Battle

by KJ Bell

  “What happened?”

  “I hate this school. I hate it. I hate mean girls.” How much she hates them reflects in her brown eyes glossed with tears. “They’re mean girls.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Jacoby says. “I’m not at liberty to discuss what happened with you, but Mr. McCoy is aware of the circumstances.”

  “I was speaking to Erinn,” I say, my voice full of agitation, as I wrap my arm around Erinn, guiding her to the door. She doesn’t back away this time, which tells me she needs to feel supported.

  Battle’s right; why keep her in a school that clearly struggles to understand her?

  Erinn climbs into the front seat of my Mustang. The car shakes as she rocks, still clinging to her belongings. I take a deep breath as I make my way around back, questioning if I’m prepared to handle Erinn alone. She has these meltdowns frequently when she’s reached her threshold for frustration, but Battle usually calms her down easily. Or easier than I can.

  As I sit in the driver’s seat, her beautiful eyes peer over at me, full of innocence and confusion. I can be here for her. I have to be. She hugs her backpack close to her chest, tears still raining down her cheeks. Why does life have to be so hard to figure out? Why do some children have to be so cruel?

  Maybe I didn’t grow up with a diagnosis, but I was still different. I was the kid who stayed in and studied, who read books because I love the written word, not because a teacher forced me to. Kids made fun of me. The difference is, Marty and Ginger had my back. I had friends; two girls who accepted me and loved me for who I was, not who they expected me to be.

  Erinn seems very much alone. I can’t imagine how that feels at eleven-years-old. Even for a girl socially withdrawn, not having any friends must tear her up inside. I’ve spent enough time with her to know there’s a part of her that craves acceptance among her peers, as even typical girls do.

  “They’re mean girls,” she says, wiping her cheeks.

  “Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

  “Becky called me retarded, again. She wouldn’t stop laughin’ at me, and then her friends started laughin’.”

  As Erinn purses her lips again, I can’t help but think how I’d like to have five minutes with this Becky person. “And what did you do?”

  Her dimples dig deep as her cheeks color. “I threw my puddin’ at her.”

  I try not to laugh, but it slips out. “You know you shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Yes.”

  A lecture on behavior isn’t what she needs right now, especially from me. For some reason, Erinn feels comfortable with me, trusts me—sees me as a friend, and I won’t trample her feelings. Battle’s reasons for wanting her to change schools are becoming clearer to me. His mother may be unwilling to move her, but she won’t be alone. I’ll be her friend.

  Adolescence is hard enough without being forced into an environment where you don’t feel like you have a place with people who don’t want to accept you. When I think about it, Erinn isn’t different—she’s Erinn; an eleven year old girl trying to figure out where she fits. Isn’t that typical?

  “You wanna go home and eat fruit snacks?” I ask.

  She giggles and nods.

  When we arrive at Battle’s, she bolts from the car for the front door. I laugh, following her into the kitchen where she heads straight for the pantry. After we share a bag of snacks, Erinn wants to go riding and stomps away when I tell her I don’t think it’s a good idea without Henry here. I choose not to go after her for fear of potentially escalating things into an argument that I may or may not be able to handle.

  Moments later, I hear classical piano coming from a room I’ve never been in. I assume Erinn is listening to music, but as I open the door, I realize, Erinn is playing the piano. Her eyes are closed as her fingers move swiftly over the keys. I stand there, listening in amazement. She catches me and jumps, putting an end to the song.

  “That was beautiful,” I tell her. “Who taught you to play?”

  “I did,” she hums, lifting her shoulders.

  “Impressive,” I say, a little in shock. “How?”

  “It’s easy.” She giggles, and hums again. My hope she’ll play something else diminishes when she stands. “Can I watch a movie?”

  When I give my permission, she skips out of the room. I smile, staring at the piano and shaking my head. At ten, and two years of lessons, I struggled to get through Mary Had a Little Lamb. Yeah, real easy.

  Battle comes through the door a few minutes past five. He smiles before kissing me on the cheek. “Where’s Erinn?”

