Breakdown (Crash into Me)

by Amanda Lance

  I brushed the hair away from my face and checked myself for drool or eye gunk. “What did I say before about apologies?”

  I kissed him before some crisis of logic could try and convince me otherwise. With only the slightest bit of hesitation, he kissed me back, circling his arms around me again and pulling me to sit. Any fear I had left me then, and it wasn’t until much later when I was reliving it all in my head that I wondered about offensive morning breathe or if my lips were chapped. All I cared about was whether or not he liked the way my hands ran up and down his chest and if it was a good time to reach for him under the blanket. And to be honest, I was perfectly content doing that and nothing else for a few solid minutes, except that he pulled away the moment my hand started south, pushing me away as gently as his trembling hands seemed capable of.

  “I—are you sure?”

  I kissed his neck, just below his earlobe. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

  He smiled, his hands releasing me to better come back to him. “I’d fling myself off an overpass before that happened.”

  “Then you’d better kiss me before I change my mind.”

  I leaned in to kiss him, but once more he kept me at bay.

  “You can you know?” he said cautiously. “Change your mind if you want.”

  I shook my head, smiled, and ran my fingers through his hair like I had seen him do so many times before. “Life is too short not to do what makes you happy.”

  William leaned in to kiss me again, stopping himself at the very last minute. “You’re not just doing this because you want a Rush, right? Because I don’t think I could handle having my heart broken by you—”

  I cut him off with a kiss, charmed by his protectiveness over my self-esteem and enjoying the feel of his body too much to do much of anything else. This time he let my hand reach for him under the blanket, a strange combination of a gasp and a seething sound emerging from his lips as I did so. I was taking back my power, the control over my life. Whether it was this feeling or the pure joy that flooded me when his lips moved to work its way down my neck I wasn’t sure—didn’t care, frankly, as long we continued touching each other.

  Well-toned and taught, I admired him when he pulled his lips away to lay me down, smiling before he shifted himself out of the blanket and reached for the hand I had burned not so long ago. He kissed me on the new skin that grew over the burn, then the inside of my wrist and all the way down my arm.

  I giggled when his kisses tickled, inhaled sharply when they did something else. And though he started at my hand, he somehow ended up at my waistline, rolling up the t-shirt while he worked to lay kisses on my abdomen.

  “William—”

  In the middle of running his tongue over my belly button, he stopped and looked up. “You want me to stop?”

  I furiously shook my head. “If you do I’ll kill you.”

  At this position my arms weren’t nearly long enough to reach for him, but I tried anyway. William smirked down at me and lifted the shirt over my head. Drunk on lust, it took me a solid twenty seconds to understand that my top half was naked. Frankly, I noticed his eyes first, how wide and wild they looked as he took me in.

  “Beautiful,” he breathed.

  As he leaned back to watch me, I also received a better view of the hardness between his legs, a sight that fascinated me more than I expected it to. Even as his rough palms cupped my breasts, however, I wasn’t willing to beg. Alternatively, I clutched at the blankets around us and made sounds I didn’t know I was capable of.

  “W-what are you doing to me?”

  Chuckling softly, he circled soft kisses along my hipbone. “I told you I wanted to kiss the sad out of you.”

  Shortly thereafter, I learned I had nothing against begging.

  Afterwards, William held me just as close as when we had been sleeping, the only difference being the lack of layers between us. And though I hadn’t been awake long, making love—really making love—had taken more out of me than I had anticipated. William was still stroking my hair as I began drifting off, his harsh whisper jolting me away at the last second.

  “Are you still with me, Jumper?”

  “Yes,” I said, snuggling closer against him. “There’s nowhere else to be.”

  “Good,” he whispered back, and though there was a hesitation in him, I wasn’t sure of it until I felt his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard on top of my head. “Because I am so in love with you.”

  If William hadn’t been holding me I might have fallen right out of the bed. As it was, however, he released me when he felt how I tensed up, my muscles clenching as if preparing themselves for a blow.

  “I, ah, um, I have to go…” I squirmed out of the bed and rushed to put back on the dress. And though I would not look at him, I could hear him rushing just as much as I was to put some clothes on.

  “Jumper—Lottie, listen—”

  “I have to go home and shower.” Hurried and obviously alarmed, I scurried to find my shoes. Didn’t I leave them by the door? And where was I supposed to put all these bobby pins without any pockets? “My dad will be home soon, and if I’m not home—”

  “You don’t have to go. I-I don’t want you to go.” Though the hurt in his voice was evident I pretended like I didn’t hear it all.

  “I really have to get home and change for work.” I found the shoes but didn’t bother putting them on. My legs were much too shaky to even try.

  “At least let me give you a ride—”

  “No!” I cut him off more fiercely than I meant to, but did not apologize. “I’ll just pay the cabbie when I get home. Besides, you and the guys have like, what, twelve cars to chop?” I babbled some more excuses and snatched up as many of the bobby pins as I could before finding my way out the door. Luckily for me he did not follow, and I left him standing in his boxers and his frown.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Though I was scheduled to be home alone for at least another day, I showered anyway, torn between enjoying the faint scent of him on me and wanting to wash his words away. Why would he ruin a perfectly wonderful morning by saying something like that? The only thing I could figure was that maybe he had wanted to drive me away—consciously or not—he had regretted making love to me so profusely he said the one thing he knew my commitment-phobic brain would run from.

