In the Wake of Wanting

by Lori L. Otto

  “Thank you, Emi.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  After the party, Callen, Max, Coley and I hang around talking after all the other guests have left. Once Coley’s family was gone, she started drinking, and now we’ve both had too much to drive home.

  “You take them, Max,” Callen urges his boyfriend. “I need a good night’s sleep, and I won’t get it with you around... no offense.”

  “Still offended,” Max argues, pretending to be hurt.

  “I have to be up in four hours to meet with these stupid executives of my dad’s company. It’s not like I want to do it, but I need to if I want a job here after college. Otherwise, we stay in California, far away from your brothers.”

  “Shut up and go home to your daddy. You two drunkards ready to head to the apartment?”

  “Wait a minute,” Coley says, putting two and two together. “On the night Trey and I get engaged, you’re staying with us, Max?”

  “I’ll be watching from the chair in the corner of your bedroom, Coney.” He reaches out, offering his hand to help her up.

  “That’s not funny,” she says, pointing in his face when she stands.

  “I didn’t say I would record it.” He’s very matter-of-fact when he tells her this.

  “Future Mrs. Holland,” Callen says, “it’s not like the two of you will be doing much. I see a bit of passing out or throwing up in the hours ahead of you.”

  “Neither of us are that drunk, Cal. We have our final court date tomorrow, remember? I just don’t think we should be driving, that’s all. We’re just drunk enough to have a lot of uninhibited fun, though.” I grin mischievously and put my arms around her, making her giggle as I kiss her neck.

  “You should take the guest bedroom farthest from their room,” Callen advises Max.

  “No shit. I just hope they keep it to their bedroom.”

  “For you, buddy,” I tell him, “we’ll do it.”

  “All night…” Coley adds, getting a laugh out of all of us.

  “Yeah, she’s had too much to drink,” I comment.

  Coley and I get into the backseat of the Range Rover and I hand Max the keys. We make out half of the way home, until I happen to look up at an opportune time and ask my best friend to stop the car. Hopping out, I purchase three dozen red roses and then get back in. My fiancée bites her lip when she sees the glint in my eyes, hinting at what I want to do upon our return home.

  “If you want me to go to my mom’s, I will,” Max says when we all get off the elevator into my penthouse.

  “Coley and I aren’t going to be thinking about you, Max. That’s up to you.”

  “I don’t want to wake her up.”

  “We’ll have everything we need in our room,” I assure him. “There are earplugs in that drawer that’s built into the wall by the subwoofer, just in case.”

  “Sold,” he says.

  “You can make us breakfast as a token of your appreciation.”

  “Frosted Flakes at five. Check.”

  “If you wake us up at five, you won’t live to see another five.”

  “No breakfast in the morning. Check.”

  “Goodnight, Max,” Coley says, tugging on my arm and holding the three bouquets in her other hand.

  “’Night, guys. Congrats to you both. And if I don’t see you in the morning, good luck at the hearing.”

  “Thanks, Max. Goodnight.”

  I return to the kitchen, fetching a pitcher of water and two glasses, anticipating our needs for the night.

  “Smart,” she says as I pour us each a glass. After we take a drink, I stand behind her and run my hand up and down the zipper of her dress before I finally begin to unfasten it. A mass of sea foam speckled with red pools around her ankles. She turns to me and begins to undress me, leaving a similar pile of clothing on the floor at my feet, too. When we’re finally undressed, I grab the flowers and we both lie down on the sheets, her on her stomach and me on my side. She plucks the petals from the flowers and leaves them by her pillow while my hands and lips explore her backside.

  I pick up a small pile of petals and distribute them evenly on her back, rubbing them gently against her silky skin and smelling their fragrance.

  “That feels nice,” she says.

  “They’re very soft. It’s just as sexy as I thought it would be.” I kneel over her and continue to drop the flowers onto her body, breaking only to deliver kisses to the parts of her skin they don’t cover.

