Author's Note: Here's some of the stuff I didn't use. I wanted to get this out earlier but my brand new laptop decided to die on me. That was fun. And it's still not cooperating with me completely so I may have to make the company send me a new one. Anyway, some of this I couldn't even remember writing and I wish I had found earlier while the story was still in progress. There are more but I don't know what happened to it; there were a couple alternate endings but I don't know where they went. This stuff made the most sense of what I did find. I have word documents for this story all over the place so it took me a couple of days to get it all in order and try to figure out where it all would have fit if I had kept it. And in case anyone wonders, I have no idea why I didn't use some of this. Most likely because I typed it into a document that I forgot I had. So…excuse any errors, this is 37 pages of cutting room floor stuff. So again, thank you to everyone for reading and I hope this amuses some of you.
Also, if some of this is familiar because I actually used it in the story, sorry! I have a hard time remembering what I did and did not use because I spent so much time writing so many different bits. Also x2, I didn't use the Scrabble scene because it is such a blatant rip-off of a scene in a Spaced episode. Pretty much word for word.
After the costume party
I push Callum's hand off my thigh for what seems like the tenth time. "No! Don't touch me."
"You're overreactin' love," he says.
"I don't think I am. You were an asshole for no reason other than to be an asshole."
"Yes, I was," he agrees, his voice raising.
I glare over at him, my arms folded against my chest. I don't say anything, deciding that nothing that I could say would solve anything. He's just making me angrier. The way he acted with Morgan, the way he acted with Felix, I can't believe him sometimes.
I stare out of the corner of my eye, trying to send him hateful thoughts. He leans his head back on the seat, his neck exposed. His eyes stare up at the ceiling and there's a small smirk on his lips. He's not taking me seriously at all. I turn towards him, not caring that it's obvious I'm watching him. His legs are spread out as much as they can be in the back of the cab and the sudden desire to slide my hand up his thigh strikes me. I can't believe myself. I'm supposed to be angry with him. Not attracted to him.
Turning away, I lean back on my side and stare out the window. We should be home in five minutes, hopefully. I can't be stuck in here with him for much longer. My anger is quickly altering into desire.
I hear him shift on the seat a split second before his hand slowly slides across my shoulder. I shrug my shoulder in an attempt to show him that I don't want him touching me but he ignores my attempt. He slides across the seat, his leg flush against mine, his mouth kisses the back of my neck and I hold in a breath.
"I want you," he whispers against my neck and I can't keep my reaction to myself.
Smiling, I turn towards him, "After Scrabble."
Fuck-ing Scrabble. Who seriously enjoys this bloody game? Marin, apparently. She dragged a board out of fuck knows and forced me to play. Granted, it's serving to be a good method in distracting us both from the hootenanny's events, but she's pretty feisty. I'm waiting for her to shove a wood tile down my throat. I hate that I'm so weak when it comes to her. I hate it and adore it all the same. She tilts her head a bit, her bottom lip a slight pout, head cocked to the side: I say, "Yes". It really is pathetic.
I've never met anyone who enjoys board games as much as her. Before she moved in with me, before she was privy to Felix's extracurricular activities, I had been slightly introduced to this side of her. I remember a night a while back, a few months after she started dating Felix, they made me play Monopoly. I was the thimble. The game lasted through the night and the only reason I got out of it before I dug my own bleeding eyes out was cause I deliberately got caught cheating and she took away my "Monopoly Privileges". She enjoyed that. Little tyrant. Board games don't blend well with my system. I try and stay away from them cause my bloodthirsty side rears its dodgy head. What happens when two people, both very competitive, decide to have a friendly game of Scrabble? It's ugly and I don't care to dwell on the possibilities. All delicious fun. I'm looking forward to flicking the game board off the table.
Cracking my neck, I lower my chin to the table and stare over my little orderly row of wood squares. I watch her contemplate her next move. She's biting her upper lip in concentration, her hand pushing her hair back from her face every few seconds, it no longer staying up properly. I look between my eight letters and the board, frowning. I wonder if I could slip in another tile. I don't know how she hasn't noticed the extra one I already have. She must trust me. Big mistake. It's not exactly cheating if it's in plain sight. It's her fault for not being observant.
"P-I-E-R. Pier," Marin says, arranging her tiles on the board to form the word. She looks at me, a wide grin on her face. Cocky twit.
"Don' make me slap you," I warn, pointing a finger at her. She sticks her tongue out at me and I admire her all the more for it.
"Come on, quit stalling. You have what you have, no amount of staring is going to turn an S to a Z," I mock, folding my arms over my chest. I'm winning and he can't stand it. I take a sip of my Coke and he suddenly smirks. This worries me.
He slowly begins placing tiles down and I lean across the board to see what he's got. I can't believe he's trying this. "Shazam? That is not a word."
"It is so a word," he insists. "I can take ya to any comic shop and show you piles of comics this high that use it," he says, holding his hands out to show a tall stack of imaginary comic books. Just because it's in a comic does not mean it is a real word. I doubt it's in the dictionary. I wish I actually had the Scrabble dictionary. That way I could ask him to find it for me. He's totally trying to cheat with a fake word. I wish he weren't so attractive while arrogant. Well, that's a lie. His energy and genuine enjoyment is making it difficult to be firm. Besides, I've already cheated when he went to the bathroom. I switched some of my letters for a few in the bag. I'm horrible but it's so much fun. I'll fess up once I win. If he wins, no way I'm telling him I cheated. That's just sad, cheating and still losing. Happens all the time.
I'm glad that he agreed to play this with me. He was pretty tense after the party and I needed something to focus on. It's also causing me to forget about what a jerk he was to Morgan and also about talking with Felix. I'm not angry with Callum anymore but the fact that I won't really be able to have him around male friends is something that we'll have to discuss. He can't act like that around everyone.
This game has relaxed both of us. The casual banter putting us both in our comfort zones. His tie is pulled loose, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He lost the jacket when we walked in the door. The cuffs are unbuttoned, hanging loose on his wrists. I have to keep myself from crawling over to his side of the table and licking his neck. I practically shake my head to snap myself out of it and remember what we were talking about.
"What would the definition be?" I ask.
"Captain Marvel says it," he says defiantly, giving no actual definition cause he has no idea.
"It's a made-up word! It doesn't mean anything." I look down at the word and the letters around it, adding, "You're only doing that so you can use 'Zed'."
"Take it off, please," I say sweetly with an undercurrent of sarcasm.
"I swear to Christ," he threatens under his breath, glaring at me.
"N-E-O-P-H-I-T-E," Marin spells out.
"What? No, no, that's wrong."
"What are you talking about? Nothing's wrong with it," she insists, writing down her points. I reach over and grab the pad from her, knowing I never should have agreed to her keeping score.
"Don't you dare, Callum!" she shouts.
"N-E-O-P-H-Y-T-E. It's a bloody Y. You dodgy cheat." She glares at me and makes no move to get her squares off the board. "Don' make me do it."
"I hate you," she spits out, carefully picking her tiles up.
"I hadn' realized you were such a neophyte at Scrabble," I casually comment, throwing her botched word in her face. She throws the I at me.
"Heat? That's it? What a fancy word," I taunt as I fiddle with my letters.
"Yes, and cat was so fuckin' impressive," he throws back, making fun of my previous word.
"You're just jealous. You wish you were as talented as me," I say, my voice high and mighty. I have no reason to be full of myself, which is why it is so much fun.
"You're absobloodylutely right," he leers, eying me up and down, causing a sexual spark to run through my body. "Is the game over yet?" he asks. He will NOT distract me.
I ignore him as I scan my letter choices. Smiling to myself, I pick up my V and place it at the end of PRO on the board. This is going to bother him.
"Prov? What the fuck's that?"
"Panteen ProV," I smile brightly.
"What? Fuck that. You can' have Panteen ProV," he starts.
I cut him off, "It's an ingredient in the shampoo. Makes the hair nice and silky smooth."
"It's a bloody word they made up to make shampoo sound important! You're so fuckin' daft…ProV is not a bloody word!" he yells. I contain the laughter but make no effort to keep the amusement off my face. This only annoys him more and I love him so much.
"You can read it on the bottle," I point out, frustrating him further. There's not much of a difference between my trying to use ProV and his trying to use Shazaam. I wait for him to point this out but I don't think he's going to. He must have forgotten.
"Sod it," he says as he knocks the board off the table, the pieces scattering everywhere.
"You ass!" I yell, mock horrified at what he's done. That is just not right! You can't do that to a Scrabble game. You should never throw the board. That's sacrilegious. What a sore loser. "You British bastard!"
He throws a G at me and I shield my face, quickly grabbing as many tiles as I can from the floor in front of me, throwing them in his general direction. Keeping my head ducked to protect my face, I feel little wood squares pelt me as I try to throw them back at him just as quickly as he's throwing them at me.
I can't keep up with him and when the board comes crashing down on my head, I hold my hands up in surrender and say breathlessly, "Okay, okay! I give up! You win! No more."
"This isn' a trick?" he asks warily, his hand poised to throw another piece.
"What?" I ask, folding the board back up and setting it on the table.
"I'm in the mood for some," he announces, standing up. I watch tiles fall from his lap and I laugh.
"Don't worry, I'll clean up," I call out to him as he walks past me to the kitchen. He makes a mess and leaves me to straighten up. Typical.
In which Marina was moving out to house-sit, not knowing of the 'cheating' and somewhat expecting the relationship to continue…
Needing to get it over with, I head home. When I get back, Callum is actually working in the store and I'm relieved. I don't really have to stop and chat. He's working, he must be busy. However, he's not because when I walk in, the store is empty and he's reading.
