Falling Under

by Jasinda Wilder

  I wave my hand. "Nah. She's never home before two or three. You're good."

  While Kylie is in the bathroom, I strip the sheets off the bed and wad them into a ball. I take them out into the kitchen and stuff them into the kitchen trash, which I then tie up and set by the front door. I put the single set of clean sheets on my bed and sit, thinking how strange it is that I have absolutely zero desire to get high right now. Always before, with the random girls in my past, we'd smoke before and after, to numb the sense of vulnerability. It's easier to pretend it doesn't mean anything, to act as if the casual, one-time-only nature of our liaisons was normal when we're blazed out of our skulls. With Kylie, I'm sober. I'm totally me, totally aware of how significant what we just shared was. I relish the significance, admit that having it be so real, so meaningful and deeply potent, makes it infinitely better. It's not the same act at all. Not even close.

  My door opens, and Kylie enters, closing the door behind her, and then just stands there, weight on one leg, a shy smile on her lips, eyes bright and happy. She stares at me, just looks until I'm unnerved.

  "What?" I ask.

  She shrugs. "Nothing. Just looking at you. You're gorgeous, you know. Like this especially. Naked, with your hair down. All for me."

  Finally she closes the distance between us, sits on the bed. I notice she's brushed her hair, and I smell soap. "Me? No. But thanks, babe. You're the gorgeous one."

  "Hey, if I say you're gorgeous, then you are. To me. You don't have to think so for it to be true to me." She laughs. "This is kind of a backward conversation, isn't it?"

  I shrug. "Yeah, kind of, I guess. Does it turn you off that I'm not all...alpha and confident and all that?"

  She shakes her head. "No, it doesn't. But the thing is, you are, when you're not thinking about it. You just don't know how to take a compliment. When you're being yourself, you are confident. You know exactly who you are, and you don't make any excuses or apologies for that. That's hot. It's part of what drew me to you. You were so different, and you just don't give a fuck. I love that about you. You just need to accept that I think you're a beautiful person, inside and out. You have flaws, sure. You've had a rough life, and the fact that you're so sweet with me despite how hard you've had it is just incredible."

  "Well, thank you."

  She shrugs. "It's just the truth." A slow grin crosses her lips. "I still have an hour before I have to be home. Whatever are we going to do to fill that time?"

  I play along. "Hmmm. I have no idea. We could watch TV? Play Scrabble?"

  She laughs, a light, delightful tinkle. "Sounds boring. I think you should lie down and let me see how long it takes to get you hard again."

  I shift down onto my back, and she sits astride me. "I like this game," I say, and then my eyes slide shut as her fingers find me, stroke me. "I'm pretty sure it won't take too long."

  She feathers her fingers over my length, and then rolls the tip between her fingers. Already I feel the blood rushing south, filling me. "Not long at all, it looks like." Kylie murmurs. "What if I did this?" She lowers her mouth to my cock, licks me, flicks me with her tongue, and then resumes using her hands when I start to grow. "God, Oz. I love this so much. Watching you get hard, touching you and knowing I make you react that way. It makes me feel...powerful."

  "You make my cock hard just by being you," I tell her.

  She strokes me, long slow lazy slides of her hand along my now fully erect length. "I think you're ready now."

  I nod. "I think so, too. Tell me what you want, sweetness."

  She opens a condom and rolls it onto me. "Uh-uh. How about I just...show you?"

  I groan. "God, I love how you do that, put it on me." I hold her hips as she settles over me. "Do whatever you want, baby."

  "I plan to."

  Oh, man, I'm so deeply enthralled by her, captivated by the way she's taking over, taking what she wants, the way she's so eager and passionate and ready for everything with me.

  She's got my cock in her hand, the other planted on the mattress by my face to support her weight. She's straddling my hips, her ass in the air, and she's lining my cock up to her entrance. Her eyes narrow and her mouth falls open, and she doesn't hesitate one single second. She slides me into her tight wet heat, gasping with an open mouth as I fill her.

  "Oz...shit, you're just...just so...fucking...big. It doesn't seem possible that your cock could fit inside me." She sinks down so our hips meet, and I'm deep, so deep. "But it does, and it's so perfect. Like you were made to fit inside me like this."

