I moved forward and pulled him into a hug. It took him a long time, but when his arms slid around me, his chest expanding and contracting with a deep sigh, I relaxed, too. We stood like that for several minutes, tucked inside the open door of his truck.
Finally, he pulled away. As my hands slid down his arms to his biceps, he paused, holding me in place by my hips before he leaned in and kissed me. It was chaste, but my body surged to life, my sex pulsing even as I hated myself for my reaction.
My face heated with shame. As he pulled away, the warmth of his lips left an imprint on my own. My trembling fingers touched the place where we'd joined. Whether to keep the sensation or get rid of it I didn't know, but shock made me mute. All I could do was stare.
We stood for a moment like that, looking at each other. I watched something work through his expression and settle on regret, deep and profound, before he got into his truck and drove away.
CHAPTER TEN
Unravel
Past~
My "episodes" came with maddening regularity. Eating was a struggle. Sleep became my only escape but, even then, a sense of impending doom made it anything but peaceful. I hardly recognized my reflection in the mirror. Pale skin, sunken eyes, dull hair. No longer was I the epitome of a happy college sophomore. Now, I was more like that sad, malnourished homeless guy I'd given money to.
"You look fucking beautiful, darlin'," Tru winked at me over his shoulder as he sat on the edge of his bed, plucking away at his guitar.
I couldn't manage more than a faint smile, and it didn't escape his attention.
He narrowed his eyes. "I mean it, Jess. I can't believe how hot you are now. Every guy we pass on the street wants a piece." He stopped playing, leaned over and kissed me, whispering, "Makes me proud to know you're mine and always will be. No other guy will ever make you feel the way I do."
My spine tingled—the beginnings of another attack—but I managed to nod.
It was clear now. Tru and I weren't on the same team anymore. I swallowed air. I would've done anything to control how and when I got skinny. Instead, my body betrayed me daily and Tru, the one person I was closest to, only seemed interested in the end result.
He was right in the worst way. Nobody made me feel as isolated and lonely as he did when he couldn't see the price I'd paid to have the body that now kept me prisoner.
I rolled to my belly. It was late, and I was already dressed for sleep, in a white tank top and soft cotton shorts. Tru turned his attention back to his guitar, but not before slapping my ass.
"Jesus! That hurt." I rubbed the sore cheek as the familiar tingle raced up my spine.
He laughed and shook his head as he played another chord. "Big baby."
I turned over to my back and stared at the ceiling. It only made the onset of nausea worse. I slung an arm over my eyes as I tried to surreptitiously breathe deep. Most of the time it helped stave off attacks, if I could do it soon enough in the process. The bed dipped next to me, worsening my sense of disequilibrium and making me feel seasick. I swallowed against the nausea.
Tru's warm breath flowed over my cheek, mint barely masking the smell of weed. He'd cut back on how much he smoked when I was around. But it hadn't made the nagging sense of impending doom disappear. Was it me who would fall apart first, or our relationship? Lately, it was impossible to imagine any other outcome.
He kissed me tenderly, his lips soft against mine. I willed my body to relax, to respond, but the nausea was too much. For the first time ever his tongue was an unwelcome invader in my mouth. I fought the production of saliva as I tried to keep from gagging.
God, I couldn't tell him I was close to having an attack. He'd been patient and concerned for the first several months, but when the episodes kept happening, his irritation was clear. The furrowed brow. The deep sighs. Every episode was a personal affront, as if I'd planned them all out.
His kisses went from my cheek, down my jaw to my neck. The tingling in my spine increased. I knew I was minutes away from a full freak out. I wiggled away from him, my tone apologetic. "I'm so tired, I don't think I can tonight."
He froze, his face in my neck, stubble rasping against my skin before he pulled back. He deserved better than what I was giving him, but the storm brewing inside of me was fierce, and he'd made it clear he wasn't interested in talking me through it. I needed to stay calm. I couldn't even open my eyes. I heard him sigh as he turned, the heat of his back pressed against my arm.
