by J. L. White
“Fuck,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t tell me we’re out,” I say, but now I remember the last time we were here, we’d used the last one.
His head drops. “Shit.”
Yeah, that’s about how I feel. I want his cock in me so badly I can’t hardly think straight. “Just pull out early,” I say, tugging on his shoulder. “Come on.”
We’ve done that before, and even though we both know sperm can be present before a guy ejaculates, it’s only a tiny bit and this has always worked for us in the past. It’s not the first time we’ve had to improvise. We both like it better when he can come inside me, but it’s better than nothing. If I’m judging him correctly, he doesn’t want to wait any more than I do.
Sure enough, he closes the glove box firmly and starts to climb on. We arrange ourselves quickly, well knowing just how to make things work in his car, and before I know it, he’s pounding me eagerly. If anyone were to walk by, there’d be no hiding his bare ass and my feet in the air, but I don’t care. I’m so hot for him and he feels so hard for me, I know we won’t be in such a compromising position for long.
I grab his tight ass and squeeze him firmly as he rams his shaft into my wet cunt.
“That’s right baby,” he whispers thickly. His breath is hot on my ear. “Take that cock.”
The ecstasy growing between my legs only intensifies when he talks to me like that. I’m already nearing my peak. As he pounds me, his pelvis hits my clit. I get that burst of pleasure in my clit at the same time his cock is deep and full in me. I angle up to meet him just a bit more and now his sack is hitting my anus. With the entire area down there flooded with pleasure, and straining as that pleasure only grows, I’m close to going over again.
“I’m so close,” he says. I already know. His cock is reaching its peak of hardness and stretching me completely.
“Me too,” I gasp out, and then with two more powerful thrusts and slaps of pleasure on every part of me I could want touched, I’m done for. I tuck my head into his neck and cry out as I climax again. I try to soften my cries but he’s continuing to pound me and I’m in a frenzy. I contract around his hard shaft, and my body convulses with ecstasy. I dig my nails slightly into his back and he groans with the pleasure of it. I realize I’m not helping him hold off until I’m done. He manages it though. I ride wave after wave, gripping his hard shaft and quaking helplessly.
At last I start to release and come back down. Only when my aftershocks are done and I’m starting to feel the glow of satisfaction does he pull out in a rush. I quickly grab the head of his cock just as he spills all over the seat. Thank god they’re leather. I milk him firmly, loving the feel of him pulsing in my hand and the sound of his deep groans rumbling in my ear.
When it’s over and he drops his weight on me, I kiss his cheek and hold him tight. He kisses my collarbone tenderly. “I love you, Ashley.”
“I love you, too,” I say, then lightly slap his bare cheek. “And your sexy ass.”
He laughs and gives me one last kiss before we clean up, put ourselves together, and finally head for home.
A couple weeks later, I slowly cross Erik’s backyard, listening to him improvising on the piano. We started improvising a few months back, when on impulse I played a song that had been lilting around in my head. I’d done that several times on the piano at school, but only when I was alone. There always seems to be some sort of song in my head, my own “compositions”, Erik calls them. Maybe, maybe not. In any case, the first time I improvised in front of him, he’d been stunned to hear me come up with something so nice on the fly. He got really excited and started praising me in that crazy way that makes me feel uncomfortable, just like when he saw me sight read for the first time. I don’t know why that kind of thing makes me mad. I really don’t. But he backed off quickly.
Anyway, it’s not a big deal, because when he tried it, we discovered he wasn’t bad at improvising either. He seems to struggle with it on his own for some reason, and I hear that fumbling in the song he’s playing now, but when we play together, we somehow feed off of each other and it all seems to click.
Thinking about that connection we have, even when we’re both at the keyboard, only makes me dread what’s coming even more. I’ve had the sick tingling of it the whole way here.
I climb the steps to the patio, let myself in through the back door, and quietly close it behind me.
I come around the corner and set my bag on the big, overstuffed chair. I don’t sit down though. I just stand there, watching him, and feeling afraid.
He’s been lost in his music, and just now notices me. He glances at me, smiles, goes back to the keyboard, then does a double take on my face. He stops and slides off the bench. “What’s wrong?”
As he comes to me, I reach into my bag and withdraw the envelope that came in the mail today.
The Juilliard School of Music is in bold type in the return address. The envelope is unopened, and ominously thin.