I shut the door and notice the sign that is still flipped to Closed. "Did you know you're still closed?" I ask, pointing at the sign.
"I had noticed, yes."
I fight the urge to sigh and begin to walk past him to go upstairs.
"How'd it go? They teach you the ropes?"
"Yeah, it should be easy enough."
"As long as nothin' dies," he says, smirking. I smile and lean on the counter.
"That's exactly what I'm worried about. What if something does die?" I ask, so damn grateful for his comment.
"I'll find you a replacement and if they notice, we'll have to run away. I'll run a pirate radio station funded by money I make as a runner for the Columbian cartel and you'll hide in a monastery and wake up at 4:15 every morning for prayers," he says, looking over at me. I can't help but smile at his random solution to the dead pet possibility. His eyes are so bright and his smile is small. He reaches out and brushes along my ear and for a second I think he may apologize for last night. The second passes though and he drops his hand. I wish he had said something instead of doing what he tends to do. I love when he manages to break out of his self-imposed mold. He thinks he's so broken but he's not. He's just following his own self-perception. I have never seen him as a broken man. I wish he wouldn't let his past dictate his every move. I'm one to talk though. It's not like I ever break out of my mold. Whatever that may be.
"I'm gonna finish this chapter and go out for some records," he says.
"Okay," I nod and head for the stairs.
"Hey," he says, grabbing my wrist to stop my progress. I turn to look back and he smiles, "Thanks for the note. We'll talk when I get home?"
"Okay," I whisper. He steps towards me and leans against me. I sigh and allow my body to sag into his. His arms move around my waist and he presses me against the doorjamb. We don't kiss and he makes no move that could be considered seductive. However, he has no idea just how seductive this vulnerability is.
I wish she would just leave. This drawn-out departure is going to kill me. I don't know how to react. I know she's going to be gone in a few days and every part of me wants to hide in the corner but she's not gone yet so my instincts are fuddled. I don't want to pull her in close just to be even more upset when she isn't sleeping beside me any longer. Not that she has been lately. My fault completely. I'm waiting for her just because I'm moving out, doesn't mean we're over with speech but I have a hard time believing that. There is no way in fuck we'll still be together in four months. We'll slowly just stop seeing each other at all. I give it a month. No one will say anything to the other. We'll just stop. She'll always be wondering when I'll call and I'll be wondering if she's killed a fish yet. I'll be wondering how to wash her off my skin.
Hell, maybe I should just leave. Go back home. I want to anyway. Deck can't stay here forever. He'll be heading back. I don't even enjoy the store anymore. People are too much. They
drain me. I don't give a toss about Nita and her fucking gallery. I'm supposedly getting things together for some show she wants me a part of. This thing for new artists. She's gathered together a few of us. I haven't seen any of the others' work. I don't care to. Beth told me that one of them is into mosaic and that's just fucking pointless.
I don't need any of this. I just want to be back home. Meet a nice Irish girl who sings like a bird. Make sure she's not a brunette. The boredom will set it though and I'll do the same thing there. Open a book store. I can only hope that the simple fact of being back home will make everything more quaint. I tried to talk with Deck about this but his contributing factoid was - Can't run from yourself forever, mate. I can sure as fuck try. It's not just that though. It's the me that I am when with Marin. It's that me that completely throws me. I feel too god damn much when I'm with her. I wasn't ready for that. I don't know if I ever will be. I would love to be able to just pause this. Just leave and know that when I'm ready, she'll be here. I know that I will be ready at some point. I also know that it will probably be too late. I can't expect her to wait. I also know that I can't figure anything out while I'm with her. Everything is too fuddled. It's too close. Too eminent.
What am I going to say to her when I get back? Why'd I have to go and say we'll talk? I need to do this for myself and for her. I need her to know that I understand why she's leaving. I get it. It's for the best. Fuck that saying, by the way. It's complete shite.
I try and distract myself with records but they don't have anything I want and it only annoys me. I leave the store with nothing and stop at the park. The sun is trying its very best to peel the skin from my neck. I have Farewell To Arms with me and I settle back into a bench and open the book.
I'm only distracted from the book when I notice that I no longer have much light. The sun is setting and has fallen behind a row of trees. I pull my cell out of my pocket and see that it's nearing eight and I have been gone much longer than I intended. Marin probably thinks I'm at a pub. Even when I don't plan on staying away for too long, I always end up doing it anyway. This was purely accidental. I shut the book, not caring about my place because I've read it so many times it doesn't really matter. I shove it in my back pocket as far as I can but it's a bit tall and sticks out awkwardly.
Instead of walking home, I opt for the quicker option and get a cab.
I can't find my sweatshirt. It's driving me insane. I looked through the entire flat and it's nowhere. It's not really my sweatshirt. It's Callum's but I stole it so it's mine now. For the most part. He doesn't care. He likes it when I wear his clothes. It's my favorite though. It's old and comfy and I love it.
Pulling my hair up in a messy bun, I head downstairs to look in the store. Feeling like I wasted an hour, I find it immediately under the counter. I put it on and zip it up, inhaling deeply. Callum must have worn it. It smells strongly of him.
The bell above the door rattles and I look up to see Felix. My good mood is completely squashed and I drop my shoulders. What the hell is he doing here? Why can't he just leave me alone?
"Hey, Marina," he greets, a tentative smile on his face. I return it even though I don't want to.
"Hi, how've you been?"
"Pretty good," he says, his head bobbing up and down.
"What are you doing here?" I ask before he can ask how I've been.
"I was hoping to talk to Cal, actually."
"He's not here." I can't help but sound a little snide. Of course he's here to talk with Callum. Why would he want to talk with the girl he completely screwed over? "I'm glad he's not here too." I say that last bit before I can actually think about it.
"Your last visit wasn't exactly a nice one," I say, thinking about how off it made Callum. Whatever he said, it was cruel.
Felix sighs and walks closer to lean across the counter, "I'm sorry about that. I was just concerned. I don't want you falling in love with him when he won't reciprocate."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I have no right to say anything. I'm a bastard and I broke your heart. But I still know Cal and he's fucked up."
"Firstly, he is not fucked up. How can you ever claim to have been his friend when you say such things about him? Secondly, you did not break my heart. Don't flatter yourself. I was angrier with myself than anything." I feel like hitting him. I'm breathing heavily and I want him to leave.
"You said those things to Callum?" I ask.
Felix doesn't say anything and the bell over the door chimes again. I look over Felix's shoulder to see Callum, completely frozen in the doorway. His face is a mixture of anger, annoyance, pain, defeat, and something else I don't recognize.
I breathe in deeply and look back to Felix, who's looking at Callum. "Felix, why don't you leave? I don't think you have anything more to say to either one of us."
"What?" Felix looks completely amazed that I would say such a thing to him and I hate that it's because I never used to talk to him like that. I always just went along with whatever he wanted. I look over at Callum, who's smiling widely.
The second I had walked into the store, I wish that I had walked. Seeing Felix at this time was the last thing I wanted to do. It was completely unexpected. And seeing Marin, clearly upset, brought out emotions I just don't want to deal with. Those emotions make it harder knowing that she'll be moving out.
I am beyond proud of her when she tells him to leave. She looks amazing. Her shoulders are square and she's wearing my sweatshirt and I love the look in her eyes. She looks so completely pleased with herself.
"I actually came to talk to you, Cal," Felix says, ignoring Marin and turning to me.
"I believe she already told you to leave. I honestly don' want ta hear anything you may have ta say."
He looks between the two of us and shakes his head. He's trying his best to pity us. How it's working for him, I have no fucking idea. He does leave though, after throwing out a sarcastic farewell and I think I won't have to see him anymore. Neither will she.
I look at her after shutting the door behind Felix and my smile fades. She's not looking so happy anymore and I want that look back on her face. Now she only looks defeated.
"Do you really not care that I'm moving out?" her voice is small and it breaks me.
I breathe in deeply and let it out harshly. I can't lie to her. Not when she's looking at me so sadly. I don't want her to know though. I need to be able to keep this away from her. I need to just stay away from this topic. The more she knows, the worse it will be. But she drops her eyes and I hate seeing such a submissive gesture from her. Especially after seeing such bloody fire in them moments ago.
"It was a complete lie."
She looks up and I stay by the door. I don't want her walking near me. I need to stay distanced at least physically if I can't emotionally. I remember how fucking foolish I was in the beginning, ever even entertaining the thought that I could fuck her and forget. That it would be that easy to get her out of me. I feel panicked over making up right now. More and more, I know what I need and she can't help me. I don't know how to explain it to her and I don't think I want to. It's all just too fucking much.
She smiles softly and I have to look away. I stare at my shoes and wish she hated me. I wish I could tell her things that would garner hatred. I've done so much and she still looks at me like that. She still whispers that she loves me just as I'm falling asleep. She still has yet to ask me why I haven't said those words back. Why hasn't she asked? She must know. I can't say anything though. Not until I can actually follow through with those words. You can't say that and act how I act. Those words are a commitment and I refuse to make that promise until I know that I can come through. I can't right now. I will though. I know I will.
"I'm sorry about what Felix said to you…before. He wasn't right. About any of it," she says, breaking the silence.
"Marin…he was about some of it."
"Which parts do you think he was right about?" her voice is a little on edge and I don't necessarily want to argue with her but I have a feeling she needs it. Fuck, she flat out told me that she needed it. I've wanted her to hate me so why have I been so reluctant to actually fight with her?
"Is this going to be a speech about how horrible you are because if it is, you really don't need to go to the trouble."