  “I’m really turned on,” she says, trying to turn over underneath me. I lift up, letting her do so. She continues to pull the fleshy petals from their flowers, but drops them on her breasts and torso herself, purposefully drawing my attention wherever they fall. Playing along, I kiss beneath each petal. I expect her to drop them lower, but she doesn’t. I decide to touch her anyway, discovering that she’s as turned on as she said she was.

  The next item she drops is a condom. I smile, happily and quickly putting it on before slowly entering her.

  I lie on top of her and what must be fifty rose petals between us. The perfume is romantic and intoxicating.

  “I didn’t give you your birthday present,” she tells me.

  “You can do it later,” I respond, pressing into her gently, but fully.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “Slow, like this.”

  “That’s fine with me.” Just the feel of her around me might be enough to get me off tonight. Her body rocks against the mattress with mine in a lazy rhythm. “Fuck, Coley. So good.”

  “I can give it to you now.”

  “You are, laureate. It’s a slow burn, but I feel it coming.” I cover her lips with mine; our tongues intermingle. We take breaths as we need to, and when I finally feel her beginning to climax, I take her hands in mine and I let go, allowing myself to get swept away with her.

  “That was the second best birthday present I got today.”

  She laughs lightly beneath me. “What was the first?”

  “I got a fiancée today.” Moving off of her, I kiss her a few more times, feeling her smile with each one. She reaches out, wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, laureate.”

  “I wrote you a poem,” she says languidly.

  “I want to hear it.”

  Sharing a pillow, we watch one another struggle to keep our eyes open. She speaks softly to me, lulling me into a dream:

  In the wake of wanting

  I learned patience, anticipation

  Led to heightened sensation

  When that moment of wanting

  Turned into having, receiving.

  When there was no more wake

  When you and I could take

  And give freely the love

  We felt for each other deeply,

  It made every second after

  Oh so much sweeter.

  The desire and need

  Would devour, yet feed.

  In the wake of wanting

  I found you; you have me.

  chapter thirty

  The crowded courthouse is restless as we await the entrance of the judge. Coley’s grip on my hand is tighter today than it’s been on other days. I squeeze to get her attention and look over at her, smiling. She leans into me, then looks down, touching the ring she’s only been wearing for the past twelve hours or so. It’s a little loose on her, so after today’s sentencing hearing, we’re stopping by the jewelry store to get it sized.

  Down the row sit Pryana, Kamiesha and Lucy. I’d done as much as I could to try to convince Jenny to come back to Manhattan for her to see what sort of punishment Asher would get for the crimes of which he was found guilty–two counts of facilitation of a sex offense by using a controlled substance, two counts of drug-facilitated rape, one count of rape, one count of sexual abuse, one count of predatory sexual assault, one count of unlawful surveillance and one count of dissemination of an unlawful surveillance image. J
enny was still traumatized by the mere sight of Asher Knoxland; her therapist advised against an in-person appearance.

  Beyond my friends is Asher’s mother, a surprise witness for the prosecution. She detailed an incident involving Asher and one of his high school girlfriends. When they were both seventeen, an explosive breakup led to ugly rumors in their small suburban town outside of Chicago–rumors of a rape that occurred. Rumors that were suddenly denied and were never mentioned again.

  As it turns out, Asher’s father had paid the young lady a hefty sum to keep quiet to save his son’s good name, and she did. Police were never involved; lawyers were never hired. It all happened under the table, but it never sat well with Asher’s mom. She was terrified that her oldest son showed no remorse. She was disgusted that the man she married paid hush money to hide the crime. She was ashamed that she stayed quiet all this time. When she revealed the incidents that had taken place seven years ago, she would often get side-tracked, voicing how sorry she was that her family’s actions led to the pain and anguish suffered by his other victims.