I’m clearly not the only one who thinks things already don’t look good, because Erik stops when he sees it. “When did you get this?” he asks soberly.
“Today.”
He’s had his acceptance letter from Juilliard for a couple weeks now. Every day that’s gone by has made me more and more nervous, especially since his dad got the promotion and is set to leave for New York in another week. As we’ve waited for the word from Juilliard, Erik’s confidence in me hasn’t waned at all. This is the first I’ve seen him look scared about it. I’ve asked him before what will happen with us if I didn’t get in. He’s only ever said, “You will.”
My envelope from Juilliard is trembling slightly in my hand. I hold it out further. “You do it.”
He takes it without a word. I watch as he opens the envelope, withdraws the letter, and communicates with the expression on his face what I already suspected. My dream of going to Juilliard was just that: a dream. And it’s over.
All of a sudden, I can’t stay.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my bag and hitching it back on my shoulder.
“I don’t get it,” he says, still staring at the letter in disbelief. I feel a bittersweet wave of love for him. He really did believe I’d get in. God, how will I survive losing him?
“I’ll talk to you later,” I say quietly, giving him a peck on the cheek.
“You’re going?”
I nod and turn away from him, heading for the back door.
“Ashley, wait,” he says, following me.
“Erik, I just want to be alone, okay?” I say, opening the door.
“But—”
Still standing in the doorway, I face him briefly. “Please,” I say. “Stay here.”
He blinks at me, giving me a pained expression.
That’s the moment my heart starts to break wide open. I can’t stand it. I turn away and cross his yard alone. I feel him watching me, but I don’t look back. I manage to hold in the tears until I get to the Greenbelt, and then it’s all over. I don’t want to cry here either—I’m bound to encounter other people between here and home—but I can’t help it.
I’m not going to Juilliard. I can’t believe I ever seriously thought I had a chance anyway. Who was I kidding? Kids there have years and years of training and experience, while I’ve been fumbling around just trying to catch up. Why did I let Erik convince me I had a chance? The person who’s in love with you doesn’t exactly have the most unbiased opinion.
The thought of Erik being in love with me only gets me crying harder. A jogger up ahead is drawing near, so I furiously brush my tears away and try to look normal. But my heart aches so much I think it’s literally going to break. Who knew the expression of a broken heart wasn’t just an exaggeration?
Erik loves me. I know this. But there’s no way he’s passing up Juilliard. Even if he wanted to (would he want to?), his parents would never allow it, not with everything Juilliard has to offer, being right there in the heart of New York City. The decisi
on was made the second he got his acceptance letter. The fact that his parents are moving there only sweetened the deal.
Knowing I’d gotten in to Hartman, his mom even said right in front of me, “Juilliard is your future, Erik. Your father and I won’t pay a dime for you to go anywhere else.”
Maybe she’s not so oblivious to us after all, if she felt she had to make a threat like that.
My phone dings and I pull it out of my pocket.
Erik: Are you mad at me?
Me: No.
I just need to be alone. I can’t talk to him right now. I turn off my phone and put it back.
God. What am I going to do now?
When I break the news to my parents, I can only stand so much of their efforts to cheer me up before I head to my room. I really don’t want to hear my dad talking about what an accomplishment it was to get into Hartman. I don’t want to hear my mom saying maybe Erik and I can wait for each other. I don’t want to hear any of it, because it’s all bullshit.
All of it.
I don’t know if I can bring myself to go to Hartman. I’d only get there and fumble around and they’d realize letting me in was a mistake. How am I supposed to keep up with the other students at a school like that? It’s a joke. I’d be better off at BSU and it’d be less expensive too. And since Erik is going to be at Juilliard where he belongs anyway, what difference does it make where I end up?
I’m lying on my bed, fully dressed, watching the room get dark as the sun sets. It suits my mood just fine. My mind is swirling with darkness. I’ve never been in such a black, hopeless state before, and I feel it swallowing me whole.
I’m too despondent to stop it.
Until one thought comes out of nowhere. It hits me with such sharpness that I suck in a breath and hold it.
I stare wide-eyed at the ceiling, my blood pounding through my entire body.
Filled with dread, I slowly sit up and open my nightstand drawer.
I have a horrible feeling things are about to get much, much worse.
