Truly

by Carmel Rhodes

  He rolls his eyes, grabbing two bags of chips. “It’s your birthday, it’s a big deal. For my next birthday, we are raging.”

  “When’s your birthday? I ask.

  “February twentieth.”

  “Oh, you will be face down in a frat house for sure.” I can picture it now, Noah face down in a sea of sorority girls. A pang of jealousy shoots through me. Logistically, I know this thing with Noah has an expiration date, but thinking about the future, as inevitable as it may be, makes me sad.

  “Someone promised me anal,” he reminds me as we move further down the aisle, each of us tossing things into the cart at random.

  “La-La-La.” Becca plugs her ears. “I can’t hear you.”

  “I’m going to kill you.” I flush in embarrassment. Only Noah Tedesco would casually mention anal, in the aisle of Target, with a straight face.

  “Just not before I get to fuck you in the ass.” An elderly woman gives him a sideways glance and I want to dig a hole and dive into it.

  Thankfully, Noah’s phone rings, effectively ending the butt sex talk. It’s a standard ring, a sound I’ve never heard it make before. His body stiffens and I can feel the tension radiate off him in waves.

  “The parentals?” Ethan guesses. His eyes widen, concern washes over his features. It’s the first time Noah’s parents have been mentioned since we’ve left Newton. My dad calls and texts me multiple times a day, so do Becca’s and Ethan’s parents, but it’s like Noah’s parents don’t mind that their son is crisscrossing the country.

  “Yeah.” Noah reluctantly removes his hand from my ass pocket, and fishes for his wallet, handing me his credit card. “Grab me some Gatorade, would you? I’ll meet you guys in the car.”

  I don’t get a chance to respond before he lifts the phone to his ear and storms away. “That was weird?”

  “Noah’s intense, I won’t lie, but he doesn’t have it as easy as everyone thinks. His stepdad is next level, and his mom...she checked out a long time ago.” Ethan shakes his head. “A lot of people see the flashy shit he has, but only a few of us know the price he has to pay for it. They treat him like he’s a goddamn circus act. They spend most of their time in Atlanta, and when they are around, usually during basketball season, they treat him like he’s only as good as his last game. After we lost state sophomore year, his stepdad made him run until he passed out. He spent the next three days in the hospital because he was so dehydrated.”

  I blink, stunned, then turn to stare in the direction Noah stalked off in, wondering if I misjudged him. Ethan’s right, it’s difficult to look past the mansion, and the cars, and all the pretty shiny things. Noah has gotten so good at playing the part of privileged asshole, it’s hard to know the real him. The guy from the treehouse? The boy who brings me waffles at breakfast. The man who spends a good chunk of his day worshiping at the altar between my legs. Maybe he can’t be quantified in such simple terms. Maybe he’s all those things. Maybe he’s none of them.

  My head is still spinning as we check out. True to his word, Noah is waiting by the car. His back is to us, but I can tell by his posture something’s wrong.

  “You good, bro?” Ethan asks, clasping him on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, I’m good.” We load up the car and I still can’t catch a glimpse of his eyes. I just need to see them, so I know who I’m dealing with. Light whiskey means he’s sweet Noah. Black coffee means I’ve got a long night ahead of me. The third thing I’ve learned about Noah in the weeks since graduation is that whatever he’s feeling, good, bad, or ugly, he takes it out on my body.

  I slide in the back seat. Tension pours off him as I hand over his Amex. “Is everything okay?”

  He pockets the card but doesn’t bother looking at me. “I said I was good.”

  “Please don’t shut down,” I whisper, my focus on my lap. It’s only then I can feel his gaze on me. My heart beats a mile a minute as I lift my head. The sun is low in the sky, and the trees filter the light that seeps through the back of the car, casting a half-golden, half-black shadow over his face. The seconds tick by and then it happens. I finally see his eyes.

  My stomach drops, a sinking feeling washes over me, as I stare into the face of my nightmare.

