Lost Cause

by Callie Sparks

  Suddenly, he stops, leans over and steadies the headboard. His brow is wrinkled in concentration. “Your parents.”

  I look up at him, confused. I’d gotten so lost in him, again, I’d completely forgotten. I take his hand and draw it to my tit. He tweaks it, and starts the rhythm again, slower and more deliberate this time. Then he snakes his hands around my back and scoops me up, sitting back on his haunches. He pulls my legs tight around his hips, pushes aside the sheets, and slowly stands.

  I’ve never fucked like this before. Me, wrapped completely around him as he cradles my ass. I stare into his eyes, panting and breathless. “You okay?” he asks.

  He starts to move again, this time, fucking me hard. It’s all gravity pushing me down, and his strong arms keeping me up, controlling the way my pussy drops onto his cock. The damn floorboards creak, just like everything else in this house, but they’re not as loud as the headboard. “Oh, fuck, I’ve never—“

  “I’ve never, either. This is incredible.” His voice isn’t the slightest bit strained by my weight. He thrusts again and again, moaning more as he kisses me. I can feel him halting and stuttering, losing the rhythm, and I know he’s close. “You feel like heaven, Ari. I’m sorry. I can’t hold it much longer. I’m going to come.”

  Everything inside me is about to burst, too. I hook my ankles together around the small of his back and slide down harder and harder on his cock. “Come for me,” I tell him.

  When he explodes into me, I can’t help but toss my head back and let out a muffled scream. His mouth finds my throat, sucking on it, devouring me down to my tits as he comes and comes and comes.

  He stands there for a while, panting with me, resting his forehead on my shoulder. Then he slowly slides me down onto the bed, slides out of me, and crawls next to me. “I’ve never done anything like that before,” he says. “I love you, Ari. So much. More than anything.”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper as he wraps his arms around me. “Before, and now. Everything may be different, but the best part is, everything’s still the same.”

  #

  So. Sloppy. Drunk.

  I didn’t have any clue what it was the lacrosse team put in their drinks, but damned if I wasn’t wavering on my feet after two of their special chick “cocktails”. They’d all stuck to beer, but this stuff was for the ladies. It tasted sweet and fruity and innocent, like a tropical island.

  “I need water. Air,” I told Gabe, tugging on his sleeve. He was playing beer pong with his buddies and waved me off, annoyed at the interruption. I cleared my throat and motioned wildly at nothing. “Something.”

  He tossed his ball and the boys in the kitchen erupted into cheers and high-fives. The sound echoed and rattled inside my head. Oh my God. The room was spinning. And where was Claire?

  Stupid question. She was so into her new boyfriend that they disappeared into her bedroom the second he showed up. “You kids have fun down here,” she’d said with a mischievous glance at her college man. Jacy, Mari, and I had exchanged knowing glances. But now—minutes or hours later— where were they all?

  I wandered to the living room. A bunch of people were making out, half-clothed. Jacy was there, her top off, giving a nameless guy a blow job in plain sight of everyone else. Even in my altered state, I had to look twice. Jacy wasn’t like that. I knew she was in between boyfriends, but she’d waited a long time before sleeping with the last one. And she was the type who was afraid to show off more than a little cleavage in a public place. But now? Now she was slurping and groaning noisily, having the time of her life. Lovely.

  I thought about sitting down but knew that if I did, I’d never get up and make it to the bathroom to puke. Claire’d hate me. Her house was perfect and everything in the living room was white. One time one of Gabe’s buddies chipped a glass in the kitchen and she’d gone ballistic. I knew Jacy would be in trouble if that dude came all over that pristine leather sofa.

  Outside. I needed to go outside.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” a voice said behind me as I stumbled through the screen door and out onto the deck. I turned in time to see Gabe, but slipped in the slush, grabbing onto his arm just in time. I breathed in the frigid air as he pulled me to him. “Whoa. You okay?”

  “What the hell was in that drink?” I asked him, unable to really move without his help. He took my hands and sat me down on one of those outdoor storage crates. It was kind of damp and cold, but at that moment, I didn’t care. A buzzy sort of numbness was consuming my body parts, one by one.