  In the defense’s case, Asher’s dad and Asher both vehemently denied the rape from high school, but not the relationship with the girl. It seemed to be a case of he-said/she-said. The ex-girlfriend also said she made up the rumors for attention. Still, the prosecution had revealed payment of a million dollars to the young lady after the breakup. She stated that they had always promised to help her out with a clothing store she’d wanted to open. With no store to show for it, their stories cast a lot of doubt in the jurors’ minds. With that, plus all the evidence against Asher, it didn’t take long for the jury to come back with guilty verdicts on all counts.

  In addition to Asher’s trial, divorce proceedings have been taking place between his parents. It’s been a bad year for the Knoxland family.

  “All rise for the honorable Judge Iolana Madeleine.”

  I take a deep breath, hearing Coley do the same. “You’ve got this,” I whisper to her. Once we take our seats again, the judge speaks to the jury about the schedule for today’s hearing. Coley reaches in her backpack and pulls out a black Moleskine, opening it up to the page marked with the ribbon. Handwritten in red is a victim’s statement she’s written on behalf of the two of us. I actually had nothing more to say to him, so I let Coley put pen to paper. I helped her with wording on some parts to make them more impactful, but this is really her work.

  Every day, I worry about Jenny. While the rest of the women found support in groups, friendships and other activities, she withdrew from everything she knew. She moved back to her hometown in Delaware into a spare room with her grandmother. She refused to work. She would rarely go out. For the first six months, she wouldn’t take my calls at all. It took Livvy’s intervention for that to happen, and since then, she only speaks to me when my sister or mother is also on the line. Her grandmother says she seems to be distrustful of all men. Thankfully, therapy has become a regular thing for her, but only in the past four months. I have hope for her improvement, but she’s definitely more fragile than the rest.

  Pryana graduated Summa Cum Laude in May and just got hired as a writer for CNN International. Kamiesha also graduated this spring and is planning to go to law school. She has been very involved in every aspect of this trial, spending extra time with Danny at the offices as an intern. Lucy will be a senior with me next year. We’re both active with the Sexual Violence Response group on campus. I've chosen to be a Peer Educator, and Lucy's a Peer Advocate. Coley spends a few hours a week with the NYC chapter of NOW, providing support to their team of rape counselors and legal aids. Needless to say, our experiences with Asher have changed us, but we're making sure that the results of his crimes are rendered as positive influences on the community. Never for a second did we give him a chance to ruin our lives.

  "Now, Coley Fitzsimmons will read the final Victim Impact Statement that was previously admitted as part of the evidence into the trial before the sentencing phase. Miss Fitzsimmons?"

  We stand and kiss briefly before she exits our row, notebook in hand. I slide down to sit next to Pryana and put my arm around her. She leans her head onto my shoulder. The five of us have become close friends over the course of the past year.

  "Thank you, your Honor," Coley says, running out of breath in only four words. She pauses as she glances at Asher, then looks over at me. I nod and smile, trying to send to her all the confidence I have in her. I'd offered to read the statement, but she was adamant in doing it herself. "Your honor, members of the jury, thank you for giving all of the victims a chance to speak. I will be reading a statement on behalf of myself and my fiancé, Trey Holland. I’d like to address the defendant directly, if that’s okay with the court.”

  “Go ahead,” Judge Madeleine states.

  Her eyes drift to mine one last time before she begins, but when she focuses back on Asher, anger adorns every facial feature. She stands in front of him in conservative attire: pants, a silk blouse buttoned past her collarbone, a jacket, and flats. Her hair is pulled back in a clip, and she's not wearing a drop of makeup. She had insisted that she didn't want to be sexualized in any way. She was conscious of the way he used to feel about her; was aware that he had seen her at her most vulnerable. She didn't want to remind him of that image even for a second. If she could have reached into his brain and ripped it out, she would have.

  At this moment, she is hardened in a way I've never seen her.