  Treehouse Noah is back.

  I blink awake sometime later as the door to our hotel room slams shut. A large shadow looms at the entrance. It’s too dark to see him, but I can feel his chilling presence, even under the mountain of blankets.

  According to the alarm on the nightstand, it’s a little after midnight. Noah took off as soon as we got back to the hotel, and he has ignored every one of our phone calls and text messages.

  Ethan assured us that he’d be fine and to give him time. There wasn’t much else I could do, so I choked down dinner and decided to skip the rest of the night. I don’t know when I fell asleep, if you could call it sleep. My body was so twisted with worry for Noah...worry for myself. I basically just lay there, tossing and turning.

  Sitting up, I reach for the lamp on the bedside table. “Don’t,” his gruff voice barks out.

  I do as I’m told, forgoing the light and sit back against the headboard. “Where’d you go?” I ask, my eyes adjusting to the darkness.

  “I found a court and played a few pickup games. I was still buzzing, so I went back to that bar and had a few drinks.”

  “So, what now?”

  My heart stammers in my chest. Drunk Noah is scary.

  “I should probably switch rooms with Becca tonight.”

  My heart pounds even louder at both the implication and the thought of him leaving me again. “Why?”

  “You know why, Tru. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you again, and right now, all I can think about is throwing you against the wall and fucking the living shit out of you.”

  I suck in a fortifying breath, quieting all the worry and all the apprehension from my tone before I respond. “Why don’t you?”

  He takes a step forward. “You finally stopped shaking when I touch you.” He takes another step, then another, and another until I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “I don’t want to go backwards.”

  I shake my head, my braids flying in every direction. “It’s different if I ask for it.”

  He yanks the covers back. I’m wearing one of his Jameson t-shirts and a pair of white cotton panties. He grips my ankle and drags me to the edge of the bed. “I won’t be sweet. It might hurt. You might want me to stop.” He smooths my braids back, then traces my jawline with his thumb, pressing the digit into my bottom lip. “And I won’t be able to.”

  There are moments in life that define you. My mom dying. Moving to Newton. The treehouse. This is another one of those moments. I can do the sane thing and send him away, or I can take a leap of faith. Twisting the gold band around my thumb, I jump. “Then don’t.”

  “You have zero self-preservation skills, Little One.”

  “I just want you to let me in,” I disagree, “and if that means you have to fuck me within an inch of my life before you do it, then so be it.”

  He yanks my chin up so fast and with so much force, it feels like he’s about to rip my jaw off. “I think maybe you get off on fighting me just as much as I do.” I don’t answer. Instead, I push back, yanking free from his grip, and scoot up the bed, putting as much distance between us as possible. I nearly make it to the headboard before I’m dragged back by my ankle. “You can run, Tru, but I’ll always catch you.” I kick him in the stomach. It startles him enough to loosen his grip. I’m on my feet and bolting towards the bathroom in seconds. I’m fast, but no match for an athlete like Noah. He hooks an arm around my neck and hauls me backwards into his chest. “Always.”

  His hands trail up my stomach, between my breasts, and he palms me there. I twist and turn, desperate to free myself from his grasp, all the while my nipples coil tightly into diamond peeks. His hard length presses against my ass, and the arm around my neck tightens, making it harder to breathe. I dig my nails into his back, hoping
to draw blood.

  He never even flinches.

  He walks forward as I struggle to stay on my feet. I’m slammed hard into the wall, his body at my back, caging me in. His rough hand falls to the space between my legs, and he cups my pussy. I moan, despite the pain radiating from my jaw from where he pushed me into the wall.

  I writhe and wiggle under his assault. My body is melting into his. “Not so angry now, are we?”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” I grit, as he slips a finger inside of me.

