The Need Boxset

by K. I. Lynn

  A couple hours later and a stop for lunch, we arrive at her new place, a rental. It’s a nice townhouse in Carmel, a suburb north of Indianapolis and near where her new job is.

  We spend the rest of the day directing the movers where everything goes and unpacking essentials. Once done, we order pizza for dinner while my laptop moves through my latest playlist.

  Mom leans over and pulls something from a bag next to her and sets it on the table. My eyes lock onto the container, salivary glands kicking into high gear when I see what’s in it.

  “When did you make those?” I ask, tongue wetting my lips as my fingers itch to tear the lid off and devour everything inside. Impatience grows as she pops the top. The sugary smell hits my nose, begging me to rip it from her hands.

  Her lip curls up into a smirk. “Before I went in for my last shift, when I was packing up the final bits of the kitchen.”

  Molasses cookies. My weakness.

  Not just any molasses cookies, Mom’s homemade ones.

  I reach out to the now open container, but before I can grab a delicious morsel, she pulls them back, just out of reach.

  “Spill.”

  I blink at her, not having a clue what she means. “What?”

  She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. It’s then I notice all the grey strands coming in.

  “Brayden, I’m your mother. I know you. That means I know when you’re upset, and baby, you’ve been upset for a while.” She hands me half a cookie, teasing me. “It’s one thing to help me move; it’s another to stay for the rest of the summer. Don’t get me wrong, I love that you are. But leaving Ryan and Kira and all of your friends willingly in the middle of your last summer before college?”

  I mash my teeth together, the cookie in my hand mocking me. “I’ve missed you. Can’t I want to spend some time with you?”

  She lets out a loud laugh, tossing the rest of the cookie my way, which I catch. “Yeah, right, my eighteen-year-old son. Stop feeding me bullshit and tell me what happened between you and Kira.”

  My eyes flash to hers mid-bite, and I cough. “What makes you think Kira has anything to do with it?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been sweet on her since she moved in next door.”

  I shove the cookie into my mouth, the joy of my favorite food tainted by the conversation. “I was going to ask her to be my girlfriend the day they announced their plans to get married.”

  A sharp intake followed by an “oh, no” comes from across the table.

  I nod, staring at the tabletop. “She’s the only girl I’ve ever really liked and we kissed and she was going to be mine.” My fist slams onto the other half of the cookie, turning it into crumbs. “But he did what he always fucking does and ruined shit.”

  “Brayden . . .”

  My eyes snap up to meet hers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you?”

  “That it was Sonia. That his fucking affair was with her.”

  The corners of her mouth bend down into a frown, her whole body slumping. “I honestly didn’t think it mattered. There was never a moment I thought he was serious with her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought she was just like all the others.”

  My eyes widen as the blood begins to boil in my veins. “Others? There were more?”

  “Your father can’t commit to one woman. He cheated on me on and off through our whole relationship, starting shortly after you were born.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “Mom! This happened more than once and you stayed with him?”

  “It wasn’t until after we separated I found out how long and with how many women. I only knew of two . . . well, three, at the end.” She pulled two cookies out, handing one to me and taking a bite of the other. “And I stayed with him because I didn’t have enough confidence in myself to leave and was stupid enough to believe him. That, and I didn’t want you to grow up like me, but it happened anyway.”

  Mom’s parents divorced when she was twelve. My grandpa’s still around, but we don’t see him much. He lives in Florida with his third wife. Grandma died when I was nine, and the only thing I can really remember about her is how she always looked so sad. She still had his picture on the mantle.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Sonia. I didn’t think it was anything more than a fling, had no idea that they would end up married, and I didn’t want the backlash of our relationship to hurt yours with Ryan and Kira.”

  I swallow hard and nod. “I wanted to go with you when you guys divorced. I stayed for Kira.”

  She reaches across the table, placing her hand on mine and giving me a small smile. “I know.”