I talk without thinking and it feels so good, "Since we began sleeping together, have you ever looked at another man and thought about fucking him?"
"What sort of question is that?" she sputters out, crossing her arms against her chest.
"A pretty straight forward one. I'm thinking…you don't."
"No, I haven't. I don't have any interest in anyone else, Callum. You know that," her voice softens a bit and she thinks that I'm feeling self-conscious. I'm not.
"I have thought about fucking other women."
She interrupts me and it's probably a good thing. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you seem to think that you can take anyone and fix them."
"I don't think I can fix you. I don't want to fix you. No, you don't need to be fixed," she rambles off, correcting herself each time. Her cheeks are flushed; the way they get after a good orgasm.
"Why do you put up with this? With me?" I ask finally, wanting to know so badly and at the same time, wishing that I hadn't asked.
"I love you," she says, shrugging her shoulders. She says it so obviously and flippantly. Like it's the most natural thing in the world and it is…just not for me. I lean back heavily against the wall and my knees give.
He flicks his eyes away from mine and it hurts. I tell him that I love him and he can't look me in the eye. Maybe it's me, but the air just got significantly colder. I can feel the events to come and in a twisted way, I'm looking forward to it because something will happen. Callum will have to say something solid. I get the very sudden feeling that this is a very huge moment. I watch him slide down to the floor.
His face is tense and the silence screams at me to say something. His silence. I have the feeling that he's not going to do anything. That he would just let this moment slip by without saying one word. I can't do that. I feel like ignoring it would be discounting us both.
I push my bangs to the side, tucking the ends behind my ear, and I briefly think that I'll keep them in the future. I like having them. Swallowing, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth, I taste hesitation.
Sniffing, already feeling the tears, I break the silence and my voice screams in my ears as I repeat myself, "Callum. I love you."
He knows that I'm not waiting for a response. He just looks up at me, his eyes showing his lack of enthusiasm for this conversation. He looks to be begging me not to say anything more. He drops his head and breaks eye contact. It's so submissive, like he's already given up.
"And I have never wanted to force you into saying that back to me. I would never want you to say something you didn't feel. I've ignored how much it hurts but I don't think I should anymore…" My voice dies on me and I look at him pleadingly. I can't say the words. I need to. I need to tell him that I feel like I'm cheating myself. I love him more than I can fathom. I can't ignore that but I can't ignore that he's unwilling to let himself go. He won't open that door wide enough. The worst part may be that I know he could if he would let himself. But how long will that take? And it may never happen. How can I just sit by and wait? The sad and frightening thing is, that I would. I could easily just float by, waiting for him to maybe let his last guard down. If it weren't for this surge of confidence, I would do exactly that.
"An' why haven't you?" he asks suddenly.
"What do you mean?" I'm at a complete loss. I don't understand at all. Why haven't I been harassing him about his feelings? What guy wants that?
"You told me once that you didn't expect me to tell you that I loved you. That fuckin' killed, Marin. You have no idea how much."
"Do you?" I ask. His mouth slowly closes and he doesn't say anything. "That's why I don't ask you, Callum. Your silence hurts too much."
I open my mouth to say something more and I can't. His eyes are open, looking clearly up at me. His fingers are twined together on his knees. This moment feels so hesitant. I can almost see time moving slowly.
He begins speaking and time snaps back, "I completely adore you."
He says those words as if he's saying love instead of adore and maybe if I weren't in such a mood, that would be enough for me and my smile would be one of happiness instead of melancholy.
"I believe you…but that's not what I need."
"Than maybe I'm not what you need." He doesn't say it cruelly. It's not spiteful. He's checked out emotionally and it's a blatant observation. I don't want him to check out, I need him here with me. I feel like screaming at him. How can we work when he does this with every sign of trouble? He leaves me by myself with my fears. He's so great with everything but this. This feels like something big. It feels different than the other times. I'm supposed to be moving out and we're saying these things and it certainly feels like he's done completely with this relationship.
Dramatic responses run through my head in a split second. I say none of them. Instead, I just mutter, "Yeah," and walk away from him. I can't be here, in this flat. I can't live by his side like this. I just can't. I don't know what I'm going to do tonight but right now, I'm leaving.
I'm numb. The sound of her footsteps pound in my ears long after they're gone. The fact that walked away from me makes more of an impact than her words. If she had ran, I wouldn't worry. I would know that this will be fine. She'll come back after having a talk with a friend. After calming down. She'll come back and we can talk and things will be fine. It would be a temporary fix. Nothing permanent. A band aid.
But she fucking walked. She walked calmly and she's not coming back. She forgot to take her belongings.
I probably sit on the floor for ten minutes before I slowly stand and go upstairs to the kitchen. I move, without thinking, directly to the scotch and don't bother with the glass. The bottle is cool in my hand and I slide down against the cupboards to the ground. Leaning my head back, hitting it against the cupboard, I shut my eyes and spin the cap off. I hear the cap hit the ground and roll off.
I feel nothing. I'm not even knackered and I feel nothing. It's unsettling and at least with alcohol, I'll feel the blissful descent into fog. Maybe I'll get to pass out. Here's fucking hoping.
I don't know how much time passes, but the bottle ends up empty and I can't feel my arse from sitting so long. I vaguely register my phone ringing from the living room and I wait until the voice mail picks up. Leaning forward, I take the empty bottle with me for reasons unknown, and crawl slowly over to the couch. I find my phone between the cushions and lay down on the ground.
It's not her. Marin didn't call. Why would she? I don't recognize the number but whomever it was left a message. I don't fucking care and I toss it away from me, throwing my arm across my eyes.
I knew I never should have gotten in a bloody relationship. I knew it wouldn't work, that it wouldn't be enough. I should have asked her to move out when I had the chance. We could have just drifted apart naturally. Instead, we drag on a relationship that was never going to work until she gets hurt. She's hurt and I'm at fault. I couldn't just fucking love her the way she needed. I should have lied more. Women are always happier when they're lied too. My parent's probably only worked so well cause mum must have been lied too every single bloody day. Good ol' pop, he forgot to mention that factoid to me.
Is she crying right now? Did she go over to Emma's place to weep? Is she drinking me away…fucking me away? She's crying. She's the type to cry. I wish she hated me. Either choice hurts and there's a part of me that's reveling in my ability to upset her this way, but I'd rather her hate me. That's such crap.
Everything feels like a weight on my gut and I can't breathe.
Tid bits before Callum went to see Nita for the first time…
The store is suddenly filled with obnoxious giggling and pop music. I look up and am greeted by the sight of five teenagers. I assume they are teenagers. Five young girls who probably should have put on a bit more clothes upon leaving the public pool, being that they're all wearing bikini tops and very small skirts and shorts. However, being that it's just after ten, I doubt they've been swimming and back. The abhorrent music is coming from some sort of phone contraption one of them is holding.
I turn to look at Marin, who's been marking prices in books for the past hour, and I pass a look of utter distaste along to her. She brings her hand up to hide the smile on her face, never wanting to insult perfect strangers. She's so kind.
"Tell me something," one girl demands, strutting up to the counter, her friends following in laughter. This is the only girl who's just arrogant enough to not bother with a skirt, just sporting her suit. I'm alive and breathing, I admit that she's attractive. She knows what suits flatter her shape and she knows how to wear them. But facially, she's not the most attractive of the bunch.
"Anything?" I ask.
"How long has it been since you've heard this?" she asks with a shake of her head. She turns to her friend with the phone contraption and the volume is raised. I have no idea what this is but it's sickeningly familiar. It's interfering with The Jam on my system.
"Never heard it before," I say quickly, turning to glance at Marin, who shrugs.
"It's Spice Girls!" the girl says obviously, as if I should have fucking known.
"An' that explains it. Not a fan," I say.
"What about you?" the girl to her left asks Marin. Her suit is bright pink, her skirt is denim.
Marin only shrugs, "Sorry."
"Now, can I help you with an actual book of some kind?" I ask, tapping a pen on the counter along with Eton Rifles, desperately trying to ignore the bad stuff.
"Oh, yeah. Gemma needs something for school," the girl says. A girl in the back maneuvers her way to the side of her friends. She's slightly larger in frame but still rocking the suit trend. Her top is a halter and it's nice. Her breasts are insanely large; she must have had a bitch of a time in school when younger. She's quite lovely though; nice heart-shaped face and gorgeous dark skin. The fact that she's the only black girl among her friends isn't lost on me. Perhaps because she's the obvious minority of the group, I'm more sensitive towards her. Or it could possibly be strictly because she actually wants to buy something.
"Whatcha need, dear?" I ask, leaning against the counter.
She pulls a piece of paper from the pocket in her shorts and hands it over, "My teacher was talking about these in class. Do you know if they're any good?"
Unfolding the paper, I read the titles to myself: Siddhartha (which she spelled wrong), Dharma Bums, Watership Down, Catcher in the Rye, and Flowers for Algernon.
"Well, they're all good reads. I should have copies of them all around here somewhere. Catcher is behind you though," I say, pointing the bookcase I used to push favorite books off on people.
Gemma stands there for a second before heading to where Holden is resting. Thankfully, her friend has shut that music off and one of the girls walks outside when her phone rings.
I feel Marin at my back and I step to the side. She kneels down in front of my music selection beneath the counter. "What are ya doin? No love for The Jam?"
"I would have their children if I could, it's just that this is the third time the CD's been through," she says, flipping through my CDs. She sits down on the floor and I nudge at her with my foot to bug her. She pinches my calf and I resign.
"Why am I not surprised?" I ask when she selects Morrissey.
"Shut up," she says.
