by Mia Sheridan
My mind flashes to a time when we were about twelve and thirteen and I saw a small form she had filled out from some "Giving Tree" crap that her foster parents had given her that some charity was collecting for foster kids. I had gotten one too, but I had crumpled mine up and threw it away. I didn’t want some well-off family picking out some shit for me and driving home in their minivan to eat roast beef around the family dining table, feeling like they were such super people, giving back to the community. Just the thought of it pissed me off.
But I got a glimpse of the one Evie had filled out when it fell from her backpack. She had flushed and quickly stuffed it back in, and I pretended I hadn’t read it but I had. She had written in that she wanted her own pillow and pillowcase. I don’t know why that was important to her and I never asked. Maybe because she moved around enough to feel like if she had one thing to take with her that was hers and permanent, something to provide comfort, it wouldn’t be so hard. I don’t know. But something about that broke me in a way that I couldn’t explain at the time and I had gone home and picked a fight with this big thug of a kid that I lived with, mostly letting him kick my ass. I was usually able to get a few good licks in, even against kids a lot bigger than me. But that time I didn’t even try.
When I told Dr. Fox about that, he told me that I was just picking up where my dad had left off because I thought I deserved it. Maybe. But he probably didn’t know the excruciating pain of watching someone you love suffer and not be able to do a fucking thing to change it. The girl I loved wanted a fucking pillowcase for Christmas. It killed me and I hated my own powerlessness. I guess the only thing I was in control of was making the pain physical, rather than emotional, which is always the type of pain that feels unsurvivable.
The memory of that feeling comes back to me now because it’s what I’m experiencing, sitting here in this kitchen, listening to Evie tell me what my abandonment did to her. Even though she doesn’t know that that’s what she’s doing. I clench my jaw though and brace against the pain that comes in waves when I hear what she went through – she lived this, the least I can do is take it in and let it effect me fully, which is what I’m doing. But, fuck, it hurts.
She’s silent for a minute, watching me, before she continues. "At the end of that month, I had enough money for a security deposit at any one of the apartments I had looked at. I called around and found the one that I could move into that day. I slept on the floor using my backpack as a pillow and a ratty, pink blanket I had had since I was a kid, until I could afford some used furniture. I got my GED that next year since I had moved out and started working before I graduated."
She watches me again carefully before picking up her glass and taking a sip of wine. I’ve been keeping my hands busy with the dinner prep so that I didn’t pick up the nearest heavy object and hurl it through the window, and Evie nods toward the potatoes I’m rinsing. "Want me to do that?" she asks.
"No, I want you to sit there and relax and sip your wine and talk to me." And I have to smile now because despite the story she just told, she is sitting there relaxed and smiling. She amazes me and calms my own emotions.
"You've been through so much, Evie," I finally say.
"Yeah, but the thing is, in some ways I'm lucky for it."
"How so?" I’m confused.
"Well, how many people do you think walk into their apartment at the end of the day, small and simple as it may be, and look around and feel like one of the luckiest people in the world? How many people truly appreciate what they have because they know what it feels like to have absolutely nothing? I went through a lot to get where I am and I don't take anything I have for granted, ever. That's my reward."
And that right there, that is the best example of why this girl is the most exceptional person I’ve ever met. What she just did, turning ugliness into something beautiful – it’s her gift. It’s the thing I could never, ever do, no matter how hard I tried, instead letting the ugly take over and weave it’s way through me until it changed who I was, making me bitter and rageful. And maybe that’s exactly how Evie was able to love me – she looked deeply inside of me and was able to move past the ugliness to something that was good. I don’t know. All I know is that she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, inside and out.
Finally, I say quietly, "I never would have thought to look at it that way." And I wouldn’t have. It’s why she makes me a better person. It’s why she inspires me.
I finish some more dinner prep, and she sips her wine, both of us quiet for a couple minutes thinking our own thoughts. It feels so amazingly good just to sit here with her, making dinner and talking.
