by Eliza Park
I shot up with a gasp, sweat beading on my forehead.
Dr. Kroger was there with a glass of water, bent over the couch. She gave me a kind smile. “Well, that was progress.”
My heart pounded in my chest so hard I thought it was going to rip through and fall onto the floor. I was trying to call back the memory. Something terrible had happened then, but I couldn’t remember what it was.
“Are you alright?”
I nodded and took a sip of water. “I was so close,” I said, not recognizing my own voice.
Dr. Kroger sat back in her chair and hit the stop button on a recorder I hadn’t seen before. “Celeste,” she paused, “Sometimes with trauma it can take several months before the memory can be brought forward. The pain is so deep that it gets hidden. I need your consent before we continue with each session.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her, willing my hands to stop shaking.
——————————
I didn’t tell Maverick about my sessions with Dr. Kroger, worried he might think I was taking on too much at one time. I could handle it. My desire to finally find out the truth was so powerful, and I could feel the memory at the tips of my fingers, just begging to be rehearsed.
At my class on Thursday, I was so distracted thinking about the session, I hadn’t noticed my classmate Gage staring at me. We’d spoken a few times since the semester started and I’d come to discover that he was majoring in fashion design. Gage was gorgeous. He had skin the color of cinnamon with eyes to match, and he kept his dark hair trimmed short to his scalp. His face was long and angular, with a jawbone that stuck out beneath his ear and cheekbones so high they were nearly touching his eyes. He was wearing a long silver earing that dangled to his shoulder and bright pink lipstick.
“Look, I know I don’t know you, but you okay?”
Just sifting through the traumatic events of my childhood.
“Yes,” I said, smiling.
He raised an eyebrow, “Good. Did you do the writing assignment for today because I didn’t even understand the prompt.”
I unfolded my class binder and popped open the rings, sliding the assignment over to him.
He gave me a weird look, “You are too organized.”
“You probably still have time to write it before he collects them at the end of the class, and you can just send it in an email. Do you want some help?”
Gage nodded so quickly his earrings bounced against his shoulders, “Girl, I will owe you so big.”
We whispered to each other the rest of the class, and right before we were dismissed, Gage hit the send button on his laptop. When we stood to leave I was shocked to discover how tall he was. He towered over me like a skyscraper. I walked with him out of the classroom, and he stopped me, “Listen. I have this huge project I need to work on that’s due at the end of the semester, but I need a model.”
“There’s no way I’m walking on a runway.”
He laughed, “No, honey, I mean I need someone to build the dress around because I can’t use myself.”
“Don’t you have mannequins?”
Gage shook his head, pursing his lips, “I don’t do, mannequins. Mannequins don’t move with the fabric like people do.”
I considered it for a moment, “I could do Friday’s?”
He hugged me, his long skinny arms wrapping around my upper body. “Yes! Friday’s!” He took my phone from my hand and typed in his number, handing it back to me. “I’ll text you my address and we can work there if you’re cool with that? I don’t want to step on any boundaries.”
“That’s…that’s fine. I think.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Honey, you cute, but I have a boyfriend. Don’t you get any ideas.”
I laughed and relaxed, “I’m sorry, I’m just….” I waved a hand dismissively.
He looked me up and down, “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” I nodded.
Maverick called me on my way back to my apartment. I was furiously typing in notes on my calendar, making sure to block out time on Fridays for Gage and Saturdays for Janey, who I hadn’t seen in two weeks.
“Hello, boyfriend,” I answered.
“I would love the way you say that if you didn't sound so pissed,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“I was putting things into my calendar.”
He laughed, the sound sending happy vibrations through my toes. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to how organized you’ve become.”
I thought about my closet, the things lined up in the drawers of my bathroom, and the specific ways my towels were folded and stacked.
“So, why are you calling me?” I asked.
“First game is this Saturday, you wanna come?”
The idea of standing in a huge crowd of smelly, beer drinking men, having to watch hot, starving cheerleaders throw their bodies around, and trying not to be too anxious while my boyfriend pounded his body into someone else’s made me want to throw up.
“Umm…”
“Crowds too big? I can get you a VIP pass. You can sit with my mom and dad and then come down onto the field after.”
I should have guessed Lucy and Abel would attend every game.
“Um,” I breathed, “I don’t know, Mav, I have a lot of homework and if we’re going to hang out on Sunday—.”
“Oh,” he interrupted, “I have a post-game practice on Sunday. I’m sorry, I meant to lead with that.”
“Oh,” I didn’t know how to tell him I wasn’t ready to go to one of his games yet. The crowds, the smells, the sport itself. There were too many potential triggers that I wouldn’t be able to get away from. I didn’t say anything, thinking, and he was quiet for a moment.
“Okay, Ace, next time.” Maverick said with a sigh, sounding all kinds of disappointed.
“I’m sorry, Mav, really—.”
“Nothing to apologize for. Can I ask you something though?”
“Yes, of course.”
“There’s a dance at the end of every semester. It would be right before Christmas break. Will you go with me?”