I tilted my head to the side, faced the wall, and continued forcing air into and out of my lungs. For once I was grateful he wasn't paying any attention to me. Minutes passed. My pulse began to even out, my breathing deepened, and my muscles relaxed as I regained control.
Slowly, I came back to my surroundings, aware of the bed shaking. I turned to look at Tru as I heard his breaths coming in short pants. He was curled away from me, his body tight as it jerked. I pushed up onto an elbow to peer over his shoulder. The centerfold of a porn mag was open to some big-breasted, airbrushed blonde looking seductively at the camera. Her legs were spread, one hand over the lips of her mouth, the other over the lips between her legs.
Tru was jacking off dry, yanking his hard cock violently within his bulky fingers. We'd played with ourselves in front of each other before. He loved watching me touch myself and loved that I felt the same way about watching him. It was hot, and I'd come hard, most of the time more than once.
He was taking care of himself. It shouldn't have been a big deal. But I couldn't help the revulsion I felt at the sight.
"What are you doing, Truman?"
He faced me, but his hand kept up its rapid rhythm. His words were choppy, his expression sardonic, as he answered. "Really, Jess?"
I rolled my eyes. "I know what you're doing, obviously. I'm wondering why you're doing it. Here. With me next to you."
His hand slowed, but didn't stop as he rolled to his back and looked at the ceiling. The vein pulsing in his forehead told me he was close. "Yeah, you next to me. Not on top of me, not under me, not with your mouth between my legs, or anywhere I want you, but next to me. The exact place that happens to do zero for my dick." His voice was strained as he groaned his release, semen splashing onto his bare chest, sinking into the valleys of his taut abdominal muscles.
Normally the sight of him coming could get me most of the way to my own orgasm, but this wasn't intimacy. It was selfish. My presence in his bed wasn't relevant.
I was no longer relevant.
The tie that bound us together loosened, then unraveled inside of me, as if I were being carried away by an invisible tide. I couldn't fight anymore. It was too powerful. My efforts to keep us together were futile. I could see that now. All I had to do was let go and float away.
I waited for the pain, something, but there was nothing except numbness. The same numbness I'd learned to embrace as a coping mechanism. I rolled toward the wall, my back to the man I thought I'd spend forever with. The bed dipped and shook as he went about the business of cleaning himself. This time the movement didn't affect me. No nausea or seasickness.
Nothing.
***
He stood on his porch, only feet away, eyes wide at my surprise visit. I took a deep breath and remembered how the sensation of us unraveling had been like a physical fall within my belly a mere twenty-four hours earlier. I could've waited it out, counted the days until that inevitable argument happened. The one where we both dug in our feet about something stupid and decided that winning was more important than any love we'd had for each other. The escape route argument.
It was surely coming. I found a strength I didn't know existed and demanded a say in how it all went down. So, I'd driven over, wanting to have the conversation in person. Now, a small part of me wished I'd done all of this over the phone. But that was the coward's way out, and I was scared, but I was no coward.
"I can't do this anymore, Truman."
"Do what, baby?" His expression churned between confusion and devastatio
n. This was it. It was going to hurt him and I—a person who never desired to hurt another—was causing it in the only man I loved. I could hardly breathe.
"We aren't good for each other anymore." My voice shook even as my words rang truer than anything I'd said in the last six months. "You know it as well as I do. All of the arguments about booze and weed. Waiting up for you to get to me at night so I can sleep, knowing you're safe. It's making me physically ill. I feel like everything good between us dies a little more every day." I ran a hand through my thinning, listless hair. "I need to be on my own."
Tru looked away. The muscles of his jaw flexed with tension, a beautiful, tragic profile. He propped his hands on his hips and stayed that way, finally ending his silence with a short nod. When he looked again at me, his face was a blank mask.
"I don't fucking understand it, but if this is what you need, Jessa, then I guess I'm not gonna stand in your way."
