by R. R. Banks
Sasha's face falls and she looks down at her plate, nothing but dismay reflected in her eyes. I learn something else about Sasha's family dynamic – they're not supportive of her. At all. Maybe it's because I came from a family that has the means that allowed me to explore my every passion and find my own path. Maybe that's part of my privilege – that I have their unwavering support to be whoever and whatever I want.
But I can see the emotional toll that having the support of her family behind her is having on my fake fiancée. I can see how their doubt weighs on her. The fact that her sister degrades her and runs her down about pursuing her passion is eating away at her sense of self-worth and self-esteem.
It really pisses me off.
“You know, Sarah, we only have a really short time on this planet,” I say. “Being able to spend that time doing something we love and that makes us happy and fulfills us, makes our lives worth living. Maybe one day, when you're older and have more life experience under your belt, you'll understand that.”
“That's nice and all, Miles,” the younger Gates daughter spits. “But at some point, we all need to grow up and become adults and do things like pay bills.”
“As far as I can tell, Sasha does that just fine,” I say. “She's not homeless. She has her own place. She has food in the pantry. Why should her life plan adhere to yours? Furthermore, who are you to dictate what she should and shouldn't do with her life?”
“I'm just saying –”
“You're just saying,” I interrupt, cutting her off, “that you know what's best for her and that if she doesn't fall in line with what you think is right or proper, that she's a lesser person somehow. How arrogant is that? How condescending is that, Sarah?”
I know that getting into it with her sister is not going to endear me to her mom. But, in the short time I've been with them, that's all Sarah seems to do – run Sasha down. And for the most part, her mom sits back and nervously watches while she does it.
I suddenly understand exactly why Sasha chose to deceive my family and spend a few days with us, rather than come home to this.
“Are you really going to let your boyfriend speak to me like this?” Sarah asks Sasha.
“Fiancé,” I snap. “I'm her fiancé.”
“Right, my bad,” Sarah says sarcastically. “Sasha, are you really going to let this man, who you'll wind up being married to for less than six months, speak to me this way?”
“Wow, you are a real piece of work,” I say.
Sasha finally looks up from her plate. Her eyes are filled with fire as she looks at me, shrugs, and says nothing. Yeah, I'm probably out of line. But I don't care. The only person I only care about in this room is Sasha. I can’t stand to see her sister disparage her like this. It's not right and if she isn’t going to stand up for herself, I'm going to stand up for her.
Sarah turns her eyes on me, giving me a baleful stare. I glance over at Kathy, who's staring back at me, probably dumbfounded by the childish reaction of her youngest daughter coupled with my outburst. Clearly, nobody had ever tried to put Sarah in her place before – which might be why she's turned into such a monstrous control freak.
“I don't know who the hell you think you are,” Sarah starts, her voice low and tight with anger. “To come into this house –”
“Enough, Sarah!” Sasha screams, slamming her fist down on the table so hard, it rattles everything, nearly tipping over our glasses of wine. “Just shut up!”
Sarah and Kathy both jump but I turn to Sasha, glad to finally see some fire in her. What she has to put up with is bullshit. She absolutely needs to stand up for herself.
“I don't know who in the hell you think you are, Sarah,” she says. “You can’t fucking judge me. You don't know what I dealt with growing up. You never had to deal with the emotional baggage of Mom just sitting idly by, letting it all happen. You are pretty much forcing me to relive my childhood experience, Sarah – someone is allowed to abuse me while Mom doesn’t do a damn thing about it.”
I glance over at Kathy and see that her eyes are red. There's a look of genuine remorse and shame on her face. She knows that she screwed up and damaged her daughter – damages Sasha's still paying for, all these years later. Sarah, on the other hand, looks confused. She looks from me, to her mom, to Sasha, and back again. There are plenty of questions on her face, but no answers forthcoming – at least, none that anyone feels like volunteering.
“What are you even talking about, Sasha?” Sarah asks. “What did you have to deal with that was so bad?”
