was focused on how I felt. And it was very, excruciatingly clear that my pleasure was foremost in his mind. For a second, I thought I was going to scream as he bit me, and I found myself pressing my hand on the back of his head, willing him to bite harder.

  “Is this okay?” he asked, his tone deep, reassuring.

  “Don’t stop,” I whispered.

  He slid up my body and whispered in my ear, “Are you sure? Is this moving too fast?”

  I opened my eyes and looked in his. Then I reached up, grasping his face between my hands. “Don’t you dare stop now.”

  He grinned, then reached down and grabbed my pajama pants and yanked them down and threw them across the room. I let out a shriek as his tongue touched the bottom of my foot, tickling me, sending sensation racing up my entire body. He grasped my right leg in both hands and held it, then began running his tongue up the side of my foot, then my leg. He shifted one hand to my other leg, caressing up my thigh. My legs were shaking, my whole body shuddering, almost convulsions, as his tongue ran up my inner thigh. Slowly, painfully slow.

  Then his tongue was inside me, and I nearly screamed, my hands grabbing the sheet into my fists, and I threw my head back. I didn’t know if I was in pain or pleasure or what. I’d never had a man do this. It was something entirely new, and then I was just lost in the sensation. I moaned, loud, then louder, squeezing my eyes shut and wanting to cry out.

  I thought he was going to stop, and I didn’t want him to. But he kept going, and I got lost in wave after wave of sensation. My eyes rolled up in my head, and I felt my toes clench together, and then I couldn’t stop myself. I let out a scream.

  He did stop then. “Careful, you’ll wake up your roommates.”

  “Screw them,” I said, my voice fierce.

  “That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as this.”

  “Shut up. Keep going.”

  “As you wish,” he said, teasing, then plunged back to business, and my back arched, and I stuffed my face into a pillow, desperately trying not to scream again. Tears were running down my face, and I felt suddenly lightheaded as my entire body shuddered.

  I pulled my face away from the pillow, my breath starting to slow, and whispered, “That’s never happened before.”

  He chuckled. “It was my pleasure.” And then he kissed my belly button again, and my breasts, and moved his way back up to my mouth. I felt his penis, hot and erect between my legs. I pressed myself to him. “I want you inside me.”

  He closed his eyes for a second. “I don’t have any protection with me.”

  “What?”

  He sighed. “I hadn’t … didn’t plan on this.”

  I wanted to cry out in frustration. But I certainly didn’t have any condoms in the room, and I wasn’t on the damn pill, and … damn it!

  “Lay down,” I said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, punk. Lay down. You don’t get to do that for me and not get the favor returned.”

  He lay down flat. “My dreams just came true.”

  “Be quiet.”

  And then he was.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Why should anything make sense? (Crank)

  I could think of nothing in the world I would have liked better than to have just stayed in bed with Julia. All day. All night. All month. Whatever. Unfortunately, we had a couple of problems to deal with—she had a big paper due on Monday, and we had two wrecked
cars across the street. I wasn’t about to suggest putting off working on the papers: Julia’s too smart for that. And the cars, well, we couldn’t just leave them.

  So, we got our showers, suited up for the cold, and spent a good chunk of the morning on the phone with our respective insurance companies. This was going to be very, very bad for my insurance rates. I didn’t even want to think about that.

  Finally, that was sorted, and we were both trying to figure out what to do next. And that was—awkward—because in truth, we hadn’t really resolved anything. Had we just had a one-night stand, and no one told me? I didn’t really know the answer. Were we friends? More than friends? Lovers? Hell, if I knew. And as bold as I usually am? I was afraid to ask.

  It was time for me to go, and I didn’t want to go, and from what I could guess, she didn’t want me to go either. And then my phone rang.

  I looked at it. Dad. Dad rarely called me, unless it was for something important, so I answered it immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “Dougal, listen … I need you to come by the house. This afternoon.”

  “Dad … kind of a bad time, what’s up?”

  “If I wanted to discuss over the phone, I wouldn’t ask you over, would I, wise guy? Just come by.”