  “No clue,” he said innocently. “Why? You fucked up?”

  I nodded and shivered. “I probably shouldn’t be here. Can you take me home?”

  He scowled, pissed. “It’s fucking eight-thirty on a Saturday night, Ar. We just got here.”

  “Great for you, but I feel like shit,” I snapped, but the intensity of my words made me feel dizzier. Gabe and I had little spats all the time, and usually, he won. Damned dimples. I didn’t have the energy to bother.

  “Your parents will skin me if I take you home this drunk. You know that.”

  I groaned miserably. He was right.

  He smiled and moved in closer. “You don’t look like shit.” He put his hand on my knee. “You look hot. Let’s not fucking fight right now, okay?”

  I nodded, relieved. He leaned into kiss me. He smelled like beer and had a way of commanding my mouth like it was a vessel and he was the captain. He never allowed me much time to breathe, but at that point, I didn’t care, because goddamn, he was sexy. It was cold and dark outside, in the middle of Claire’s vast backyard, but he was so warm. We were alone. I didn’t mind it too much when his hand climbed to my upper thigh and began sliding under my skirt.

  The virgin thing had been between us for a while. No one in my circle of friends sported the v-card anymore—where before the topic used to be about who was losing it—now it’d evolved to different kinds of sexual positions and techniques, once again, keeping me hopelessly behind the times and out of the conversation. Gabe and I’d been officially dating for over a year, but while it didn’t seem like a big deal to anyone else, it was a huge deal to me. I mean, my dad was a deacon. My parents used to buy me children’s books about maintaining my purity for the boy I married, for God’s sake. When I told Gabe that, he laughed. He promised to go slow. So we had been. But by “slow”, he probably hadn’t thought I meant glacially. The puberty thing was beyond my control, but this . . . this was totally within my control. I had the boyfriend I’d always wanted, and they’d even elected me to the homecoming court. Everything was finally working out for me. I should’ve wanted to move ahead.

  As patient as Gabe had been, something about us just felt wrong. I was waiting for a sign to tell me it was right. And it never happened. Maybe it never would. Maybe that was just naïve. Maybe growing up didn’t just happen—maybe I needed to push it along.

  His hands moved over me, warm and rough. From there on out, I remembered things in flashes. I remembered him pushing my soft and fuzzy sweater up to my chest. I remembered my nipples pebbling in the cold air as he kneaded them. I remembered his hand probing under my panties, and the shock when his finger penetrated me. I remembered thinking I didn’t want this, that if I could just open my mouth, I could say that. If I could just move, I would push him away.

  But I could do none of that.

  Hours or a lifetime later, I woke on top of the storage container, with my fuzzy mint-colored sweater and Gabe’s letter jacket blanketing me. My head ached something horrible, and there was a foul, acidic taste on my tongue. I pulled myself upright and realized my bra was undone. Quickly, I clasped it at my breastbone and slid my sweater over my head. I peeked under the jacket—at least I had my skirt on. I tried to stand, like a newborn calf taking its first steps, and dread pooled in my stomach.

  Something was wrong.

  I was sore everywhere. Everywhere. In places I’d never known could be so sore. My abdomen ached from the inside, and my pussy lips
burned. I felt something wet there. Carefully, I lifted the hem of my skirt to investigate.

  My thong was gone.

  I shot to standing. I fell to my knees, fighting back the urge to retch, and looked around for it, on my hands and knees, in the dark. Snow stung my bare skin.

  But that wasn’t the only thing I was missing. Most of the lights in Claire’s house were off, now. So it meant that the party, which when I’d last been with it was just heating up, was now winding down. All those hours, lost.

  But there was more. Before I could catch a sob in my throat, Gabe came outside, looking just as hot as I’d ever seen him. He was sleepy and had that little bit of scruff on his neck that made him absolutely gorgeous. I was stiff as a board, but as he wrapped his arms around me, I could feel my body melting. He kissed my nose. “How’s my beautiful girlfriend?”