  “You’re soaked,” he groans into my ear. The sound is heady and feral. He moves with a frantic urgency, not even bothering to take my panties off; he just pushes them aside. His hand comes down hard on my ass, the sting shooting up my spine. Before I can utter another word, he slams into me, hard and without warning. His hands grip my waist, and he sets a punishing pace. He fucks me hard and fast against the wall.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as white dots cloud my vision. Noah uses my body like I’m a doll. His grip is harsh. I know he’s going to leave bruises all over me. The thought only fuels my desire. It pushes me closer and closer to the edge. Noah fists my hair, yanking my head back, forcing my body to arch for him so that he can drop a kiss on my forehead. He ruts in and out of me. The pain and pleasure mix and mingle and before long, I’m panting. I need to come. Just a little pressure on my clit and I’ll explode. As if reading my mind, Noah drags me to the bed by my hair. He spreads my legs wide and spears me with his cock. His hand finds my clit and he presses down. I come so hard, I’m blinded by the ecstasy. It doesn’t slow Noah down though. He keeps right on fucking me until I’m spiraling again. I can’t take it, it’s too much, but I know he won’t let me tap out. He warned me as much and I pushed for it anyway.

  “Noah,” I pant, “I want to taste you.”

  He stills. His strong body hovers above mine and sweat drips down his toned abs as he slowly pulls out of me. I scramble to my knees before him and stare up at him with wide, doe eyes. “I’ve never...I mean, just the one time…”

  My words only turn him on more, making him more vicious. He fists his cock, bringing it to my lips. They part for him as he feeds me his sticky length. I taste myself on him, the evidence of two brutal orgasms, and it does something to me. I’m no longer spent or afraid. I’m eager. I suck as far down as I can go, bringing my hand up wrapping it around the part I can’t fit in my mouth. Hollowing out my cheeks, I suck, up and down his shaft, taking him a little deeper each time. I’m clumsy at first, not that Noah seems to mind. His head is thrown back, his mouth slack and he mumbles little praises, like good girl, and right there baby, just like that.

  But soon, I find my rhythm up and down, up and down, until I make it to the base. His body jolts and he holds me in place. I can’t breathe and for a split second, panic takes hold of my chest, but Noah’s there with his dirty words of encouragement, and it calms me. “Fuck, Tru,” he grunts one last time, as his seed coats my tongue. He lets my head go, and I fall backwards onto the floor. His big body lands on top of me, and his mouth latches onto mine. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you, Little One.”

  A small smile finds my lips as I wrap my arms around his neck. Our breaths even out, and eventually, we fall fast asleep.

  I wake up to Noah lifting me onto the bed. He grabs the blanket and covers us before pulling my back to his chest.

  I haven’t taken a moment to analyze what happened last night, why I was so keen on being a willing participant to his depravity. Why my body responds to his violence just as readily as it responds to his sweet words. Part of me doesn’t want to break the happy little bubble we’ve created while on the road. Life is easy here, the four of us. We’ve formed some sort of family, sharing meals and memories. Part of me knows this is toxic, this thing between us. I know it won’t last once we park the car back in Newton, let alone freshman year, but if Noah wants to pretend, so can I.

  I reach for my camera and snap a picture of us lying in bed. It’s too dark to see anything but shadows, but when I look back on it ten years from now, I’ll know. “What was that?” he asks, pulling me closer.

  “Just remembering that time I went on a road trip with a psychopath.”

  “Something to show the grandkids.”

  I chuckle and put the camera away. “What do you think college will be like?”

  Noah is thoughtful for a moment, then he answers. “Like Newton, but on a larger scale with way more freedom.”

  “God, I hope not. Not all of us had the Noah Tedesco high school experience. Let’s see, homecoming king, prom king, star basketball player with a full ride to play basketball at your first choice school… Ridiculously good-looking—”

  I can feel his lopsided smirk on my shoulder. “You think I’m ridiculously good looking?”

  “You’re all right.”

  We lay in silence for a beat. The sound of the city waking up serves as background noise. We’ll have to check out soon and get back on the road, but I’m sad to leave New Orleans behind. It feels like a turning point.