“You don't even want to know,” Sasha hisses. “Let's just leave it at – I didn't have the sunshine and rainbows childhood you did. We protected you and made sure of that. Didn’t we, Mom?”
Kathy suddenly looks stricken with grief. She looks at me, then at her girls. Silently, she stands up from the table.
“I – I'm sorry, Miles,” she says. “I'm not feeling well. I need to go lay down.”
She disappears from the kitchen and a moment later, I hear a door in the back of the house close. Sasha, Sarah, and I are left at the table, looking at one another in silence. The atmosphere of the dining room is tense and charged with anger.
Sarah looks at me with pure and utter contempt in her eyes – as if I'm to blame for the shitshow the evening has turned into. Hell, maybe I am. I don't know. All I know is that there was no way I was going to let this little brat badger and berate her sister like that. Somebody had to stand up for Sasha since it’s suddenly very clear to me that nobody in this fucking house ever has.
We're sitting alone in the car outside. The night is dark – it's overcast, so there isn't any moonlight to see by. After the fiasco at dinner, Sasha wanted to get out of there, so we went for a drive, ending up at a quiet, secluded spot on a bluff overlooking the town. It's a place I frequented when I was younger – when I wanted to either clear my head or spend time alone with a girl.
We sit in silence for a long while, individually processing everything that was said and done over dinner. It was an intensely emotional night for Sasha and her family. I feel bad for the role I played in that. I certainly didn't make things any easier on anybody. I just wanted the night to be fun – and to tease Sasha – to pay her back and have some fun at her expense.
The song Bittersweet Symphony comes on the radio, the music filling the interior of the car, and I listen to it for a moment. I want to say something to make Sasha feel better, but I have no idea what. Knowing I need to say something, I reach forward to turn the radio off, but Sasha puts her hand on mine, stopping me.
“This is one of my favorite songs,” she says. “Let it play?”
I try to give her my best reassuring smile. “Of course.”
I recline in my seat and quickly realize that she hasn’t let go of my hand. I give her hand a gentle squeeze and lean my head against the headrest, closing my eyes as the song plays. It is a beautiful song; I can see why it speaks to her. When the song fades out, she reaches forward and turns the radio down.
“I wanted to apologize for the way tonight went,” I say. “That really wasn't my intention.”
“I know,” she says. “I know you were only trying to screw with me to pay me back for what I did. I get that.”
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I guess I never counted on your sister being that invested in making you so unhappy.”
She shrugs. “I tried to tell you.”
I give her a wry grin. “Big difference between hearing it and seeing it for myself.”
“True enough,” she says. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Did you really mean what you said about my work?” she asks.
“Every word of it,” I reply. “If I'd had more time, I would have read more. But I was on a clock and needed to finish rifling through the rest of your stuff before you could come into the room and catch me.”
She gives me a smile and looks down at our hands, which are still joined together, as if somehow surprised
they still are. A wan smile touches her lips, but she still doesn't pull her hand away. I'm kind of surprised she's not pissed that I invaded her privacy and read her work. I guess maybe, compared to how shitty the rest of the night turned out, it's a minor infraction and maybe, the only part that brought her any joy.
“I never asked you – how did you know I wasn't your brother's girlfriend in the first place?”
A soft laugh passes my lips. “I suspected it from the get-go. When you spoke about him, it seemed clear that you had no idea who you were talking about. At least, to me, anyway,” I say. “But then, he called me later to apologize for Alice not showing up at the airport which sealed the deal. Obviously.”
She nods, a small, sad smile on her face. She turns and looks out at the sparkling city below the windshield. Her face is troubled, and I would give almost anything to know what’s going through her mind right now.
“For whatever it's worth, now I understand why you wanted a break a couple of days,” I say. “I get it.”
She turns to me, the light of the dashboard making her azure eyes glitter like jewels. “Thank you,” she says. “No one has ever stood up for me like that before. Ever. I just want you to know, it means a lot. Probably more than you can ever know.”