  “Did we . . . “ I started, teeth chattering.

  “What? You don’t remember?” He fake-pouted. “I’m going to remember this night forever. Considering it’s the greatest one of my life and all.”

  “Oh, I . . .” couldn’t remember anything.

  He grinned. “You were pretty wild. And so fucking tight and wet.”

  “I was a virgin,” I murmured. “And I . . . I wanted it?”

  He looked worried. “Yeah. Hell, Ari, you’re saying you don’t remember? Of course you wanted it. I wouldn’t have . . . shit, Ari. I’ve waited for you for a fucking year, and I’d have waited forever. You should know that.”

  He was getting angry. “Oh, no. I know that. Of course.” I needed him to stop before he reminded me that he could have any girl he wanted, again.

  He took my hand. “We’ve been over this before. I love you. If we’re going to be together forever, Ari, it doesn’t matter when you lose it.”

  He was right. I had to stop looking it as an end, and start thinking of it as a beginning. Our relationship would only be deeper, more intense. Now we could go shopping for lingerie together. Now, I could participate in the sex position conversations with Jacy, Claire, and Mari. Being a virgin was just holding me back.

  I nodded numbly, then toddled inside, the soreness slicing through my body with every step. I’d enjoyed it. That’s what he said. I’d been wild and he’d called it the best night of his life, which is saying a lot, considering the number of girls he’d been with. And I supposed it was only natural for a person to be sore after her first time.

  It was okay. I was okay.

  I found Jacy curled up on the sofa, looking just about as shell-shocked as I felt. “Oh, my God, Ari,” she said, grabbing my hand. “I don’t know what happened. I think I fucked Scott. Ugh.”

  I leaned over, tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and put an arm around her.

  It doesn’t matter, I told myself. Life isn’t a fairy tale, filled with cupids and romantic gestures and big puffy hearts. Whatever sign I was waiting for never would’ve come, anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  What did you think about, when you were being subjected to the—the rape. No matter how beautiful and desirable she was, you know that’s what it was, right?

  Yeah. I mean, I thought of home. What was left of it.

  Your father?

  A little. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I had one friend, in fact. A neighbor. A girl. I thought of her.

  You did?

  Yeah. As a kid, when I dreamed of falling in love and getting married, I thought it would be her.

  You had a crush on her?

  More than that. I was desperately in love. I used to think of our wedding, of growing old with her. Not that I ever acted on those feelings. She may have been my friend, but never once did I forget she was way above me. She didn’t act superior, but she was. She wouldn’t have . . . it doesn’t matter.

  Did you ever think of escaping and going home?

  Every day.

  To her?

  Yeah. Every day. But those fantasies usually got cut short.

  Because . . .

  Because they’re too ridiculous. She’d never want me, not then, and especially not now. No girl like her would.

  #

  At breakfast, I can’t stop looking at him. I can’t stop thinking about the way he felt inside me. I can’t even concentrate on getting food into my mouth when he is there, next to me.

  He seems to have no trouble at all, though. In a weird twist, he’s calm and relaxed, and hungry, because he can’t shove the eggs into his mouth fast enough. When he looks at me, he smiles, making me blush in a way that I can’t even hide from my mom.

  “Are you okay?” she asks me suddenly, setting her plate on her placemat.

  I nod.

  “You’re all red.” She feels my forehead. “And you’re not eating anything.”

  “Seriously, I’m fine,” I say, blushing even more. I set down my fork; I only have an appetite for one thing. Noah studies me, his mouth full of eggs, and winks with all this newfound confidence.

  Oh, he’s making me crazy, and he loves it, the bastard.

  The beautiful, beautiful bastard. God, he’s beautiful. Something tingles between my legs, radiating down to my toes and up to my chest, making my whole body pulsate in agreement. I nearly spit orange juice all over my plate.

  What I wouldn’t do to see him make one of those classic clumsy Noah mistakes, to join me in this lovesick solidarity.