  “She’s watchin’ Chitty Chitty Bang Bang for the second time. I think she has a love-hate relationship with that movie.”

  “Ah.” He grins “She ran around the house tryin’ to escape the child catcher, right?”

  “A few times,” I laugh. “And I might have joined her.”

  His hands cup my waist. “Because you’re amazing like that.”

  “I am kinda amazing,” I tease, leaning back to look at his smiling eyes. “Oh, and she played piano, which by the way, was incredible. She said she taught herself.” I say inquisitively, to check if Erinn was messing with me.

  “She plays by ear.” He smiles, the pride he feels for his sister, gleaming in his eyes. “It’s a gift.”

  “She’s a gift, and I’m kinda fallin’ in love with her.”

  “She’s pretty easy to love.” He lets go of me. “I have to take her home, but I missed you, and I’d like you to stay here with me tonight.”

  We’ve spent plenty of nights together, but I didn’t bring a change of clothes. “Can I sleep in one of your t-shirts?”

  His nose squishes up. “If you insist.”

  “I do,” I laugh. He’s been trying to convince me to sleep naked since our trip to Oklahoma. “You drive Erinn home, and I’ll figure somethin’ out for dinner.”

  After Battle leaves, I order pizza, feed Roy, and take a shower. I search his drawers for a clean t-shirt and slip one over my head. It smells like him. I lift the collar, inhaling through my nose. His scent flames my desire. For I moment, I consider pleasing myself to tamp it down, but I’m too nervous he’ll come home and catch me.

  His plain black shirt drowns me. I look like I’m wearing a garbage bag, although Battle never seems to care what I wear. He’s always complimentary. Plenty of compliments, but we’re still lacking in the physical contact. The more I try not to let it bother me, the more it does.

  I wonder if tonight he’ll finally try something more than a peck on the cheek. If I was more assertive, I’d resort to stripping naked and beg him to take me. My internal thoughts scream how much they like that idea, but I have a better plan. I search Erinn’s game cabinet and pull a set of dice out of the Yahtzee box.

  A little game of truth when Battle gets home should lead to answers.

  I hang out on his couch, waiting for him. When he returns, there’s an edginess to his attitude. I feel it when he curls up next to me. His quick breaths, the way he holds me tight, and the faint shaking of his shoulders signal how hard it is for him watching Evelyn slip away. The fear lingering in the back of his mind always shoots forward when he sees her. I struggle with what to expect when she does go. He’ll have to raise Erinn, and with riding, I don’t know how he’ll manage everything without letting the pressure topple him. Death is one of those horrific things in life no one wants to talk about until it happens.

  “You can talk to me,” I say quietly, inching my hand into his. “I know you’re scared.”

  He pulls his hand away. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “That’s exactly why you should.”

  “There’s nothing to fuckin’ talk about!” I flinch and the coldness of his words. He slides away from me. “She’s dyin’ and there’s nothin’ I can do to stop it. Talkin’ about it won’t change that.”

  “You’re right, talkin’ won’t save her, but it might save you.”

  He stands, holding his hands
above his head as he inhales deep. An awkward smile curves his mouth before he says, “I beyond savin’, sweetheart.”

  My mouth opens, but he leaves before I have a chance to argue. No one is denied redemption, unless they refuse it, which is exactly what he’s doing. Why, though? The only way to get answers is to chip away at his armor until he’s willing to talk. Judging by tonight’s conversation that may be a while. I won’t give though. He’s worth the fight.

  Battle returns a little while later freshly showered. I’m overcome with nerves as he approaches me. To my surprise, he hauls me into his arms, his damp hair wetting my cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says, leaning back to look at me. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I know I should talk about my mom, but—”

  “You’re not ready.” He frowns and shakes his head. “Then know that I’ll be here when you are.”

  “Thank you.”

  A smile reappears on his face as we sit and eat pizza. I’m relieved the moment is behind us. Although I know the worry remains, the weight of his problems aren’t affecting his mood any longer.

  After dinner, I join Battle on the couch and hold up the dice. “You wanna play dice, cowboy?”