I flinched. His words were like jagged rocks flung at me, each consonant and vowel formed into hard edges and angles. Then again, this was what I was asking for. He'd let me go without a fight. I couldn't speak past the lump in my throat. Instead, I took a step closer to him. My need to soothe him was still an automatic impulse, but he stepped away just as quickly.
As my eyes filled with tears, all I could do was return his nod. I understood. He couldn't let me touch him as if we were still together when in fact we were ending. And I couldn't get my mouth to form the two syllables I needed it to.
So, I didn't say goodbye. I simply turned, walked to my car, got in, and drove away.
***
My life had been difficult with Truman Miller in it, so naturally I assumed everything would be easier without him. As spring term ended and summer began, I just needed time and space to get over him. The latter was accomplished when I moved back home. Amy and I had secured a cheaper apartment, but it wasn't available until late August. I packed up my stuff with vigor.
As I drove away from our old apartment, the memories of Truman and his drunken tumbles into my bed were left behind. I might as well have ripped out my heart and left it in that tiny apartment, for all the good it did me.
I took a job at a local pizza place to earn some extra money and keep my mind off of my troubles. I volunteered for extra shifts and stayed late whenever I was asked. Amy complained that my summer job wasn't a substitute for an active social life. Her solution was to get back out there, but dating was the last thing on my mind. Falling, exhausted, into bed after every shift was the only thing I wanted.
Then came Chris.
He was a jovial blond, a frat boy who also went to the U of O. His gentle laugh and surfer boy smile put me at ease right away. The fact he didn't smoke weed constantly or get blackout drunk was a refreshing counterpoint to what I'd had with Tru. One night after we'd cleaned up and closed the restaurant, he'd confessed he thought I was beautiful. The way his face was downcast as he spoke...it wasn't love, but he made me feel something.
The reasons I was willing to date him were the same reasons we'd never last. Chris was nothing like Truman. For once, it was a checkmark in the "date someone else" category. Eight weeks post-breakup and still crying myself to sleep most nights, I figured a change of scenery wouldn't hurt.
Chris was more than willing to help me out with games of pool played in the frat house rec room and movies in the park on a nice blanket, surrounded by families and couples. He always kept it respectful; some hand holding and a kiss or two were all he asked of me. It wasn't fair to him. His hopeful expression at the end of every date told me as much, but it was all I had to give.
It was early August and, in an eerie repeat of previous summers, I was housesitting again. This time for my oldest brother. While he and his wife were vacationing in Hawaii, I'd volunteered to stay at their place, glad to get out from under the concerned, watchful eyes of Mom.
I'd had no episodes in over two months. I was dating a decent kind-of-boyfriend. I was making a boatload of money.
Life was good.
Normal.
Safe.
I should've known it wouldn't last.
Driving back from breakfast, Chris chatted away in the seat next to me, when I saw Tru powering up the hill toward my brother's house on a bike. Not a motorcycle, a bicycle. I felt my eyes widen as we approached.
He'd sworn to sell his beloved motorcycle in an effort to save up the cash he'd need to get us a place. Then I'd broken up with him. The reminder that we wouldn't be living together shredded my peaceful mood.
He pedaled, taking the hill with strong legs as though it were nothing, his expression fierce as he focused on the road. My stomach clenched painfully, a wave of nausea threatening to eject breakfast from my stomach. A thin sheen of sweat coated my forehead and upper lip.
Truman Miller was a proud West Ender. The part of town occupied mostly by Eugene's blue collar families. The south side was reserved for University students and middle and upper class residents, like my family. There was only one reason he'd be pedaling up that hill.
My foot reflexively eased from the gas as we passed him. He caught my eye at the last second and time stopped.
My body came alive. I'd been asleep while we were apart, and the world had been reduced to stark shades of black, white, and grey. I'd kidded myself into believing living like that was good enough. Seeing Tru woke me up. Colors exploded around me.
"Shit."
Chris grinned. "What's up, buttercup?"
I swallowed hard. "Well, we just passed my ex-boyfriend, and I'm pretty sure he's on his way to see me."
