by Meg Jackson
When she reappeared again, tears were streaming down her cheeks. She held the phone out to Cristov.
“Call Kennick,” she ordered. “They’re probably together, so call him. Call him and tell him everything. I’m going to her house. I know where her spare key is.”
“I’m coming with you, then,” Cristov said, standing up. He’d never seen Ricky like this; sure, he’d sat through plenty of angry drunken ramblings, but this was different. She was coldly determined, her anger turning her mind and body into a whip cracking through the air around her.
“Fuck that,” she said. “She’s my best friend, and you clearly screwed something up if she didn’t feel like she could go to the cops.”
“I helped her, Ricky,” he snarled in response. “She didn’t feel like she could go to you, either. But she stayed with me last night and felt safe. It’s my problem now, too, get it?”
“How the fuck is it your problem? You did everything you could, and it wasn’t enough, so now it’s my turn,” she spat, eyes shaking with her misdirected rage.
“It’s a matter of doing the right thing,” he said, low. He didn’t expect her to understand, but it was his problem. He’d stepped in and saved her once, and now he was responsible for what happened to her. The sense of duty was something passed down from generations of Volanis men before him, and he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else until he knew she was safe. “You can tell me to fuck off, but I’m still going to follow you. Besides, you might need my help if she’s there and she’s hurt.”
Ricky’s face underwent a thousand expressions before she threw her hands up in angry resignation.
“Fine! But I’m driving, because you’re calling your brother,” she said, grabbing her keys from the bowl on the coffee table and not waiting to see if he followed her outside. The rain outside had picked up, becoming a steady patter that did nothing to soothe the pain in her heart, the worry in her stomach, or the thirst that told her she could forget it all soon enough. The thought of drinking made her sick, but the thirst was still there. For the first time, she wondered if it would ever go away.
35
Kim, and Kennick, joined Ricky and Cristov in Tricia’s empty house. Kim had left her office without even hanging up the “out to lunch” sign.
Having already been through the dark rooms, Ricky told her sister that Tricia hadn’t packed a bag; the girls knew each other so well that they may as well have shared a single wardrobe. Ricky knew that Tricia would never have left without her signature dark green yoga pants or favorite skin-tight black American Apparel t-shirt.
“Maybe she just went to her parent’s house,” Kim offered, sitting on the couch beside her sister. Kennick and Cristov stood leaning against the opposite wall.
“Her parents are in Cuba, remember?” Ricky said, biting her lip.
“Exactly,” Kim said. “No one’s home, so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. She still has a key, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Ricky said. Tricia’s parents had moved to Dover some years prior, and the thought that Tricia had gone there had already crossed her mind. “She does. I mean, yeah, that’s probably where she went. Right?”
“I think so,” Kim said, sighing. Her eyes watered as she looked down at her hands. Cristov noticed the way his brother stiffened at his side. The look of pain on Kennick’s face as he watched Kim fight tears cut him to the quick. He thought about how close he’d come to feeling that same way about Ricky.
That sort of pain, the kind that came from too much love, was enviable. Even as he stood there, watching Ricky try to comfort her sister while obviously struggling herself, he felt the desire to hold her close and try to give her some relief.
“I just can’t believe she didn’t…why wouldn’t she come to us?” Kim asked, her fingers tearing at her cuticles.
“I don’t know,” Ricky said. “But you know, it’s Tricia. She’s so…she hates being weak, or feeling…she doesn’t like anyone helping her. She’s always been that way.”
“That’s why it doesn’t make sense,” Kim said with a sniffle. “How could she let some asshole do that to her? I mean, I never worried about her walking home alone at night because I knew she’d be the first one to kick a guy right in the balls. She took all those self-defense classes and…”
“Kim, can you do anything?” Cristov interrupted, drawing the girls’ attention to him. “As mayor? Can you get the police to arrest Paul, or something like that? They won’t even let us file a missing person’s report.”
Kim shook her head, wiping at her eyes.
