To Be Your Only

by Rae Kennedy

  I kiss his neck, licking the salt from his skin and dig my nails into his back as his thrusts become more frenzied.

  “God, this feel so...you feel so good. What can I do, Ky? I want to make it good for you, too.”

  “Roll your hips a little. Yeah. Oh. Like that. Yes.”

  He hits a spot inside me that makes everything tingle and throb and I instinctively bear down against him as he keeps pumping.

  “Don’t stop. Right there.” I slip my hand down between us to rub my swollen clit. My stomach contracts and my back arches at the contact. I cry out as the sparks of pleasure coil and ebb deep within me.

  I’m used to getting myself off during sex so I'm surprised when Eric’s fingers brush mine away and take over. It feels even better to have him playing with my hard nub, flicking, circling, and pinching it, coaxing out every delicious sensation as he finds his own pleasure in fucking me.

  “Do you like that?” His voice is husky, ragged.

  “Yes. I’m...I’m close.” I writhe under him as the tension blossoms inside me. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Eric, I’m coming.”

  My pussy clamps down on him like a fist and he shoves into me two more times before he, too, is shuddering from his release. His arms are shaking as he empties himself inside me, his body jerking with the intensity. But his eyes are on mine and they’re soft.

  Even after he stills, we don’t part. We lie tangled together, breathless, warm, and sated. I gaze at him as he smiles down at me and as he moves in to press gentle kisses to my forehead and nose and lips, I feel the words trying to escape again.

  I love you.

  * * *

  I wake up but I’m not in my bed. The ceiling is different, this bedding is not mine, the pillow smells...like Eric. I turn to see him lying next to me, his back to me, rising and falling steadily in deep sleep. And I’m naked.

  When I turn to grab my phone, the dull throbbing in my head explodes into severe pounding. It beats behind my forehead and stabs at my temples, and I have to close my eyes because it’s starting to make me dizzy.

  Fuck, we drank so much last night. And the sun shining in from the window is way too goddamn bright. What time is it?

  I reach for my phone from the night stand—and next to it are four opened condom wrappers. What? That can’t be right.

  Then it all starts coming back to me in pieces. I told him to sit down. I put the condom on. I got on top and rode him on the couch. Was he too drunk to even participate? Did I...did I force myself on him?

  No. He carried me to the bed. He slid his body over mine and entered me over and over. There are flashes of being in his arms, soft kisses. Of reaching for each other in the night. Touching in the dark. Of him pulling my leg over his hip and slipping into me.

  Shit. We had sex. Apparently on and off all through the night and I can only remember half of it. We were so drunk. What if he hardly remembers it either? He said he wanted the first time to mean something. To be special. He said he wanted to wait until the feelings were right. And instead, we had sloppy, drunken sex. I stole his special first time.

  He told me he wanted to wait but I’d brought it up again. It was my idea. Would he have agreed if he’d been sober? Had he been too drunk to truly consent? Is he going to be upset when he wakes up?

  What have I done?

  I get out of bed carefully so as not to wake him. My headache compounds when I stand, the throbbing pain searing hot. I find my clothes in the living room and slip quietly out the door.

  CHAPTER 29

  “I had sex with Eric.”

  Gracie sits up, yawning and blinking dazedly as I stand at the foot of her bed. She rubs her eyes and then focuses on me, looking more awake. But she doesn’t react or say anything. She regards me like she’s waiting for me to go on.

  Why isn’t she saying anything?

  “Oh,” she finally says. “Was I supposed to be surprised?”

  What the fuck?

  “Let me try again.” She clears her throat and straightens. Then widens her eyes in exaggeration. “Oh my god, Kyla, what! You slept with my brother?”

  I collapse on the bed next to her. “You already knew?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t really know anything. But yeah, I noticed how you were making eyes at him all the time. You’d told me you had feelings for him so I didn’t think too much of it at first. But when I saw how he’d look at you back, I knew there was something going on between you two, at least emotionally.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me about it?”

