by S. M. Shade
“Yeah, it’s clear you have everything under control.” He grabs my arm to steady me.
The next moment I’m waking up with sunlight searing into my brain through the window. I slam a pillow over my eyes, but it doesn’t help the railroad spike feeling much, and my stomach feels raw and sick.
“Ugh, I’m not going to work,” I groan, and Graham chuckles.
“You texted your boss you wouldn’t be in before you passed out.”
At least drunk Owen did something right. The memory floats back to me of Graham warning me not to text Remee. Oh god, did I drunk text her?
My phone lies beside me in the bed. The first text to my boss isn’t too bad, considering I can’t remember writing it.
Me: Hey, I’m Owen. I can’t make it to roof today. Sorry. No work today but sorry.
Despite the late hour, Meyer had replied.
Meyer: Are you calling in drunk?
Me: Nooo I’m calling in sick from BEING drunk.
If I’d have left it at that, no big deal. Maybe a little embarrassment and an apology. I’ve worked hard all summer without a day off while the other guys have all taken at least one. That’s not how things work for me. Drunk Owen just loves to screw me over, and the next text I sent—clearly meant for Remee—makes me want to hide under the bed.
Me: I just want you to know I’m thinking about you and your beautiful tits and your laugh and how much I want you in this bed with me right now.
Oh god, Meyer replied a few hours ago.
Meyer: I’m flattered, but I don’t think my wife would approve and frankly, I think I can do better so we should probably just be friends. Enjoy your day off and get your ass in here tomorrow.
“Oh no. No no no,” I groan. Going back to work should be fun.
“What?” Graham asks, walking in the room from the bathroom.
Without responding, I just hand him my phone. A second later, he’s flopping into the chair, laughing at me. “I tried to tell you not to text while you were drunk, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“You should’ve taken my phone!”
“Tried that too. You stuck it down your pants. Friendship only goes so far.”
Fair enough.
Wiping tears from his eyes, he hands the phone to me. “At least your boss was cool about it. And it saved you from actually texting Remee.”
Sitting up in bed, I stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “I told my boss. My big, bearded construction worker boss, that I was thinking about his tits.”
Graham loses it again, and I throw a pillow at him before dragging myself to the shower.
Two weeks down and one to go. I’ve avoided getting drunk since that disastrous text and kept my drinking to a few beers on our nights out. Instead, I’ve tried to make the most out of the last weeks here. Graham and I have spent days on the beach, on jet skis, and partying at a few of the local bars. I’ve taken my telescope out on clear nights and found some peace in studying the universe, like I always do.
What I haven’t done is hook up with anyone, and I’ve had a few chances. Graham and I have both had offers—women seem to go for his quiet broodiness, go figure—but I have no interest in anyone else.
Since I’ve gotten myself together and not done anything stupid again, Graham has stopped watching me like an unruly toddler. It helps that he’s found a vacation fling of his own. I get a text an hour or so after I get off work letting me know he won’t be back tonight since he’s staying in her room.
Perfect. I know how I’m spending my evening.
My gaze keeps falling to the bag where I packed away all the toys Remee and I bought at the sex shop. I’ve struggled to keep her out of my mind, and I’m tired of fighting it. Maybe I can’t have her right now, but my spank bank is full of her.
Digging in the bag, I find the fleshlight she tortured me with, and my cock hardens at the sight of it. Seriously? One time and she has me popping a Pavlovian boner like a dog drooling at the bell?
Of course, it won’t be the same without her, but I need something. I squirt a ton of lube in it so I won’t have to stop and add any later. Shoving my pants and underwear down, I sit in a chair and close my eyes, picturing Remee. Her smile and her tits, that wicked look in her eye when she wouldn’t let me come.
This isn’t going to take long, and I have all night. Hell, I might just do it twice.
I lube up my cock as well, and give it a few strokes before sliding the contraption over it. In my mind, I see Remee looming over me, and I groan at the instant pleasure. It occurs to me I should’ve wiped the lube off my hands before I started because it’s hard to hold tightly in my slick grip but I’m not stopping.
Unlike what Remee did, I don’t plan to edge myself into a frenzy. I just want to get off. It doesn’t take long for me to get into it, and my surroundings fade away while I picture her fucking me. She’s riding me and begging me to make her come. As I imagine turning her over and slamming into her from behind, I shove the fleshlight down hard.
It feels so good. Faster, and with enough force to be on the edge of painful when it smacks my base, I work it up and down. Just when my frantic strokes send me over the edge, making me lean my head forward, my hand slips off of the slick surface, forming a fist just before it slams into my eye.
Pain blooms, and I clap my hand over my face.
Now, I’m sure most people have had those moments after beating off where you feel a bit horrified at the porn you were watching or the thoughts in your head seconds ago. None of mine compare to this. Nothing screams post orgasm regret like sitting naked in a motel room with my eye throbbing from my fist, lube smeared on my cheek and a fake pussy still attached to my cock.
It’s not my proudest moment.
