Make Me Bad

by Grey, R. S.

  It seems it’s permanent.

  I can’t believe we just did that. In the storage room. Where I store books. Books are stored there and Ben did that and I have to get out of this bathroom. The redness is getting worse.

  He’s waiting for me by the library exit with my bag in hand, checking his phone. He’s beautiful in his suit. His hair is only slightly mussed from my hands. He looks composed, nearly bored. I try to mimic his expression and probably come across looking as though I’ve had bad Taco Bell.

  “All set?” he asks.

  I take my bag with a little meek smile and then lead him through the door.

  Mrs. Allen lives a few blocks from the library, which is the main reason I worked out the living arrangement with her. It’s not the ideal scenario. Like I told Ben, the garage apartment is not exactly the lap of luxury, but it’ll do the trick for now.

  He guides me to his car and then I direct him to her house. Thankfully, the apartment has its own entrance and exit in the back alley, so I can come and go as I please.

  We park and Ben sits quietly for a second. It’s an ominous silence, the kind that leads into bad conversations I don’t want to have.

  I prepare myself for the following possibilities:

  “Madison, that was fun, but I want to keep this casual.”

  “Madison, now that I’ve sampled the milk, I don’t really care to purchase the cow.”

  “Madison, bye.”

  Instead, he turns to me, eyes narrowed in frustration. “That’s the entrance to the apartment?”

  I turn to see where he’s pointing. The staircase off the alley leads straight to the front door. The light overhead flickers like we’re in a horror film. It’s charming, right?

  “Yup. Just up the stairs.”

  “And the apartment doesn’t connect to Mrs. Allen’s house?”

  “No, thank God.”

  His frown intensifies. “Has your dad been here?”

  I’m confused. What’s he getting at?

  “Not yet.”

  My dad took the news of me moving out surprisingly well—so well, in fact, that I suspect he’s been waiting for me to be ready to leave the nest for a while now. I truly thought he needed me there. I thought I was doing him a favor by staying and looking after him, cooking him meals and keeping tabs on his health, but as it turns out, it might have been the other way around.

  I’m wondering about the hilarity of that when Ben leans forward.

  “Madison, this alley has no security cameras. Nothing. That door doesn’t even have a deadbolt.”

  I frown, not quite seeing his point. Clifton Cove is safe. There’s nothing to worry about.

  “You were held up at gunpoint a few blocks over from here—what makes you think that couldn’t happen again? Or worse?”

  “So…you don’t want to come up and see it?”

  He emits a low grumble—more like a growl, really—and then follows me up the stairs. Looking at it from his perspective, I can see his point.

  “I was so eager to get out of my dad’s house, I didn’t really have many options,” I say, turning my key and pushing the door open. “The rent here is cheap, and it’s just supposed to be temporary.”

  I step inside and the room seems even smaller than when I left this morning. I didn’t want to move any of my furniture over here since it’s not technically mine. My dad bought that stuff. I need new, adult stuff that I purchase with my own money, so I’m currently sleeping on a futon. The other furniture is all stuff that was already up here collecting dust. There’s a funky gold floor lamp beside the futon. A card table is currently covered with my two duffel bags full of clothes. Behind a door on the right, there’s a toilet and a shower. The toilet only flushes when it feels like it and I haven’t figured out how to get hot water in the shower, but I’m sure if I keep at it, I’ll figure it out. Easy peasy.

  “Madison,” Ben says, his tone just as hard as it was down in his car. He doesn’t see the same charm that I do.

  “What? It’s homey!” I say, pointing to the Bob Ross-style landscape painting covering most of one wall.

  “Come stay with me,” he says, as if it’s the simplest idea in the world.

  “For a night?”

  “Yeah, sure, or for…longer.”

  For a second there, I thought he was going to say forever. My eyes bug out of my head. “No. Way too soon. I can’t believe you’d even suggest it.”

  “Is it too soon? I’m thirty-one. I’ve dated a lot of women.”

