by Josie Wright
I look at Ben, curious what his reply will be. Before I left for college, he and Dave used to go out every weekend. Often Dave would drag me along or I would invite myself. Ben usually was less than thrilled. Most of the time, I would end up being the designated driver while they drank, or made-out with bimbos, but God forbid I was flirting with anyone. Both of them would suddenly sober up and become super protective.
“Nah man, the bar scene ain’t for me lately. Let’s just play some games here.” Ben looks at me while he’s talking and I can’t help but feel a bit of relief, knowing he won’t be getting into anyone’s pants. I’m so stupid.
“Wow and I thought Florida was like an old peoples’ home. Then I come back here and realize, compared to you they are the life of the party,” Dave sighs in mock annoyance. “Okay Ben, let’s go and shoot some shit then.”
Chapter 4
A Trip Down Memory Lane
It takes a while to get Archer to sleep. My mom has kept him so hyped up all day, he needs a while to calm back down. Once he’s asleep, I can head to the shower. For some strange reason, this has always been a safe place for me. I know I can be alone here. No one is going to bother me. I can let go of the control I’m desperately holding onto, can allow my emotions to spill over. I can think—undisturbed and unbothered.
After the shower, I get comfortable in my pajamas and sit in my window nook. As a teenager, I’ve loved having one of those. I remember this was the coolest thing back in the day. Drake actually climbed through that very window a few times—unknowing to my parents, except that one time when my dad caught him.
I snuggle up into the corner, leaning my head back against the wall and just looking into the cold November night. The tree outside my window throws creepy shadows into the room and I have to smile, remembering how I loved it when I was younger. I used to make up all these horror stories in my head, to the point where I was too scared to fall asleep and would sneak into Dave’s room with my quilt and pillow, making myself comfortable on his bean bag.
I try to keep certain other memories at bay, but I can’t help it. And it doesn’t take long until I’m right back here in my parents’ house eighteen months ago—that one night in May.
One of my friends from high school had gotten engaged, and together with a few others, we decided it should be celebrated. All of us agreed to meet back home. Dean wanted to visit his family anyway, so we decided to drive back to Michigan. I knew my parents were away that weekend, but since I didn’t plan to spend much time at home, it wasn’t like I was missing out on any family time. Dave was living with our parents, but I didn’t expect to see much of him. He’d usually spend his evenings charming the panties off of college girls.
I had just walked through the door from the night out celebrating with the girls, when I noticed Ben sitting on our couch. He’d had a key to our house for years. My parents took a liking to him the first time he and Dave played together as toddlers. Since then, my brother and Ben had been inseparable. He was more at home in our house than in his own, with both his parents working odd and long hours at the bed and breakfast they owned.
When I saw him sitting on the couch and really looked at him, I realized that he looked absolutely broken. Pain, confusion, and despair were etched onto his otherwise handsome face. And if that wouldn’t have given away that something was utterly wrong, him playing my parents old LPs while holding onto a whiskey bottle like it was a lifeline, would have done the job. I walked up to him and sat down on the couch next to him. When he looked up, there was an empty expression in his eyes. I had never seen them like that. His eyes normally told you what he thought or felt, even before he opened that big mouth of his. I placed my hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He didn’t even look up, but took a swig out of the whiskey bottle instead.
“My life—that’s what’s wrong.” His voice sounded deflated. Resigned.
“What happened? You wanna talk about it?”
“Everything is a fucking lie. All my life, everyone in it—it’s all a lie.”
I didn’t understand what he was saying. Was it some new girlfriend that cheated on him, lied to him? It seemed more serious, more destructive. It was as if whatever he was carrying was weighing him down.
“I’m not sure what you mean. But that isn’t true. My parents adore you. My brother thinks you’re the shit. Whatever it’s worth, what you get here, with us, is real.”
He looked up at me, into my eyes and it seemed like he was weighing the truthfulness of my words.
“We care about you. And I know you don’t like me very much, but I care about you, too. And that’s real,” I continued.
At that, he seemed to lose a bit of the haze that had clouded his eyes and looked at me a little puzzled.
“I never said that I don’t like you.”
“Nothing you had to say. It’s always been quite clear, but that’s beside the point right now.”
And I really had the feeling he didn’t like me all that much. When Dave wanted to take me along on their nights out, Ben never had a good word to say about it. And when I did tag along, he always treated me with as much disdain or mockery as possible.
“That’s bullshit. It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s…,” he paused, and it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything else. It felt awkward and I didn’t want to put him on the spot. I mean, he wasn’t obligated to like me just because he was friends with my brother. The crush I had on him since I could remember was solely my problem. I was aware it would never be reciprocated.
I decided to let him off the hook and started getting off the couch. “I’ll fix us something to eat. If you plan to drink all that whiskey, you’ll need something in your stomach,” I smiled, hoping to lighten the mood a bit, still none-the-wiser about what had caused it in the first place.
But just before I was fully standing, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back down next to him. Only now, I was somehow closer.
I could feel his breath on my face as he whispered, “It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s quite the opposite.”
