Inhale, Exhale

by Matthews, C. L.

  “Hey,” I say around a mouthful of salad, remembering our first encounter.

  His boyish smile is directed at me, and he kneels next to me. Seeing the dressing, he thumbs it away from my chin then licks his finger clean.

  “I can’t tell if I’m going to vomit or swoon over the adorableness of that,” Ellie pops out, faux gagging and winking at the same time.

  “Give us a minute?” Jase requests softly.

  She gets up and heads to the other people I don’t like sans Francis, and he turns back to me, seriousness in his gaze but also a playfulness that he can never truly hide. He’s a troublemaker at heart. He just has that joking charm about him.

  “We need to talk,” he blurts.

  I glare at him because I’m not one of those overdramatic chicks who cries over situations as mild as this one. Staring at him, I wait for him to continue. Since he’s not taking the hint, I wave my hand, telling him to keep talking.

  “I’m graduating soon,” he starts then sits back, creating a distance between us.

  He plucks the grass, and I want to shake him, to tell him to just get on with it. This doesn’t need to drag out any longer than necessary. Hasn’t he ever seen breakups on TV? They’re quick and brutal, not slow and ongoing.

  “I’m not sure how this will work. Maybe we should break up,” he mutters with a frown. His eyes are downcast. His shoulders are slumped, and he continues to ruin the grass with his nerves.

  “Before we’re really anything?” I ask sardonically. Placing my hand over my chest, I use bullshit to get away from the hurt his words just brought me. “Let me guess. You want to fuck everyone with legs, and since I haven’t given it up yet...” I bat my eyes at him. “You’re getting bored with me?” Again, it’s like a TV drama.

  He shakes his head immediately, his face somber and pained, as if I’m the one hurting him and not the other way around. Fuck that. It’s annoying. He’s the one taking the cop-out. Asshole. He can’t put this on me. I’ve been all in.

  Haven’t I?

  “That’s not it,” he rumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  But it has to be. I haven’t given it up to him, and I’m not ready. I’m scared of love. I’m terrified of the repercussions.

  “Then, what is it?” I prod, unable to be cordial. I don’t raise my voice. I’m not going to cause a scene. It’s not my style.

  “I really like you.”

  “But...” I interrupt as he chokes over some words.

  “But when I’m gone, he’ll be here with you, and I won’t be. I don’t trust him around you.” His voice has telltale signs of jealousy and fear. I don’t even have to see his expression to know that.

  Toby. He must be talking about his brother who dropped me like a sack of potatoes. Why, at this moment, is he worried when there was no mention of him before this point?

  “You’re worried I’ll fall for Toby?” I sound bitter and resentful, and that’s probably because I feel exactly that. He’s being a child.

  “Yes,” he grits out.

  I can see it was hard for him to admit that. My anger recoils a little, and I try to see it from his point of view.

  “I only want you,” I say. Raising my hand, I place it on his stubbled chin. “I don’t want Toby.”

  “Doesn’t mean you won’t over time. He’s fucking in love with you!” His voice rises.

  What set this in motion? Why now? What’s changed? And why the hell does he not trust me? I’ve never done anything to put suspicion in him.

  “Well, I don’t love him like that, and if you can’t see me for someone worth fighting for, then I’m done.”

  My lunch is all but forgotten. Standing up, I take my tray, toss it, and go to find Ellie. Jase can be a dick all he wants. There’s no reason for this childlike behavior.

  I’m so fucking done with high school.

  chapter eleven

  Jase

  I don’t know why I let my brother get to me the other day. Usually, I take his words with a grain of salt, just like his father’s. Tobe enjoys bating me, telling me how much he loves Lo, how they would have hooked up or been together if it wasn’t for me.

  Fuck you, bro. Fuck. You.

  If she knew the way he spoke about her, she’d rethink their friendship. Luckily, I’m not a dick. I’m not willing to fuck with their friendship.

  “She’s only with you because she can’t be with me. If not for you, we’d be fucking every single day,” Tobe antagonizes. His drunken, red eyes glare at me as he continues to sip his beer.