“I don’t think there’s anything I can do, really,” she said. “I mean, I can talk to Jimmy and the Chief of Police, but I don’t have the power to put a warrant out or anything. Shit…what if I have to see him? He works for the Town Council…if I have to see him, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Don’t worry about that now,” Kennick said before turning to Cristov, throwing the girls a side-eyed glance. “Look, come talk to me in the other room for a sec. Let’s give them a minute.”
Cristov knew there was more to Kennick’s suggestion than leaving Ricky and Kim to each other, and he followed his older brother to the kitchen, well out of earshot.
“You got an idea, man?” Cristov asked. “Spill.”
“I don’t have a plan,” Kennick said, eying Cristov up and down. “I don’t even know what my role is here except helping Kim get her friend back. I’ll do whatever I can, but the girl probably skipped town. Sounds like that’s what happened, anyway. Maybe I’ll drive Kim down to Dover to check out her parent’s place. But you know, we’ve got bigger fish to fry than this…”
“I know,” Cristov said, gritting his teeth. “But we still don’t know what we’re doing about that shit, do we? I mean, we can’t even find the fuckers…you don’t think they had anything to do with this, do you?”
The brothers shared a glance that said the thought had crossed both their minds. When Kennick shook his head, Cristov felt relieved, even though Kennick couldn’t possibly know any more than him.
“Why would they go after her?” Kennick asked. “She’s literally nothing to us. I mean, she’s Kim’s friend. That’s it. If they wanted to hurt us…I think she skipped town, man.”
“I agree,” Cristov said, nodding. “So what’s with the private chat?”
“Ricky, man,” Kennick said with a frown. “This is dragging you back to her. I know you have a responsibility now, I get that, trust me. If I were in your shoes, I’d be feeling the same way. But that girl…”
“It’s over, Nick,” Cristov seethed, hating the way his brother looked at him, like a kid getting a stern warning from his principal. “There’s nothing to worry about it. The feelings are gone, there’s just this now. I can’t help it that Tricia happens to be Ricky’s friend, and I’m not gonna get involved with her again.”
Kennick studied his younger brother. Cristov was lying through his teeth, and they both knew it. The feelings weren’t gone. And much as Cristov didn’t want to admit it, the more time he spent with Ricky, the more he wished he’d never said those things to her, never left her, had stuck it out, tried to work through it…
“Alright,” Kennick said slowly, and, leaning out kitchen door, stole a glance to the living room, where Ricky and Kim were embracing. “I know how you get with women, that’s all. Be strong, brother. She wasn’t good news then, and she’s not good news now.”
Cristov had a fleeting vision of his fist breaking Kennick’s nose, rage flushing through him in a white hot spiral. Kennick didn’t know shit. He didn’t know shit about Cristov, and he didn’t know shit about Ricky. He certainly didn’t know the Ricky that Cristov knew.
Of course, Kennick did know Cristov – he knew everything about Cristov. But he didn’t know Ricky, and that was what Cristov told himself as he willed his anger down to a manageable level. Ricky might have her problems, but she was just a little bit lost. When she was at her best she was…well, she was the
best. The best Cristov had ever have or could ever hope to have.
The Ricky he remembered was walking barefoot through the kitchen singing along to a Sam Cooke record and getting eggshells in the omelet and laughing about it, then offering him popcorn by the handful. She was cartwheeling through a pumpkin patch singing The Misfits and striking a Captain Morgan pose on an oversized squash. She was looking into her empty cabinets, one foot raised to her calf so that her legs looked like a flag, her hands on the back of her head, saying that if it wasn’t for GrubHub she’d starve to death. That was the Ricky Cristov had come so damn close to loving…
And that was the girl Cristov saw when he and Kennick returned to the living room, when she looked up at him with watery eyes that were so wide and pained it hurt him like a knife to his chest. Kim and Kennick filed out after a few more minutes of sisterly consolation, heading to Dover to break down Tricia’s parents’ door.