I was about to open my mouth to say something, mainly to ask him what the fuck he was talking about, while at the same time feeling my knees getting weak and my mouth getting dry, but he continued, not letting me speak.
“You’re my best friend’s younger sister. And you think I’m an asshole.”
I wanted to ask him what he meant, but forgot how to form words or even whole sentences. Or that I could speak at all. I forgot to breathe or blink. I think my heart might have stopped for a minute. The only thing my attention was focused on was his face coming closer. The next thing I knew was the feeling of his lips on mine, at first slow and gentle. Teasing, testing the waters. But damn, there was nothing to test. This was the moment I’d had many dreams about—day and night. I willingly opened my mouth to him and nearly lost all coherent thoughts when I felt his tongue slide into my mouth.
I’d been kissed before. Hell, I was no virgin. I wasn’t a slut either, but by no means an innocent girl. But this felt like a first kiss all over. I was worried I was going to faint from the excitement. I kissed him back; with all the pent up feelings I had for him. Our tongues were tangled in a sexy little dance, and I could feel it all the way down to my center. It felt like someone set my panties on fire. It was in that moment that I knew I needed more of him.
As if reading my mind, his hand let go of my wrist, moving up my arm and to my neck. He moved my hair to the side and started kissing and licking along my jaw and down my neck. The top with the Carmen neckline I was wearing for the night out gave him easy access and he continued his way down my collarbone—his mouth gently teasing my skin. I was gasping, moaning, and swearing—all in the same breath. When he pulled down my shirt and bra and continued his delicious attack on my breast, I thought I would come right then and there.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he moaned right before sucking my nipple into his mouth. My back arched, I made
sounds like a woman possessed and I think most of my brain went on vacation, while my lower parts decided to have a party.
At this point, we were lying on the couch, his body on top of mine nestled between my legs, holding himself up with one arm. I could feel every inch of him and there definitely were a few inches to feel. He turned his attention to my other nipple. Groaning, he looked up at me through hooded, dark brown eyes and his stare turned me on even more.
Now mixed with the pain from earlier, was desire, heat, and longing. The look in his eyes was so potent, it didn’t just affect my libido, but also my heart. He tore a piece off of it right then and there and I could feel it happening.
But he didn’t give me much time to think about it when he helped me out of my top and bra, pulling his own shirt over his head as well, exposing a well-toned but not over-trained body with a fair amount of hair sprinkled over his chest and down from his bellybutton, disappearing into his pants. Somewhere between his assault on my breasts and him undressing, I had started panting. I couldn’t stop looking at him, wanted to touch and taste him. Not that I’d never seen him topless before, but this was different—this was a whole other world and I was lost in it.
I wanted to sit up, to kiss and lick what looked so good but he didn’t give me a chance, instead, he moved lower, pulling off my knee-high Chucks and following it up with the skirt. Now I was laying there in just my lace boy cut panties. He looked me up and down and I might have felt self-conscious, but the look in his eyes told me he liked what he saw. If I would have been capable of forming coherent thoughts, I would have thanked the stars for my good genes. I was blessed with some decent sized boobs, hips, and ass, and a fairly flat stomach—when I wasn’t indulging in donuts.
He kicked of his own Converse sneakers and opened the zipper of his jeans. My mouth went dry—partly from anticipation, partly from excitement, and a good amount of nervousness. He pulled his jeans down and revealed black and blue striped boxer briefs. The erection he was sporting was impressive. While I was lying there, I couldn’t help it; my hand wandered down my breast and stomach and into the front of my panties. I needed to touch myself. He made me feel like I was on fire. His gaze followed my hand and he let out a growl.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”
He moved his body back over mine, kissing me gently before moving down my body again, leaving a trail of kisses, licks, and gentle nips down my stomach, before kissing my folds through my panties. I bucked my hips like a wild woman.
“God, Ben...please.” I wasn’t sure what I was begging him for—to stop, as I was scared I might explode, or to never stop again.
He grinned up at me and cocked an eyebrow. “Please what?”
Bastard. But I couldn’t help it. There was no room for modesty, or manners. All there was was him and me, and all I needed was to feel him.
“Please, just fuck me. I need to feel you inside of me.”
This was all it took. Next thing I knew was my underwear being ripped off, his being pulled down and him hovering over my body. “You have no idea how often I imagined to hear you say that to me.”
I would have loved to give him a smart-ass retort, but speaking wasn’t high on my list of priorities at the moment. I could feel him rubbing his cock along my folds, hitting my clit occasionally. It was the sweetest form of torture. Slow, sensual, intense.
I moved my hips up to meet his, to encourage him. I was nearly delirious from desire and need.
He leaned back down, bringing his mouth to mine. Kissing me slowly, before slipping his tongue into my mouth, and while our tongues engaged in a sensual dance, I could feel him just as slowly entering me. Everything else ceased to exist. There was only us. This moment.
We both moaned in unison as the sensation of him inside of me, and me wrapped around him, hit us. For a moment, we stopped moving. Then his hips started to move at a tortuously slow rhythm, making me gasp from sensory overload. I hooked my legs around his hips, bringing us closer.
