Before You

by Annie Brewer

  If only for a short time, sex is my escape from my fucked up reality. I can forget the shitty father I have, the lonely life I lead, and for the moment, I’m not drowning in sorrow. So I take it, even if it doesn’t lead to something more. It won’t. I’m not a relationship guy. I’m a fuck-and-forget-it-all guy…that’s it.

  Once she wraps her legs around my waist, I move us to the patch of soft grass in seclusion, lay Shelly down, and hover above her. “What is it about me you like so much?” I ask, lifting her top slowly to reveal tanned, bare skin. My tongue glides up and down her stomach, over her belly button as a hand gropes her breast. “Tell me why you like me, Shelly.”

  She arches her back and fists a hand into my hair. “I like how you fuck me,” she answers between breaths, her head tilted back and eyes closed. “I like…how you make me want to be bad.”

  That almost makes me snort in disagreement. She’s bad on her own. She doesn’t need me for that.

  I slowly pull her skirt down her thighs, watching the goose bumps rise along her skin. “I need to be inside you, Shell.” She nods as if she wants it, too. I just need it. For the last year, we’ve been each other’s’ go-to…for sex. It’s never been more than a physical thing—for me at least. It seems the opposite for her, though. And I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with that. For now, I push all thoughts aside and focus on Shelly beneath me.

  Reaching inside my sock, I pull out the condom I’ve brought with me. Convenient? Maybe. But I had a feeling she’d meet me here and this would happen. I was hoping, anyway. I catch her biting her bottom lip, watching me. “Would you rather do this in the shed?” I gesture to the building not far from where we are. It’s probably not any more comfortable than on this grass.

  She runs long nails down my chest. “This spot here is fine.”

  I glance around us. It’s getting darker but still light enough to see. Without another thought, I rip the rubber from the foil and pull my shorts down past my knees. Before I do anything else, I push two fingers inside of her to get her wet. The noises she makes increase my movements. I decide to leave her top on so she’s not completely exposed.

  She pulls me down to her to kiss me, tangling her hands in my hair. And we get lost…in each other. For hours. At least it seems that way. Thrust after thrust, I’m lost. Nothing else matters.

  Sweaty and tired, we peel away from each other, replacing and adjusting our clothes. I grab her hand and pull her up. “Going to Brent’s tonight?” I ask while we walk through the woods toward my house. Stopping to light a cigarette, I wait for an answer. Either way, I’m going. I just hate the silence stretching between us so I had to ask. I don’t miss the way her nose wrinkles in distaste at my smoking habit. She knows I won’t quit and yet, she refuses to accept this flaw. Hell, sometimes she even partakes in it.

  Turning away from me, she huffs and crosses her arms with narrowed eyes but faces forward and says, “Yeah, I’ll be there. Jenna and the girls plan on going so they’ll be threatening me if I don’t.” Shelly’s legs—bare and toned—keep getting my attention. She may be shorter than I am, but the girl is all legs. And my eyes have a mind of their own. “I need to shower and change first.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  She gives me a sideways glance before wrinkling her nose again. “Yeah, you definitely need one after all that sweat. Gross!” And then she laughs, trying to run away from me, but I’m quicker and get her in a headlock. She’s squealing, begging to be let go, but I hold her in place. At least she’s acting like herself again.

  “Take that back.”

  Her nails dig into my skin but not enough for it to hurt. “Never,” she says, pushing with all her strength. “You stink.”

  I only let her go because it’s true. My body odor is making me sick. I need to hit the shower and find something to eat. Stopping beside her car, I wonder to myself how it would work out if I were to let things between us become more serious. We have fun together and have great sex, which is hella important in my book. But would she understand my home life? Would she stick around when everything collapsed around us? Because I know, eventually, it all will. Am I capable of falling in love? I’m not even sure I know what that means. What it requires, besides trust and honesty and all that shit. Just doesn’t sound like my style.

  I give her a quick hug and watch her leave the driveway.

  “Who the hell is she?”