  Then again, what if William genuinely believed he meant the words? That his feelings for me were real? The look of hurt on his face when I left seemed real enough, but I had learned the hard way that men were better actors than most. I sighed, turned off the shower, and buried myself in the towel. True or not that someone loved me, the world seemed too heavy for me to keep my eyes open.

  I glanced at my alarm clock and quickly got dressed. I was already a good hour late for work, but considering it was the first time I was hoping my boss would overlook it. Grabbing an energy drink from the back of the refrigerator, I raced to work and ignored the dirty looks my fellow counter girl gave me.

  Work was good, I decided. For once, work was better than thinking about William.

  I was so diligent at the bakery that no one dared to say anything to me about being late. But when I got home and there was nothing to do and only William to think of, I was glad for how tired I felt. I climbed the endless staircase to my room and closed the blinds before pulling the divan back on my bed. Somehow, though he had never been in it, my bed seemed emptier without William. Still, I did my best not to think about it, and shut my eyes dreaming about basement walls and late summer eyes.

  I woke up with an emptiness that ravished my insides. Instinctively, I knew it wasn’t hunger, though practicality had me searching my memory banks about whether or not we had any of the yogurt I liked. Yet at the mere thought of food the emptiness in my gut turned to pain. I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head.

  More than once, my counselor had cautioned me about the physical symptoms of depression and how they tended to affect repressed people more than most.
But what was I repressing? Over the couple of weeks I had been talking out my problems, at least more than I was accustomed to. And I was taking realistic steps to pursue the things I once wanted for my life. I was hanging out with people who encouraged me and made me laugh. I was participating in the activities that made me happy. I was… images of William ran through my head before I allowed myself to finish the thought. I thought of the countless ways he had made me smile and how much he loved to race. I thought of what a sloppy eater he was and a shameless flirt, of his love for 80’s comedies and the way he felt inside of me.

  Had I fallen in love with him last night, or did it come earlier than that—with syrup deities and introductions? I took the pillow off my head and sat up. I wasn’t sure when I had fallen in love with William O’Reilly, only that I had.

  And like an idiot I had pushed him away.

  Excited and revved up more than I had been during my first race, I called him right away, only slightly disappointed to get his unpersonalized voicemail after a few rings. Briefly, I actually considered leaving a message before biting my tongue and hanging up. I was never much for romance, but even I thought it was lame to tell him I loved him for the first time in a voicemail. Then again, what was I expecting? Of course William wasn’t going to pick up right away. After all, we had just stolen a dozen cars together—premium cars—and he and the guys had a lot of work to do

  So, while I wasn’t sure I was capable of it, I had to be patient and wait until William could call me back. If worse came to worse, I may have had to wait until the end of the day. Then again, it may have been even better if I could tell William I loved him for the first time in person.

  I was considering visiting him at work when Mom’s rolling suitcase made itself known downstairs. Truth be told, I was grateful for the sound—perhaps for the very first time—as the distraction kept me from running to William’s chop shop to plead for forgiveness and simultaneously suffocate him in kisses. As eager as I was to have him back, I didn’t want my desperation to be obvious.

  “Mom!” Still excited, I practically ran down the stairs and jumped into her arms. And though it took a solid minute for her to respond, she did eventually hug me back. “It’s so good to see you!”

  “Oh.” Clearly uncomfortable, she flinched at the contact and gently patted me away. “Um, hi, honey. Shouldn’t you be studying?”

  “Nope.” She didn’t even come close to spoiling my mood. “How was, uh, San Diego was it?”

  “Nope?” Her voice went up an entire octave as she followed me to the refrigerator. I couldn’t see her face, but I guessed it was priceless.

  “What do you mean by that?” I ignored her and stared on into the refrigerator.

  “Do we have any yogurt? The kind with the chocolate pieces? Or if we have M&M’s I could just add—”

  “Don’t you change the subject, young lady. Did you study at all this weekend? With the money your father and I spend on your education we expect you to make an effort.”

  I didn’t find any yogurt, but I did find some organic eggs and whole wheat flour. Newly inspired, I decided on making some homemade pancakes… with lots and lots of syrup. If nothing else, that would stall me from calling William for a solid half an hour.

  “I know that, Mom.” Even to myself I sounded absentminded. “But there are only a few weeks left in this term anyway. After that, it won’t matter.”

  “Won’t matter?” I put the eggs on the counter and tried not to enjoy the smoke that came out of her ears. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “I’m leaving college,” I said simply enough. “I’ve sent in applications to a few culinary schools and I’m hoping to start next term.”

  Mom sighed, crossed and recrossed her legs. “For God’s sake, Charlotte, we’ve talked about this.”

  “No. You talked at me about this. I want to learn how to cook so that’s what I’m going to do.” It felt good to speak my desires out loud and begin the reality of my life with words. Frankly, it didn’t matter what culinary program I got into, or whether I went full or part time, or if I even went right away—I would complete my education the way I wanted to. No amount of nagging would convince me otherwise.