  My face is probably beet red and visibly pissed off. He’s been saying this since the night she decided to be mine. We haven’t had sex. Which only makes the green-eyed monster come out full force.

  He’s drunk. Don’t take it to heart. I lie to myself, knowing it’s more than that. We haven’t been close since we were in elementary school. His father made sure of that the first time he beat me until I couldn’t breathe. We’re one and the same yet completely different. He’s spoiled. I’m bitter. I take everything in. He takes it all for granted.

  She changed everything for the worst, though. We were bearable before, but he’s inconsolable nowadays. He’s spoiled, and he didn’t get his toy. He hates me for dating her. I can see it in his eyes. He’s constantly dropping comments to me about how hot she is naked, and then I have to wonder how the fuck he knows that.

  “Stop being a prick and get over it,” I growl, my fist clenched. It’s the only way I won’t knock him on his ass for being stupid. He’s drunk. He’s my brother, and Lo would be pissed if I did punch him, especially when he only says things like this when he’s drunk, things he’ll regret when he’s sober.

  “Just wait until you’re gone in college. She’ll come back to me,” he continues, and I’m this close to throwing our blood relation out the window.

  I stare at him, fucking stunned at his audacity. He’s my brother, regardless of our different fathers. I’m amazed he’s saying this to me. She’s starting to be my everything, and he threatens that every single day.

  I can’t do this.

  I decided to break up with her after that night. Now, only a few hours later, I regret it. The hurt and anger on her face is enough to make me want to chop off my own nuts and use them as a peace offering.

  She’ll probably tell me to go fuck myself. That seems to be her favorite phrase since the day we met, not the official first day when I was drunk that she still hasn’t mentioned.

  I fucking hate the world. My mom and stepfather just announced they’re getting divorced. Toby’s dad couldn’t keep it in his pants, and now mom has to figure out how to live without him. She’s drank every day this week, and tonight's no different. It wasn’t the abuse that made her change her mind but the fact that he dicked some assistant of his.

  Mom stumbles into the living room. She’s still wearing her pajamas from last night. Her hair, a mirror of my own in color, is mussed up, tangled and flattened in all directions. She never cleaned her face free of makeup, so her eyes look like a raccoon’s, and her lipstick is smeared like she wiped it one too many times.

  “Hey, baby boy,” she slurs. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. She teeters until she loses balance and tumbles onto the loveseat. “You and Tobias are the brightest lights of my life. You never gave up on me.”

  She tries getting up again and sits next to me, her body silently shaking with cries. I wish I could fix her, mend the scars both my dad and Tobe’s gave her.

  Millie Collins-Hayes, my mom, was the best woman in her prime. She was a divorce attorney of all things. When she got pregnant with me, Dad wanted her to raise me. By the time she could get back to work, she was divorced, married to Brant and pregnant with Toby. Brant decided she’d stay at home. She lost her drive after not being able to go back to work.

  Brant always pushed her to stay home and be a mom because that was her rightful place. Such a prick, Brant. Now, I look at Mom and see all the damage he did.

  She’
s broken.

  She has given up.

  And I can’t do a fucking thing.

  I rub her shoulder until she stops crying and her even breaths let me know she’s passed out. My stomach churns, knowing she’s hurting so much. I lift her up like a child. Weighing next to nothing, I carry her to her bed and tuck her in.

  I text Toby, Hey, where’s that party you mentioned?

  His response is quick, Dalton’s on Melrose. Lots of booze, and Ellie is here.

  I stare at the message. Ellie is the girl who keeps trying to get with me, but she’s too clingy. I don’t need that before graduation, but I do need a distraction. I’ll go anyway.

  Before leaving, I head upstairs, change clothes, and then lock the house and set the alarm.

  By the time I arrive, the party is already out of hand. Walking into the high-vaulted kitchen, I spot Dalton. He’s an offensive lineman. He’s big, massive really. It’s hard to miss him, and tonight is no exception. The music blares in the background. Bon Jovi’s You Give Love a Bad Name plays.