I let out a breath.
A dance.
With Maverick.
I knew I’d have to talk about this with Jenny. Another large crowd, another potentially triggering memory. I nearly sighed in exasperation. Having the brain I had was more than a little difficult to deal with regular life.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Cool, you’ll need a dress.”
“I can do that,” I paused, “Um, Mav?”
“Yeah?”
“I do want to go to one of your games. And I will. Maybe the next one?”
“You got about ten to choose from. Pick any one you want. I’ll send you the schedule.”
I let out a breath. Fuck, I had an amazing boyfriend.
The words I was leaving unsaid hung in the air between us.
“I miss you, Ace. Can I come see you on Wednesday?”
I bit my lip, “I have a therapy session Wednesday…”
He let out a sigh, “Okay, so, two weeks without seeing my girlfriend. I can handle that. I went three years without you.”
I laughed, “You’d better be more alone for the next ten days than you were during those three years.”
“Just me and my favorite hand, Ace. I may even put lipstick on it.”
I rolled my eyes and groaned, shoving into my apartment, and letting the door click behind me. “You’re gross.”
“That’s nothing, want to hear what I think about?” His voice was light, airy, and I heard the wind through the speaker of his phone.
“Kind of,” I admitted, setting my bag down on the kitchen counter.
He hesitated, “Wait, really?” His voice was low, deepening into a hush.
“Does phone sex count as real sex?” I asked, pulling my books out of my bag, and spreading them out on the counter.
“Fuck,” he breathed, “If this is really happening I
’m gonna need to pick up the pace. I’m still at school.”
I laughed, “Don’t you have another class today?”
“I can skip it.”
“Mav,” I warned. “Rule number four: no skipping classes for booty calls, even virtual ones.”
The air rushing around his phone stopped, and he groaned, “I’m not sure I like this new practical side of you.”
“Get used to it.”
“Alright, Ace. I’ll see you in ten days.”
“Bye, Maverick. Give your hand some love for me.”
He groaned and I hung up, snickering to myself.
Chapter 36
Maverick
It wasn’t just ten, but seventeen very long days before I saw Celeste again. We ended up having a second post-game practice the next Sunday. We’d won both games, but the second was a close call, and Fitz wasn’t going to let us off without going through a detailed account of every fuck up everyone made. Abel and Lucy showed up to both, asking after Celeste and wondering when they were going to get to see her.
Dad clapped me on the shoulder with his large hand, “You finally got her to agree to be your girlfriend, huh?”
“About fucking time,” Mom said, folding her arms across her chest.
“Mom, please,” I said, “Language.”
I started calling her every day, sometimes more than once, desperate to hear her voice. On one Sunday, I was lying in bed, listening to her talk about her classes and a new friend she’d made who was building a dress around her. Just the sound of her voice was making me hard and I rolled onto my stomach, hoping the pressure would ease a little.
“So,” she said then, “Senior year. Are you excited to graduate in May?”
“Yes,” my voice was muffled by the pillow and I rolled onto my side, “Thinking I might get my degree from Colombia.”
“What, why?” She demanded.
“I’m tired of this long-distance shit. I want to see you. Every day.”
She hesitated, “Are you suggesting we move in together?”
I smiled, imagining waking up to her completely naked on a Saturday morning. “Yes.”
“Your whole plan has been Yale, Mav. You shouldn’t give it up just because the distance is hard.”
I looked down at my restrained cock and tried not to groan, “It is though. So hard.”
“I feel like you’re talking about something else.”
“I might be.”
“Are you ever not horny?”
“When I’m talking to you? No.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Take off your pants.”
My eyes shot open. “Whoa, lady. Slow down.”
“No, take off your pants. I’m gonna do the same. I’m already in my bed.”
I clenched my teeth together, but obliged, unbuckling my jeans and pulling my cock out of my boxers. It glared at me, angry and annoyed.
“So?”
“I’ve got a real angry dick staring at me right now.”
She laughed and I twitched. “Good, I’m taking off my shirt. No bra.”
I closed my eyes, imagining those soft round piles of flesh under my hands. “Pinch your nipple for me.”
A sharp inhale echoed through my ear and I knew she’d done it. “Good, now—.”
“Excuse me, it’s my turn.”
I chuckled, “Yes, ma’am.”
“I want you to picture me on my hands and knees in front of you, completely naked.”
Fuck. “Mm, okay.”
“I’m going to lean down and taste your cock.”
My hips flexed and I sucked in a breath, “You’re breaking Rule Number Two.”
“I’m sorry, you want me to stop?”
“No.” I paused, “But you’re going to have to swing your ass around so I can eat that pussy while you blow me.”
“Oh,” she breathed, “You want to do that?”
I was stroking my cock slowly, already too close to getting off, “I’m going to stick my tongue so far up your pussy I’m going to taste what you had for lunch.”
Celeste laughed, the phone falling from her ear for a minute and making her sound far away. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”
I let my dick fall against my stomach, “I’m not very good at dirty talk.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, clearing her throat, “Seriously. I want to make you…”
I waited, wanting to hear her say it.
