by Kara Hart
Eric eagerly stuffs his burger into his face, sighing from the strain of his esophagus hitting against the food.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe you should just forget about her. She’s not that special. Honestly, I can’t even believe I have to tell you this. You used to be a pussy magnet, someone who never gave a fuck,” he says.
“What do you mean used to?” I ask him.
“Look at yourself! You’ve barely eaten any of your food. You even took the damn bun off the burger,” he says.
“Why are you monitoring my eating?” I ask.
“We need to stay focused,” he says.
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.” I mutter.
I try to eat a fry, but he is one hundred percent correct. The thought of Olivia, curled back in my arms again, has been fucking my mind up lately. Now I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t get the taste of her sweet pussy out of my mind.
“I’ll be fine,” I reiterate.
“This is something we should do, right?” he asks, all of a sudden.
“Now you’re getting cold feet? I don’t know, man. This is all your doing,” I tell him. “I’m just along for the ride. I already told you. I’m not giving my name.”
“Fuck.” He pounds his fist against the table. “You have to use your name. It’s the only way we’ll get called back in for work.”
I nod, but I don’t necessarily see the logic in this. “We’ll get work as soon as we can deal with what happened. We shouldn’t fight the chief on this. Maybe it’s for our own good,” I say.
“Talk or don’t. I don’t give a shit. I’m doing what needs to be done,” he says.
I push the bowl of fries away from me. Standing up, I put out my hand for Eric to slap. He just stares at me.
“Going so soon?” he asks.
I think about the text Olivia sent me yesterday. I hold my breath because the whole thing just kind of threw me off guard. I’m not used to working so hard on something like this.
“Yeah, I’ve been neglecting a lot of tasks at home,” I lie. “And I have to get groceries.”
“Alright, whatever,” he shrugs, eyes fixed on the game.
I leave and pull out my phone. I text my ex-girlfriend, the once love of my life. Shit, I still can’t even believe this is happening.
She’s a woman now, though. That’s for sure. Seeing her now spurs something inside of me that is unshakeable.
I want to hate her. I do somewhat resent her for the past. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep fucking her.
They say that curiosity killed the cat. I guess that’s true. Even the familiar can inspire curiosity, and you never know if they’re waiting to throw you into the fire.
“My place?” I text her.
She takes minutes to respond, of course. Even in high school, she wasn’t too eager to call back. I remember those days. Sometimes I would have to wait until school got out to hear from her. She’s a cold woman.
By the age of twenty, I had said goodbye to those memories. I had tried to move on, though the pain in my heart still lingered. Eventually, it took over and solidified. My heart turned into stone. I didn’t care about women in that way anymore.
Love became synonymous with the word “Bullshit.” I dove headfirst into pussy and alcohol. I swore to myself that I’d find a way to forget. No more heartaches. No more regrets. Just happiness and satisfaction.
That’s why I became a firefighter. I wanted life to feel more real than it did at the time. Christ, even that decision screwed me over in the end.
The hard truth is that I’m no better off now than I was back then. I mean, on the outside it seems better. Sometimes, it even feels better too. But when I get down to the core of things, I’m still searching for the unattainable.
I’m still looking for the magic that I once took for granted. Love? Sure, call it what you will. I won’t use that term ever again.
“Sounds tempting,” she finally responds, “but how about Bono Coffee instead? I need a pick-me-up.”
“Sounds good. See you in thirty,” I type.
I feel my chest tighten and my heart accelerate. I smile and look forward.
I decide to walk to the cafe, as it’s not too far away and it’s a beautiful day to be outside. When I get there, she’s standing in the front, wearing a cute, cut-off t-shirt and jeans. She looks like… girlfriend material.
My cock jumps against the front of my pants, eager to explore what it knows is the best fucking feeling in the world.
“You look really beautiful,” I say.
God damn. I don’t know why I have to tell her everything that’s on my mind. It’s like she has some sort of truth serum in her.
“This outfit?” she shrugs. “I just threw it on.”
“Well, it looks great,” I say.
I move closer to her. I can smell her perfume and it puts me in a daze. Soon, I’m feeling those emotions again.
It’s a little like an addiction. I can’t stop breathing her air and looking at her lips. I want to kiss her so bad!
I lean forward and I kiss her cheek. It just sort of happens. Her skin is so fucking soft. It kills me.
I’m a rough man. She is the epitome of everything good in the world. I don’t want to like her, but it’s becoming harder and harder everyday.
“Thanks.” She blushes when I pull away. “Should we order?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s on me, by the way,” I tell her.
She smiles, but I can tell she was never intending on paying for this little date. In fact, she may have even come here just to break things off for good. I can’t let that happen, I decide.
Once I get a glimpse of her nipples pressing against her t-shirt, I decide that I have to have her again. I need to stuff my face in between those luscious orbs. I need to hear her moaning in my ear, telling me I’m the best gift she’s ever received.
We get our cappuccinos and sit down. “So,” she coughs awkwardly, “you wanted to discuss things?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I mutter.
What I really want to do is reach under this table and finger her until she cums wildly. Clearly, I have a problem.