“Fuck, baby,” was all he managed to grind out. Our kiss became wilder and rougher, and so did his thrusts. I was making noises like I’d never made before. His right hand moved down to my breast, kneading it and pinching my nipple. My hands were gripping his short hair, holding onto him like a lifeline while I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the peak.
“God, Ben, I’m gonna come...I’m so close,” I moaned into his mouth. He groaned and started pounding me harder, doing things with his hips no human should be capable of.
“Fuck, baby, come for me,” he moaned into my ear, before nibbling the sensitive spot behind it. That was all it took to make me tumble over the edge. I started convulsing under him, my muscles clenching around his cock. I was writhing and moaning, my words not making any sense. I could sense his body tensing up, before he let out a groan and shuddered in my arms. Both of us panting, he grabbed me around the waist and flipped us over, so I was lying on top of him, my head resting on his chest. We were silent for a long time, listening to Bill Withers “Ain’t No Sunshine.” He drew slow and lazy circles with his fingertips on my shoulder, making me quietly moan again. I could feel myself starting to drift off to sleep, feeling absolutely content and happy in his arms. Despite having so many questions about what he had talked about earlier, about where this night puts us, I just wanted to enjoy the moment. I didn’t want to ruin it with conversations. And he seemed to agree with me as he just lay there holding me tightly. Sleep started to come over me and made my tongue loosen up. Without even realizing it, instead of thinking it, I told him what I had felt for years and what was crystal clear after that night.
“I love you, Ben.”
With that, I drifted off to sleep. I could have sworn I felt him tense up at my words, but I don’t think I was willing to acknowledge what it could mean.
Opening my eyes, I wasn’t sure where I was at first or how much time had passed. It was still dark outside, the only light in the room coming from the lamp on the side table. It took me a moment to look around and realize what had happened.
A blanket was draped over my naked body. I was alone on the couch in the living room and from what I could gather, in the house. I refused to think anything of it. Maybe he just had to go home.
That was until my gaze fell on a folded piece of paper on top of my discarded shirt. I grabbed it with a shaking hand, trying to fight the sinking feeling in my stomach. I unfolded it, allowing my eyes to take in what was written on the paper in his scrawly handwriting. I folded it back up again, grabbed my clothes and went upstairs to my room, locking the door behind me. Then I turned the shower on, sat on the floor, allowing the water to wash over me and to wash away the tears that were now falling freely.
“Sorry”
That was all he had to say after last night; but sorry wouldn’t bring back that piece of my heart he now owned.
***
The door to my room opening slowly and carefully, brings me back into the present, yet the memory lingers in the back of my head. I wipe away the tears on my face. I’m angry at myself. Angry for feeling so hurt. I know I shouldn’t. I know it isn’t a big deal. But it is to me. It’s not about him not saying it back. It wasn’t the best way, and moment, to announce my feelings.
What hurts is the way he left me—without a word. No, that isn’t correct. There was one word. I don't know what he was apologizing for. Did he regret sleeping with me? Or was it the fact that he was leaving? Or did he apologize for breaking my heart? I don’t know what he apologized for and I’m not sure I care. What he did was make me feel like a slut. He couldn’t have hurt me more if he would have added a few dollar bills to his one word letter. The moment we shared didn’t mean shit to him, that much was clear. It was a way to help get his mind of whatever was bothering him that night and get him off. And once that mission was accomplished, he was gone. For me, this moment meant everything. It changed my world—in ways I didn’t even realize back then.
Chapter 5
Ten Rou
nds
Quiet steps move towards me while I keep staring out the window. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“Frankie, we really need to talk,” he whispers, standing way too close to me. I can feel his breath stir my hair and it makes me even more emotional—sad and angry at the same time.
“Yeah, we do.” I wish my voice would hold more strength, more resolve. Instead, it’s quiet and soft.
“Is he mine? Is Archer my son?”
I hear the question and then just a ringing in my ears. I’m so angry I can feel my blood pressure rising and my blood rushing to my head. I wasn’t a nun before him and he couldn’t know what I did the week before that night, or the week after, but the question makes my blood boil. I had told him I loved him. Did he think I’d say that and jump in bed with someone else the next day? Is that what he did?
I’m furious, and the only way I know how to cope with it is to become cold and distant, allowing me to speak with as much venom in my voice as possible. “Despite the general consensus of me being a woman with loose morals, I can guarantee you, that he is indeed your son.”
“That’s...I mean...I didn’t.” He lets out a sigh and I want to punch him square in the face. “But how?”
“Do you want a fucking biology lesson?” I whisper angrily. He’s lucky that we are in my parents’ house and Archer is sleeping a few feet away from us, or I would be up in his face screaming like a woman gone mad. He makes me feel irrational and out of control. “We didn’t use a condom, I wasn’t on the pill.”
“Fuck Frankie. It was one night. I…I never thought…,” he seems at a loss, his voice breaking. I can tell looking at him that he’s overrun by a multitude of emotions. I couldn’t care less about his emotions at this point. This is not how I imagined him reacting to the news. My delusional mind had hoped he’d be shocked, but thrilled and excited. But I guess imagining is for dreamers. In real life, that only invites disappointment.