Chris's grin faded as he swiveled his head. I made a U-turn and rolled down my window, slowing the car to a stop as we approached Tru, who'd stopped at the top of the hill. He was sweating, his smooth skin glistening with perspiration over his bulky body. His arms strained the fabric of his t-shirt as he gripped the handlebars. He propped his aviators on top of his head, his eyes lighting up when he saw me and darkening just as quickly once he spotted Chris.
"Hello, Truman." I aimed for nonchalance and lost.
"Hey, Jess." Steady as ever. Damn him.
My breath caught. That voice, pure silk, dark and brooding. I'd always loved it. Now, I loved it even more with him out of breath. It reminded me of other times he'd said my name while being out of breath. I blushed, ordering myself to stop those thoughts.
"Um," I gestured to Chris without looking over at him, "Chris, this is Truman. Truman, Chris." The blush expanded down my neck. Chris and I hadn't even slept together, and now we never would. Still, I felt like a tramp, sitting with one boyfriend, lusting after another.
Tru broke eye contact for only a moment, taking the time to size Chris up with a steely gaze before he gave a cursory nod, returning his attention back to me.
"I need to talk to you." It wasn't a request.
I tried like hell to hide my reaction, the pulsating need that made my skin itch for his touch at the command in his voice. I licked my lips, which had gone dry, and watched his eyes follow the movement. Christ, I was going to melt right then and there. What had happened to me being better off without him? Fuck this shit. I wasn't going back. He was poison, and I needed to remember that.
My nod was jerky. "Uh, OK."
Apparently I was going to have to break up with Truman twice. I turned to Chris, my expression apologetic. "I'm so sorry, but I need to deal with this."
Chris looked from Tru to me, understanding dawning in his eyes. "That's cool."
Of course it was. Because Chris was the absolute sweetest, least possessive, non-jealous guy I'd ever known, all of which meant he'd never had a chance in hell of keeping me. God, I was so fucked up. Truman wasn't back in, but Chris was definitely out.
I attempted a smile at him before turning to shoot daggers at Tru. He leaned against his bike, his smirk barely contained. He thought he'd won. Wrong. He was stubborn, but I could be that way, too.
"I'll meet you back at my brother's in twenty." I tried to keep
my voice steady, but the blood pounding in my ears made it impossible for me to know how I sounded.
Tru didn't acknowledge my statement; he simply glared at Chris for an uncomfortably long moment before he continued pedaling toward my brother's house. The drive back to Chris's frat was quiet. When we got there, he hopped out but leaned down to stick his face through the open window of the passenger side. Beneath the surfer boy persona, he was anything but shallow. The proof was in the sad droop of his shoulders, the smile he tried to muster, but couldn't.
He tapped the roof of my car. "Good luck, Jessa."
We both knew it was goodbye. I was not getting back together with Tru, but I'd been reminded, viscerally, of what I was missing with Chris. Whatever I needed in a boyfriend, I wouldn't find it with the sweet blond I'd spent the summer friend-zoning.
I managed my own sad smile. I'd hurt two guys so far this summer, and was about to hurt the first one again. "Thanks for everything."
I pulled into traffic and steered the car toward my brother's house, Chris in the rearview and Tru somewhere ahead of me.
***
He sat on the brick retaining wall in front of my brother's house, looking good. Too good. The time since I'd last seen him had been weeks that felt like years. I drank in what I saw with the snarling selfishness of a lioness defending her kill, hungry for the images unfolding before me. I'd keep them locked in my memory and unpack them in the future when I was feeling lonely. Or horny.
He wore a tight white tee over beat up cargo shorts, sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt. His hair was spiked, lighter at the tips from exposure to the sun, his skin tanned a deep bronze. He wasn't the boy I'd fallen in love with two years ago. He was the man I wouldn't allow myself to love any longer. And he looked better than ever.
My gaze raked over him and some of the heat the sight of him had generated dissipated. His jaw was tense, his nostrils flaring. I fought to keep my spine straight and braced for a fight.
I Fell In: A mostly true story about lust, redemption, and true love. Page 15