  “I figured if there was something to tell, you would have. You’ve always told me everything in the past.” She raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I go into my reasoning for not telling her, and honestly, trying to explain it while she looks at me with that cute little crease between her brows makes every excuse seem entirely inadequate.

  “I know I’ve been kind of a mess since I got back, but do you really think I wouldn’t have been able to be happy for you?”

  “I...I don’t know, I—”

  “Because I am happy for you. As long as you’re happy. Are you, like, together? Is he good for you?”

  “I’m in love with him.”

  Her eyes light up and she squeals as she crushes me in a hug. “Oh my goodness, this is amazing!”

  I groan. “But I ruined it.”

  “What? How?”

  “By sleeping with him.”

  “I’m not following. How is that a problem?”

  I don’t think I should tell Gracie that Eric was a virgin—even if only in the technical sense—that’s too personal. But how do I make her understand how much I fucked up?

  “He wanted to wait longer to go all the way, and I told him I wouldn’t pressure him about it. But then we got so drunk last night. And it was my idea. And I don’t think he would have wanted to do it if we’d been sober and now I feel like the worst sort of person.”

  “But you were both drunk and you didn’t coerce him, right? It’s kind of a two-way street.”

  I shake my head. “We established when we were sober that I was ready and he explicitly said he wanted to wait. If it were the other way around, if I had said I wanted to wait and then as soon as we got drunk we did it anyway, it wouldn’t be okay. I should have known. I shouldn’t have brought it up. He’s going to hate me.”

  She takes my hands. “He’s not going to hate you. You just need to go back over there and talk to him. Like, right now. Don’t wait.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. I know you’re right.” Fuck me, my head hurts. “Do you have any pain meds? I’m so hung over.”

  She chuckles as she gets up and fishes through her bag.

  My phone buzzes and my heart immediately goes wild. Is Eric awake? Is he upset?

  Mom: Are you at Gracie’s house?

  A cool wave of relief washes through me. But also a little bit of disappointment.

  Me: Yeah

  Mom: I’m on my way to pick you up. I need help packing up the rest of Grandpa’s house

  Me: Can you give me like an hour?

  Mom: I told you I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in five.

  “Here.” Gracie hands me two little pills and I go to her bathroom to get some water.

  “My mom needs help with Grandpa’s stuff so I’ve got to go.” I fill up the glass and swallow the pills as Gracie’s reflection shows up in the mirror.

  Her arms are crossed and I know that facial expression. It’s the I’m about to call you on your bullshit face.

  “When are you going to talk to him?”

  “I will later. Soon. My mom is literally on her way to pick me up right now.”

  She purses her lips. “Don’t sabotage this, Ky. You always sabotage yourself.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t sabotage myself.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Breaking up with Max Warner because of his hat?”

  “He was also sort of douchey.”

  “Promise
me you’ll talk to him.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  I wrap the delicate picture frame in brown paper and put it in the box with the others. The living room will be completely bare after this. Apparently, my mom already had a lot of Grandpa’s things put into storage when he’d moved to the care facility, but there was still so much left. It’s amazing how much stuff piles up after decades in a house.

  I pick up the last picture from the shelf. There’s a thin layer of dust over the antiqued silver frame, and the lacy doily underneath it is aged and yellow from the sun except for where the frame was placed in the middle. Proof it hadn’t been moved from this spot in probably thirty years.

  It’s a picture of my grandpa and grandma right after they got married. It’s in black and white, grainy, and a little faded. They’re standing on the boardwalk at Coney Island. The ocean is in the distance. Grandma’s wearing big sunglasses and holding on to her hat like it’s about to blow away, and Grandpa has his arm around her waist, just looking at her. Smiling like he forgot his picture was being taken.

  He adored her.