"Do you sell bookmarks?" one of the girls asks, her hair in pigtails.
"No," I tell her without looking away from Marin at my feet. "You plannin' on stayin' down there?" I ask my lovely lover. "If ya are, there are much more pleasurable things ya can be doing."
"Fine, I'm leaving," she grumbles, holding her hand up. I take her hand and pull her to her feet. I hug her close to my side.
"Stay over here. I like when you're beside me. You keep me sane."
"How can I argue with that?" she smiles. I release her and she leaves to retrieve the stack of books she has left to price. She sets up just behind me and I mock her for her choice, saying she just wants to stare at my perfectly formed arse.
"Among other things."
The store quickly becomes busy and the bikini troupe is still wandering about. Finally, Gemma reappears with all the books but Siddhartha. She sets them down and pulls at the material of her shorts.
"I can't find the other one. Do you know where it is?"
"Marin, can you add her up for me? I'll get it." I leave and head to where it should be. Except it isn't where it should be. I remember shelving it. I scan the surrounding area just in case someone didn't know how to return a book to its rightful slot. I find it a couple rows down.
When I get back to the front, I tell Marin to add three and hand the book to Gemma. Her friends gather around her in an instant, chattering about Jared Leto's eyeliner. It's a tad bit frightening. How quickly they gather, not the eyeliner. Men wearing eyeliner is fairly fuckin' tame. I tried the look years ago but after I jabbed myself in the eye, it just wasn't worth it.
"So, how did you learn French?" Marin asks me as she gives the girl her change.
"In the usual way," I say, wondering what made her think to ask me.
"Well, yeah. But when did you learn? Did your parents teach you?"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "I own a bloody book store. I read said books. A lot of people bring in those worthless learn such-and-such in a day guides."
"So, you just taught yourself? That's insane. I took French in High School and I barely remember anything."
I watch the troupe of girls take off and I'm slightly proud of that one sole reader. Turning around to face Marin, I ask, "What do you remember."
"Ummm…Bonjour, je m'appelle Marina. Comment vous appelez-vous? Enchantée. Et vous? Comment allez-vous? Je vais trés bien. Á tout á l'heure," she rambles off, grinning madly.
I laugh at her and she frowns. She flips me off and I laugh even harder. I laugh at what she said and I laugh at how sexy it is hearing her speak French. "You kill at introductions."
"Shut up. That's what we spent the entire first week on, that's why I remember it all. I don't remember any of the workings," she says.
"That was rather impressive and completely sexy."
"Whatever. I got a B in the class. I don't know how. The teacher wouldn't teach us anything good."
"I don't know. Bad words."
I spend ten minutes or so, teaching her how to say things like fuck off and her nose job is horrible. She asks to learn those things in Gaelic and I refuse to teach her. I don't need her speaking Gaelic. French is one thing, Gaelic is another. It's a weapon I don't want her having.
As I ring a man up, Marin jabs a book in my back and asks, "Can you translate into French? Just how good are you with language?"
I turn around and grab the book. A small paperback copy of Little Prince, "Why this one?"
"Well, it's originally French, right? I figured it was appropriate."
I open it to the first page and stare at it for a minute or so, reading it to myself. She gets up on her knees and if a customer walked up, it would look like she was prepping to service me. I wish. It's a nice fantasy.
"Come on," she whines.
"Fine, but only the first bit. It's not story time," I say before reading. I don't want to fuck up, not that she would know.
I open to the last page and read quickly, "Regardez attentivement ce paysage afin d'être sûrs de le reconnaître, si vous vayagez un jour en Afrique, dans le désert. Et, s'il vous arrive de passer par lá, je vous en supplie, ne vous pressez pas, attendez un peu juste sous l'étoile ! Si alors un enfant vient à vous, s'il rit, s'il a des cheveux d'or, s'il ne répond pas quand on l'interroge, vous devinerez bien qui il est. Alors soyez gentils ! Ne me laissez pas tellement triste : écrivez-moi vite qu'il est revenu..."
I toss the book back at her and she frowns, "I was hoping you would stutter so I could mock your arrogance."
The phone ringing interrupts my response. It's the secretary from the recording. She tells me that Nita wants to meet me, wants to set up an appointment. This is odd. I forgot that I even called. Marin is looking at me with complete interest. I turn my back on her to resist her curiosity. I suggest I come over to the gallery at four and it's agreed upon. When I hang up, Marin is standing beside me, her eyes wide.
"So?" she asks.
"I'm meeting with the name on the card at four."
I'm not prepared for Marin's squeal of excitement. She throws herself at me; her fingers clutch the shirt on my back. She bounces on the balls on her feet and I hug her in return. It feels good having this level of happiness directed towards you. She leans back and kisses my face, telling me that she's proud of me.
"Nothing's happened to be proud of."
"Shush, let me shower you with praise."
I let her and whisper vulgar suggestions in her ear, certain ways she can shower me with praise.
Come three-thirty and Marin is hounding me about changing my clothes. What I'm wearing is fine. I'm not trying to impress anyone and wearing something impressive will just fuck me in the end. I'm not willing to keep up that level of polish. I reject her offers to drive me. I tell her that she should man the store, sell some books, and work for room and board. She does not find that amusing. And because of my not soothing her, we part terms on a sour note. I enjoy upsetting her like this. Getting on her nerves. It's nothing that will last but it's massive fun.
They've split up due to the cheating confession and Marin's moved out…
The cafe is not my taste. The music is annoying, that's for fuck sure. There are blinky lights strung up all over the place, the strobes givin' me a migraine. I hate Deck for making me get out. Stupid git. And to this place no less!
"Why couldn' we go to a pub?" I ask for the second time.
"Alcohol is the last thing ya need. Deal with your location," he says with a sigh, clearly annoyed with me. Good. The more I can annoy him the quicker he'll leave me be. I don't want to be surrounded by these fucks. The place is filled with college kids, smoking, drinking, laughing. I want to spit on them.
"How do you even know where this place is?" I ask, momentarily curious as to how he found it. He hasn't been living here for that long.
"A bird in the fruit aisle invited me along with her friend a few days ago."
I don't ask if he met with them. I don't care. The man that took our order shows up at our table, which is too bloody high and I fucking hate these stools. He leaves us with our drinks and I swear I didn't order this. I stare at it blankly and glare at the steam rising from the cup. Where's the ice? I ordered something icy.
"What's the purpose here?" I ask after four shitty songs about falling in love.
"You needed to get out of there and when we get back, you're takin' a god damn shower," Deck says, frowning at me. Fuck him. I'm fine.
"You're miserable, I get it, but you need to start takin' care of yourself."
"Fuck you," I mutter. I'm so pathetic I can't even think of something more biting to say. "I'm fine."
"You tripped a blind woman on the way in!" he shouts. "That's not fine."
"The bitch fuckin' smacked me with her stick!"
"She was blind, you cunt! She couldn't see you for fuck's sake."
"That's bullocks. Jus' cause she's blind doesn' mean she's not a bitch. I'm not feelin' sorry for her cause she can't see her pathetic life. I wouldn' mind that at all."
When they broke up but callum never left
Stepping up to the door, the desire to turn around, get back in my car and drive away quickly is overwhelming. I refuse to give in. Opening the door, I am greeted with the smell of the place. It's the smell of books and I hadn't realized how much I missed this smell. Expecting to see him at the counter, I'm taken aback when I see a woman there instead. She looks up at me and smiles expectantly.
For a second I don't move. Did Callum hire someone? But judging by the way she's dressed, she definitely does not work here. She's wearing a form-fitting charcoal gray jacket over a deep blue top that dips low between her breasts. I can't see her below the waist but I assume that she's either wearing a skirt or a pair of pants that match the jacket. She has blond hair,
pulled back in a tight bun and her makeup is minimal. Overall, she's quite intimidating even with the small smile.
Walking up to the counter, I try not to jump to any conclusions as to who she is and keep my composure.
"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice is very husky and it's a little surprising.
"I'm looking for Callum," I'm proud of myself for how calm I sound when I feel anything but.
Smiling a little more genuinely, she makes a motion upstairs with her hand, saying, "He's upstairs changing. I'm sure he'll be down any minute."
My composure cracks and the conclusions that I didn't want to be jumping to are now being leaped to in great bounds. Getting dressed? He's moved on. This must be who he's moved on with. My eyes begin tingling with the familiar urge to cry and I need to get out of here.
"Thanks," I mutter, turning around and quickly walking to the door.
"You don't want to wait? He won't be very long," she asks from behind me. I don't say anything and keep walking, just needing to get out of here as soon as possible.
I pull on my wool cap and thump down the stairs. I really am not in the mood to do this shite. Nita insists that I need to go look at the gallery myself so I can decide what goes where. I honestly don't give a toss what gets hung where. They don't even need to be hung, prop them up against the walls and they're fine. Considering that she's sort of in the position to insist these things, I have to do it. I could fire her but I actually want to do this show. I don't know why, maybe to prove something. I don't know who to though.
"I wanna get this over with," I tell her when I walk into the store. She has one of those electronic planners that I despise. Sliding it in her purse, she frowns at me and leads the way to her car.
I feel uncomfortable in her car. Everything about it is shiny. I feel like I'm going to slip off the seat every time I sit down. It's one of those stupidly expensive sports cars that people enjoy driving just so other people see them. It's utterly pointless. I keep quiet on the way to the gallery and I'm thankful that Nita isn't the type for small talk. She doesn't care enough to try.
"A girl came by while you were getting ready," she says suddenly, as if it just occurred to her to tell me. Tearing my gaze away from the rapidly passing buildings, I stare hard at her, "Who was it?"