“Well?” She stares at me. I’m already lost in her gaze.
When I snap out of it, I feel a sense of courage rise up inside of me. Underneath the table, I place my hand on her thigh and say, “I want you again.”
Her face turns flush and her mouth is dry. She takes a sip of coffee, but it’s no use. She’s scrambling.
Does she want me too?. Does she want to sit on Santa’s lap? “I thought we agreed. That was the one time,” she says. “We made a mistake. We agreed on that.”
“I don’t seem to remember me agreeing to the terms,” I say. “In fact, you walked out of the hotel room, angrier than hell.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting that to happen. I mean, you look so different,” she says.
“Yeah, you do too,” I reply.
We’re both staring at each other and I just know she’s thinking the same thing as me. “I need you,” is the phrase we both want to mutter, but we can’t seem to get the words out.
“You were such an asshole to me towards the end,” she says. “It really hurt my feelings.”
Shit, this is going to get bad. We’re going to start arguing about the past. Why didn’t I realize this would happen?
Am I so dense not to think these things through? This is what good pussy can do to a man. It turns your brain to mush and your dick to stone.
“To be fair, you did cheat on me and break my heart,” I say.
I wish I could take a picture of her expression. Judging by the expression on hr face, she either wants to set me on fire, or slap my face.
“Excuse me?” she asks, nearly standing up. She pushes my hand off her thigh and stares at me with the rage only a woman can exude.
“I’m just saying, it hurt me. You’re right though, it’s no excuse to be mean to someone,” I say, hoping this situation wil
l blow over fast.
“Wait. Back up a second here. I cheated on you?” she asks.
To be honest, I’m getting pretty confused by her reaction. Does she not remember how things went?
Countless amounts of people told me what happened. She sucked some guy’s dick at a party. She cheated on me and broke my heart. They all told me what happened. She’s not going to lie herself out of this one.
“Yes,” I firmly state. “I’m over it now, but for a while, it was gut-wrenching.”
“I can’t believe this,” she says.
Scooting her chair back violently, she motions to grab her purse. I nearly jump back out of fear.
“You cheated on me!” she says. “Everyone knows that. You broke my heart into pieces, Cole. I lived for you back then. I would wait until you called me, every single night. Some days, I would just lie in bed crying if you didn’t answer. I was a wreck because of you. The last time we talked, you called me by my favorite pet name. You said, ‘I’ll miss you—”
“…my little Olive,” I finish her sentence. “Yeah, I know.”
Tears start to fill her eyes. She turns her head to shield herself, but it’s obvious that she’s distressed.
“I died on that day. Honestly, it took me years to get over you. You left me high and dry, Cole. You changed your number. You moved away. But I stayed back and I waited for you to call me. You never did. I was going to forgive you. Now, I just can’t do it.”
“But I never cheated on you, Olive. I mean, Olivia. I never did. I don’t know who told you that, but it’s bullshit,” I say.
It’s the God’s honest truth. I don’t know who told her those lies, but it’s all bullshit.
“Liar,” she says.
Tears fall down her beautiful, soft cheeks. She inhales slowly, wiping below her mascara.
“Do you remember that Christmas? Well, I do. It was the first Christmas I really felt pain. Thank you for that,” she says.
I can’t argue against her now. All I can do is tell her the truth. “I didn’t do what you think I did,” I say.
None of this makes any sense. Somehow, this situation has flipped on me. She was supposed to be the one under interrogation, not me.
It doesn’t matter. The damage has been done.
When I don’t say anything back, she clears her throat and says, “I have to go. Goodbye, Cole. Goodbye for good.”
I’m left stunned as she walks away. The most beautiful woman in the world is also the most complicated.
When she’s halfway to the sidewalk outside, I mutter, “Wait.” But it’s far too late.
Chapter 14: Olivia
Thank God, I have Sandra to take care of me. If I didn’t have a friend like her, I honestly don’t know where I’d be today. She’s sweet and comforting, but she’s been known to kick your butt into gear if she has to.
“I wish I was a lesbian,” I groan.
“Me too, girl,” she says. “Only problem is that we love men too much.”
I laugh a little and take a deep, exhausted breath in. “My problem is that I love assholes too much,” I say.
“You need to get out of bed, once and for all,” she says. “It’s been a couple of days. It’s time.”
I shrug. “I went to work today. Isn’t that getting out of bed?”
“You went to work, sat down, and then came right home. What did you do after? Oh, that’s right. You jumped into bed!” she exclaims.
“I’m mourning,” I mutter.
“Bullshit. You’re just angry because your little meeting backfired on you,” she says. “Clearly, you two have a communication problem.”
“It’s just that I never thought I’d have to relive these memories ever again. I had put them away a long time ago. I didn’t think they’d ever get dragged back out,” I say.
“That’s life for you,” Sandra sighs. “You’ll have time to put them all back in again. Don’t sweat it.”
“He said I cheated on him. I think he’s manipulating me,” I say. “It’s as if whatever I have to say that’s bad about him, he just repeats it back to me and flips it around.”