  He helps my mom clear the dishes as I struggle with a bit of dry toast. It feels coats my tongue and feels like a brick in my already whirling stomach. Nope. Not happening.

  I rush upstairs to brush my teeth and suddenly a hand sneaks out from one of the rooms and wraps around my waist, pinning me to the wall. His mouth is on mine before I can take another breath. I break the kiss and look down the staircase. “Not here. Treehouse,” I whisper, my heart thrumming madly.

  He pushes my hair off my neck and kisses my shoulder. “Are you going to tell them?”

  I nod. “Um . . . soon.”

  He grins. “I have good news.”

  I stare at him, expectant, knowing any news will pale in comparison to this: That he loves me. That I love him. That we are right where we’re supposed to be. Nothing anyone says can change that.

  He reaches into his pocket and unfolds a piece of paper. I know immediately what it is when I see the crest for St. Bonaventure on the top, but even so, I have to read it twice to make sure.

  He’s confirming his place in their incoming freshman class this fall.

  “Oh, my God!” I shriek, almost too loudly, until he covers my mouth with his. He kisses me in a way that makes me perfectly fine with possible asphyxiation, his hands tangling in my hair. When we break apart, breathless, my voice is still too loud. “I can’t believe it!”

  “Shh,” he chuckles. “So I think you should tell them, sooner rather than later.”

  I nod, energized. “I’ll do it now.” I’m holding his hand. I walk away from him, down the hall, toward my dad’s office, and the further I get from him, the more my stomach starts to drop. Suddenly I feel like I’m heading toward my execution. I don’t want to drop his hand, but I know I have to.

  Suddenly, he yanks on my hand, pulling me to him so that our noses nearly touch. He’s laughing. “Ten minutes.”

  “Huh?”

  He kisses my nose, then my hand, dropping it. “Meet you in the treehouse. Ten minutes.”

  I force a smile. What a way to make ten minutes feel like ten years. I climb down the stairs and into my dad’s office, where he’s sitting in his wheelchair, using the daylight streaming in from the window to illuminate his Sunday Times Crossword. “Hey dad,” I say.

  He looks up. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  “You only use that tone with me when you’ve done something wrong.”

  I swallow. I close the door behind me, another uh-oh in his book, because I only do that when things are serious. I perch on his chair as he removes his reading glasses and studies me. “Dad. I—“ I don’t
even know how to begin. “You want me to be happy, don’t you?”

  He laughs, but there’s no smile on his lips. He can already sense I’ve screwed up. My palms start to sweat. “Ari. Silly question. What’s this about?”

  “Noah’s been good. These last couple weeks. He’s been going to therapy and church and helping around the house and—“

  He holds up his hands. “Ari—“

  “Dad. We know he needs help. He’s getting it. But the fact is—“

  His voice is loud, with the edge of a razor. “Ari—“

  “I’m in love with him,” I blurt, hands shaking so much that I have to clasp them in front of me to stop them. “We’re going to college together. And I’m going to be with him whether you—“

  “I know.”

  I stop. “What?”

  He sets down his glasses and his folded newspaper. “It’s been all over your face since he came back, Ari. In fact, I was waiting for this discussion.”

  “You . . . were?”

  He nods. “Your mother and I already discussed it.”

  My jaw drops. “And so, you’re going to kick him out of the house?”

  He laughs. “Ari. Come on. I don’t one-hundred percent agree with it, no. I think he needs to take things slowly. But heck, I was young once, too. That’s not always easy. And Noah’s not a stranger. I know him nearly as well as I know you. He’s a product of unfortunate circumstances.” He shakes his head and leans back. “You weren’t around to see what a mess I was after my accident. My circumstances were pretty rotten too. Your mother probably should’ve kicked me to the curb, the way I treated her. But she didn’t. And so many blessings have come from that. The biggest of which happens to be you.”

  Tears prick my eyes. “So you mean. . . it’s okay?” I ask, a squeak of hope creeping into my voice.

  He smiles at me. “Yeah.”

  I rush over to him and hug him. “Oh, dad! You know how worried I was? Oh, my gosh.” And now I really am crying.