Turning back to the buildings outside my window, I wish it were Marin. But if it were, she would have torn her way upstairs, especially since she would have had a good reason being there. Not that she would need one. I miss her terribly.
Two Days Later
The showing is tomorrow. Fuckin' hell. I'm nervous. I hate feeling like this. The gallery is bright and I imagine that even with the lights off at midnight, these white walls glow. My pictures look unusual on the walls. I don't know if I like it or not. I'm standing in the middle of the room, watching people hang them up, and not knowing what the fuck to do with myself. All around me, pictures of Marin tempt me. I want her to come tomorrow night but I doubt she will. I haven't spoken with her since I kicked her out. She tried calling but I never answered. I couldn't stand to hear her voice asking me to explain myself. There isn't anything to explain. She's better off. I'm not. I'm starting to doubt my decision. All of them.
Nita walks up to my right side, her arms crossed and a critical look to her. "I've seen her somewhere."
Following her gaze, a large portrait of Marin sits in the center of the wall. I drew her sitting up in the middle of my bed, the sheets pooling around her. Her breasts barely visible beneath the sheet she's holding up against her chest. She looks so fucking naive. I refused to let Nita take any nude ones of her. I don't want her body on display for anyone but me. This one was almost staying home but it slipped by.
"You've seen her in all the other pictures," I say with a little more malice than necessary. Nita ignores it and shakes her head.
"No. The girl who came by your store a few days ago. I thought she looked familiar."
"What? It was her?" My chest feels too tight and I can't breathe. I don't excuse myself when I walk outside. What the hell was she doing? Why did she leave? I don't think, I just pull my cell out and dial her number. It rings twice before telling me that the number is no longer in service. Restraining myself from smashing the phone into the concrete, I call Emma.
It takes me a few wrong numbers and a lot of cursing, but I finally get the right number and Emma answers.
"Where is she?"
"Where is she?" I ask again. I don't even know where she's living. I need to find her. I need to talk to her. I need to know why the fuck she came by. She can't just do that. I can't take that.
"She's not here. She got her own place."
"Where would that be?" I ask impatiently. I practically throw myself out onto the street when a cab heads towards me. Luckily, it stops and is empty.
"I don't know if she'd want me to tell you."
"Jus' give me the bloody address!"
She sighs but gives it over. I repeat it to the driver and hang the phone up. Nita's gonna be angry.
It takes ten minutes to get through traffic and get me to the apartment building Emma gave me. I pay the man behind the wheel and get out. The place isn't bad. Not extremely nice but I doubt there are break-ins every day. The building is rather small with flowers lining the walk up to the main door. I follow the plants and look for her name on the panel. Finding it, I press the buzzer and wait. She doesn't answer and I press it again. And again. And again. No answer but someone leaves and I slip in before the door shuts. I take the stairs two and a time and find her door on the third floor.
The morning after he gets back from Ireland (the first time)…
"Go get dressed and we'll get some food," he says and disappears down the stairs. I can't help but smile. We're going out? Like on a date? I know we just spent a long time having sex and usually people date before the sex, but this idea is making me giddy. I slide off the bed and I grab the hospital gown off the floor, following after him and going downstairs. He's already gone and I practically skip to my room, tossing the gown in the corner with some other dirty clothes of mine.
I want to look nice but not too nice. After going through my clothes, I finally settle on a pair of jeans and a light gray top that scoops low in the back. Grabbing some socks and my nameless cheap shoes from Target, I walk into the living room and sit on the couch. Callum walks back in while I'm pulling my socks on and he's still shirtless but he has his bags in hand.
"You're quick," I say sarcastically.
"Phone call," he says in passing, going back upstairs to get dressed. Not long after he goes up there, clothes start falling to the ground. I look up just as a pair of jeans are tossed from his room. I assume that he's getting rid of his dirty laundry and don't comment. After I put my shoes on, I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I forego makeup because it would just take too much effort and I don't think I really need it today. I look far too happy to bother with mascara. Instead I just pull my hair up in a pathetic pony tail and walk back into the living room.
"Ready?" Callum asks calmly, leaning against the couch as if he's been waiting for me for hours. He looks amazing and so effortless. He never cut his hair while in Ireland and it's getting long, curling around his ears. I have to admit that the shaggy hair was definitely a fun thing to pull at and the very recent memories make me blush. He's wearing light brown corduroy pants with a long sleeved gray thermal shirt and a regular green t-shirt over that. I don't know what it is about the layered look, but it seriously gets to me. I glance down at his feet to see that he already put his shoes on, the familiar dingy boots. When I look back up at him, his expression has changed to one of complete seduction and I breathe in deeply to calm myself. My stomach growls again, as if to make sure I don't get distracted from the mission. I nod and walk past him. We need to get out of the building before we can't for another hour.
The restaurant is fairly empty but considering the time, I'm not all that shocked. We got here a little after four, before the dinner rush started flowing in. It's not my favorite place but it's pretty nice. Most people show up cause of the prices. If something's expensive, it must mean it's better. Not fucking true. I can always find a hole that serves better food than these places. Even so, Marin seemed excited when I told the cab driver where to go. She offered to drive but I like being able to really sit beside her without any distractions and lord knows all I want to do is distract her.
I've been fairly quiet during dinner and if she's noticed, she's chosen not to comment on it. I just like watching her. She's gorgeous and she must have worn that shirt knowing what it does to men. When she's standing straight, it's decent, but when she leans forward a bit, I can see her god damn bra. It's green with dots. How utterly charming. The second we sat down I noticed it and I haven't been able to concentrate on much else. I was hard in an instant and now I'm almost used to it. Would it be too soon to pull her into the back and fuck her in a bathroom stall?
"Callum," she teases. "It's not noticeable at all. Don't worry."
"I wasn' but thanks for the reassurance," I say, looking up from her gorgeous breasts. "Ready ta go?"
She looks down at the table and there's nothing else to eat. Picking up her soda, she takes a final sip and nods. Our waiter appears and I pull out my wallet, handing him a card. He disappears to make the charge and I lean back, cracking my neck. I'm fucking tired and if tonight goes as well as I assume it will, I won't be getting any sleep.
Once I take care of the tip, we leave and begin walking. I like walking with her, our arms brushing together. She takes my hand and the gesture is so simple and without thought. It's a little terrifying how comfortable her hand feels in mine.
"What else should we do?"
I keep silent and we just walk.
Two Hours Later
We ended up walking to the park and after watching Marin feed the ducks with some bread she was able to score off a little boy, we found a cab and came home. Ever since we arrived, she's been on her bloody phone talking to Emma. My patience is running thin. I'm antsy and incredibly turned on. Following the sound of her voice, I walk into her bedroom and watch her. Her back is turned to me, sitting on the other side of the bed, and I don't feel guilty for listening to her conversation. I'm hiding in plain sight. It's her own fault.
"No, nothing like that. God, Em. You may have a dirtier mind than he does," she laughs, laying back. My self-control snaps at the image of her lying prone on the mattress.
"I highly doubt that," I say, assuming she was speaking of me and if she wasn't…well I'm a bloody git.
She shoots up quickly and stands, turning to fix me with a glare. Her stern look does nothing to cover the obvious embarrassment from getting caught talking about me. Reacting to something Emma says on the other line, she says, "He's such a snoop."
"Say goodbye," I tell her, walking forward. I give her enough time to do just that before I take the phone from her and flick it shut, tossing it on the bed. She opens her mouth to say something, probably tell me what an ass I am, but I lean down and kiss her before she can. I'll never tire of this taste or how her lips yield to my own.
After Felix cheated on Marina…
After they left, we fell into a comfortable conversation about books. Every time I let my mind wander onto less pleasant topics, it seemed as if Callum knew and cut my train of thought off before I started to dwell. I'd never talked so much with him at one time before, usually we were never alone and it seems like he's more comfortable in small groups. We'd put a pause on the talking when a customer would come in, but before I knew it, it was bordering on five o'clock. He should be closing soon and I try not to think about what I'll do when he does. I'm not ready to face Felix yet and I have that damn interview tomorrow. Maybe I should just blow it off. I don't think I'm in the state to be making good impressions. I'll wait until tomorrow to decide.
Callum leans over the counter with a groan and mutters, "We both know you're not goin' to buy anything." He glares at the short elderly lady who's riffling through the romance section and continues to grumble to himself.
"Why do you even sell those?" I ask quietly, stepping up close to his side so the woman won't hear me. With how picky he is with the books he sells, I'm shocked he sells any Fabio romances.
"Have you ever seen the covers of those? Bloody brilliant."
The woman slowly begins wandering towards the door and with each step, Callum stands up a little more with an expectant look. When she finally leaves, he claps his hands together and announces that the store is closed. I don't know who he's announcing this too but I can't help but laugh. He rushes over and flips the sign before anyone else can come in.
Turning around, he looks at me, a finger pointing, "Right, you need your clothes. I'll be back in a bit."
With that, he slides out of the store, leaving me alone and wondering where in the world my clothes have been.
"Thanks for doing this." Charlie smiles and I'm reminded of Sunday morning cartoons. I'm immediately on edge.
"Oh it was no problem," he grins. Maybe I should have done her laundry myself. I couldn't pass up the opportunity though. He was on his way home, forgetting Max, and Betty is always offering to wash my clothes. Empty nest syndrome I guess. For a while she was stuck on my marrying her granddaughter. The girl is barely legal. That's not something I need to get involved in. He pulls a small laundry basket out from behind the counter and I'm not surprised they felt the need to put the clothes in something.