  I catch my father standing on the porch, glancing down the drive where Shelly’s car kicked up dust, and turns toward me with a scowl on his face, like I was caught doing something wrong.

  I barely look up when I say, “A friend,” I pass him to head into the house for my shower, not in the mood for his lectures. My room is separate from the house, an old building that my uncle helped transform into an awesome mini-house. Okay, it’s not that big, not with a kitchen or its own living room or anything, but it has all I need. It has a spacious room big enough for a bed and sofa. I do have a mini fridge in the far left corner, which I keep all of my drinks and cold food inside for late night snacks. Also, we built a small bathroom but, unfortunately, it doesn’t have a shower. Other than that, I have all I need to feel homey and, best of all, I have complete privacy from the bastard. Nothing else matters.

  Well, it matters now that I lost my train of thought and didn’t think to get a change of clothes to bring into the bathroom. So, reluctantly, I walk back out of the house, straight to my place, and unlock my door. The more I think about it, the more it feels like a one-bedroom apartment. I do have a small fridge I keep bottles of soda and water…and sometimes even beer, cold. I just need to decorate the walls or some shit, even though I don’t mind it bare. I search through my clothes and pick out some cargo shorts and a solid blue T-shirt, setting my phone on its charger on the desk.

  I hear my phone beep while I pick out a pair of boxers to wear. I don’t stop what I’m doing right away to check it. My friends can wait…I’ll get there when I’m ready. I lay my clothes out on the bed to keep them wrinkle-free and consider staying in tonight. As appealing as getting drunk sounds, I’m tired of the same shit. I’m tired of waking up the next day feeling like shit. It all gets old. Doesn’t anyone ever feel like that? Like what’s the point? That’s all we ever do. I’m not even of legal age to drink yet and here I am complaining about drinking too much. But it’s true.

  I sit on my bed and pick up the phone to text Brent as my eyes scan over the message I hadn’t read yet. Here I thought it was a text from him, Greg, or even Shelly, which I was just about to reply to. It was from none of them…it was Addie. The girl I’m trying to forget. My best friend in Texas who has no idea how much I miss her every day because I’m too much of a coward.

  And suddenly, I’ve made up my mind about going. I need a drink.

  Chapter Two

  I make my shower quick and get dressed before stopping in the kitchen for dinner. I’m rarely home, but when I am, I try to eat in the dining room with my parents, much to my dismay. It’s only for my mother’s sake, though. I want to keep her happy since her husband is a sack of shit. And I am her only son—only child for that matter. I’m all she has, so if this is what it’ll take to appease her then so be it. I’ll suffer the hell that goes on at dinner…won’t be much different than any other time.

  We all sit down and scrape food onto our plates in silence, though I can feel my dad’s glare drilling a hole through the side of my head, I avoid eye contact. My mom makes the best meatloaf with just the right amount of seasonings. And it’s oh so good. She passes me the mashed potatoes and I scoop a big glob on top and pass it back.

  “So,” my mom starts up a conversation as she’s cutting into her meat, “what are your plans tonight?”

  I wash down my potatoes with ice-cold water, keeping my gaze on my plate as I answer. “Going to Brent’s.” I keep my answer short, throwing in a little bitterness in my tone. “A small gathering at his place.”

  “Right.” My dad snorts. “And I’m su
re there’ll be drugs there, too, right?”

  Now I’m glaring at him for opening his mouth. He still thinks I’m a user, but the truth is, I haven’t used in over a year. No matter what I tell him, he’ll think I’m a druggie and there’s no changing his mind. So instead of wasting my breath on him, I eat my dinner, but now I’m in a pissy mood, altogether. I contemplate storming out and forgetting this whole family dinner bullshit so I can start drinking, but when I catch the unshed tears barely visible in my mom’s eyes, I know I can’t. She never looks happy anymore. She never smiles or laughs—that I know of—and it makes me wonder if she left her husband, would she be able to move on? Find someone who truly loved her and made her happy? Or would she always be dead inside? Does she even love him anymore? Or is she just going through life as a doormat because she doesn’t want to be alone?

  “Are you fucking that girl?” My dad snaps in outrage.

