Breaking the Seventh

by Allie Gail

  Until recently, that is.

  She has become so distant. This childish lover’s game of hard-to-get may have been amusing at first, but she is testing the limits of my restraint. It isn’t right that a girlfriend should treat her man with so little respect.

  Pressing hard on the screen of my phone, I punch in another message.

  I only have so much patience, angel. Why do you continue to provoke me? I see you, you silly girl. Do you think you can hide from me?

  I smile to myself as she checks her phone, watching in glee as the brunette head quickly lifts to scan the campus. When she finally spots me, seated beneath a sprawling oak tree with my legs crossed leisurely in front of me, I make a point of waggling my fingers in a duplicitous little wave.

  Instead of coming over, she hastily looks away as if she doesn’t see me.

  I laugh softly. She is such an exasperating conundrum. What will I do with her?

  My pretty fallen angel. Don’t you love me anymore?

  She reads the message before pressing something into her phone, and I wait with eager anticipation to see what my inamorata has to say. But the text never comes through and I stare in futility at my silent phone, disappointed when nothing happens.

  I send her another text.

  I want to see you tonight.

  This time she doesn’t lift up her phone. Doesn’t look at it.

  What is she doing? Why doesn’t she respond? I know I saw her typing something on the screen. Who was she texting? If not me, then…

  She blocked me.

  I clench my jaw as the unwelcome notion occurs to me. But I will not accept that explanation. It is not a rational one.

  No, surely she wouldn’t do that. Why would she? Melanie loves me. I know she does. I saw it in her eyes, in the way that she smiled at me. The way she always made a point of singling me out to say hello. The way she listened in rapt attention when I talked to her. Even if she is playing some sort of coy game, why would she alienate me in such an insulting manner?

  I narrow my eyes as her group begins to disperse, and she wanders off alone without so much as a backward glance.

  ~ Chapter One ~

  It couldn’t be more perfect.

  Dropping my heavy suitcase to the hardwood floor, I resist the urge to squeal out loud as I scan the cozy living room of the place I’ll be calling home for the next six months. A bit chintzy maybe, but I’m in love already. It has even more character than I envisioned in my head when Leah first gave me the rundown three weeks ago.

  That’s not to say it would be in everyone’s taste. The nautical theme is hardly what you’d call subtle. At first glance what you notice is the typical beach house décor – wooden ship wheel and anchors adorning the walls, blue and white striped furniture, glass-topped coffee table with a base fashioned out of twisted driftwood. But everything comes together in a way that’s warm and welcoming, giving off a homey vibe that makes me instantly comfortable.

  Against one wall is a pointy bookshelf that’s been creatively constructed from part of a canoe. Unable to resist, I check out the books that line the shelves and feel absurdly pleased to find several of my own titles there. Romantic murder mysteries, all composed under the pen name of Kristine Lane. It was my agent’s suggestion to use my middle name. Apparently she thought Kristine sounded more austere than Melanie. Whatever, I’d go by Polly Esther Pants if I thought it would help sell more copies.

  My cell phone begins to serenade me from the pocket of my cargo shorts, and I reluctantly pull my attention away from an intriguing collection of erotica to see Leah’s name on the screen.

  “Your timing’s uncanny,” I tell her. “Would you believe I just walked in the door?”

  “I know. I can see you through the camera. Wave to me.”

  “What?” I whip my head around, scanning the corners of the room dubiously. “Are you serious? There’s a security camera in here?”

  “No, not really. I’m just messing with you.” She snorts a laugh at my startled reaction. “Damn, Mel, you are so gullible! Trust me, there is nothing going on in that house that I ever wanna see on video. Did you have any trouble finding the street?”

  “Nope, not at all.”

  “So what do you think? You like?”

  “I love!” I can already picture myself banging out several thousand words a day in the comfort of these harmonious surroundings. “It’s a writer’s paradise. I’ll be able to concentrate so much better here.”