  He grins. “What are you up to?”

  “There’s a few things I want to know, and I thought I’d make it fun.”

  Dice with Battle is always fun. More than a game though, dice strips some of his barriers, always providing me with pieces of his life he otherwise wouldn’t talk about. Dice has become a game of trust as we’re always honest when we play.

  He takes the dice and rolls them on the coffee table. They land on seven. I roll a six.

  “No lyin’?” he says as a question.

  I hold up my right hand. “Straight truth.”

  “Truth … Did watchin’ Erinn freak you out?”

  There’s significant worry in his question—for me and for Erinn. It’s unnecessary.

  “When we first got to the car, she was upset. She kept rockin’ in the seat, hummin’, and for a moment, it did freak me out. But then I realized how much I relate to her, and it was easy after that. I let her be her brilliant self, and I enjoyed every minute of her. I’d watch her again without hesitation.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad she has you.”

  I hear the underlying meaning in his words. We’ve talked before about Erinn and his worries about a female influence in her life after his mother passes.

  The heavy mood threatens to destroy our evening. The grey cloud needs to be lifted stat. I roll a ten. He follows with an eight. On my knees, I take in a slow breath. I feel timid, and I’m worried I’m going to sound stupid. I’ve never been the flirty type, but I want him to know I’m interested in moving things along. I can do this. I can be sexy, I repeat in my mind.

  “Do you wanna know what I have on under this shirt?” His eyelids lower. He inhales sharply through his nose and nods. “Nothin’,” I whisper.

  “Jesus, Faye.” His hands move through his hair. “What are you tryin’ to do to me?”

  “That’s a question, and it’s not your turn,” I tease, handing him the dice.

  We both roll. I win again.

  “Do you wanna kiss me?” I ask, and then curse myself. I meant to ask why he hasn’t kissed me.

  “Yes,” he answers, which only confuses me.

  “Why don’t you?”

  Crap, I meant, why haven’t you?

  “Not your turn.” He mocks me, sliding the dice over to me.

  I have too many questions. Dice will take all night. I stand up, nervously twisting the hem of his t-shirt in my fingers. “Why haven’t you kissed me? Do you just want to be friends? Would you prefer I not sleep here tonight? Am I not sexy enough for you?”

  He laughs and stands up. “Whoa. You don’t think you’re sexy?”

  I rock back on my heels. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re beyond sexy,” he says, entering my space as his hands wrap around the nape of my neck. “I want you to sleep here tonight, or I wouldn’t have asked. And we’re way more than friends, sweetheart. The moment you left me in my driveway, I knew I never should’ve let you go. I’ve spent every minute of every day thinkin’ about you and how much I want to be with you again. ”

  I exhale loudly, removing his hands from my neck. “Then why haven’t you?”

  “Christ, Faye. I wanted you to know I was interested in more than sex. I was tryin’ to give you more because that’s what you said you wanted.”

  “But you haven’t even kissed me.”

  He smiles, leaning in close until his lips graze mine. “I haven’t kissed you because I know I could never stop at a kiss.”

  “Oh.” I swallow.

  “Yes, oh.” The backs of his fingers stroke my cheek. His hand moves behind my neck, and he grips my head. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  I swallow, again. “I want to be wanted.”

  He inhales through his nose, biting his bottom lip as his dark and hooded eyes devour my lips. His hand brushes under my shirt. Two of his fingers discover I’m in fact pantie-less and slide into my wetness. His hot breath tickles my lips, and they part involuntarily.

  I close my eyes, desire filling me to the brim as I wait to taste his delicious mouth. A whimper squeaks in my throat as he removes his fingers. He fists the t-shirt I’m wearing in front of me and yanks me close, his intense stare nearly debilitating as he lowers his head.

  Our warm lips melt together. I’m overcome with satisfaction as our tongues collide. He kisses me deeply and passionately. I smile throughout the kiss. He wanted this kiss as much as I did, and feeling how much he wanted it, thrills me. My hands reach for his hair. I moan into his mouth as I tug and pull on the silky strands.