“You're welcome.”
There is so much more I want to say to her. I want to express how I feel and convince her to explore these feelings together. I know she feels something for me too. Like Christopher said earlier – I want to give her a reason. I want to be her reason. I want her to open up to me and invite me into her heart.
Before I can say anything else, she leans forward and kisses me. Our kiss is passionate and filled with the emotions we have for each other – like we are communicating our feelings through the kiss.
Slowly, she pulls back, and her eyes are locked onto mine. Biting her bottom lip, she reaches out and opens the glove box, pulling out one of the condoms inside. My cock strains painfully against my slacks, already begging for release. She hands the condom to me, then reaches down and leans her seat all the way back, leaving her lying nearly flat on her back. I watch with hunger burning in my eyes as she reaches under her dress and wiggles out of her panties. She tosses them to the floorboard, her eyes never leaving mine.
I quickly unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. Slipping the condom over my stiff cock, I roll it all the way down, then move over to the passenger seat. Positioning myself so that I'm on top of her, I brace myself on my arms, hovering over her. Sasha lifts herself up and kisses me again, harder and with more fire than before. Our tongues swirl together in an erotic dance as I slide my hand underneath her dress.
Running my fingertips along the inside of her thigh, I push her dress up around her waist as she shudders beneath my touch. I press my forehead to hers, our gazes locked as I slide myself forward, and with one deliberate thrust, I bury myself deep inside of her, eliciting a throaty moan from Sasha.
She parts her thighs a little wider, wrapping one of her legs around my waist as I start to pump my hips, moving my cock inside of her. She kisses my neck and digs her nails into my shoulders, faintly crying out as I drive into her at a steady rhythm.
No words are exchanged – there isn’t any need for them. Her warmth and tightness drive me crazy and it's all I can do to not fuck her even harder.
The feel of her body against mine drives me absolutely crazy and I want to devour her. I want to have her over and over again. The way Sasha looks into my eyes as our bodies move together makes me want to slow down and savor each and every moment of this.
Leaning down, I kiss her neck, inhaling her scent like I'm committing it to memory. I kiss her mouth, needing to taste her, and run my hand up her body, feeling her flesh and cupping her breasts. Sasha kisses me harder, nearly stealing my breath as she forces her tongue into my mouth. She writhes beneath me, her body rising up to meet my thrusts, taking me even deeper inside of her.
She cries out softly and I sink my cock even deeper into her, relishing how her body feels beneath me. Sasha bites her bottom lip and squeezes her eyes shut as her entire body tenses up.
A moment later, she explodes with a shuddering gasp and cries out, her body trembling wildly as her orgasm overtakes her. Listening to her cries of pleasure while her pussy spasms on my cock, gripping me even tighter, pushes me over the edge. I throw my head back and moan as I burst inside of her. My cock pulses and throbs inside the condom.
Our foreheads are pressed together again as we stare into each other's eyes and ride out the waves of ecstasy spilling over us. Slowly, our bodies and breathing return to normal and I slip my cock out of her.
Sasha kisses me so passionately, it’s almost violent. It feels like the emotions inside of her are being transmitted through her soft lips.
I get the feeling this kiss is nothing but another way for her to say goodbye.
Chapter Sixteen
I lean over the toilet and throw up. Again. My whole body aches, is covered in a greasy sweat and I'm shaking like I'm freezing cold. I feel drained of everything – and not just the food in my stomach. I feel emotionally, mentally, and spiritually spent.
I've been home for almost two weeks now, having somehow survived the rest of the Thanksgiving holiday. After the horror show that the dinner with Miles turned into, the three of us Gates girls did what we do best – avoided reality. We didn't talk about it. We didn't mention it. We barely even spoke or looked at each other. We just went on like normal, pretending that nothing had happened.
The damn elephant in the room was so big, that neither of them even mentioned the fact that I’m supposedly getting married after that night. Thank God. I left town the day after Thanksgiving and don’t think I’ve ever been so thankful to see my shitty apartment and amazing roommate before.