  “Told you, didn’t I? And the neighbors pretty much keep to themselves, so you’ll have all the peace and boring ass quiet you can stand. Actually, they’re probably not even there – the couple on one side are retired snowbirds so they don’t usually come down until winter. The house on the other side is owned by a doctor, and his family mostly just uses it during the summer for vacations. Being September and with school starting back and all, I doubt you’ll see much of them. Maybe once in a while on weekends. The kids are well-behaved though, they won’t bother you.”

  “Awesome. That is perfect. Thanks again, Leah. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I know you probably could have rented this place for a lot more than I’m paying.”

  “Nah, I doubt it. I woulda had trouble renting it this time of year, being off-season and everything. You’re actually doing me a favor. Now I don’t have to worry about my dingleheaded brother lending it out to one of his weirdo friends. Let me tell you, the last dickweed he let stay there practically demolished the place. God, I was pissed!”

  “Wow. I bet.”

  “So freaking rude. Anyway, Butthead went in with me on the place two years ago, but he hardly ever uses it himself. I think he just put up the money because he got sick of me calling and harassing him every day. Really, he should be thanking me – this was a great investment. You wouldn’t believe the price it was going for.”

  “Did you get a good deal?”

  “I’m telling you, it was a steal! The owner was in a hurry to sell it and he just kept coming down on the price. How could I resist? And you know me, I practically live at the beach during the summer. I’m a total sun worshipper.”

  Not surprising. A mere twenty-two years old, Leah’s still young enough that the threat of skin cancer wouldn’t concern her in the slightest. Not that I’m that much older than her – I just turned twenty-eight last month – but she has the breezy personality of someone who doesn’t worry about much. I met her back in March when I got a job working at the newspaper office where she was employed.

  Correction – is employed. I, on the other hand, just got sacked.

  Last in, first out.

  To be fair though, she is only part time. She puts in a few hours in the evening after her classes at Northwest.

  “How are things at work?” I can’t resist asking.

  “Oh, you know. Same as always. Brad feels really bad about having to let you go, by the way. He said for me to remind you that if another position opens up, he’d love to have you back.”

  “Tell him not to stress over it. I understand. A lot of people don’t bother subscribing to local papers these days. That’s not his fault.”

  “Look at it like this. Now you don’t have any distractions. You can finish your book that much faster.”

  “True.” Leave it to Leah to see the glass half full. I think that’s what I like about her. She has such a sunny, silly disposition. Besides, it’s not as if I’m flat broke. I’m still getting book royalties every month, and then there’s the money in my savings account.

  “Let’s see, what am I forgetting? Oh, you might need to replace the filter on the sink. The water tastes like chlorine so you’ll want that. Um…thermostat’s by the bookcase. Linen closet’s at the end of the hall; should be plenty of clean sheets and towels. I already gave you the Wi-Fi password. Can you think of anything else?”

  “Yeah. Which way’s the beach?”

  Her infectious giggle brings a smile to my face. “That’s the spirit! Out the front door
, take a right, walk straight for three blocks. If you end up in the ocean, you’ve gone too far.”

  “Check. Start drowning, turn back. Got it.”

  “Have fun. I’ll come up and see you one weekend soon. Oh, and I expect the first signed copy of this book before you sell the movie rights and become rich and famous and forget all about little ol’ me.”

  “You got it,” I promise. Jeez, her optimism knows no bounds.

  “Call me if you have any questions, all right? Now scoot. Go get a tan on those pasty white legs. I have to get to class, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay. Study hard.”

  After Leah’s bubbly chatter, the place seems unnaturally quiet by comparison. Not in a bad way, though. More like in a way that would be conducive to a really relaxing mid-afternoon nap.

  Instead, I stifle a yawn and set to work hauling in the rest of my stuff. Upon further investigation, I discover that the modest brick house has two bedrooms, each with its own private bathroom. One seems to be decorated in a more feminine taste, but in the end I decide on the other one. It has a larger bed and French doors that open out to the patio in the back yard. There’s even a gas grill outside. Not that I’ve ever used one before, but I’m sure I can figure it out if the mood hits me.