  His fingertips dig into my arms as he shoves me back, releasing the kiss. I hit the couch cushions a second later. Fear consumes me as I consider why he’s angry, only when I peer up at him, I’m greeted with power and hunger, lust and need, in the eyes of a man who’s about to fuck me to prove a point. My clit throbs painfully, demanding he do it now.

  When I see a moment of hesitation in his locked jaw, I remove my shirt slowly over my head and drop it at his feet.

  His features harden further, but the fierce look of lust returns to his eyes as they examine my bare breasts. He shoves his jeans and boxers to the floor and strokes his hard cock, completely unabashed. “Spread your legs, sweetheart,” he commands softly.

  My heart pounds violently, but I smother the anxiety tempting me to cover up and save myself the embarrassment, and I let my knees fall open. Tamping my nerves becomes more difficult when he requests I place one leg on the back of the couch and hang the other off the front, but I breathe through my reservations and comply.

  “Perfection,” he says in a low raspy tone, continuing to slide his hand up and down his length. “Now, feel how soft you are.”

  A moan escapes my throat, but my cheeks flame with embarrassment. Not that I haven’t pleasured myself before, especially recently, but I’ve never done it with an audience.

  Nerves and desire confuse my thoughts, but ultimately my arousal wins out, seeking relief from the constant throbbing. I slide my fingers through my wet folds, arching my back and cry out in wanton pleasure.

  He sits on the couch, inserting one of his fingers slowly inside of me, while I massage my clit beneath my fingertips. “Watch,” he says.

  I look down, watching his finger move in and out of me with long strokes, and deflate when he withdraws it completely. I dig my teeth into my lower lip as he takes my hands, presses them to my core, and guides my index fingers between my lips. He pushes my fingers outward, splitting my folds and exposes my tightly budded clit.

  “Stay just like that,” he says, lowering his head.

  His warm tongue presses flat against my core before he swipes upward. My hips lift, but I keep my hands in place—the most intimate part of my body bare to him. Pleasure surges through me as his tongue licks up and down, and side to side,
over and over until I can no longer hold myself open for him. Until I’m no longer able to think beyond the pleasure.

  I let go, digging my nails into the cold leather couch. His fingers quickly replace mine, spreading me open again as he continues to bring my body to orgasmic bliss, which only takes another second.

  My muscles compress tight as a wave of unbridled, raw passion ripples through me from head to toe. He inserts two fingers, my pussy clamping around them, as the onslaught of pleasure comes in sets. The waves envelop me in sheer blessedness, until eventually, I’m moaning his name in heavenly cries. I ride out the slow descent from climax in a dazed fog until my body goes limp.

  Before I catch my breath, Battle’s body covers mine as he sinks slowly inside of me. I have no idea when he put on a condom, but I feel the latex.

  “I’m going to fuck you now, and when we’re done, I’m going to take you again from behind so I can look at your glorious ass.” His lips trail lightly along my jaw, stopping at my ear. “And later tonight before you fall asleep, and in the middle of the night, and first thing in the morning.” He withdraws his cock half way and stops. “You sure you want to be wanted, sweetheart?”

  His confession about his sexual appetite will not deter me. I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life. I claw into his ass, bringing my hips up. Our bodies meet with a slap as he fills me again. “Yes,” I say, looking directly at him.

  With a smug grin, he rocks his hips forward, his eyes never leaving mine as he delivers on his promise—then again from behind, when I discover, I do in fact like to be spanked. And before bed, and the middle of the night and, with a smile in the morning.

  A simple game of dice transformed my relationship with Battle, and my sex life. Over the next six weeks, I experience stages of orgasm I never knew were possible, and discover Battle isn’t the only one of us with an unsustainable appetite.

  I can’t get enough of him, and I don’t want to.

  Battle was more than delighted when I shared I was on the pill, expressing his disdain for condoms. He went a step further and visited the doctor for a checkup. I offered to do the same, but he laughed and said how cute I was. I did it anyway. Wyatt was unfaithful, and I wanted the peace of mind.