“Cum,” she whispered.
“Good lord,” I chuckled. “This is both the least sexy and yet somehow sexiest experience I’ve had in a long time.”
“Just think about it, Mav,” she breathed, “My mouth on your cock, my tongue licking you up and down.”
I raised my eyebrows. I could definitely picture that, and I took my cock in my hand again, stroking up and down.
“And when you’re almost there, I’ll straddle you.”
I could picture it. Her heavy breasts hanging over my face as she sank onto me.
“I’m wet for you,” she said then.
I closed my eyes, thinking about her wet pussy sliding down over my cock. And I came, shooting my own load all over my t-shirt.
“Fuck,” I said aloud.
“Think you can last ten more days?” She asked, sounding proud.
“No,” I admitted honestly. “I think I should drive up there tonight and make good on my promise. Doesn’t sound like you got off on your end.”
“I didn’t,” She hummed, “But I have homework to do. And I wanted you to cum, Mav.”
“You can do it at the same time, I won’t mind.”
“Goodnight, Maverick.”
I sighed, “Goodnight, Celeste.”
I let my phone fall onto the bed and sat up carefully, pulling the soiled shirt off and tossing it to the hamper by my closet. A vibration hit my thigh and I glanced at my phone.
Mia.
Mia: I have something important to tell you. We need to meet up
I typed out a quick reply.
Me: Delete my number.
Her response was quick and furious.
Mia: You are such an asshole. I have to talk to you—.
I stopped reading and put my phone on the nightstand, listening to it buzz again and again.
Fucking Mia.
I could thank her for breaking me from the potential of a dry spell through my collegiate years. But that short stint I’d spent inside of her had been one of my greatest mistakes. I closed my eyes, wishing I could go back and pick a different girl.
Maybe the girl after Mia.
What was her name?
Another blonde, I knew. They were all blonde.
Guilt burrowed a tunnel into my stomach.
I let the air escape my lungs and sat up, scratching at my scalp.
Soon, I would need to tell Celeste about all of the secrets I was holding. Everything had come together as I’d hoped, but the bomb I was going to drop would be nuclear, decimating the fertile land of the relationship we’d built. I needed to present the information in a way that would paint me in the best light. I could start with the most offending piece, maybe the envelope I’d sent her in rehab, and end with the news that would throw her back into my arms. Or at least stumble her a little closer. I rolled off the bed and went to sit at my desk, unfolding my laptop. If I could sweeten the information even further, show her how serious I was about us, potentially I could keep from losing her.
I brought up real estate in New Haven but quickly replaced it with Manhattan.
My fingers paused over the keys, considering. I pushed away from my desk, shaking my head, and chuckling out loud.
I was being crazy.
Plus. It would be extra stupid to buy a place in the city when I’d be spending the next few years still at Yale.
I pulled myself forward again. Thrumming the pads of my fingers along my desk, I puzzled it out.
I couldn’t propose. Probably. Celeste had been back in my
life for roughly six weeks. We had two and a half months until the Winter Dance and then the holiday break.
Nine weeks.
Eight more games.
I typed in Hampton Beach, remembering a few holidays we’d spent there as kids. There was a house available, not too big, right on the beach. It was painted a dusky blue, trimmed in white, and it even had a fucking white picket fence around the front yard. The back doors opened up onto a porch that led right down onto the sand.
I could probably get Celeste to agree to go to the Hamptons with me, if she didn’t have plans with her extended family in Idaho.
I’d tell her there. If I could last nine weeks before having sex with her, if I could last nine weeks convincing her how much I cared before throwing what we’d built into the incinerator, if I could go nine weeks with the guilt growing everyday with the most powerful intensity.
I scheduled a tour for Monday, deciding to skip my classes that day and formulating a plan.
My scalp was itching, and I rubbed my fingers against it.
She’d come with me to the Hamptons, I’d tell her I loved her, I’d give her all the information I’d been holding, and then I’d hope with every fiber of my being that she didn’t want to drown me in the ocean or bury me in the sand.
Or send her scary cousin after me.
Chapter 37
Celeste
Gage had me standing on a small round platform made of old hat boxes and stiff, squeaky Styrofoam. The area we were in doubled as the dining room, or would have, if any square inch hadn’t been draped in lush fabrics. An old, yellowed sewing machine perched on a scuffed plastic dining table, a pedal in front of the mismatched blue lawn chair. The whole apartment was decorated with a bohemian feel. Large pretty tapestries replaced pictures and paintings, rugs in a variety of sizes and styles were thrown on the floor. The TV was the size of one of my mom’s old boot boxes and just as square. Plants with vines that dipped and curved to the floor were illuminated under natural light coming in through clean windows.
I loved it here.
There was a feeling I got standing on this platform as Gage worked around me in a circle, pinning and measuring and singing and talking. It was somewhere between joy and nostalgia.
“Your figure is impossible,” Gage said for the thirteenth time in several minutes.