  Wandering over to the dresser, I pick up a small framed photograph and study it curiously. I’ve never met anyone in Leah’s family, but I assume this must be them. She looks the same so it must have been taken fairly recently. Over last year’s Christmas holiday maybe, judging by the red and green sweaters. They’re all crowded together, arm in arm, wide smiles plastered on their faces. A middle-aged man and woman, Leah with her impish dimples and sandy blonde hair, and some guy standing taller than the rest of them.

  His hair is brown and at first glance appears to be slicked down with gel, but upon further inspection I see that it’s tied back in a long, sleek ponytail. He’s smiling too, but his head is turned slightly as if he got distracted by something at the last minute, so half his features are obscured. But from what I can tell, he seems to be a decent looking guy.

  So this is the dingleheaded brother with the weirdo friends. Replacing the photo, I shake my head with a laugh as it suddenly occurs to me – I don’t even know his actual name. Leah rarely ever mentioned him, and the few times she did she always referred to him as Butthead. All I remember her saying about him is that she wished he didn’t live so far away because she would love to set us up.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her I just couldn’t see myself going on a blind date with someone who apparently looks like an MTV cartoon character.

  Stretching contentedly, I heave a blissful sigh before strolling over to the French doors and flinging them open. Brilliant sunlight sparkles through a ribbon of clear blue sky. Palm trees sway gently in the warm breeze, the grass has been freshly cut in anticipation of my arrival, and I can hear birds chirping gaily through the foliage, welcoming me.

  Singing along with them, I unpack my things and make myself at home.

  Five days pass before I venture out to the beach.

  I’ve been working tirelessly, taking breaks only long enough for meals and my afternoon strolls down to the Gas ’N Go for a cherry slush. Thanks to this daily ritual, I’ve become acquainted with two new people – Mr. Sutton, a retiree who lives down the street and spends an obsessive amount of time digging in his flowerbeds, and Mike, the gabby cashier at the convenience store.

  Mike is tall, buff and built like an NFL linebacker. He is also gay. I know this because the first time I stopped in for a slush, I was instinctively weirded out by his talkative, never-meet-a-stranger approach. I thought he might be hitting on me. That is, right up until his boyfriend came bopping in to remind him about his four o’clock hair appointment. Now we chat like old friends.

  Anyway, after five days I figure I deserve a day off since I have managed to complete two whole chapters. Besides, I reason with myself, what’s the point of being in Fort Walton Beach if I stay cooped up indoors all the time? That would just be a travesty. So I slip a swimsuit on under my shorts and tank top, throw a few essentials into a tote bag, and make my way down the sidewalk to the public access beach.

  The day turns out to be cloudy and humid with red flags flying. Apparently there’s some tropical disturbance or something out in the Gulf of Mexico, so that’s probably why the sun isn’t out. Still, it’s pleasant. I stretch out on a giant towel and immerse myself in a book selected from the canoe shelf while my toes burrow in the warm, white sand. Lost in my reading and lulled by the soothing rush of the waves, I stay out longer than I intended. But that’s okay. I have nowhere to be, and that’s a luxury I’m willing to take advantage of.

  It’s only later that evening, as I’m sinking down into a tub of sudsy bathwater, that I feel the slight sting across my shoulders. Maybe paying a buck for a cheapo bottle of sunscreen at the dollar store wasn’t such a smart move. Because apparently you can get sunburned even on a cloudy day.

  Feeling lazy, I soak in the tub until the water gets cold. After rinsing the conditioner from my hair, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel while examining my reflection in the mirror over the sink. Yep, my shoulders are pink all right. So are my cheeks, but I don’t mind because it gives me a healthy glow. I shrug and grin at the rosy, bright-eyed girl in the mirror. If I wasn’t aware of the dangers of melanoma, I’d do this more often.