I’m thinking about the stories she used to tell when we were kids, and to keep her talking and to hear her thoughts on how she grew up, I ask, "Evie, the eulogy you gave for your friend, Willow. Tell me about that."
"I'm talking too much about myself, again. How does that happen every time I'm with you?" she asks, smiling.
"Indulge me, you're fascinating to me."
She rolls her eyes and smiles at me. "I used to tell Willow stories when we were kids and lived together in foster care. She loved them and even after we were adults and I would go over and clean her up from whatever mess she had gotten herself into; drug hangover, shit kicked out of her by a boyfriend, whatever." She waves her hand, pausing briefly before continuing. "Even as an adult she would ask me to tell her one of her stories. She would ask for them by name, even in a completely inebriated state sometimes."
"Sounds like she felt special in the ownership of them. She probably didn't have ownership of a lot. That's beautiful, Evie," I say. And I know that it’s true because that’s exactly how I felt about the stories she told me. Just thinking about them made me feel good about myself and I needed that so desperately. Her stories were like medicine to my wounded heart. Then, and even thinking about them now, which I still do sometimes.
She stares at me silently for a minute, a soft look on her face. "In the beginning, it was just stupid kid stuff. I had a vivid imagination." She laughs a small laugh.
"It came in handy. Just a kid trying to comprehend the incomprehensible, you know?"
I nod. Of course I know.
And then I can’t help myself. The question is out before I even give myself permission to ask it, "Will you tell me about Leo?"
She looks down and takes a sip of her wine. Shit, I shouldn’t have gone there. "Jake, I've shared a lot tonight, and it felt good and that surprises me because I don't make it a habit of bringing up my past very often, but can we save Leo for another time? Is that okay?"
Something flares inside of me when I see the look in her eyes at the mention of my own name. I’m pretty sure I see sorrow there. She tries to hide it, but again, she was never any good at that. Something warm fills me, not only in the further realization that I’m reading my Evie again just like I used to be able to, but in the knowledge that maybe she didn’t let me go all those years ago like she said she did. I stare at her, thinking more about how sweet and kind and loving she is. She looks up at me through her lashes and asks what I’m thinking.
I go around the bar and sit down on the stool next to her and she turns toward me as I take her hand, "I was just thinking about how much I appreciate you sharing with me tonight. And I was also thinking that from where I'm standing, you've done a pretty remarkable job of not letting your past make you hard. There's not a harsh or bitter thing about you, not a single thing, not your attitude, not the way you hold yourself, not your eyes, not your smile, not the way you treat people, always taking care of the people who are lucky enough to have your love, and that's just you. Life obviously took a lot from you and I know you've been cut deep, but the fact that you relied on yourself to make it through and that you didn't let it make you cynical or cold, that is all you. Own that. That's what I was thinking."
She stares at me for a couple beats before I see moisture glistening in her eyes and she smiles a shy smile. God, she’s gorgeous.
I gesture for her to sit down at the table as I quickly set it and dish up the food and we dig in.
"Okay, truly impressed," she says. "This is amazing."
I’m glad she thinks so because if I have it my way, I’ll cook for her every day for the rest of her life.
After we eat in silence for a couple minutes, she asks, "Will you tell me about your parents? How did your dad pass?" She looks at me nervously.
"Heart attack. It was sudden. He lingered for a week afterwards but got a blood clot. That's what actually killed him."
"I'm sorry, Jake." She pauses, still looking at me warily. "You must miss him."
"Yeah, I do. I wasted a lot of years with my dad that I can't ever get back," I say very truthfully.
"I'm sorry."