  “What do you want to be when you grow up?” he startles me by asking. Normally, he only asks me sex stuff, but I guess we’re past that now.

  I don’t even have to think before I answer. “A teacher.”

  “A teacher? Why? You hate high school. Why would you want to spend the rest of your life there?”

  “My mom was a teacher.” The confession sits idly in the air. Noah’s thumb rubs circles on my hip. It’s the only thing keeping me calm as the memories of her flood my brain.

  “Hmm,” he says after a full minute. “I thought she was a badass, world traveler.”

  “In her head.” I chuckle. “She wanted to be a writer, wanted to write the next great American novel.”

  “Did she?”

  I point to her journal on the nightstand. “I think so.”

  “So, what do you do for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, the hair is because of my brother, though I hate to admit it is sexy as fuck. Jameson, because your dad wants you close to home. This road trip, your intended major—all for your mom, but what do you do for you?”

  I suck on my bottom lip. I’d never actually thought of it like that before, but he’s right. I live my life based on other people’s expectations. I’d always thought I was a people pleaser, but maybe I’m just a pushover?

  “You,” I whisper quietly.

  Noah lifts up on his elbow. His eyes bore into the side of my head. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

  “Fishing for compliments seems like it should be beneath you,” I say attempting to lighten the mood.

  “I’m always fishing for something with you. I never know where I stand.”

  “Well, you did trap me in a treehouse.”

  “Stop bringing up old shit and tell me what you mean.”

  “Well, I should hate you, but I don’t. Even though you bulldozed your way onto my trip and into my life, I don’t dislike having you here. And maybe, to answer your question, the thing I do for me is letting myself indulge in this.” I gesture between us. “When the lights are out and no one is looking, maybe I secretly like the idea of being yours. And even if that means I’m fucked in the head, I want to enjoy it while it lasts because next year, you’ll be conquering new territory, ruling new subjects, but I’ll always have my summer with the psycho.”

  It’s his turn to laugh. “Why do you think that I’ll be so quick to move on next year?”

  “Because the only reason you’re here is to piss Devin off.” Admitting it out loud makes me seem even more pathetic.

  “Truly—” He opens his mouth, then closes it, choosing his next words carefully. “I have always noticed you. You just noticed him first.”

  Melody

  August 1994

  I’m just going to come right out and say it, Diary, champagne is awful. It tastes like those seltzer tabs Momma makes us drink when our stomachs are upset.

  I don’t know,
maybe my palate is unrefined, or maybe it’s because Sis bought a six-dollar bottle from HEB that had more dust on it than the copies of RBC Ministries that Momma shoved into our suitcases before we hit the road. Either way, the whole institution is garbage.

  Why did I switch from Strawberry Boone’s Farm, you ask? Well, it’s my birthday and everything is supposed to be bigger in Texas, so we wanted to do it BIG. Since Biggie never raps about Boone’s Farm, we thought we’d up our game.

  My conclusion?

  Champagne is a scam.

  Aside from the cheap champagne hangover, 18 feels good. While I’m still not entirely sold on college, I must admit, this trip getting there is feeding my soul—fortifying it for the years to come.

  What a gift it has been to experience life in its most basic human form. Wandering off the beaten path, getting lost—-finding my way, dancing underneath the stars, falling in love with myself all over again.

  Yeah, 18 feels good, Diary.

  And maybe one day, I’ll tell you all about the cowboy who helped me celebrate it. ;)

  The faucet squeaks in protest as I turn off the water. Steam fogs the bathroom mirror, but I swipe it away with my palm. Eighteen. There was a point in my life when I didn’t think I’d make it here. The scar on my arm tingles as a reminder of that girl. Am I still her, or am I a new, confident woman? I stare at my reflection, braids pulled up high on my head, face scrubbed clean, round brown eyes, plush lips. Aside from a pair of early morning birthday orgasms, eighteen doesn’t feel much different than seventeen.