  “I hate him.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  I lock my gaze with hers. “Yes, I do. For what he did to you, to our family, and now . . . I can’t do it. I can’t be across the hall from her, from the only girl who was going to be my girlfriend, and call her my sister.”

  My eyes sting, filling with fucking tears, so I clench my jaw, willing them to stop.

  “Oh, Brayden.” She squeezes down on my hand again. “I wish I could tell you what to do, but people see you as siblings now. And I feel like I need to remind you that she’s only fifteen. You’re eighteen now and going off to college in a different state. How would that work?”

  It wouldn’t, which is why I made the decision to leave.

  March 4, 2012

  In late August of last year, I reunited with Ryan when we left for Purdue and our shared dorm room.

  He thought I just needed some time with my mom and that’s why I left. I might have fed him that little lie. It’s not like I could’ve told him, “Oh, hey, not being able to have your sister is driving me insane, so I had to run away.”

  Like I’d ever enjoy admitting that shit out loud anyway.

  Nowadays, I walk around feeling like a ticking time bomb, the countdown inside me getting louder and louder. Distance was supposed to help me forget, but it’s not working.

  It was difficult to begin with. Then Christmas came around a few months ago. The first Christmas we would’ve spent as siblings. That’s when the ticking began. There was no way I was dealing with that, so I spent the holidays with my mom. It was the first time in eight years that I didn’t even get to say “Merry Christmas” to Kira.

  I bought her a gift and sent it home with Ryan. It took me all damned day walking around the mall to find it, and she never even let me know she opened it. Ryan told me. It makes sense why Kira didn’t contact me. We’re not friends anymore. We don’t talk.

  By that logic, it could be considered weird that I even sent her a gift. I don’t give a fuck about that. I couldn’t have stopped myself even if I tried, so I didn’t bother to. Does it hurt she didn’t acknowledge receiving it?

  Whatever. I know she got it. That’s more than enough. Even if she decided to throw it away, I still know she saw it.

  The ticking inside me gets louder.

  How much longer am I going to withstand it? I’m missing something integral, something I’d gotten used to having in my life, and the withdrawal is slowly killing me.

  As I walk by Ryan’s desk, my eyes glance over to his open laptop—

  I stop in my tracks.

  Skype is up, and in the middle of the window is the sexiest picture of Kira I’ve ever seen.

  The countdown abruptly ends.

  And I know I’m screwed. That my time is up. Tolerance has completely evaporated.

  “Fuck.”

  I lick my lips and gravitate to the chair so I can sit and stare at her. She’s wearing more makeup than I ever remembering her wearing before. I like it but don’t at the same time. She has more natural beauty than most, and the accentuation of her eyes only heightens it. One hand traces the outline of her face while the other clenches on the desktop at the thought of the high school douches that must be chasing her.

  Kira doesn’t look like a girl just shy of turning sixte
en. She’s not my little kitty anymore; she’s becoming a lioness and the want that never dies flares up inside me.

  My finger trails down to her cleavage. She’s wearing a tanktop and her tits are practically spilling out. When did they get so big?

  Whoever said time heals all is full of shit. It’s been almost a year since everything got fucked up, since that fucking announcement, since I had to force myself to stop thinking about her.

  Not that it worked. She’s always on my mind.

  I swallow hard. Over seven months since I last saw her. I miss her. Miss her so fucking much my heart hurts, but I have to stay away. Shouldn’t that have stopped by now? Shouldn’t the all-consuming ache be less, not more?

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I hate the void. We used to be so close, and now we haven’t talked in months.

  I lost one of my best friends, and it sucks.

  With a sigh, I slump back into the chair, my eyes never leaving the beauty before me.

  When we were kids, I’d always imagined we’d grow up together. That I’d be a part of her life as she got older.

  I’m not, and I know that’s my own fault, but it’s still hard. There is a constant desire to ask Ryan how she's doing, what she's up to, but I force myself not to. Even staying away from her Facebook page so that I have nothing to feed my obsession is torture.