It was only when they’d left; when Ricky shuddered in the cold night air; when Cristov draped one arm around her shoulder to shield her from the cold; when Ricky stiffened in his embrace before melting, her face pressed against his chest; when she asked him to come home with her, to keep her straight and sober for the night; when she looked up at him and there was nothing but honesty in her eyes;
it was only then that he realized just how big a lie he’d told his brother.
36
All night long, after Kim called to say that there was no sign of Tricia at her parents’ house, Cristov held Ricky and felt her heartbeat in his palms. Kept her shoulders from breaking as sobs wracked her body. Waited until the sound of her breathing steadied and slowed, then slept beside her, their bodies pressed together.
The morning wrote a different story.
Ricky woke, feeling Cristov’s breath against the back of her neck, flowing lightly behind her ear. The sheer mass of him, the physical weight, seemed to pull her towards him. She could feel his hardness against the curve of her thighs. With her eyes still closed, her mind caught between dreaming and waking, she pressed back against him.
There was comfort there. His arms moved, tightening around her, and he grunted slightly as he shifted behind her. She let her thighs part. She didn’t want to think about anything. His eyelashes fluttered against her neck.
“Mmmm,” he murmured, sleep thick in his throat. “Baby…”
Ricky didn’t care if he was still dreaming when he said it. All she cared about was the way his lips moved against her flesh, drawing her pleasure upwards like a bucket in a well, his hand lazily stroking her breast through the thin fabric of her t-shirt.
“Yes,” she whispered, reaching around to grab at his waist, grinding herself back against him. “Yes…”
“Ricky?”
So he was awake. And his body went rigid behind her, but she didn’t let go.
“Just…don’t stop,” she said, desperate for him to take everything away, even just for a moment. “Please…”
“We shouldn’t,” his voice was strained; she felt him throbbing behind her, his need palpable under the bedsheets.
“Please,” she said again, and grabbed his hardness through the fabric of his boxer shorts, taking hold of it, grip firm, the way he liked. He groaned behind her, his hand moving down to slip past the waistband of her pajama shorts, and found her hot and wet, like she’d been dreaming of this all night.
“Then get these off,” he growled into her ear, and she released him long enough to pull the shorts down. Her hand flew back to his shaft, the throbbing pulse in her palm like a lighthouse beacon. She pulled him through the hole in his boxers and trailed her fingers up and down, his hips jutting forward until he slid between her thighs, underneath her entrance. When she pressed back, his head rubbed against her clit, and her back arched in need.
“Turn over,” he demanded, the words hot and swirling in her ear. She obeyed, rolling over onto her stomach, her ass lifted slightly, thighs parted. The weight of him against her back was everything, one hand on her waist, the other slipping around to find her clit as he pressed himself inside her.
“Fuck,” she groaned as he filled her up, stretching her to her limits while his finger circled her clit patiently, slowly. She thrust against him, wanting more, wanting him to take her hard and fast, to punish her and pleasure her at the same time. His breath was hot against her neck, their bodies glued together, his thrusting raw and forceful.
“Ricky,” he groaned, his finger moving faster on her clit, a storm rising in her stomach. “Ricky, come for me…”
“Yes,” she panted, a mouth full of pillow as he pressed her down, dominated her, gave her every inch of his cock just where she needed it. Each stroke drove him deeper and deeper into her pussy, his finger rolling quick circles around her clit. “Yes…I…I…want…I…”
“Now, Ricky,” he growled, lifting himself off her and yanking her hips upward so that his next thrust pierced her very center. Her fingers clawed at the sheets as he ravaged her body, thrusting into her so hard that the sound of it filled the room, her clit throbbing as he stroked it.
“I…I…I can’t…” she moaned, wanting it so bad, the pressure unbearable in her womb. “I…”
“Then come with me,” he groaned, and taking her hips in both hands now, buried himself into her. When the first warm blast of his cum filled her, the storm broke and Ricky cried out, her body trembling as her pussy milked the cum from his cock, each thrust making her squirm in his grip as the world went dark, pleasure soaking into her bones until they felt weighted and heavy. Cristov grunted as he emptied the last of himself into her womb, his fingers holding her so tight it might leave bruises.