“Then you need to stay away,” she says. “It’s all pretty simple. You need to find another man.”
“But he’s…”
“He’s hot as hell. I know. I saw him. Tall, mysterious, and sexy as fuck. He probably has a big dick too, huh?”
I nod. She continues, “Yeah, that’s going to be a tough one. We need to find you another man. ASAP.”
“I don’t want any men. I don’t want anyone,” I sigh. “I just want to sleep, work, and live my shitty life alone with my cats. Who said life has to be memorable?”
“Um, pretty much everyone,” she says.
“You work and you get your heart broken. Then, you work some more. At the end of the day, I just want something good and it’s just not happening,” I say.
“Girl!” she stops me and grabs my arms, so I can’t move away from her. “You need to stop. You’re spiraling and it’s over some loser you dated in high school. It’s time to move on. If you can’t, it’s time to go on another date. Ultimately, it’s your decision.”
I sit up and hug her.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just really didn’t want to feel this way again, but I guess I’m sort of forcing myself into bad habits,” I say
“Sadness is addicting,” she says. “I get it. But you’re better than that. You’re a treasure. He’s never going to realize that until you start acting like the part.”
“Thanks, Sandra,” I whisper.
“It’s time I start my shift. Call me if you need anything,” she says.
When she leaves my house, I force myself to get out of bed.
I hate Cole. I hate him so God damn much because normally, it’s hard for men to push me over the edge like this.
Yet, somehow, even after all these years, he holds that sort of power over me. It’s like he’ll always own a piece of my heart. It sucks.
The biggest thing I can’t stop thinking about is that he genuinely looked truthful. That’s what hurt me the most. I don’t know if it is some manipulative tactic that he uses on women, or if he actually believes that lie.
Part of me wants to confront him about it again. The other part of me knows that it’ll get me nowhere.
Instead, I turn my TV on and flip through the channels. Nothing is on, as usual. I keep flipping until I hit the nightly news.
That’s when I see him. On the screen is a picture of Cole’s hot shot crew.
“Dammit,” I sigh. It’s almost as if everywhere I go, he’s there. It’s impossible. This whole thing is impossible.
The reporter says, “We have yet to get a comment from Cole, one of the squad leaders. How all those people died still remains a mystery…”
“The fire,” I say out loud.
I remember the warehouse fire years ago. A whole section of the city turned to embers. It was a huge deal. Eventually, they blamed the property manager.
I don’t know if it’s just me being erratic, but I grab my phone and hover over his number. I click on it and hit “message.”
I stare at my screen for a good five minutes before I type, “Did you know that you’re on television?”
It’s not long before he texts me back. “Is this some weird ploy to get back at me?” he asks.
I frown. “Just turn on the Channel five,” I text.
He calls me within thirty seconds. He’s breathing erratically.
“I’m going to kill Eric,” he mutters.
“Cole, settle down. I just wanted to let you know,” I say.
I hear him turn the volume down on the television. “Yeah, I know. I just want you to know that it was an accident. Everything that happened… it wasn’t our fault,” he says.
There is pain in his voice. It cuts deep. I don’t know what to say. I never thought it was his fault in the first place.
He goes on to say, “And I think I should apologize for earlier, by the way.
So, here it goes. I’m really sorry. For everything,” he says.
My heart sinks, expands, and pumps overwhelming emotions into my body.
“It’s fine. I’m alright,” I say. “And whatever happened that night, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I know it’s a hard job. I don’t think anyone is out to blame you.”
“It’s just that Eric can’t deal with what happened. He’s not equipped enough to handle what we saw and experienced,” he says.
“I understand,” I say.
For a brief second, I feel like asking him to come over. However, I have to protect myself and wish the feeling away.
His voice is deep, yet soft and soothing. Had I not had yesterday’s conversation, I would say that it feels trustworthy and slightly enchanting.
“My little Olive,” he whispers. “I’ve fucked up so much.”
I close my eyes and images of us in high school flash before my eyes. They say that once you picture a memory, that memory has been changed or altered. It’s as if once you think back on something, your brain has already distorted it.
I don’t know what’s real anymore. The past happened so long ago. I think back on us and I can’t help but feel like it was all real. It feels so far away, yet so close.
“Cole,” I whisper into the phone.
“Come over,” he says. “I’ve got something for you.”
“Is this like one of those movies where you answer the door with a pizza, and somehow I get naked before eating it?” I ask him, laughing slightly now.
I’ve started to cool down. “Maybe we can get past this,” I think to myself. All the hurt and the pain that we’ve caused each other is so pointless to dwell on.
I close my eyes again and picture the boy I once knew and loved. Cole is so handsome, so dark and mysterious, yet so personable, and quite normal.
Cole is like the amalgamation of everything I have been looking for, yet there’s just so many signs telling me to keep my distance.
“I can order a pizza, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says. “But no. There’s no obligations. You can leave within a minute of coming over if you’d like.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Give me thirty. I have to get ready.”
“Don’t get ready,” he says. “I’ve been a wreck all day. I look and feel like total shit. I think it’s only appropriate we face each other on the same level.”