  My heart constricts. We’ve been working here at the house all day and I haven’t been able to call or text Eric because my phone died right after we got here. Because, obviously, when you’re drunk and busy screwing all night you don’t remember to charge your phone. Fuck me, could today get any worse?

  I clean the frame and glass but instead of putting it in the box, I set it on top of Grandpa’s shaving kit. These are the only things I’m going to keep.

  Mom comes down the stairs, carrying a large box against her hip. “This is the last box from the attic. I think we’re about done. Wasn’t too bad, right? There will even be some boxes left over you can use for your move.”

  “You’re still kicking me out? Seriously.”

  She sighs heavily. “Like we’ve already established, I’m not kicking you out.”

  “No. You just want me out of the house as soon as possible.”

  “There’s no deadline for you to be out. You just need to be headed in that direction.” Almost under her breath she adds, “Lord knows you haven’t had much direction lately.”

  She walks out of the room, taking the last box with her and I say, not quite so quietly, “Yes, we already know I’m just a disappointment of a daughter.”

  A loud thud sounds from the direction my mom went and then she storms back in without the box she’d been holding.

  “Kyla Jean! What did you just say?”

  I shrug. “Only what you were thinking.”

  Her eyebrows raise in shock. My mouth gets me into trouble so much, you’d think I’d have learned by now how to shut up.

  She steps closer, her eyebrows now swooping down, her hazel eyes—the exact shade as mine—almost look hurt.

  “Kyla, I don’t think you’re a disappointment. At all. I’m very proud of you.”

  I can’t help the errant pfft that escapes my lips. See, this goddamn mouth of mine.

  “I know I drive you crazy, Mom. I know you think I’m flaky. That I'm a screw-up who can’t commit to anything.”

  “I don’t think you’re a screw-up.”

  I cross my arms.

  “You and I are very different,” she continues. “I knew I wanted to take over running the diner when I was younger than you. I’ve always been singularly focused. You, on the other hand, have always been interested in anything and everything new. You’d try anything. And, yes, I wish you’d have stuck with something longer than a season, but I admire that about you.”

  I half-snort. “Admire me?”

  She nods. “You’re fearless. You tried out for the school musical even though you can’t sing to save your life.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And you still got a part! You taught yourself how to juggle in three weeks for your first pageant—a pageant you won against girls who had been doing pageants their whole lives. You’re smart and tenacious, and I know you’ll be amazing at whatever you decide it is you want to do with your life. You just haven’t found something that holds your interest. And this last year, I noticed you’ve stopped looking. I don’t want to enable your complacency. I’d have a harder time letting you go if I didn’t know you’ll succeed. And I’m not going anywhere, I’ll still always be here if you need me.”

  As my mom drives us home, I anxiously wring my hands together in my lap, unable to think about anything but Eric.

  Fearless.

  My mom thinks I’m fearless but that’s not true. Yes, I was never afraid to try new things, but everything I quit was because I was scared. Scared to fail. Scared to succeed. Scared I wasn’t enough.

  And that’s why I’d left Eric this morning. I was afraid. Afraid I had ruined everything. Afraid he’d change his mind about me. That he wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. So I’d left before he had the chance to leave me.

  I do sabotage myself.

  A tear hits the back of my hand, sliding down between my knuckles. I wipe it on my leg and then ball it into a fist.

  I need to talk to him. I have to fix this.

  * * *

  I sprint out of the car when we finally pull up to the house.

  “Kyla Jean. You’re forgetting something.”

  Fucking hell. I storm back to the car, fling open the back door, and wrangle the empty boxes out, then march them into the house, stomping all the way down the hall to my room. I throw them in the corner with the other stack of “Kyla needs to move out” boxes. All of the boxes and the previously neat pile tumble across the floor, scattering everywhere. I don’t give a fuck.

  I drop to my knees to find my charger cord on the carpet and plug in my phone. The black screen momentarily blinks as the phone comes back to life. I’m going to have to let it charge at least a few minutes before I’ll be able to call him. Might as well clean up my mess.