  The question catches me off guard and I practically choke on the food that was going down my esophagus. I lean forward to cough, pat my chest with a fist and cough again until finally I’m gulping some water down effectively. Grabbing a napkin, I dab it against my mouth to clean the saliva away. Lifting my head, I meet my father’s gaze and narrow mine. “What the fuck kind of question is that?” My heart is pounding in anger furiously and I clench my fists in my lap.

  “Guys, please.”

  I should stop, I know I should, but I ignore my mom’s plea, staring down my sperm donor with equal hatred and resentment. “Since when do you get to ask me anything?”

  “Since I helped bring you into this world, you ungrateful little shit!” He slams his hand down on the table, almost knocking over the breadbasket. “You’ve been nothing but a spoiled brat since you entered.” He throws his hands up. “And your mother didn’t help.” He glances at her, accusingly.

  She’s staring at the wall, her face pale and stoic. God, why won’t she fight back? Tell him off…something. All she does is take his abuse. And sure, I did, too, for the longest time. But I was younger and thought I did something to deserve it. Now, I know better. And so should she. It kills me to watch him destroy her spirit.

  Lifting my foot under the table, I tap against her leg until she finally looks at me. “Stick up for yourself,” I say in a low voice for only her to hear. “Don’t take his shit.”

  My dad shovels a big scoop of meatloaf into his mouth, tossing us both an icy glare as if he knows we’re talking about him. Or I am since she’s yet to say anything. “What? You don’t have a problem with him fucking some girl?” He directs the question to my mom, who stiffens when he addresses her. “Because one slip-up is all it takes for him to knock her up.”

  “What the fuck?” I spit, completely angered with the topic of dinner conversation. “First of all, look at me when you’re talking since I’m the one you’re talking about. And secondly, I’ may be a teenage boy, but I’m not a stupid one. So shut the fuck up!” My breathing becomes heavy and my hands shake from an overwhelming urge to punch him in the face. “Believe me,” I continue my taunt, “I don’t plan to become a dad…if that ever happened, I’d kill myself.” With a light shove, I push my plate away, completely at a loss of appetite and needing to get the hell out of here. I stand, torn between staying to keep an eye on my mother, and flee before I break shit and ruin her husband.

  She sees the torment on my face and nods. I hesitate before she says, “Go, and have fun.” Her voice is low and broken and very unlike my mother. At least compared to the one she used to be. Or maybe she was always this way and I didn’t notice.

  I stop behind her to kiss the top of her head. “I’ll be back later.” I bend to whisper, “Call me if you need anything.” I stress the word so she knows I’d come back in a heartbeat if she just needed a shoulder to cry on. And I would. Sadly, I know I won’t get a phone call. She wouldn’t admit he needs anger management or maybe even to be locked behind bars. For whatever reason, she feels obligated to support him and go along with whatever he says and does. So I’m alone on that.

  “You get the cops called on you, don’t bother calling us,” my dad warns as I head toward the front door. “I’ll let you rot in there…and maybe you’ll straighten your ass up.”

  I slowly turn, holding my hands at my sides and clench them as the rage pulses through my veins. “You wanna talk about needing to straighten up?”

  My mom gets up once she sees my dad making his way toward me. “For God’s sake, Kyler…go. Just go!” She’s pulling him away, barely making much difference.

  I decide to listen to her and rush out of the house. Tears are stinging my eyes, which I didn’t even feel them there seconds before, but I can’t deny their presence now and they’re pouring down my face. Am I crying tears of fear? Shame? Helplessness? Anger? Hell, I don’t even know anymore. Maybe it’s a combination of all the emotions I’ve tried to suppress for too long. Through blurry vision, I yank the door open and jump into my truck, locking it once I slam it shut.

  I’m shaking so much, I couldn’t drive if I wanted to. Not unless I want to die tonight…which may sound slightly appealing at the moment. It’d definitely make my father happy, that’s for sure. But since I’m such a douche, I think I’d like to stick around for a while longer, just to piss him off.