Lesson learned. Too much lube is a thing.
By the time I’ve cleaned up, my eye is slightly swollen and a faint purple smear has appeared underneath. It’s not bad and shouldn’t take long to heal, but it’s definitely noticeable. I’m going to have to think of a story because there’s no way I’m telling anyone I punched myself in the eye while jacking off.
It killed any thought of a round two, and I spend the rest of the night watching stupid videos on my phone while eating my weight in Chinese food.
Graham gets back early the next morning and blinks at the sight of me. “I really can’t leave you alone, can I? What happened?”
“Ha!” I throw aside the covers, and slide to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my face. “Be glad you weren’t here. I fought off three guys. Huge guys. You would’ve been terrified. They climbed in the window and tried to rob us, but uh-uh, I wasn’t taking that shit. Taught them all a lesson and sent them running away begging for mercy.”
Unfazed, he sits at the small table. “Did you hit it on the bathroom door?”
That would’ve been an easy excuse. “Of course not. I fell out of bed and banged it on the nightstand.” Yeah, I’m lying to my friend because this story, I’ll take to the grave.
Chapter Sixteen
Remee
I’m not used to doubting myself. Once I make a decision, I stick to it and follow through, but I keep second guessing myself when it comes to Owen. Have I made a mistake or is it my broken heart begging me to reconsider?
The two weeks since I’ve been back have been long and miserable. I don’t even have school or work to distract me. Kelly, Zara, and Serena have been so supportive, but I know they all think I’m wrong.
It’s a conversation I have with Zara—and a doped up Marty to a lesser extent—that really starts to put things into perspective. Marty’s leg wasn’t healing properly, and he ended up having to have surgery to reset it. We’ve been taking turns staying with him to help. Today it’s me and Zara since we had to get him from the hospital, and it takes both of us to move him around.
Once we get him settled with his cast wrapped leg propped in front of him, we both sit on the end of his bed.
“Two chicks in my bed. Awesome,” he says.
&nb
sp; “I will slap your cast,” Zara threatens, pointing at him.
Marty grins at me. “I thought Remee was the dom of the group.”
Poor Owen is never going to live down what they walked in on. The thought of him deepens the ache in my chest, and Zara puts her hand on mine. “You okay?”
“I miss him. And I also dread him coming back next week.”
“The guy’s crazy about you,” Marty volunteers. “Every time we drink, all we hear is Remee this and Remee that. He’s probably driving poor Graham insane.”
“Every time you drink? You only saw him for two days,” I point out.
“Nah, I mean before you two left. Can’t believe he finally made his move.”
Zara gives him a threatening look, and he shrugs. “I need a nap.”
We leave him to get some rest, and sit in the living room. After a few moments, I shake my head. “He liked me before. I thought it was just…you know…the convenience of us being in a room together.”
“You could lock me in a room with Marty for a year, and I’d never have the urge to touch him,” Zara says.
“You’d be all over me!” Marty calls from the bedroom.
“Go to sleep and stop creeping on our conversation or I’ll break your other leg!” she yells back.
“You think I’m wrong, don’t you?” I ask.
Zara sits back. “I’d never judge who someone else should be with. That’s between you two, but I think you’re limiting yourself unnecessarily. You’re strong and independent. You know I’m all about female empowerment, but I don’t think that means you have to be alone until some arbitrary line is crossed. Whether it’s a certain degree or job or whatever. If you were happier alone, I’d say go for it, but you don’t seem happy, Remee.”
“I was before all of this.” I sigh and tuck my feet beneath me. “At least, I thought I was.”
“You were comfortable,” she suggests. “In control.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re never going to be able to control everything. You just have to go with it. When you decide you’re ready for a relationship, you work to find a balance that lets it fit in your life. If you want it badly enough.”
“I need to piss!” Marty yells from the bedroom.
Zara presses her palm to her face. “Do you think we’d face charges if we just dumped him on a street corner?”
The next week passes far more quickly, and my head is a jumble of indecision. Owen has done as I asked and not texted or called me until today. The text letting me know they’re on their way back sends my heart to my throat.
Without giving it a second thought, I make a quick call to my mom to see if I can visit. It’s not running, I tell myself, as I pack and get ready to spend a few days in Illinois. I’m not running. I’m visiting my family before school starts.
It’s funny how nothing seems to change here but it still somehow looks smaller. A well maintained lawn rolls up to meet the modest ranch style house where I grew up. The same bushes line the front windows and the stone angel statue by the porch steps is every bit as creepy as I remember.
It’s not been a year since my last visit, but for the first time I realize it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Something changed. I guess it’s me.
“Mom?” I call, stepping inside.
“In the kitchen!”
The smell of garlic grows stronger and makes my mouth water when I join her. “That smells good.”
“Lasagna just came out of the oven.” She wraps me in a brief hug. “It’s good to see you. You’ve gained some weight.”
Mentally rolling my eyes, I bite back a retort. “Good to see you too.”