  It all grows anyway. Never stops.

  This distance is unnatural. It was supposed to have helped. To have erased the feelings I have for her.

  Nothing does.

  Not time, or space, or fucking.

  The picture on her Skype profile is the first I’ve seen of her in months. I feel sucker-punched. Her profile caption says, “One more person asks me what am I up to today, and I might kick their ass.” I laugh at that. It’s so much like the Kira I’d once known that just seeing it makes me so damn happy.

  I haven’t been happy, really happy, in a while now. Nothing I do, no one I fuck, fills the void. I can’t stand living with it anymore, lugging around the empty feeling it causes.

  Maybe that’s why I’m weak. Maybe that’s why, when the impulse hits, I can’t stop myself from giving in, grabbing the mouse, and clicking the call button.

  My eyes go wide, staring at the screen as my heart pounds in my chest. What the fuck am I doing?

  Before I can hang up, her voice comes across the speakers, and I’m trapped.

  “Hey, Ryan! Man, I didn’t expect you to call back so fast.” The screen pops up with her image and I stare, frozen, as she smiles, large and genuine. Then, she realizes that it’s me and the color drains from her face as her smile drops. “Brayden?”

  “Hi.”

  She’s flustered, blinking and looking away, clearing her throat, anything to not look at me. Finally, as though she realizes it’s rude to try to ignore me, she looks at me long enough to say a quick, “Hi,” and looks away again

  Holy motherfuck. I’m so happy to see her, hear her voice, that I’m nearly high from it. “How are you?”

  She fidgets in her seat.

  My heart squeezes in my chest. I forgot how much she does that when she's nervous.

  I. Fucking. Missed. Her.

  “Fine . . . and yourself?”

  She’s talking to me like I’m some stranger, all polite and shit. And that’s okay. Because at least she’s talking to me, and it’s more than I’d convinced myself I’d ever have again. “School’s kicking my ass. It’s tougher than I’d imagined, and I imagined hell.” I’m trying to keep it honest, light, in hopes of getting her to relax in front of me.

  Kira tucks her hair behind her ear, looking anywhere but at me. “Yeah. Ryan’s been telling me.”

  Determination hits me to get this conversation out of the awkward zone it’s in. To get a small taste of the easy camaraderie we used to have.

  But my heart’s taken control; my libido is flaring all over the place at the sight of her, the sound of her voice. “You look . . . amazing, Kira.”

  She blushes all the way down to her chest, and I can’t stop myself from wondering if that blush is extending down to her breasts.

  “I . . . I . . . thank you.” She’s looking at the wall behind her computer, expression so focused that I bite my lip at how cute it is. Her eyes drop down long enough to caress the curves of my shoulders, my chest, and I can tell she’s fighting to stop herself.

  I don’t want her to.

  It’s utter torture, but the male in me swells in every way possible at the way her eyes take me in.

  Does she like it? Does she still find me as attractive as I find her?

  Fuck me. Her eyes tell me she does. Even though she rips her stare away after less than four seconds, the interest is there, visible, and it drives me nuts.

  “You’re looking pretty good yourself. Getting into shape?”

  “Yeah,” I say, hearing how hoarse my voice is. Satisfaction, need, dread—it all storms through my veins, confusing the hell out of me. I’m still attracted to her. She’s still attracted to me. I fucking love it.

  We can never be, and basking in this attraction is the worst mistake I can possibly make.

  “What happened to that freshman fifteen?”

  I try not to think about the fact that she’s gone back to looking at my body hard enough for me to notice. “I’ve been working out a lot.”

  “Why’s that?”

  So I can forget you. I want to joke and say it’s to draw the ladies in, but this is Kira, not one of the guys. “I need to get some things out and sometimes the best way is on the treadmill or lifting weights or punching a heavy bag.”