  But I am, so I moisturize like crazy. And since I’m in the mood to pamper myself a bit tonight anyway, I slather my entire body with the new Bronze Goddess lotion my mom got me for my birthday. It smells heavenly, so I spritz on some of the perfume as well. Now I really feel luxurious. And…I don’t know. Antsy, somehow. Like I want to do something impulsive and exciting. Something out of character for me. I almost wish I had somewhere to go or something to do.

  Or someone to do.

  It’s been a long time. Longer than I care to remember.

  Maybe my sister is right, maybe I should get out more. Stop focusing so much on the fantasy world of my novels and open my eyes to the real world for a change. Stop writing about great sex and start having it. Madelyn swears I’m becoming a hermit.

  But sex comes with strings. Hell, even a smile or a flirtatious word can come with strings. Strings and lasting consequences.

  Trust me, I know.

  I opt instead for a glass of wine and the book I was reading earlier on the beach. Instead of getting dressed, I simply unwrap the towel from around me and spread it over the sofa to lie on while the lotion soaks into my skin.

  It feels nice, lying here naked under the soft breeze of the ceiling fan.

  I turn on the TV and flip through the satellite radio channels until I find music to my liking, something with a sexy post-grunge sound. Then I immerse myself once again in the novel. It’s a horror story written by an author I’ve never heard of before, and I’m finding it enthralling.

  Dreamily scanning the pages, I try to make it to the ending while sipping my wine and listening to the music. But eventually my eyelids grow heavy. Alcohol makes me sleepy. It always has.

  Before long, I drift off into a pleasant dream.

  ~ Chapter Two ~

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph on a bicycle.

  It’s her, all right. Melanie Lane.

  Sprawled out fast asleep on the sofa of my beach house, naked as the day she was born. I have to blink several times to convince myself I'm not hallucinating. Every single perverse fantasy I ever had during those long, crappy years of high school is replaying in my mind like a porn movie on loop. And the subject of those fantasies has suddenly popped up right in front of me like a wish granted by a genie.

  One helluva generous genie, I might add.

  When Leah told me who she’d rented the house out to, I wondered if it was the same girl. Letting it slip that the new tenant was a writer only confirmed it. But I had to see for myself. I couldn’t stand it unless I knew for sure.

  This, however, is something I never
expected.

  Wetting my lips, I swallow hard as my hungry eyes devour the sight. A tousled array of dark hair is draped over the arm of the sofa, still damp from a recent washing. Both arms are stretched leisurely above her head, eyes closed, those luscious pink lips parting as she sighs in her sleep. I frown slightly as my mind travels back to all the acerbic insults that originated from that snarky mouth of hers. To the contempt she never even tried to disguise.

  My unscrupulous eyes travel on their own volition down to...

  Oh, heaven help me. Those tits. Those spectacular, glorious tits.

  A million times in the past I'd visualized what those curvy breasts would look like without the barrier of cotton from the sickeningly cutesy graphic tees she used to wear. I mean, come on – Hello Kitty? What, did she think she was six? Give me a break.

  As vivid as my imagination might be, I can honestly say it never even came close to doing them justice. I might have stopped to wonder if they're even real, if I hadn't been around to witness the evolution of her adolescent body. I can still remember the first time I noticed her growth spurt. Beginning of eighth grade.

  She wasn't exactly happy that I'd noticed.

  Probably didn't help that I'd pointed it out to everyone around.

  Still mesmerized, I reach down with one hand to adjust the painful erection struggling to break free from the confines of my jeans. My eyes stray farther south to the hidden folds between her thighs and my fingers linger on my crotch a little longer than necessary. Oh, fuck me – I knew it. I knew it! She shaves her pussy. Either that or she has it waxed.

  Hot damn, I’d love to be the person in charge of that highway maintenance.

  I drop my hand in a hurry, considering it would be pretty hard to explain if she were to wake up and find me standing over her, rearranging my dick like some kind of deviant. For a fraction of a second, some juvenile part of me wonders what would happen if I suddenly starting screaming fire!

  Would she run out of the house naked? Talk about a YouTube-worthy moment.