“I’m sorry we can’t spend more time together but I have a late shift tonight.” Her shifts as an emergency room nurse have always been chaotic.
“That’s okay. I just wanted to visit before school starts back up, and I won’t be able to get away.”
Mom sets a plate of lasagna on either side of the platter of garlic bread in the center of the small island. After adding two glasses of water, she sits across from me. “Are you keeping your grades up?”
It’s one of the main two questions I’ve come to expect, and after I assure her my grade point average hasn’t dropped, the second inquiry is right behind it. “Staying away from the boys?”
Boys. Like I’m still twelve years old. I’ve spent most of my life trying to please her, trying not to have her look at me the way she did my sister. “I was seeing someone for a while, but it wasn’t serious.”
Her gaze leaps to mine at my unexpected response. “It doesn’t have to be serious to mess things up. You know what can happen.”
Yeah, you could make one mistake as a teenager and lose everything. One job loss could leave you alone and desperate with two girls to raise. I’ve heard it for years and walked that line of vigilance to avoid ever making a mistake. It’s exhausting, and for the first time I’m starting to wonder if living on that edge is healthy. If it’s living at all. What’s the point in everything being right and perfect if it makes you miserable?
“Mom, why didn’t you ever date after Dad left?”
It’s a question I’ve always wanted to ask but never dared.
Her lips purse. “I had more important things to worry about. You girls to raise.”
“What about now?”
“I don’t need a man coming in and screwing things up. My life is peaceful and predictable.” She sighs and shakes her head, picking at her food. “You haven’t experienced how much turmoil relationships can cause, Remee. They come in like a tornado, rip everything apart and leave you to clean up the mess.”
Owen did rip my life apart, but not in the negative way she’s referring to. He made me aware of how it felt to want to be with someone every day. He’s making me rethink the ideas I’ve lived by and whether my life plan might just be a map to misery.
Look at Mom. She says she’s fine, but she’s alone here. She wants peace and predictability. Isn’t that what I’ve been striving for too? A stable career, no emotional ties to someone who might distract me from that goal then someday decide to toss me aside because I screwed up.
Like my Dad did to us. Like both my parents did to my sister when she came home to tell us she was pregnant at seventeen.
“Let’s talk about happier things,” Mom says, changing the subject. “What classes did you take this summer?”
“I couldn’t get a summer class. I spent the summer volunteering with a charity, building houses.” No way I’m telling her I walked away from it. And because of a man.
“That sounds like it’d be good for your resume. Did you learn a lot?”
“I learned I suck at construction.”
She points her fork at me. “You never were the builder type. Remember when you tried to make a birdhouse? It fell apart when the first bird landed on it.”
“Maybe it was a fat bird.”
We laugh, and the atmosphere lightens a bit. As exhausting and set in her ways as she can be, I love my mom, and it’s good to spend time with her again. After we eat, we move out to sit on the porch, and spend a couple of hours catching up. It isn’t until I’m getting ready to leave, that she drops a bomb on me.
“Rachel is back in town.”
“What? Where? Did you talk to her? Is she okay?” It’s been almost five years since I’ve heard from my twin sister. We were never really close. She was my opposite. The partier who shirked responsibilities, cut school, and ran with the wrong people.
“She’s working at Gerald’s Buffet. I ran into her when I was picking up a takeout. She would only talk to me for a few minutes.” I can’t blame her. When Mom found out she was pregnant, she kicked her out, told her to go live with the boyfriend’s family. Dad was only in our lives financially by then, but once he found out, he cancelled her college fund and washed his hands of her too.
These were the life lessons I focused on. When Mom lost her job, Dad got pissed and left. When my sister got pregnant, everyone
disowned her. One mistake can cost you everyone and everything.
“Is she okay? What about the baby?” Of course, he wouldn’t be a baby anymore.
Mom shrugs her shoulders. “As okay as you can be working a low income job as a single parent, I suppose. I really messed up with her.”
I can’t listen to this again. It isn’t something she’ll ever change her mind on, but I’m not that judgmental. I want to see my sister. “Do you have her number or her address?”
“No.”
“Mom, don’t you want her back? Don’t you want to know your grandchild?”
Her face hardens. “She made her choices.”
It’s her worst quality, her inability to admit she’s wrong even when it leaves her alone. Her unwillingness to forgive. Before I can speak again, she gets to her feet. “I have to get ready for work. Be good, Remee.”
Be good, Remee. Words I’ve heard my entire life, but I realize now we have different ideas of good.
Chapter Seventeen
Owen
It’s my last day at the job, and I haven’t been worth a shit all day. All I can think about is getting back to Remee. I’ve only gotten one text from her since she left, asking for some space and time so we can “successfully transition back to friend territory.”
I’ve given her time, but not because I intend for that to happen. These weeks away from her have shown me what we had was real, and if she hasn’t realized the same thing, I’m damn well going to try to make her see it.
Colin and I sit on the edge of the roof, watching the activity below. They’re breaking ground across the street for an additional house, and the heavy equipment has been brought in.