  “Wouldn’t sex be easier?”

  I cringe at the venom in her tone and the way her eyes narrow. She’s over two hundred miles away, and after what happened, I know I have to be honest. Because I need her in my life, even if it’s just her smart mouth through a computer screen.

  “Working out helps me get the constant thoughts about what I want under control, keeping me in check so I don’t go after it.”

  “What do you want so badly that you have to keep it in check?”

  I stare into her eyes, my chest clenching, then look into the camera. “You.”

  She blinks, her mouth popping open before snapping closed. “I’ve heard that lie before.”

  “It wasn't a lie.”

  “No?” She sits up straighter. “Then what was all that crap about wanting only me and then fucking Jen two days later?”

  “Do you remember what happened that day?”

  “Of course I do!”

  I can't stop staring at her, thinking back to that day and wondering how it all would’ve gone if our parents had not fucked up. “The world blew up—Armageddon.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I remember, dickhead.”

  “One minute I was flying high, and the next you were becoming my stepsister.”

  “And then you ran to Jen.”

  I shake my head, my voice lowering to a whisper. “No, I made the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.”

  “Didn’t seem that hard to me. You drove off and left me standing on your front lawn.”

  “In the living room, I was steps away from grabbing you and running away.”

  Her eyes widen. “W–what?”

  “I wanted to, so bad, but then Ryan’s voice was in my head. Where would we go? A fifteen-year-old and a seventeen, almost eighteen-year-old? It’s a romantic idea, but—”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” she whispers, looking away from the screen.

  “Because I miss you, Kira. I want my best friend back.”

  Her hazel eyes widen and fly back in my direction. They’re so beautiful, reflecting a vulnerability that’s eating me up deep inside. I have to curl my fingers into fists to stop myself from reaching forward and caressing the screen.

  God, what am I doing opening this door again? I can barely control myself when I’m not talking to her, and now I’m asking for things to go back to the way they we
re before?

  But I miss her. Too much to continue living without something. Anything. She’s been one of the most important people in my life for over nine years.

  More than important. She’s necessary. On every level I can think of.

  I can’t have her as my girl, but I’ll be damned if I don’t find a way to get my best friend back.

  “Brayden, I . . . just don’t know.”

  “Kira, please.” I’m begging here, and I don’t give a fuck that I am. I need this.

  Her eyebrows snap low over her eyes and I see a quick flash of fury in them. “It hurt, okay? Bad. I don’t know if I can get over it.”

  I’m split wide open, sliced nearly in half, feeling like my organs are falling out of me. I can handle pain. Can handle anything. But not when it comes to her. She hurts me more than anything in the world—knowing I hurt her is ten times worse. I’m to the point of getting on my knees and begging.

  Shit. I’m such a pussy when it comes to her, and the worse part is: I really don’t give a fuck. Over half a year of no contact with her has reduced me to this.

  Kira must see something in my face—probably the desperation I feel—because she finally takes pity on me. Shrugging a shoulder, she says, “We’ll talk, all right? Just . . . take it from there. See what happens.” She looks away from the screen again, and I want to fucking scream at the awkwardness that’s still between us.

  Instead, I nod. “Talk. Okay.”

  Silence.

  I clear my throat. “Did you enjoy Christmas?”

  More silence.

  “Did you get my present?” I try again. I know she got it, but I want to hear it from her now.

  Her cheeks go pink and she presses her lips together. For a brief moment, I’m sure she’s not going to answer me again. Then . . . “Yeah. I got it.”

  “Did you like it?”

  I scoot forward, anxious for her response, my heart stopping as I wait.

  She doesn’t look at the camera, but down, like she’s trying to decide. The screen jerks as she rotates her computer, and then I see it.

  Hanging on her wall, next to her bed, is the iconic image of a sailor kissing a nurse in Times Square.

  My breath leaves me.

  Kira turns the screen back in her direction and I see how red her face is now. We don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.