  Her spine bows outward and her head descends to press a kiss to my throat, and my hands are roaming her body, sliding over her hips, up her sides, cupping her boobs and caressing her face, and all this while she's just impaled on me, not moving, both of us reveling in how we puzzle-fit together, how insanely beautiful this is, her above me, kissing all over me, as if her mouth can't get enough of my skin, and I'm kissing her the same way, all over, everywhere my lips can reach to sip my fill of her milk-pale skin, silk-soft skin, fire-hot flesh.

  Nipples between my teeth, tits in my hands, hips between my fingers, eyes like hottest fire, like lightning, like electricity, like the ocean, her breath in ragged puffs, and now she leans onto me, head on my chest, spine bowing out, drawing my cock so I'm almost slipping out, and I'm trembling with the need to glide in hard and deep, but I don't--I let her guide us, let her taste the ache of emptiness. She groans and drives me up into her. Rises up on her shins, balancing, and her tits sway heavily as she weaves her fingers into her hair, eyes closed, back arched, head tilted back.

  "Ready?" She breathes the question.

  "So ready." I hold her hips and stare at her, filling my eyes and my soul and my memory with this vision of her seductive, erotic beauty.

  She grinds on me, a roll of her hips, bites her lower lip, and grinds again. Lifts up, sinks down. Moans my name. Lift, sink, moan. A rhythm then, slow, savoring the out-stroke and the emptiness and the glide as I fill her, and then the deep, grinding fullness, each motion deliberate. Faster then, lifting strokes, her thick, strong thighs rippling as she rises up, her fucking glorious tits bouncing, swaying, and I'm meeting her, matching her, driving up as she sinks down.

  "Lick my tits, Oz." She looks down at me, never slowing our rhythm. "Suck on my nipples."

  I lift up and she leans down, and I take her left nipple into my mouth, suckle it, nip it, bite gently, lick, kiss the areola and the impossibly soft skin around it. She moans, holds my head to her chest. I shift to suck on her right nipple, bite it just a little too hard and she shrieks, but a smile is on her face when I glance up at her, so I know I didn't hurt her.

  She's rolling on me now, riding me in a hard, fast rhythm, leaning back and balancing, riding, grinding, taking everything she wants from me and giving me what I need so badly in doing so. It's all of us, an us that's fused, two beings merged and made one. I've heard the lines about how sex is a man and woman becoming one, and I never got it, scoffed, made fun of it, but god, do I get it now. This is so, so intense, almost frightening how intense. How much I feel every particle of her soul within me, how I know she's consuming all that I am and that I have absolutely no wish to take myself back. I've never belonged, never fit, never been a part of anything. Now I do, now I'm part of an "us" with Kylie, and I'm totally abandoned to it.

  I watch her come. It's honestly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. She doesn't quite scream, but the sounds she makes are loud and breathy and desperate, and her hips are rolling violently on mine, grinding with my cock deep inside her, and she's clawing at her own body, as if there is a fountain of fire inside her and she's got to get it out any way she can. Her hands lift her own tits, crush them as she whimpers and moans, riding me wildly, and I can only match her thrust for thrust, and I feel my own release pouring through me. I grip her hips and jerk her down onto me, drive up into her, and the groans coming from me are her name, chanted the way she did mine last time.

  Her eyes
are open and watching me, and I can't take my gaze from her, even though as I come my instinct is to close my eyes. I keep them open and let her see into me as I release. Our hips meet in slow clashing stuttering grinding, and then we go still and she collapses on top of me, panting. Her weight on me is nothing at all, and I hold her, smoothing her hair back and scratching her back and caressing her ass.

  "That was even better than the first time," she mumbles. "I can't wait to see how good it is next time."

  "Me, neither."

  "Can I just sleep here?" She burrows into me, and I hold her tight.

  "Yeah, babe." I feel myself slipping out of her, and grimace. "Let me just get rid of this." I pull out, and she shifts forward so I can pull the condom off, tie a messy, clumsy, but effective knot it in and stuff in the crack between the bed and the wall to throw away later.

  "I don't wanna ever move. I wanna stay here forever, just like this," she murmurs into my ear.

  "Me, too."