  “Hey, bro!” he hollers after me.

  Lifting my chin in a hey gesture, I make my way to the island in the center of the room. Red and blue solo cups line the countertops and table. Blue generally means no booze. Red obviously means business.

  “What do we have tonight?” I ask, reaching for the first bottle I spot. It looks like one of those cheap bottles of tequila that are only like two dollars at the store. Laughing, I pour it without another thought.

  “That one was soaked with watermelon Jolly Ranchers,” Dalton yells over the loud music.

  This is going to be disgusting, I can already smell the lighter fluid concoction. It doesn’t really smell like it, but damn does it feel like it going down.

  I down three shots, needing a distraction. I’m not willing to think of my crisis. I’m only seventeen. I need to get my mind off anything other than football and school. My main goal is to leave here for college and never come back. This place is a black hole of despair. I refuse to live here after I graduate.

  “Yo, bro!” Toby hollers, hitting me on the shoulder. He’s toasted. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. “Where’s Mom?”

  He must wonder why I left the house for once. I’m always babysitting her nowadays.

  “Wasted and asleep.”

  “Dad?” he questions with a glare.

  “Probably with his whore,” I mutter, my anger rising once again. I need air.

  Pouring more of the gasoline liquor, I tell him I’m going to go smoke. It’s not something I do often, but when I do, it’s because I’m ready to blow up and beat the shit out of someone. No one here deserves it.

  Brant’s the one who fuels the anger. My father, too. They both cheated. My fucking father decided pussy was more important than family.

  Well, fuck him. Fuck Brant too.

  Outside, the air is crisp. Only now realizing how sweltering it is in a house full of drunken teenagers, I bask in the cool, summer evening air. After pulling out a cig and lighting it, I puff peacefully, knowing this will only make running harder when the season starts.

  Not many linger out here. The ones who do are either passed out or nearly fucking on the grass out back.

  My gaze scans the sky. The moon is out, bright and overbearing. The stars shine too optimistically, and suddenly, the dark and dreary that I came out here in search of seems too far away.

  By the time I finish my cup, my head starts to feel fuzzy. I’m not drunk. The high from the liquor doesn’t take long to leave me either. I toss the bud onto the ground and rub it into the pavement.

  Ellie comes outside and sidles up next me. She probably thinks I’m a goner. She definitely is.

  Ellie is your average high school cheerleader—tall, skinny, nice tits, and brown hair with teal highlights. She’d be a nice lay, but then, she would stick to me like super glue.

  Clingy isn’t sexy.

  Neither are stalkers.

  She’s both.

  “Hey there,” she says in what she probably thinks is sultry but comes across as desperate.

  I nod, my go-to move for acknowledgement.

  “It’s dark over there,” she implies suggestively, gesturing to the bushes on the side of the house. “If you’d like to take me for a ride.”

  This one is full of class.

  Classic bored girl routine. Slow clap for you, Eleanor. I’m not drunk enough for this shit. Still, I move my palm onto her bare thigh anyway. Trailing under her skirt, I graze her panties. She moans, gripping my shoulders.

  Finally thinking better of it, I stop my movements and gently push her away. “I’m not feeling it,” I say.

  It’s the truth. She doesn’t do it for me. I’m languid in my jeans. She literally doesn’t turn me on at all, especially not when I’m in this mood.

  She walks away, and then I see her.

  It’s as if my mind is sober while I can’t get my body into gear. She’s as clear as a glassy lake without any waves. It’s serene, silent, and still as can be. My eyes rake her frame. She’s wearing a short dress that hits mid-thigh. It’s peach and seems too sweet for a girl with eyes like hers. They’re brown but look as if they know everything the world has to show. They’re mischievous and perfect. Her hair is nearly black and so long it hits her navel. Her skin is golden, and I can’t stop staring.