  “Well I haven’t dated a lot of women, or men, for that matter. I’ve been living with my dad and I don’t want to jump from his house to yours. I’d like to stand on my own two feet, at least for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “What?”

  “How long is a while?”

  “I don’t know.” I turn and walk away from him, pretending I have some important task I need to take care of. I refold a shirt on the card table before I shrug. “A month…two months. I’ve never thought about it.” I’m annoyed that he’s forcing me to put a specific timeline on my figurative goal. “I just don’t want to look back at my life and feel like I was never confident enough to pave my own way.”

  “I admire that, but I’d also like to point out that your dad wasn’t supporting you. You work full-time. You take care of yourself. I understand what you’re saying and I’ll let you do what you need to do, but I’d just like to point out that you’ve been standing on your own two feet for a while now—you just don’t realize it.”

  With that, he walks out the door.

  My heart drops.

  “Hey, wait! Where are you going!? Did we just break up?”

  He laughs and shakes his head, continuing down the stairs. “I’m going to the hardware store. It should still be open for a few more minutes. Also, no, we didn’t break up, but I would like to take this opportunity to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

  He’s back on the ground now, looking up at me. Bugs the size of my fist swirl near the light at my head, but they cannot ruin this moment.

  “Okay. Great.” I shrug. “That’d be fine. I guess.”

  He smiles smugly and then turns to head for his SUV.

  Thank God he left because I definitely need a few minutes to compose myself.

  GIRLFRIEND.

  GIRLFRIEND!

  I step back into my apartment and my gaze leaps from one inanimate object to the next. None of them seem all that excited for me except for the snazzy gold lamp. Lamp is excited for me.

  “Girlfriend,” I say to it in disbelief.

  About an hour later, I’ve settled into my new role in Ben’s life very well. While he was gone, I reenacted some very lifelike scenarios in my head. What’s that? Oh yes, I am Ben’s girlfriend. Thanks for asking. Oh, sorry, I can’t come to your party tonight because my boyfriend, Ben, wants to have sex with me.

  It’s probably good he can’t read my thoughts.

  Now, I’m heating us up a Cup of Noodles and he’s drilling through my door, adding a deadbolt. He ran to the hardware store and then to his house to get some tools. He changed out of his suit. He’s Ben Rosenberg, trusty contractor, and his flannel shirt and jeans are making it difficult to get the noodles to my mouth without some major spillage.

  I sit crisscross nearby, watching him work. “Did you happen to ask Mrs. Allen if this was okay before you started doing construction on her property?”

  He aims a pointed brow in my direction and keeps right on working. “First of all, it’s a door—I’ll buy her a new one if she has a problem with it. Second of all, this is about your safety. She should be glad I’m doing this.”

  I smile. “Plus, isn’t it better to ask for forgiveness than permission?”

  He smirks. “Spoken like the true bad girl you’ve always wanted to be.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Oh god, can we please forget that whole thing ever happened? It was silly.”

  He pauses and glances down at me, study
ing my features. “Was it? Seems like a lot of things have happened in your life in the last two months, things you might not have had the courage to take on if you hadn’t set that goal, silly or not.”

  I stir my noodles. “True. I finally stood up to my dad and laid down the law. I told him I wanted him and Colten to give me room to grow. He didn’t even protest when I asked to move out—did I tell you that? I was really relieved. And now, I have these snazzy new digs, not to mention”—I tilt my Cup of Noodles in his direction—“you.”

  He opens his mouth for a bite and I oblige, grinning like a fool.

  “It’s like I’ve evolved into my final form: a big, bad butterfly.”

  He chuckles and returns to his work. I watch him change the drill bit on his power tool and my heart thunders in my chest.

  I have to keep talking to distract myself from the overwhelming urge I have to tackle him to the ground and force him to continue what we started earlier.

  “So, does being your girlfriend come with any perks?”

  He sends me a smoldering glare over his shoulder. “What do you mean? Outside of the bedroom?”