  Silence stretches between us, comfortable and easy. I feel her slipping into sleep, and I know I have to stay awake to make sure she's home on time. It's hard, though. She's a warm, comforting weight on me, her hair tickling me, her breath on my neck, her hands affectionate and tender in my hair, curled by my face. Nothing has ever been this perfect. Nothing.

  I pull the flat sheet up to partially cover us, and feel myself getting drowsy. I try to stay awake, but it's futile.

  I'm woken by the front door opening and closing, the sounds of Mom coming home early, setting her things down, lighting a cigarette. I glance at the clock: 1:39. Shit, Kylie has to go.

  I hear my door open, and Mom squeaks in surprise when she sees the naked girl asleep on top of me. "Close the door, Mom." I say it calmly, although I'm anything but.

  Kylie jerks awake at the sound of my voice, twists to look, and I feel her go tense. "Shit."

  She rolls off me and tugs the sheet over herself. "Mrs. Hyde--" But Mom is closing the door, and we're alone again. "Oh, my god, Oz. She saw us. I'm so embarrassed!"

  "It's okay, babe. It's fine. It's not a big deal." I brush a lock of hair away from her eyes. "It was good timing. though. It's getting late."

  Kylie glances at the clock. "Dammit, I do have to go."

  I groan. "Yeah. I don't want you to, though."

  "Me, neither."

  I stand up and hold my hands out to her, help her stand. We both dress, and then we leave the sanctuary of my room.

  Mom is sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer, the TV tuned to some reality show rerun, a bunch of rich bitches yelling at each other. She glances at us as we emerge, and the air in the room gets very, very awkward. "Hi. Um. Oz. Who's--who's this?"

  "Mom, this is my girlfriend, Kylie Calloway."

  "Hi. Um. How's it going?" Kylie clearly doesn't know what to say, how to act, whether we should address what just happened.

  I decide to tackle it head on. "Look, Mom, about just now--"

  Mom holds up her hand to stop me. "Oz, you're an adult. We don't need to talk about it. I'll knock from now on, and you keep your door closed."

  "Thanks, Mom."

  "You are being...safe...right?" Mom says through a cloud of smoke.

  "Yes, Mom. Promise. Now we're not talking about this anymore." I put my hand to Kylie's back, nudging her toward the door.

  "'Bye, Mrs. Hyde," Kylie says.

  "Call me Kate. See ya later, sweetie."

  I walk Kylie to her car, make sure she gets in, and lean through the open window. "Lock your doors, and go through the red lights if there's anyone nearby."

  "Oz." She runs her hand through my hair. "I wish I could stay. I wish we could just...never have to do this. Never have to say goodbye."

  "I know. Me, too."

  She makes a face, scrunching her eyebrows and pursing her lips. "Your mom took that better than I expected."

  "Well, we're basically just roommates at this point. I only moved here with her and live with her to help her out with rent and bills. I live my life, and she lives hers."

  "So she's really just...your friend?" Kylie asks.

  I don't answer for a long time. "Do we have to talk about this now?"

  Kylie shrugs. "No. I'm just curious."

  "I guess you could say we're friends. But there's a lot she's always refused to tell me. I know absolutely zip about my father, and she won't ever tell me shit. I know I've mentioned this. I don't know much about her, either. And I sure as shit don't tell her about my life. So...friends? To me, friends share things. Tell each other shit, whatever. Mom and I don't do that. So are we friends? I don't know. I've never really had any friends, so I'm not sure I'm the best judge of what a friend really is. She's my mother, and my only family. She's the only constant I've ever had in my life. In her own way, she's reliable. She's kept a roof over my head, food in my belly, clothes on my back. She didn't, like, abuse me, and there was never a constant train of boyfriends. I don't know if she's ever had a boyfriend, actually. If she has, I haven't known about it." I realize this as I'm saying it, and I'm not sure what to think or feel about it all. "So she always...fulfilled her responsibilities as my mother. She made sure I went to school, packed my lunches, kissed me if I got hurt as a little kid. But...are we close? I don't think I could say we are. Not like you are with your folks. I think Mom and I are...just two people thrown together by fate."

  Kylie shakes her head. "That's kind of sad, Oz."