  A hard laugh escapes from my lips because, shit, that’s what I’m trying to do. Clean up the figurative mess that is my life while surrounded by my literal mess.

  I try to shuffle the heaps of cardboard together but as I do, papers slip out from between the stack and scatter to the floor. They’re the school pamphlets my mom gave me the other day. I huff out a breath. I thought I’d thrown those away. I stoop over to pick them up but son-of-a-bitch, there are like forty of these things. As I’m scooping them into a haphazard stack I can’t help but look through a couple of them. Maybe I need to start examining what else I’m sabotaging for myself.

  My phone pings behind me with a text notification. I scramble to it and have to tap it four fucking times to finally get it to open. It’s from this morning. Must have been right after it died.

  Dr. Gallagher: Where are you?

  Fuck. Fucking no no no. I can see him now, waking up, probably feeling like shit because he drank quite a bit more than me, and being alone. Shit, what the fuck was I thinking? I wasn’t. I’m horrible. I’m no good at being a girlfriend.

  I don’t have time to text. I can barely move my fingers as I hit his name. I need to talk to him, hear his voice right now.

  It rings. And rings. And rings. And goes to voicemail.

  I rip the phone from the wall and race out the door, almost trip down the front steps, and jump into my car. My phone is dead again before I’m even one song into the drive to his house.

  As I pull up to the big house, several cars line the gravel drive. It’s Sunday family dinner. Because of course it fucking is.

  I run to Eric’s cottage, almost losing a sandal in the process. He doesn’t have a bell but I knock. I knock again. I wish I could call him. I peek in through the front window. He's not home.

  My hopes of working this out quickly are shattered when I walk in Gracie’s house. They’re already mostly seated at the table, except for the two little boys running circles around the dining room, Bev, who is setting down a huge bowl of spaghetti, and one of Gracie’s sisters-in-law, who is currently bouncing a fussy baby on her hip near the window.<
br />
  And he’s there. Sitting in his usual spot.

  Bev spots me first. “Oh Kyla, we were just about to start. Tom, will you go find another chair?”

  We make eye contact across the room. My heart is hammering as I sit next to Gracie across from him.

  His mom is saying something and I think Gracie is trying to dish out a salad but I can’t focus on anything but him. And he’s staring back only at me with an intensity I’ve never seen from him before. No hint of playfulness or mischief, no joking or smiling. Just a pensive glare, a rigid mouth, and a jaw that clenches every few seconds.

  Right. So he’s mad. Valid.

  By the time everyone has finished eating, one of Gracie’s nephews is crying because the other one has the blue bouncy ball and he wants the blue bouncy ball, not the green one.

  Court and Tuck just got back from their honeymoon and are telling Gracie’s parents all about their trip while Bev hints to Tom that he needs to take her on a vacation.

  Meanwhile, Gracie’s one-year-old niece is trying to Houdini her way out of her highchair. Lubricating herself up in spaghetti sauce first was a genius move.

  Everyone is chatting, boisterous laughs in the background. But nothing has been louder than Eric’s silence.

  Gracie’s dad pushes away from the table and leans back in his chair—the unofficial signal dinner is done—and Bev stands, already gathering glasses.

  “Eric, dear, can you help me with the dishes?”

  Gracie pops up from her seat. “I’ll do the dishes, Mom. Here.” She starts stacking up the plates and shooting me not-so-subtle wide eyes.

  I hand Gracie over my dishes mouthing, “Thank you” and then turn to Eric. He stands from his spot, his stare not leaving me. I walk calmly out of the dining room and into the front foyer even though my heart is pounding wildly and my chest is so tight I can barely breathe. I know he’s following me.

  And when I turn, he’s right there. Close. Brown eyes blazing. Somehow it feels like he’s filling the room.

  “We need to talk,” I say, my voice coming out higher than I’d like.

  His jaw tightens. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  CHAPTER 30