"So when did you start wearing women's clothing?" Charlie asks me, his voice light and airy. Great. This is why he was looking at me like that.
"Oh since I was six." At his look, I expand, "They belong to a friend."
"She must be a pretty good friend if you're doing her laundry."
"I know what you're thinkin' so stop."
"Betty wants to meet this friend," he adds.
Betty, silly woman. I can't even imagine how terrible that would go. Well, I could, but I wouldn't want to. I suspect that it would look odd, my washing a girl's clothes. I've never bothered to do that before.
"Thanks again," I say, grabbing the basket and making my way for the door. Something smacks my back and when I turn around I see a paint brush on the floor. The old man is throwing things at me. Shaking my head, I give a wave and leave before pain follows after. I know this isn't over. I'll have to talk to them both about it later. I'll have to go over for dinner or something.
Random bit that I forgot about…
I wake up suddenly, falling, my muscles are clenched and my hands are gripping the sheets. I breathe in deeply and shut my eyes, forcing myself to relax. I calmly let the memories of the dream come back. If you try too hard you won't remember anything concrete. I remember people and vague location changes. Everything was too quick to register. Familiar rooms led to buildings I'd never been in. I tripped and fell forever. It's what woke me up. That sudden falling sensation always gets me.
Opening my eyes, I look over at Marin's sleeping body. Her back is to me and I didn't wake her. I roll over on my side, facing the opposite direction and hide my face in the side of my pillow. It smells like detergent. I don't like that freshly washed smell on my pillows. It takes a week for it to smell like sleep again.
I roll further onto my stomach and remember the feeling of flying. I remember it now. It was that same dream I've had so many times. It came in a different package. There were different bits surrounding. That one part is always the same. I'm leaping so high and far that it's almost flying. I'm completely weightless and the feeling is glorious. That feeling lingers right after the dream but by the time I wake a second time, it's completely gone. I always lose it. I only remember it when I'm feeling it.
I go across homes and mountains. It always starts at home. In Ireland. Everything is great at first and I'm loving the wind but I begin to lose my past. I go so far and I just keep going and it's still lovely but I grow scared. I begin to panic and suddenly someone is behind me and I'm no longer flying for pleasure, I'm running. I never turn to look, I just know that something is back there. The weightlessness becomes a curse; oddly enough it only slows me down. The wind takes me in directions I don't want to go. There is never an end. I'm always running. Sometimes there's a red balloon in the sky. I pass it more than once. I'm never actually moving far.
That's been in so many dreams. It doesn't matter what I'm dreaming about. I could be at a riding stable, run to get a sugar cube for King Knight and end up running in the air while never wondering what happened to that sugar cube. Repeating dreams are a bitch. I feel like I should figure out what it all means. I don't think it means anything though. Everyone dreams and they're all strange. It's not the only dream I've had more than once. I don't think I will ever repeat a new dream. All of the ones I have, I first had as an adolescent.
I lay in bed for an hour. I know because I kept count of Marin's breaths. It didn't lull me to sleep like it had in the past. I slide my legs off the side of the bed, landing on my knees in a prayer pose. I don't pray. I watch her for a few minutes before slowly standing. I'm quiet as I walk down the staircase. There's nothing for me to do. I think about drawing, I even pull some stuff out, but I just don't draw. I stare at the bookshelf for a while, picking books up one by one as I read the titles, but I only put them back. I want to do nothing. I want to swim. I wish I had a pool. I wish I had a fucking yard to put a pool into. My fingers are in my mouth and I taste salt under my nails. I should take a shower.
Looking at the clock, it's almost five. Marin wakes fairly early. Not this early but if I woke her now, it wouldn't be that terrible. She'd get over it. I don't want to talk. I put the last book back and walk back upstairs, leaving my shirt on the steps as I go.
She's rolled to her stomach and I couldn't be happier. That's a lie. I could always be happier. But her body, in any position, makes me pretty bloody happy. I don't care about being gentle as I lay down beside her. Women tend to wake up only when you really don't fucking want them to. When you're trying to sneak out…or in. Of course they'll wake up that time.
If she wakes, it's not fully and she ignores me. I nudge the blanket down to her lower back and I love these shirts she wears sometimes. She seems to go through phases. She has some t-shirts, a little big for her, that she's cut the necks off of, as well as a bit of the sleeves. They all say something in puffy paint. I trace the letters on the back of her shirt, barely touching them, knowing already what this one is. Oh god my chance has come at last. The letter G is losing some of its form. A bit is peeling away from the material. I don't tug on it no matter how great the urge is. She'd be upset.
It's amusing how quickly my mood shifts. The last thing I want to do is wake her up now. I don't feel restless and I should have stayed here all along, tracing the letters on her back. I roll away from her for a moment; long enough to retrieve a black marker from my dresser. I'm more careful when I get back in bed but luckily, she only moves her head to the other side, facing me. Her eyes still closed.
I draw on her, write on her, until the sun begins to show up. It allows me to better see what I'm doing. I've overlapped a lot. She probably won't be too happy. This stuff takes some effort to wash off. Her right shoulder, the one visible from the cut shirt, is covered with random quotes I remember, ideas and feelings. Memories with accompanying doodles. I'm surprised that she hasn't woken. I would have. As long as I hadn't been drinking of course.
I clip the cap on and let the pen roll off the bed. The scent is heavy and I'm feeling a little light headed. I'm glad I left the window open and forced Marin to deal with the breeze. It's paying off.
"Done?" she mumbles, half her mouth smooshed against the pillow.
"For the most part."
"It better not be permanent."
"For the most part."
She groans my name and lifts her head to try and look at what I did to her shoulder. She can't see much. Looking at me, her hair severely parted to the right, she tells me that I'm next. She can do whatever the fuck she wants to me. I don't tell her that.
I delight in disagreeing and she's too hazy from sleep to know what the hell she's saying. She's making no sense but she thinks she's being brilliant. She looks like a little drunk doll that was forgotten and left in the dirty laundry bin only to be put through the washing cycle with the sheets. I tell her exactly that and she attempts to pull my arm hair out.
"Not nice. I just let you draw all over me," she scolds, rolling to a sitting position. She fixes her shirt and her eyes are half open. She has remnants of mascara smudged right under her eyes. She rarely ever takes the time to get rid of the mascara completely.
"Let me? When did you wake up?"
"I don't know. The first time…I don't know."
"And you didn' feel the need to stop me from tainting you?"
"You've been tainting me for months, why stop you now?" she says, her voice completely straight.
"In other words, you completely love the way I taint you?" I sit up to face her, leaning forward to kiss her neck. Her hand is heavy when she rests it on my shoulder and she laughs low in her throat when I lick behind her ear.
"I fell back asleep. I was too comfortable to stop you," she adds, her voice softer. Sleepier. I don't want her sleepy. She laughs to herself and I don't want her to laugh. I've firmly decided that she just laughs far too much. No need to be so happy. It's unnatural. I need to show her some pictures and videos to cure that. Show her that Invisible Children documentary and footage of Bush. Her hand moves to my lap and she rolls her head to the side. I kiss her skin and suddenly she's flopping back on the bed.
"No, no, Callum. Too early. Too tired." She talks to me like a mother would a child who's pulling on a table cloth in the Queen's dining room. She rejects me completely and I find I'm not put off by it in the least. It's a turn-on. It's a challenge. There's hope for me when she plays with the skin on my thigh. Her movements are absent but it's this tiny bit of hope.
She rolls onto her side, away from me but I stretch out against her back and despite her feelings towards sex, her legs open for my knee because this is normal. I push her shirt up her side and watch her body move as she breathes. I don't touch her with my hands and I don't kiss her.
"I'm smelly. I smell like a marker, Callum." Her hand is reaching back for my hair, neither pushing nor pulling. It's just there. Her breathing slows and I have to make sure that I keep her awake without doing anything drastic. I want to wake her slowly. I want her to beg me after having said no.
I keep my knee between her thighs but I don't put any pressure upward. Looking at the back of her head, I'm going to tell her exactly how I think about her. What goes through my head during those moments I keep to myself.
I never knew that I was waiting for her to love me. I didn't figure that out until she told me that she did. I never actually thought she would. Pieces of me still don't think she does. They're waiting for her to really fall. They'll wait forever and they'll be thrilled with their misery.
Marin shifts and her soft arse presses against me. I'm hard and I know she feels it. I feel no need to take anything for myself. I want to hear her come. I want to see her face. I want to see how quickly she'll crash afterwards. How long could I keep her on the edge for?
"I don't want to have sex," she tells me again, this time a little annoyed. I smile against her neck and decide that have to kiss her. I press my lips against her ear lobe and tell her not to worry. I'm deliberately crude when I speak to her. I need her awake. I want to annoy her further.
"I don't want to fuck you," I whisper in her ear. I make sure to say is so quietly.
"You don't?" She's untrusting of my answer.
"No, I don't."
I don't say anything more and kiss her neck until she finally asks me why. She just needs to know why and I was counting on it. I don't answer right away. I'm slow and I dig my fingers into her hip. I make it hurt a little.
"I'm going to make you come."
"I don't want you to. I want to sleep."
Her wants are pointless because this beats want every time. It doesn't matter what she wants, she's already wet. This goes beyond want. This is natural, real. She takes her hand out of my hair and it's her feeble rejection attempt. She enjoys resistance. On both sides.
"It really doesn't matter what you want, Marin. The more you don't want it, the harder you'll break. The harder you'll come. Go ahead and resist it, sweetness."
I wrap my arm around her waist, trapping her arm against her chest. I don't care about her other arm; she's laying on it so it can't do much. I press my knee up, just slightly, not enough to make any sort of progress. It's just to remind her it's there.