She panted, numb and sparkling at the same time, body sated but soul stirring with deep unease. He pulled out and away. And there was silence.
Ricky rolled over and pulled herself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. Rare, mornings without hangovers; yet she felt as beaten down as any post-bender dawn. Cristov took her lead and rolled over to the opposite end. Their backs to each other, each felt they knew the other’s thoughts as well as they knew their own.
This was a…
…was a mistake.
We shouldn’t have….
…shouldn’t have done this.
I’ve missed you…
…you so much.
What do you…
…do you to me?
Why do you make…
…make me feel this way?
If it’s love it shouldn’t…
…love shouldn’t hurt like this.
It shouldn’t…
…shouldn’t be this hard.
I needed you…
…needed you last night.
But now I need you…
…now I need to go.
Cristov rose and stretched, pulling his discarded clothes from the floor.
“Tell me if you hear from her?” Ricky asked, still not daring to turn and face him. He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him.
“I imagine you’ll be hearing from her first,” he said. “But yeah, I will. And if she gets in touch with you…”
“I’ll let you know,” Ricky said, her throat threatening to close in on itself.
Tuesday morning; it was early enough for her to get up and dressed and shower and meet Ed Kerry at Sid’s for the breakfast they’d re-scheduled yesterday. Early enough to make it to work, even early enough to come up with some half-baked pitch to make up for her poor performance at yesterday’s weekly meeting.
But what gossip could she possibly have to share with Ed Kerry? Oh-my-gosh, you know Tricia? She’s totally been getting five-finger kisses from her boyfriend, Paul, and now she’s missing and no one knows where she is!
And what would she pitch to Ron and the team? “Local Nice Guy Turns Out To Be Horrible Woman-Strangling Bastard”? “Best Friend Disappears After Back-Alley Choke-Out”?
Or what about: Hey, Ed, you know how I was kind of dating Cristov Volanis? Well, I like totally begged him t
o stay with me last night and then we had amazing sex this morning even though my best friend is in trouble and it was absolutely the worst idea I’ve ever had!
“Local Woman Sleeps With Man Who Doesn’t Want Anything To Do With Her”.
“Area Reporter Worst Friend In History”.
“Times Reporter Makes Another Mistake. No One Surprised.”
“Ricky,” Cristov’s voice pierced the bedroom stillness; looking up, dragged from her thoughts, she saw him standing at the doorway. That stubble had just scraped against her skin, made her nerves tingle. Those eyes had seen right through her. Not just that morning, but for a long time. She thought of Tricia’s pitying look, followed quickly by her words of advice: “You never let the good ones stay, Rick. You keep putting things inside your heart that don’t belong there.”
Tricia, you giving me boy advice turned out to be one hell of a joke, didn’t it? She thought, immediately hating herself for it.
“Yeah?” she answered when hesitation seemed to steal his voice.
“I don’t really regret this,” he said. “I mean, a part of me does, but only because it reminded me…”
“I know,” she said. “I get it.”
His crooked smile was an arrow in her heart.
“You always get it, don’t you?” he said, shaking his head. “At least, you tell yourself you do, and that’s all it takes.”
“What does that mean?” Ricky said, too tired to fight him. And what did they even have to fight about anymore?
“Nothing,” he said, shoulder slumping, eyes still searching out those parts of her she longed to keep hidden. “I want you to know though…those things I said to you…I didn’t really mean them. Not most of them, at least. I just…I can’t explain why I said them, but I didn’t mean them. In another life, I hope we wind up together.”
And with that, he was gone, clicking the bedroom door shut behind him. She listened to his footfalls across her apartment, then the front door unlocking, opening, closing. The apartment seemed to dim, suddenly, as though her lightbulbs all just gave up a little bit at once.