  “What has gotten into you?” Mom shook her head. “Are you doing drugs?”

  I laughed and cracked my first egg. “No, Mom, I’m not doing drugs. I guess I just got a wakeup call, that’s all.”

  She stood up, nearly knocking the chair back behind her. “What in the world is that supposed to mean?

  “My new friends say—”

  “Your new friends?” Mom scoffed and sat back down. “Great, you’ve finally gone and made some friends and they’re a bunch of morons.”

  I added water to the mix and reminded myself to confront my feelings. “They aren’t morons, Mom. They’re good people. William and Tabby support me in what I want to do—”

  Once again, she cut me off. “Have you joined a cult?”

  I just laughed. If William were around I imaged we would have come up with some hilarious cult slogans. “You and Dad know I’ve wanted to go to culinary school instead of college since I was in middle school. William doesn’t really have anything to do—”

  “I should have known.” She sighed as she rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you learn the first time about how manipulative men can be?”

  “Not just men,” I mumbled.

  She resorted to tapping her acrylic nails on the table. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not up for fighting with you Mom, okay? Really, I’m not. I’ve made my decision, and I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”

  “Well, if you expect any financial help from your father and I—”

  “I know, I know. And that’s fine too. The food industry has a big turnover rate. I’m sure I won’t have a hard time finding a job wherever I end up going to school.”

  Cursing as she kicked off her shoes, Mom mumbled something about, “Just waiting until my father got home,” before stomping out of the room. Of course, we both knew damn well he wasn’t supposed to get home for another three days, so I hoped I could avoid her for at least the first half of the week. And once I heard the upstairs shower kick on, I knew I was probably safe for the rest of the day.

  I finished making my pancakes, but even fresh and smothered with syrup the excitement kept a lump bungeed in my throat that made it difficult to swallow. I only ended up eating a couple of bites before I gave up and started looking at the clock again. Since the sound of water through pipes had stopped, retreating back to my room seemed like a strategically good idea.

  The day was practically over, but I tried calling William again, my disappointment growing slightly when it went straight to voicemail. Still, when I remembered the success of the heist from the prior day I didn’t let it get to me. After all, I was the woman he had spent the night with, and he was probably twice as busy with work than usual. There was no need for me to start getting pushy and possessive.

  The real disappointment didn’t begin until the next day, slowly seeping into me like poison from a snake bite. I felt it creep into my veins, clenching and cramping my muscles until it gradually became harder to breathe. Regardless, I made excuses for why William hadn’t called me back. I told myself that he was somehow still so preoccupied with work he couldn’t take sixty seconds to call me back, that maybe he had gotten a sudden bout of sickness, or was hungover from a night out with the guys… I made up exactly twenty-two excuses to avoid thinking about the most obvious one.

  Still, as I sat in class all throughout Monday, images of jail cells and interrogation rooms flashed through my head. I was certain the only reason I wasn’t in any of them now was because the guys didn’t know my last name (or my first one for that matter) and if William had gotten into any sort of serious trouble there was no way he would ever give me up to save himself.

  Though if it would spare him any time behind bars I would gladly wish he would.

  Thoughts like these peste
red me throughout the day, getting so bad, that I went ahead and made an additional appointment with my counselor for as soon as possible. Even if she couldn’t help me with my love life—or my slight criminal undertakings—then maybe she could keep me calm on my lack of culinary school responses.

  Me: Hey, I’m sorry about the other morning. Can we talk?

  When night came, I laid in bed and waited for my phone to light up or chirp with some kind or response. Because I didn’t get what I wanted, however, I started hoping childishly that William had lost or—ironically—had his phone stolen. I wasn’t sure at what point I started to cry, only that when I did, the tears tasted sour and stuck to my throat long after I fell asleep.

  The sticky feeling was still there when I left for work Wednesday morning. Luckily, Mom left for the home office just before I did—a fight avoided for a few more hours. The bakery itself was a blessing in disguise, because although we weren’t terribly busy, I had enough to do within that first hour or so to keep William distant in my thoughts, sparse until his image starting reappearing again.

  I hadn’t heard from him in three days, and was admittedly growing more agitated with each passing minute. Granted, this would be nothing to most girls. But considering he checked up on me every day, I worried intensely. What if my lack of response at his confession of love had offended him? I seriously doubly William was the kind of man whose wounded pride couldn’t be repaired. But what if it was worse than that? What if during the time to think he had realized he had just gotten caught up in the moment and he didn’t really love me at all? I was almost sure I couldn’t handle that, especially when I had just come to the conclusion that I loved him. Then again, how could I be sure of anything other than my love for him?

  I worked slowly throughout the day, keeping myself busy with the mediocre tasks that I usually reserved for the end of the month. With the help of one of the illegals, I emptied out the storeroom and cleaned up all the shelves, mopped the floor, and evacuated all the cobwebs from the high corners before putting everything away. My manager even gave me a compliment and thanks for the hard work but I was hardly aware of it, because once I was out of things to do my brain was rattled by William again.