  Still, I see a tiny smirk on her lips and notice how her thumb is twirling the new ring around her finger. She's drawing attention to it. Purposely. And I don't mind that one bit. I do wish I could see Asher’s expression, though.

  With her left hand, she finally lifts her book and opens it back up to the page.

  "When I first met you, you were someone I could easily converse with. After a few weeks of inappropriate suggestions, you complicated our friendly relationship, and I began to avoid you at all costs. It would have been nice if I could have carried on that trend instead of finding myself here today, but we all know the circumstances that have brought us into this courtroom.

  “Trey wanted me to be able to write this freely. He’s spoken out against you in the press: in news articles, on his blog, and in op-ed pieces. He’s said enough and has nothing more to say. In his words, he doesn’t want to waste another moment or breath on you.”

  She nods her head and smiles at me. "I don’t think a single word he’s spoken about you was wasted. They were all necessary for the world to know the true… you. I refuse to speak your name again. It’s a cancer on my tongue.

  "Perhaps you're expecting something rhyming and rhythmic, since that's what I'm known for, but let me be the first to state that there is no poetry in anything you have done. No beauty. No creativity. No imagination. I don't want any association between the thing that I love and a thing that I hate.

  “I write about love. I write about it because I’m predisposed to love. When I was tasked to write this, I found it incredibly difficult. I tried to put myself back in the mind of the victim, but I didn’t want to go back to that ugly place. I was a mess the first few weeks after you leaked that video. I couldn’t look people in the eye, and when I did, I could easily tell the ones who had seen it. I knew right away the ones who’d gotten pleasure out of it. Disgust and hate festered, and I struggled to rid myself of those foreign emotions.

  “So when I sat down to compose this, I thought, ‘How can someone who was put on this planet to write about love deliver a message of hate to the person who victimized her?’

  “Words are sacred to me. Precious, and efficient. Each and every one of them is important. As writers, this is implanted into our psyche. I realized relating to you my anger and disgust wouldn’t hurt you. I’ve seen how indifferent you’ve been throughout this whole trial. How detached you appear to be. How lacking in emotion.

  “I won’t tell you how your actions have impacted my life. You don’t have the right to know about me. Instead, I’ll tell
you how your crimes have impacted your life.

  “You will never be able to treat a woman to a private dinner at the Rainbow Room and share a kiss with her while one of the best jazz bands in the city plays in the room next door. You will never be able to walk in the park on a hot day and test every flavor of snow cone to find your ultimate favorite. You will never be able to take your niece to the beach and teach her how to listen for the ocean in seashells. You will never eat New York style pizza again. You will never be able to revel in the first steps of your own child or be there to comfort him when he loses his first tooth. You will never get to play fetch in your backyard with a new puppy. You will never know the freedom of a cross-country road trip in a convertible. You may not get to say goodbye to the people you actually cared about. You will never have the credibility you always wanted. You will always be despised by a community that once elevated you to lofty heights. You will never be able to care for your parents when they’re sick. You won’t be able to stand up for your brother at his wedding.”

  A movement in Asher’s direction catches my attention. He appears to be wiping his eyes with the back of his left hand. “Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe you won’t get life in prison, which is what we’re all hoping for and what you deserve. Maybe it will be possible for you to do some of these things. But I know the reality. I know the sentences that go with your crimes, and the reality is that if you do see freedom again in your lifetime, the world will be a much different place. It’s fair to say it will be unrecognizable to you. You will no longer be the man you were when I met you: young, privileged and virile with more opportunities than most people our age will ever know. You will be an older man–an old man.

  “No. I’m sorry. To be a man is to imply some sort of humanity, and I don’t believe that word suits you. To be human is to have compassion. To be human is to be cognizant of the consequences of your actions, and in so doing, to choose good over evil. You failed. You failed humanity.

  “You are a savage. And if you’re released from jail before you die, you will simply be an old savage. That doesn’t sound like a creature anyone would want around. I know for certain that I wouldn’t.