  My cock hardens immediately. And her biting of her lips draws my attention to her mouth. What’s a man to do? I haven’t said anything because at this moment, I’m fucking speechless. Moments before, I couldn’t beg myself to harden over a desperate cheerleader—who’d definitely be down to fuck—and yet this girl just has to exist to get my blood flowing.

  “Hey,” I say lamely.

  The world feels fuzzier than a few moments ago. She’s like a tornado with her presence, throwing me off course and everywhere at once.

  Her gaze turns toward me. “Hi,” she responds with a wave, her voice soft but confidently so.

  She doesn’t look down. She keeps her eyes on mine, and that’s such an attractive quality. This girl is not shy at all, but not in an I-want-to-fuck-you manner, just in an I-know-what-I-want-in-life kind.

  “Jase Collins.” I put my hand out, waiting for her to shake it like old people do.

  She stares at it in disinterest. “Loren,” she replies, a smile as beautiful as they get takes up her face.

  She’s one of those people who smiles with her whole damn face. Her nose scrunches in pleasure. Her eyes crinkle at the edges, and her teeth show entirely. It’s adorable and quite frankly making me mad with lust. Is that a thing? Being overcome with desire from a person’s smile?

  “What are you doing at a party like this?” I wonder out loud, not realizing it. She’s too good for a party like this, too innocent, too sweet.

  She looks at me and then at the cup nestled in my left hand. She probably thinks I’ve had too much to drink, but she answers anyway.

  “My best friend thought it was a good idea,” she sasses, putting a hand on her hip. Her smile is back, and it’s an annoyed one. “He doesn’t realize how much I hate these things.” She gestures around the house like the whole thing is absurd.

  “Then why come?”

  “He’s my best friend. I always support his stupidity,” she states simply, like there’s not another answer in the world.

  I nod slowly, taking in what she said. “You’re a good friend.”

  And she is. If anyone dragged me along here and I didn’t want to come, I would leave. Hell, I wouldn’t have ever shown up.

  She shrugs non-committedly. “He’s always been here for me.”

  “Are you two more than friends?” I can’t resist to ask for some reason. I’ll blame it on the booze. It’s a good excuse as any.

  “He wants to be, but it’d ruin our friendship.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I do this?” I barely get out before crushing my lips to hers, enveloping her mouth with mine.

  She lets out the sexiest
groan and doesn’t push me or bat me away like a fly. Instead, she deepens the kiss. It’s like the spark I’m experiencing, the one that takes up my entire body and buzzes throughout my system, isn’t just one-sided.

  I drop my cup, gripping her face in the next second. Her hands find my hips, gripping so hard it’s like she thinks I’ll disappear into thin air. Even if I wanted to go, I couldn’t. My body and heart wouldn’t let me. This kiss is everything.

  Snaking my hands down her waist, I hoist her up, and her legs wrap around my hips. Walking until I find the ledge to the pool house, I set her on top. Slowly, I glide my palm up her thigh and under her dress. When she whimpers, I take that as a go-ahead.

  Reaching the apex of her thighs, my fingertips trail the lace of her panties. She shivers when I go higher. Thumbing her clit over her underwear, she squeaks but doesn’t stop me. No words are shared, but when I look into those eyes of hers, they tell me so fucking much.

  “You’re so wet, Peaches,” I groan huskily, feeling how soaked she is.

  “Peaches?” She lets out a breathy giggle that turns into an adorable snort and throws her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. She’s so fucking precious.

  Instead of replying, I slip my finger under the fabric, touching her bare pussy. Her eyes widen, but it shuts her right up.

  “Is this okay?” I ask, and I don’t know why. Usually I take, take, take, and not give a fuck of who I take from, but this girl, she’s like an angel, and I think if I taint her, I’ll piss the guy upstairs off too much.

  She nods softly, unable to look me in the eyes. Her hands clenched at her sides, her lip between her teeth, a blush redder than a rose on her cheeks.

  I don’t go slow or gentle because holding back is too fucking hard. After I jam a single digit in there, she cries out. Her head flops backward, her spine arching forward. She’s got to be a virgin with that reaction.