  Oh Jesus, I am going to die.

  I clear my throat and look anywhere but at him. “No, I mean, like…you’re Ben Rosenberg—surely dating you comes with free admission to amusement parks, float privileges in the Fourth of July parade, etc.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I just want to know if I get some kind of airline miles or rewards points when I dine out at the restaurants your family owns.”

  “So it’s true, you’re only dating me for the power and privilege it provides?”

  I shrug and add a little frown for emphasis. “’Fraid so.”

  Then, I hold up another bite of noodles and he accepts eagerly, fully aware that I’m kidding.

  A few minutes later, he’s all done installing the deadbolt. He stands and brushes his jeans off then leans down to help me up too.

  “How did you learn how to do this stuff?”

  “My dad and I would do little things around the house when I was growing up. The old Victorian homes around here need a lot of upkeep.”

  I test out the lock and it slides perfectly into place. We’re both locked in here. My evil plan has worked. I twist around and aim a pretty smile his way. If I knew how to bat my lashes without looking like an idiot, I would.

  “Stay the night?”

  He laughs as he heads to the bathroom sink to wash his hands. “You’re kidding. That futon is barely big enough for you. I have work in the morning. I need actual sleep.”

  I try not to let his rejection go to heart. He’s not turning me down, he’s just saying no to my slightly underwhelming abode.

  “Besides, I’m trying to force you to see reason and come stay with me. I have a king-sized bed, two guest rooms, a really comfortable couch—all of those are better options than that futon.”

  I scrunch my nose, annoyed at myself for wanting to cave. Does sleeping on a futon in this apartment make me any more independent than if I was sleeping with him in his big, comfy bed? Ugh.

  He walks out of the bathroom and finishes collecting his tools.

  “If you insist on staying here for a while, I’ll see about putting up a camera outside and maybe replacing that door. The deadbolt isn’t much more secure than the previous lock. If someone wanted to, they could still just kick the door down. It’s flimsy.”

  I nod and walk toward him, wrapping my arms around his middle. My ear is against his chest and I can hear his heart hammering. I close my eyes for a moment.

  “Thanks for the lock and for sharing this very fancy dinner with me.”

  He kisses my hair and then I lift my chin to receive a second kiss on my lips. We both keep it short and chaste, but there’s an underlying hunger that nearly splits me in two. I wish he were staying the night.

  He groans, runs a hand through his hair, and then makes his way to the door. I shoo him out with plans to see him tomorrow and then steal one last quick kiss. I close the door and lock it behind him.

  This sucks.

  For some inane reason, I want to cry.

  I have to listen to his feet carry him down the stairs, his car’s engine rev to life, his tires kicking up gravel as he drives away, and then…his car pulling back up to my apartment, engine dying, car door slamming, feet thundering up the stairs. I undo the lock and he’s there, laughing and kicking the door closed behind him.

  “I guess one night won’t kill me, right?” he asks, wrapping an arm around my waist and lifting me up off the floor.

  Oh my god, I’m going to attack him. My arms are around his neck and I’m kissing his jaw, his forehead, the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

  My mouth finally finds his, and it’s just like before, in the storage room. We’re so anxious and starved, we’re not so much kissing as we are consuming. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I moan, tilting my head, somehow still wanting more.

  My feet dangle above the ground as he carries me deeper into the room.

  The backs of my legs hit the card table and he sets me on top, not realizing my weight will throw it off balance. It’s made to hold five pounds, tops. One of the legs creaks and then gives out. I go crashing to the floor right along with it and I’m laughing so hard, tears gather in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying hard to fight off his own laughter.

  He lifts me back up and kisses the smile off my face.

  “My butt hurts,” I groan.

  He reaches down under the guise of soothing it, but his touch is hot, needy. He fists my dress and tugs it up. My hips roll against his jeans and I feel how hard he is. I can’t do it any longer. Twenty-five years of going without is too damn long.