  So I sit here, gripping the steering wheel and peek through the window to see what’s going on. At the moment, there’s no loud commotion or yelling, so I pray everything’s okay. Normally, he uses me as his punching bag and my mom as his doormat, but you never know when he might strike. Even if it’s unintentional. I seriously think he has some wires and screws loose that need to be looked at. He’s bordering on psychopath or sociopath. Probably both.

  Through the silence, my phone lights up with as it beeps and it startles me, making me jump like a complete spaz. I shake my head, roughly snatching the stupid contraption from the cup holder to skim the screen. It’s Brent, asking if I’m coming tonight. Earlier, I thought of staying in and lounging in my bedroom, throwing myself a pity party. And then I decided to go so I can have a few drinks and forget about the text Addie sent me. Now…I’m back to the first idea, but without the pity party. Or lounging in my room. Not that my mom needs a babysitter, but she’s incapable of protecting herself from that monster she married.

  I haven’t even turned the car on yet so I’m starting to sweat, even though it’s in the fifties tonight. I think my body burned a lot of calories from shaking so much and the rage boiling inside of me and all that crap. I stick the key in the ignition and turn it, letting the cool air blow on my sticky skin.

  Remembering the text I need to respond to, I place the phone in my lap and scroll through my messages. I send a quick Be there soon in reply to Brent’s last text and pause when I stop on Addie’s. I read her words over and over…undecided whether to write her back. Now’s probably not the best time, so I exit out to the main screen just before putting the truck in reverse and backing out of the driveway. I stop at a gas station to get more cigarettes and a bottle of water.

  The whole way to Brent’s, I’m fighting every instinct to turn around and go back home, no matter what my mom says. I don’t. I hope that doesn’t make me a bad son, but I know being there won’t help, either. I just hope I don’t regret this. And even more so, I hope there isn’t reason to.

  Brent lives in a nice neighborhood—his parents are wealthy and if he continues on the path he’s headed with basketball, he’ll be wealthy, too. His house is on a cul-de-sac with a small lake running along the back of it. We’ve been known for going skinny-dipping and jumping out of the tree into the water a time or two. Total and utter stupidity. But what kid hasn’t done things like that? Especially if you’re a risk-taking young boy. Damn were we stupid kids, and lucky too.

  Pulling up behind a Mustang along the curb, I park my truck and watch the front yard loitered with students from school. I don’t really feel like mingling tonight, but I get out anyway, reaching for my phone in the holder and shutting
the door. Knowing he has a pool out back, I always carry swim trunks in my cab. Once I have all I need, I traipse up the steps, nodding to some of my peers who acknowledge me first. Inside is loud and filled with obnoxious partiers having a good time.

  I hope to hell there aren’t any drugs. My dad’s angry assumption comes back to me and I clench my jaw. Stop thinking about him and have a good time. That’s what you’re here for. If there are drugs, I don’t have to partake. I won’t.

  First I see Jenna—she’s freak-dancing with some dude. I can’t tell if she’s drunk, but I can tell he’s getting frisky with her and she’s not stopping him. I glance around for any sign of Brent or Shelly but see neither. They’re probably in the pool. So I head to the kitchen for a beer.

  “What up, dude?”

  I shut the fridge door and nod to Kenny, a guy on the basketball team. He’s pretty cool, probably one of the nicer guys on the team. I nod my head in acknowledgment. “How’s it going, Ken?” I ask, popping the top off and guzzling it down. “How’s the team holding up without me?” It’s just a tease, knowing they have Brent and a few other good players kicking ass on the court. They aren’t suffering without me, but still I like to brag about being one of the best. It gives me a sense of satisfaction.

  He leans over the counter, laughing. “We’re good. I can’t deny we don’t miss your crazy ass on the team, but we’re still kicking ass all over the court.” See?

  I had no doubt about that. Just wish I were able to lead them to championships, too. I take another swig and swish the cold liquid around my mouth before swallowing it down. “I’m glad you guys are doing well. I was just a dumbass and couldn’t keep my shit in line.” Not that I’m doing any better now, trying to though.