  I shrug, going for a nonchalance I don't entirely feel. "Maybe it is. I don't know. It is what it is."

  Kylie frowns. "I hate that phrase. It's an excuse to accept something that isn't always acceptable."

  "What am I supposed to do about it, Ky? I can't change Mom. I can't change the past. Sometimes you really do just have to accept the unacceptable." The bitterness in my own voice, the jaded apathy...it disgusts even me.

  She tugs on my hair, which is still loose around my shoulders. "I wasn't--I was just talking about that phrase. Not about you or your life, Oz."

  I sigh. "I know. Talking about Mom makes me a little crazy sometimes." I lean in through the window, and she tilts her chin up to meet my lips. "Go. Be safe."

  "I'll text you when I'm home."

  I nod and step back, watch her twist in her seat to look behind her as she backs out, then go back inside to my room, marveling at my life, what it's become. For the first time, I'm starting to see something like potential. Like life isn't something to just get through, but something that could be...enjoyable.

  The hope germinating in my chest scares me, because it's such a fragile little shoot, tender and green and new, and the slightest breeze could kill it. And the many bones in my darkened closet ache from the impending storm.

  TEN: Tension in Your Gut

  Colt

  Sometimes, your gut is tense. For months, or weeks, it'll be just this ache, this emptiness, this sense of something coming. I hate that feeling. It's like knowing you've forgotten something, but not knowing what. Like that moment, that split second when you look in your rearview mirror and you see the car behind you coming way too fast, and you're stopped at a light and you know there ain't dick you can do to stop the crash.

  It's not Nell. Nell is fine. She's herself, doing what she does. It's not us. We're great. We're in love. We fuck each other senseless several times every week, and we never get tired of it. It's not me, I'm just...me. I tinker with my Triumph, which is almost done. I work with The Harris Mountain Boys, getting their album cut so we can really get this tour going.

  So then...what is it?

  Kylie, Oz, and Ben. It's the only thing that makes any sense. I know Kylie and Ben had that shitty argument in my garage, and I haven't spoken to Ben since. He goes to classes, football conditioning, works out. But he's just drifting, I think. I see him on the front porch, and I get the sense that he's fuming, stewing. Brewing and brooding. And I know better than anyone that brooding doesn't do shit.

  Kylie is giddy. She comes back from
seeing Oz and she's glowing. She really likes that guy, and he seems to be doing good things for her. So...good for him. Good for them. I like seeing my daughter happy.

  She's in the basement every spare moment, practicing like mad for their gig, bringing Oz over for jam sessions that last into the night. Then she goes home with him and doesn't return till late. I'm not an idiot, of course, but what's a guy to do? She's graduating in a few months. She'll be off to college somewhere soon, and that'll the be the end of me having any kind of day-to-day influence on her. At least right now I know when she comes and goes and who she's with, and I can sniff her clothes when she passes me, smell her breath and watch her eyes and listen for the slur in her speech. And, so far, no warning signs.

  Just her, happy with Oz.

  And Ben, brooding.

  And the feeling like something is coming. I don't know what it is, and I don't know when it will happen.

  But, worst of all...I don't think there'll be anything I can do about it.

  ELEVEN: Falling Under

  Oz

  It's Thursday, seven fifty-eight. The bar is buzzing, humming. Busy. Not insane, but a lot of people in varying stages of intoxication. All of them, it seems, are eyeing Kylie and me with idle curiosity. Nell and Colt are sitting at a little round table a dozen paces from the low stage, sipping on draft beer and chatting quietly as they wait for Kylie and me to start.

  We've plugged in, tuned up, arranged sheets of music, gone over our set list, checked that our mics work and all that necessary pre-show bullshit. Now it's time to start performing. This isn't an open mic night. They're just strangers with no vested interest in Kylie or me or our music. We're about to play for money like real professional musicians.

  Shit, I'm gonna puke.

  Except I can't. I take a deep breath, flip my pick between my fingers, and lean in to my mic. "Hey, everybody. How are ya'll doing?" I look out at the crowd and a few people glance our way, there's a couple random claps, and a whole hell of a lot people just ignoring me. "Okay, cool. So I'm Oz, and this is Kylie. But you don't really give a shit, do you? Not yet, at least. So let's just jam, huh?"