  “Please please please tell me you have a condom.”

  “I grabbed one when I went to my house earlier.”

  “Oh my god, yes.” I nearly say I love you jokingly, but I stifle the urge—mostly because at this point, it’s not a joke.

  It’s so fitting that my first time will be on an old dingy futon. I don’t want calm, quiet sex on a perfectly made bed with a lamp on across the room for soothing ambient light. In here, we’re a mess. The gold lamp gets knocked over as I tug Ben toward the futon. It clatters to the ground right along with the card table, and I’m not fully convinced the rickety excuse for a couch-slash-bed will make it through this either.

  There’s a good chance we’ll end up on the floor. I’ll be picking shag carpet fibers out of my hair for days.

  “Let’s slow down,” Ben says, yanking my sweater dress over my head and throwing it across the room. In the process, he nearly dislocates my shoulder.

  I shudder and nod. “Yes, jeez, let’s take a breath and relax.” Then I yank his shirt apart and one of the buttons flies off and pings against the wall.

  We’re not very good at heeding our own advice.

  My hands tug impatiently on the zipper of his jeans. It’s only halfway down when I give up and yank the denim down with all the strength I’ve got. He kicks them the rest of the way off and in the process of removing his pants, I nearly took off his briefs too. The tight black material hangs low on his hips. More of him is exposed than ever before, the hard edges of his abdominal muscles pulling tight with each inhale he takes. I’m crouching down in front of him before I fully realize what I’m initiating.

  I want to see him. God, I just need him in my hands, and the groan that slips past my lips is only half as lust-filled as it should be. I tug his briefs down his legs and my eyes go wide. Without a thought, I reach out to grip his hard length and run my hand up and down it. Ben bucks his hips forward. I grow courageous and empowered. I do it twice more, pumping, fisting, bringing my mouth closer but not quite touching him there…yet. My lips are a whisper against him.

  “Madison,” he says, his voice full of longing.

  He seems big, but then I don’t really have much to compare him to. All I know is that when I look at
it from this angle, I’m not totally sure how he’s going to fit. The thought sends a spiral of panic through me, but I brush it aside. This is natural, meant to be. It will fit. Hopefully.

  I lean forward and drag my tongue across the tip and he fists my hair, a little nonverbal plea for more. I oblige, taking him in my mouth and sucking deep. How did we get here? How did our night turn from innocent construction to clothes-shredding passion?

  I take him deeper and suck again and again. I want him so wound up, coiled tight, tight, tight like a spring. My name passes through his lips again and it’s more ragged than the first time, desperate, depraved.

  I will keep going until he gives in, until his hips thrust uncontrolled and he releases everything. Before this moment, I’d have turned my nose up at the idea. Now, I don’t want to waste a single drop.

  I can feel him at the back of my throat and my breaths come shallow, pained. This is where I die, I think as he starts thrusting faster. Goodbye sweet, sweet world.

  I barely finish the thought before he hooks his hands underneath my arms and hauls me to my feet. My mouth hangs open.

  “I’m not finished,” I say, sounding deprived. I’m a child whose lollipop has just been ripped from her mouth.

  Ben doesn’t care about my disappointment, and he apparently doesn’t care about taking care of himself either. He’s spreading his hands over my body, edging me back step by step. My legs hit the futon as his hands unclasp my bra. The soft material slides off my skin and it’s immediately replaced by impatient hands and greedy touches. His palms roll across the tips of my breasts and my head falls back. He bends and his mouth takes over. He closes his lips and sucks. I’m thrust from one heady sensation to another, rough to soft. The juxtaposition is enough to jumble my thoughts. I’m no longer in control here. Oh right—I never was.

  Ben’s a master at this: his mouth, his tongue, the flick of it across my delicate skin. I have tingles between my thighs, wetness that feels naughty. When I glance down, my fair skin is a map of where he’s been. His hands leave marks across my body—it’s the curse of being pale, though in this moment, it seems more like a blessing.