I think about my dad for a minute. There’s still a sadness there for me but Dr. Fox helped me work through a lot of the guilt, not that it’s completely gone, but I recognize that I’ve come a long way now that Evie’s brought it up. "It's okay. Really. It wasn't okay for a long time but I've come to a place where I’m getting there. I realize now that there are a lot of paths in life. Some we choose and some are chosen for us. I was dealt some shit, just like a lot of us are, and I made a lot of poor choices too. I have to take responsibility for those. But the only thing we'll get from trying to figure out where another path would have taken us are questions there are no answers to, and heartbreak that can't be healed. Regardless of how we got there, all any of us can do is move forward from where we are."
Just like when I talked to Dr. Fox, talking to Evie about this feels good. I’d like to go into it more with her someday because I know now that talking it through with someone who can understand is healing. Someday, though. Not tonight. I don’t want to close myself off again after she’s just given me so much of herself, but not only am I going to be unable to talk about a lot of this stuff, but it’s still a hard subject for me. Getting it out is good but I want this night to be about me and her, not a bunch of shit. She’s in a better place than I am regarding the pain of the past – tonight has made that very clear. Plus, mine is still on-going. Just thinking about Lauren’s crusade makes me tense up. "I'll tell you all about it, Evie. You've already given me so much of you, and I want to give you me, but not tonight. Tonight, I want to enjoy dinner and enjoy you and not bring up a bunch of shit that's going to put me in a bad mood. Okay?"
"Okay," she whispers, looking at me with soft eyes as if she really does understand. I’m grateful.
I grab her hand and squeeze it across the table. We finish dinner and then she helps me clear the table and rinse the dishes.
She excuses herself to use the restroom as I finish tossing the pots and pans into the sink and dry my hands. Suddenly the reality of the fact that Evie is in my home and that we just shared dinner together like any other normal couple hits me hard and intense happiness fills me.
When she walks back into the kitchen, I grab her hand and lead her to the couch. My body is vibrating with the happiness her presence brings and I need to show her. I pull her down on top of me so that she’s straddling me and fuck, that’s sexy. Again, the awe that fills me in letting her be in a position of control and being okay with that is overwhelming. Her eyes fill with heat right before she puts her mouth on mine and licks the seam of my lips. I open for her immediately and she moans and oh God, I’m already painfully hard and that sweet little moan shoots straight to my cock. I take the back of her head in my hands and tilt it so that I can kiss her more deeply, the desire to possess her body so strong that I already feel out of control with need. We kiss, deep and wet, tongues tangling, tasting, moaning into each other’s mouths and I don’t ever want to come up for air. She’s my air, my reason for existence, the only thing that matters to me in this life or any other.
I’m drunk from the taste of her, lust shooting through my veins, my entire body vibrating with the need to be inside her, to possess her, to make her mine. Mine! A growl comes from my throat and she moans back, grinding down on my lap so that my balls pull up tightly,
"Fuck!" I have to tear my mouth away from hers, breathing deeply. "God, Evie, you feel so fucking good."
"Jake," she says, breathing hard too. "I'm not sleeping in the guest room tonight."
"Thank fucking Christ." Thank fucking Christ. Thank fucking Christ.
I stand up with her in my arms so that she wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her down the hall to my bed, my mouth locked on hers the entire way, the word Mine! reverberating through my head, the need to show her physically how much I love her, pulsing through my veins.
CHAPTER 16
I carry her into my bedroom, deposit her in the middle of my bed, and then stand up and take off my shirt before rejoining her. My tattoo occurs to me for the first time. I know I can’t show her yet, but I smile inside thinking that my lion tamer is both on my back and in my arms.
I’ve never in my life been this turned on. I’m vibrating with it. I think briefly that this is how it would have been if she had been my first – this is how it should have been. The grief in that thought hits me, but I push it aside. We’re here together now. And I need to see all of her like right this fucking second.
I put my hands up her sweater, forcing her arms over her head, and pull it up and off of her before tossing it on the floor. I sit back and look down at her. She’s wearing a red, lace bra and her skin is smooth and flawless, and I need to feel her against me – now.