"Feel my knee?"
When she doesn't answer, I ask again, sliding it up just a bit more. She nods her head finally, the back of her head bumping my nose. I keep my voice low in her ear and when I kiss
her neck, I still keep my voice low, making her work to hear what I'm saying. I'm not sure she's catching any of it but it doesn't matter. It's the tone. It's my breath.
"I love listening to you breathe. Beautiful. Breathe for me, just like that." She sighs and I bite back a groan. She struggles against my arm but I don't let her go. I'm not afraid she'll leave; I know what she'll do. She'll turn around. I don't want her to face me yet. I'll lose all control if I see her eyes, if she touches me at all.
I press my knee against her and she tightens her thighs. She lifts her head and tries to turn it towards me but I keep my mouth on her shoulder. I bite down softly and she moans my name. She draws the syllables out and tastes that final M on her tongue.
"You're not trying anymore," I scold.
"You want to come now. How disappointing…now I can't let you." Before she can say anything, I hold her against my chest, pressing her ass even harder against my cock. I use muscles in my thigh that just don't like being used as I press up between her legs with more force to punctuate my words, "I'm going to press my mouth against your panties and breathe. I'll make sure you feel everything but skin. You'll shake before I move my lips at all. I'll hold your hands against your stomach, right here." I put pressure against her belly, right below her belly button. She almost gets her arm free but I grab it again and she lets me. I hold her hand against the mattress and she rolls forward a little, I move with her. Her movement pushes her arse up against me even more and my eyes shut before I realize it. She's willingly giving me more control and I think she'd like being tied up. I store this for later because there is no way I'm leaving her to get ties.
I let go of her hand and nudge her until she rolls onto her stomach. She moves her arm but before I can say anything, she just lays her head on her hands. I lean over and kiss her. She lifts her head and I almost forget what I'm doing when her tongue hits my bottom lip. She tastes perfect.
I pull back and lay my hand on her upper back when she moves to sit up. I run my hand down her spine when she relaxes. She sighs and relaxes into the mattress.
I move over her back but keep some weight off. I don't want her to feel too much. I move her hair over her head and pull her shirt down over her shoulder and look at all the black on her skin. I wish I hadn't done that now, it won't taste good. Moving down, I pull her shirt up and attack her lower back. She giggles.
"Callum, what are you doing?" she asks.
"I'm kissing your back."
"I'll get you back for this. You know that. You're going to be sorry. See if I let you sleep tomorrow night."
I tell her to shut up before I scrape my teeth along her side and she jumps.
"Tell me how wet you are."
She doesn't say anything and her face is hidden in her hands. Her entire body is tense. When she breaks it's going to be amazing. I think about never letting her. I tell her this. I tell her that I'm going to work her up and leave her on the precipice. Leave her wanting. She doesn't say anything and I need her too. I repeat my earlier question.
"You told me to shut up."
I sigh, "Don't. Answer the question."
She has a hard time finding the words and I move back up to her neck. I slide my hand down her spine again and over her backside. She spreads her legs immediately and I leave my hand on her inner thigh. I can feel such intense heat. I whisper in her ear, urging her to tell me. The second she begins to answer, the second she tells me that she's wet, I want to tell her to shut up again. I can't hear it. I can't tell her to stop talking though. It is not the right time. She needs that encouragement for the future.
"Can I tie you up?" she asks. "Later."
"You can do whatever the fuck you want to me, love," I say against her cheek. I feel her smile and I love it. It's not a lie. She can do whatever she wants. I would have zero qualms with her completely tying me up
She lasts longer than I would have thought before she ignores me and pushes me off her. She sits up and pulls her shirt off before leaning back and tugging her pants off, taking the panties with them. She pushes it all off the bed and tells me to take my boxers off. I don't.
"I'm not going to fuck you," I tell her. It's hard to hold back the smile. She's completely surprised and I can't hold it back anymore. "I was completely serious."
"What? You just woke me up!"
I wrap my hands around her knees and pull her to me. She jerks back and catches herself on her arms. I change position and kneel between her legs. Plan is a little screwed cause she ripped her clothes off and now I feel no need to prolong her orgasm. I need to touch her.
It seems it's not ten seconds after she comes that she's completely knocked out. I haven't even crawled up from between her legs, my head is still lying on her thigh, and her breathing is deep and calm. I'll have to remember to taunt her about this later. About the role reversal. Stereotypically, the men pass out and the women are left wanting. It's not the sexual wanting I'm
left with. Yes, I'm completely turned on but it's the cuddling urge that I'm completely disturbed over. I wanted her to stay awake for a bit. I've become so addicted to our after-sex discussion topics.
I kiss below her belly button and gently unhook her leg from my shoulder, feeling the unshaven prickles on her calves. I cover her partly with a sheet and get up from the bed, fully intending to get in the shower and take care of my own needs. I can't bring myself to do it right here while staring at her. I would feel like a complete pervert and my erection would completely vanish. It would be the most difficult and forced come I would ever have to inflict upon myself.
Tiny small bit I found…
"I would just die. I wouldn't even try to get myself out of there," I say, shaking my head slowly at the man on TV. Callum and I have been watching Man vs. Wild for two hours now and I wish Discovery channel didn't have these mini-marathons because they are far too easy to get stuck on. This guy is quite attractive. It's nice when a guy could survive by hiding in a carcass. I'd want him to take six baths after he came home but it's still nice.
"Do you think you could survive if left somewhere horrible?" I ask Callum, who's not actually watching the show. He's more so just sitting beside me and reading.
"I would probably never find myself in the middle of a fuckin' Utah desert," he says, not looking up from his book.
After he's left and alternate way for Marin to find out…
I don't care if I haven't talked to him in over two weeks, I'm visiting. I need to see him. This is so childish. We're adults. If we're not going to be together anymore, I need some closure. I need to talk about this. If I don't get something, I'm always going to wonder if he's thinking about me, if he misses me. I'm pathetic.
I park my car and don't give myself any time to chicken out. I'm surprised to see Betty at the counter. Surprised maybe but very happy to see her nonetheless.
"Marina!" she practically squeals my name and grabs me in a hug as soon as I come close enough. "It is so good to see you, dear. How are you?"
"I'm really good. How are you?" I ask, smiling and hugging her back just as tightly.
"Oh, the same. Can't complain," she laughs at her little rhyme and I love her for it. I missed being in her presence. She's always been so genuinely happy to see me.
"Charlie's across the way, you'll have to go over and say hi. He'd love to see you," she says. She pulls me in for another hug and I hook my chin over her shoulder. There's a bulletin board behind her on the wall, something that's been put up since I was here last. There are post cards pinned to it and some receipts. It reminds me of the board in their art store and I remember the little IOU they would keep adding to whenever Callum would need supplies. I'm instantly sad and I try to ignore it. I can't show an ounce of sadness, she'll pick up on it immediately. She's a professional when it comes to that. So is Charlie. It's disturbing how good they are.
We talk about random things and the whole time I can't help but notice small things that aren't right. The store is different. It looks the same at first glance but it's cleaner. Tidier. The biggest difference being the book titles. Callum would never have sold some of these that are in plain sight. He must not be working much anymore. Why else would Betty be in here?
Betty catches me looking at the door that leads to the stairs and she smiles sadly, "We miss him too."
"Oh, terribly. If it weren't for his letters, I would be hard pressed not to fly right over there and give him a nice scolding."
"What do you mean? Where is he?" Her face completely falls and that crying feeling is back although I don't know the reason yet. I feel like someone watching Sixth Sense, never having seen it before, with a group of people who have seen it, watching them exchange knowing looks and feeling as if I'm missing something really huge.
"Ireland," she says it like I should have known. "He didn't tell you? You didn't know he left?"
Her voice turns pitying and I'm completely struck. I don't know what to think. Callum's gone? He left. He took off and never told me. I didn't even get an awkward phone call from him that resulted in his chickening out and not telling me. I didn't get a letter…a note. He didn't even send me a text message saying Gone to Ireland. Be back never. What kind of person does that? I'm completely surprised. I never would have thought he could do that.
"I can't believe that he didn't tell you!" Betty admonishes. "Charlie and I just assumed that you knew and that's why you moved out."
"No, I didn't know," I say softly. I need to get out of here. I need to leave. I need to sit in my bathtub.
"I'd really rather not do this," I complain. It's nothing short of absolutely whining.
"Quit bitchin'. It's only for three bloody days," Deck reminds me. He tosses me the high-top Chuck I've been looking for and luckily I catch it before it hits my ear. "Ya gotta support me. I'd just be lost withoutcha."
"O'course. I keep forgetting what a pathetic git you are." I push my foot in my shoe and wrap the laces around my ankle before tying the ends together. Deck picks our bags up and reminds me to get the lights in the kitchen.
The plane is fairly quiet, for a plane that is, and I'm glad for it. I prefer flying very late. I can sleep on the plane. Deck and I stayed up all night last night to ensure our sleeping on the plane. I don't know why we have to be at this thing. If it weren't for Deck, I wouldn't fucking go. Since his photos are being shown and it's not just my bullshit, I feel like I need to be there for him. I tried everything I could to get him to not go. He's apparently looking forward to this. Makes no sense to me. Nita was the one to pay for the airfare and she arranged our suits. I don't know how she knows our sizes but Beth said they had it all covered.
"Are you gonna see Marin?"
"Why the fuck would you bring her up?" I ask, groaning.
"Jus' wonderin'. Figured she may want ta hear from ya…assuming she's noticed your absence."