I lean over the bowl again and dry heave – but there's nothing left in my body to come out. Suddenly, a knock sounds at the door. All I can do is groan and flush the toilet. The door opens and Rosie – my roomie and best friend walks in, her face utterly aghast.
“Wow,” she says. “You look like absolute shit.”
“Thanks, Rosie,” I groan.
I lean my head against the cool porcelain of the bowl, trying to will the nausea away.
“Are you pregnant or something?” she laughs.
“Shut up,” I say. “I ate off the taco truck outside of work last night.”
“Christ, Sasha, why in the hell did you do that?” she asks. “You know that thing is a Hep C factory on wheels.”
“I was hungry,” I reply.
“Well, I certainly hope this teaches you a valuable lesson, young lady,” she says.
Rosie turns and walks out, but comes back a few moments later with some Pepto, a glass of water, and a few tabs of Alka-Seltzer. I let her take care of me, leaning my head against her shoulder as she holds me upright.
“Can you stand?” she asks.
I nod and get to my feet on seriously shaky legs. It feels like I'm walking on ice and could fall on my ass any minute. Rosie guides me to my bedroom and pushes me into bed. She pulls the covers up to my chin and tucks me in. I shiver and moan as another wave of nausea rolls through me. She looks at me, concern shining in her eyes.
“I'm worried about you, Sash,” she says. “You seriously look like you're about to die.”
“It'll pass,” I say and take her hand.
I'm gripped by an icy fist of nausea that clenches around my stomach. With a surprising energy, I throw the covers back, leap from the bed, and dash for the bathroom. I fall to my knees without a moment to spare as I spit up what feels like twenty gallons of bile, my whole body tensing and clenching up.
“That's it,” Rosie says from the doorway. “I'm taking you to the doctor.”
“It's food poisoning, most likely,” I say, my voice thick.
“They'll at least be able to provide you with something to keep you from throwing up every two minutes,” she says. “Get dressed, Sasha.”
“Don't you have to get to work?” I croak.
“Not for a couple of hours,” she replies. “It'll be fine. Get dressed.”
I nod and shuffle down to my room, throwing on a pair of black yoga pants and an old, pastel pink hoodie. I tie my hair back into a sloppy ponytail and don't bother with any makeup, but I don't care. If I feel like absolute trash, might as well look like it too.
Half an hour later, we're sitting in plush leather chairs at my doctor's office, waiting for my name to be called. Ten minutes after we arrive, we’re taken back. Slowly and creakily, I get to my feet, feeling like every joint in my body is on fire. The nurse leads me back to a curtained room where I wait some more.
After I've been sitting there for about twenty minutes, Dr. Adric steps into the room and closes the curtain behind her. She gives me a smile.
“Well, hello, Sasha,” she says brightly. “You look like crap.”
“Your bedside manner kind of sucks, Doc.”
She laughs. “You're not the first person to tell me that.”
“Color me shocked.”
She looks at my chart and reads all of the measurements her nurse had taken before she came in – temperature, heart rate, blood pressure – the works.
“I'm sure it's food poisoning,” I say. “I ate off a taco truck yesterday and it’s just been –”
“Don’t eat off those things unless you can somehow get a copy of their latest inspection,” she says and motions to me. “Otherwise, you might end up looking like this.”
“Lesson learned,” I say.
“I'd certainly hope so,” she replies.
“All the same, as long as you're here, I'm going to take some blood and run some tests,” she says. “Gotta do all those doctor-y things to justify my paycheck.”
I nod. “I don’t care what you do, as long as you give me some really good anti-nausea meds.”
“I think I can do that.”
An hour later, I'm on the couch back home, tucked under a quilted blanket and TV remote in hand. I've taken the meds Dr. Adric gave me and I'm already starting to feel better. So thankful for modern day science and that we no longer live in the days where they would have bled me to try and make me feel better.