"Help me out, Evie, I want to feel your skin on mine." I’ve been waiting what feels like a lifetime to feel your skin on mine.
She looks just a little unsure as she sits up slightly and unhooks her bra and pulls the straps slowly down her arms, and then drops it on the floor. I drink in the perfection of her breasts, small and firm, dark pink nipples already pebbled under my stare. "Christ, even more beautiful than I imagined," I whisper.
I lower my mouth to hers again, my tongue sliding into her sweetness, and revel in the feel of her softness against my chest, her hands wandering over my back. My hips start rolling instinctively, and she whimpers into my mouth, sending more sparks flying straight to my cock. I moan back, thinking that I need to slow this down if I’m going to last longer than three seconds. This is so fucking good, I don’t ever want it to end, but I also want to make it good for her – and that means not coming on her stomach before we even get started.
I lean off of her and kiss down her neck as I bring one hand up to cup her breast and rub my thumb over her nipple. The slight weight of her is sheer perfection in my hand, the skin like satin. This woman was made for me in every way possible.
Her hips buck up against my raging hardness and I growl at the feel of her heat meeting mine. God, it’s going to be like heaven to sink into her.
Desperate to taste her, I lower my mouth to her nipple and suck it into my mouth, licking and sucking as she trembles and gasps beneath me. I take turns at both, as her gasps become whimpers, her hips moving with each pull, her hands raking through my hair. My girl is so responsive, so perfect. Mine.
When one of her hands starts moving down my stomach, I suck in a breath and pull off of her breast to look down at her. She doesn’t know the focus it’s taking to take this slow, if she touches me there, it will be too easy to lose control.
I know the look on my face is probably intense as she gazes back at me, wide eyed, lips parted, too beautiful for words. "I’m a virgin," she says suddenly, her eyes studying mine.
Everything in me freezes as her words sink in. My heart squeezes in my chest and the blood starts roaring in my ears. Her eyes keep studying my face as she whispers, "Is that okay?"
Is that okay? Is that okay? "In the history of the world, nothing has ever been more okay," I say, the emotion I feel coming up my throat and making my voice husky, even to my own ears. Did she save herself for me? Surely not. I just got fucking lucky that life worked out this way, that no one has ever touched this beautiful girl except for me. And how is that even
possible? I don’t care. I just thank God and put my mouth back on hers, kissing her with wild abandon, licking and sucking at her lips. I feel greedy and possessive, more impatient than I was before to bury myself inside of her and claim her as mine. But I know I need to go slowly now for her. I need to make sure she’s as wet as possible for me so that this isn’t too painful for her. I need to make her come.
I unbutton and unzip her jeans and then kneel up and pull her boots off, one at a time. Then I quickly pull her jeans and her tiny red lace panties down her legs and toss it all on the floor. Then I quickly move back over her, claiming her mouth again and move my hand down between her silky thighs, urging them open. She shivers and I bring my head up, looking her in the eyes and whispering, "Open for me." She does as I say immediately, letting her legs fall to the sides.
"I'm gonna make it easier for you to take me," I say, and I see her eyes flare at my words. She nods slightly.
I press one finger gently inside of her and feel her body tremble. Jesus, she’s so tight, so hot, so wet. My cock surges in my jeans, eager to take the place of my finger.
My thumb finds the sensitive little bundle of nerves high above her opening and I spread her wetness over it and then start moving my thumb on it in slow circles, while moving my finger in and out of her slick opening. She tilts her head back and moans, and seeing her pleasure is almost too much for me. I feel like I’m choking on lust, riding a thin line of desperation. It has never been like this before, ever. The beauty of this moment overwhelms me as I watch Evie on the brink of orgasm, lust and love surging through my body simultaneously.
"God, you’re so beautiful. Is that good?" I manage to choke out.
"Yes," she pants out as I add another finger, stretching her, feeling her juices coat my fingers as I stroke them in and out of her.