"You're a fuckin' prick."
"Not any more than you, Spud," he smirks, lifting his cup to his mouth. Coke for us both. His nails are purple. The result of a sexual encounter last night with some German girl.
"How can you be lookin' forward ta this thing? It's just goin' ta be a lot of wankers with wine judging your character based on a fuckin' black and white photo of a bloody tulip."
"I don' think I have any tulip photos," Deck muses.
"You know what I'm sayin'. It's brilliantly pointless."
"Sure it is. That's not the point."
"The point isn't that it's pointless? Doesn' the fact that it's pointless imply there isn't a point for it not ta be?"
"You 'ave to 'ave fun with it. Drink some wine…talk ta people you'd never fuckin' wanna talk to again. Mock them all without their realizin' it," Deck rambles on about what he's looking forward to and he begins to make some sense. Maybe not a lot, but some.
"Face it, you fuck. It's got nothin' ta do with this showing. You just don' wanna go back in general. Heaven forbid you run into the girl you completely destroyed."
"That's not altogether true. I'm over her." I really don't want to talk about her. I don't want to think about her. I want to get the showing over with and get back home. I'll see Charlie and Betty but that's it. I'm staying with them for the time I'm back and after that I'm getting back on the plane. I'm not going anywhere else. I do not want to run into Marin. Deck's right about that.
"Oh yeah, you've got Vira, the Ukrainian, now. That girl barely speaks English, mate," Deck mocks.
"Can I get you another drink?" the flight attendant asks, hesitating by our row.
"What do ya got in the way of alcohol?" I ask, feeling like something far more stiff than Coke. I end up with vodka and it's a bit stronger a beverage than I would've liked but if Deck keeps talking about Marin, I'll need it.
"An' it does not matter, we communicate just fuckin' fine. There isn't much talkin' anyway," I say with a straight face. Deck cracks up and it gets me going. It's true. She and I don't really talk. We fuck. We're happy with that. It's uncomplicated fucking. She's divorced and not wanting a boyfriend. A girlfriend is the last thing I want. It's perfect.
"Right, I bet you fuckin' do."
"I'm going to sleep. Shut up for a bit." I bunch my jacket up and lean against the wall of the plane, shutting my eyes. I hear Deck take my vodka but I don't care. I wasn't drinking it anyhow.
I don't want to miss her anymore. I want to forget about her completely. I need to forget the way her tongue touched her teeth on my name. The way she smelled in the morning, fresh and scrubbed clean from the night before. I hate feeling. I fucking hate it.
After alternate possible cheating fight…
I didn't stop her when she left. It was what I wanted, after all. I wanted her to be angry, to realize what a fucking worthless git I am. I didn't have it in me to leave the flat, even though I wanted to. The possibility of not being here when she returned wasn't an option for me. So I brought out the arsenal of alcohol and proceeded to drink myself shit-faced in the comforts of my own home. The clock swears that it's only midnight but it's lying to me. It's moving too slowly. According to its time, Marin's only been gone for three hours but it feels like ten. The step is
hard and my tailbone is aching but I want to see her walk in and sitting on the bottom step to my bedroom is the way to go. Gives me lots of steps to put bottles on.
Why am I doing this again? Why am I deliberately fucking myself over? What sort of inane logic am I following here? Hurt her before she hurts me. It's simple enough. Hurt her before I bloody well kill her. And kill her I will if she sticks around. That girl, Hannah, fuck I wanted her. I still do. The fact that I didn't act on it means fuck all to me. I feel like I cheated on Marin. Just thinking about it, I wasn't any better than Felix. I should never be in a relationship. I can't take all this hell fire.
The door opens and Marin flicks the lights on, closing the door behind her. She freezes when she sees me. I want to kneel down in front of her and hug her to me. I want to apologize and make it up to her for the rest of my pathetic existence. I don't do anything I want to do.
"I need to leave," she says, her voice screams at me in the quiet flat even though she barely spoke it. I didn't expect this, not now, and in my current inebriated state, I already know that I won't handle this well. I don't handle it at all. I just stare at her and sip at the scotch in my hand. My scarred hand which will never let me forget what she does to me. What I do to myself.
"I don't know why you're doing this but you're dead set on getting me away from you. So if this is what you want, I'll give it to you. I never meant on staying here permanently anyway. I just sort of forgot, so it makes sense that I go."
When I don't say anything, she just keeps on talking. Saying how at first the living situation worked, but she didn't think it was smart to continue living together at the beginning of a relationship. It was too big. I'm glad she's been paying attention. She keeps talking, babbling, hands flinging about in the air. She begins wandering around the space, not going anywhere but needing to move. She's making me nervous with all her fucking twitching. She's turning me on with all her twitching.
Something she says breaks through. She compares me to Felix, saying that she never thought I would be like him. I'm sorry, I may be a complete bastard, but that's not fair. It's just not. I didn't lie to her; I didn't go behind her back and fuck someone else. And if I had, I definitely wouldn't have brought the slag back to the home I shared with my girl. Oh god. She is mine. I can't have her with other men. I don't care what happens, I can't stomach the image of Marin with anyone else.
"And you drink too much. Something happens and what's your solution? Alcohol!" she continues. I raise the glass to her in a mock toast and it wasn't a good idea. She practically marches over and takes the glass from me. For a second, I think she just might smash it on the floor and I can see the impulse flit across her face. But like the good girl she is, she takes it to the kitchen and pours it down the drain. Perfectly good scotch gone to waste.
"Would you please say something?" she asks, moving to the couch and sitting down. I don't really want to say anything. Silence would probably be the best way to further her annoyance with me. Get her out quicker. But I don't want her out. I adore her and I want to make
this better. I can't fuck with her emotions though. I need to figure out what I want to do and stick with it. I could possibly just be honest with her.
"Don' ever compare me ta Felix again," I say from the stairs, not getting up to sit beside her even though my body is craving it.
"Don't act like him and I won't." Her comment is snide.
"Not ta worry, if I was plannin' on fucking someone else, I'd let you know beforehand."
"Are you trying to hurt me?" her voice is small and confused. I hang my head, my neck stretches painfully under the weight and I tell her yes. It's the truth. I am trying to hurt her.
"Why?" she looks over at me and she looks so tired.
"Because it's easier."
"Easier than being nice to me?"
I pause before I answer because I'm an idiot but the alcohol is in effect and the things I should only think are about to come tumbling from my mouth and I can see the train wreck at my feet. "Easier than lovin' you," I say and it's the closest I've ever come to telling her that I love her. In English anyway.
"That makes no sense."
"It doesn' have to."
I watch her stand up and I get nervous when she walks over to me. I feel jittery. Exposed. I want to hit something and run. I want to drink more and fuck strangers. I'm breathing heavily by the time she touches my head and her fingers drag over my scalp. She makes me livid. I hate her for loving me. I hate her for staying. I hate her for touching me.
With confidence I never thought she would show me so early on, she pushes me back and climbs on my lap and sits on my thighs. Her weight is something I can't comprehend. Something I've never been able to understand. Why it feels so good to keep her off the ground. Her hands frame my face and I keep as still as I can. She slides closer to me and she presses against me and she knows I'm hard. Her lips move over my face as she kisses my eyelids and forehead. She kisses to my ear and whispers, "Is this so hard?"
I almost laugh at the way she worded her question. She was trying to be so poetic and she went ahead and ruined it with a cock reference. She blushes when she gets it and ducks her head for a moment to hide her slight smile. I know what she meant though. It's not hard to love her and that's horrifying.
She gets over her embarrassment and kisses me. Her tongue slides across my lip and I think maybe her mouth is my favorite part. Although, I think that same thing pertaining to all her parts. She can't make me forget and the fact that she's trying makes me want to push her off me. I don't want to hold back anymore.
Touching her for the first time tonight, I grab her hips and push her back. She lands on the floor, obviously not having expected it. I'm joining her before she can yell at me and I pull her down to lay beneath me, kissing her roughly and not caring about breathing. I don't bother saying anything; I don't bother looking for acceptance. I need a good row. The fact that I'm going to fuck Marin on the floor doesn't upset me the way it should. We've had sex but I've never actually fucked her and I refuse to call the sex we have had "making love". That term is just not for me. It's an asinine term. Just thinking about the two words together, taking away the whole symbolism for eternal love, it's laughable.
She writhes beneath me, breaking the kiss to breathe and I'm so thankful for the skirt choice today. It's as if she knew this would happen. I push her skirt up and she lifts her hips to help. I leave it bunched around her waist and pull her panties down her thighs. Her fingers are digging into my shoulders; I can feel her nails through my shirt. I want to see her marks on me just as much as I want to see my marks on her. I'm just as much hers as she is mine. However, I wouldn't tell her such a thing.
She responds to me in kind, meeting me fully and the fact that this turns her on is so fucking great. It feeds my sexually perverted little mind. She pulls at my shirt and it begins to annoy me so I sit up on my knees to get rid of it. Unbuttoning my pants, I lay back over her and push her shirt up underneath her arms, leaving her the job of pulling it off completely. Her bra is, I have to admit, a complete turn on despite its appearance. It's nude colored and bland, something a girl wears when seduction is the last thing on her mind. It's thin though and underneath it, her nipples are begging me.
Her hands tug at my pants, pushing them down my hips, and I grab her wrists before she can take advantage of my exposure. Now's not the time for a hand job. I reach over her, taking her arms with me and moan at how her breasts push against my chest. Her back arches, legs spread, and I thrust my hips against hers, shutting my eyes when I feel how wet she is. She says my name reverently and I sound like a different person, the way she says it. I sound better.