Chapter 9
It’s past eleven-thirty when there’s a soft knock on my window. Even though Erik’s never come to my window before, I know it’s him. I get up off my bed, where I’ve been lying fully dressed for some time now, and pull back the drapes to reveal his face.
God, I don’t know if I’m ready for this.
I open the window and he comes right in, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Why haven’t you answered my texts?” he asks.
“I turned off my phone.”
He looks pretty worn, but he’s also smiling and his eyes are lit up in a way I can’t explain. Before I even have a chance to wonder what’s going on, he says, “I just had it out with my parents. I told them I’m going to Hartman.”
I blink at him. “You... what?”
He smiles and nods and brings me into his arms, holding me tightly. I’m swirling with his news. Hell, I’ve been swirling with news all day. “They agreed to that?”
“I’m an adult,” he says firmly. His voice carries a hint of the rebellious tone I can imagine he used with his parents. Honestly, I can’t imagine standing up to either one of them. “I can go where I want,” he continues. “I don’t care if they won’t pay for it. I’m so sick of them trying to control me with money, anyway.”
My cheek is against his chest and I’m in his arms, but none of that is enough to chase away the horrible fear that’s so big inside me. “Why are you doing this?” I ask stupidly. As if I don’t know. But... I know something he doesn’t.
He pulls back to look at me, holding me by both shoulders. “For you, silly,” he says with a smile, but he frowns when he sees my face. “Don’t you... want us to be together?”
I sigh. “Erik...” I hate the look of confusion and fear I see on his face. He thinks I’m going to reject him. He has no idea how much worse it is.
I push through my hesitancy and spit it out: “I’m pregnant.”
And there it is. I watch as the cold fear I’ve been feeling for the past hour spreads over his face. He slowly drops his hands.
With that one movement, it seems he’s telling me the one thing I fear the most: I’m in this on my own.
“What?” he says. “Are you sure?”
I fold my arms in front of my chest and retreat to my nightstand. I open the drawer where I hid a pregnancy test months ago. I’d had a scare then too, which turned out to be nothing. The drug store had a sale on the double pack of test kits. Since it was cheaper than buying just one, I went ahead and got the package of two. The unused one had been buried deep in my drawer, forgotten until earlier this evening when I’d been lying on my bed and suddenly realized how far past my cycle I was. I guess I’d been too worried about waiting for the goddamned letter from Juilliard to pay much attention.
The test stick is resting on the opened package inside the drawer. I take it out and hand it to him. I have to reach, because I don’t want to get too close to him. This is the kind of thing that makes boys cut and run, isn’t it? Especially rich boys with parents who’ve warned him about slumming with a girl like me. They probably think I’m just the type to go and get knocked up.
And guess what? They’re right. The fact that I can’t really play the piano after all is irrelevant. Whether I keep the baby or give it up for adoption, I can’t very well be giving birth in the middle of my first year of college, can I?
I won’t even consider abortion, and already know I will hate Erik forever if he suggests it.
He takes the stick and looks down at the double pink lines. His hands are shaking. “Do two lines mean...” He doesn’t finish.
I exhale sharply and take the package out of the drawer, flipping it over so he can see for himself.
Two lines mean I’m fucked.
Holding both the test and the empty box, he stumbles over to the bed and sits down heavily. I step back, giving him space.
I didn’t expect to feel like this with him here. I didn’t expect to feel so alone in this, and so scared of his reaction. But there it is.
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, then looks up at me. “What do you want to do?”
“What do I want to do?” I say, more harshly than I meant to. “Glad to know you think this is my problem.”
“No!” He jumps to his feet and comes toward me but I step back, holding up one hand. He stops, glancing at my raised hand, then looks at me earnestly. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he says. “I just... wanted to know what you want to do. I mean, are you wanting to... keep it or—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to get an abortion!” I say loudly.
He startles and holds up his hands. “I wasn’t—”
But I can’t think straight. My blood is pulsing through my body and rushing through my ears. I feel my entire future falling away from me. The piano. Erik. Everything. Now that he’s here, I can’t bear the thought of hearing him say I’m on my own. “I’m not getting a fucking abortion,” I spit. “You don’t get off that easy.”
“Hey!” he says, his voice getting sharp now, too. “I didn’t say—”
My bedroom door flies open. Erik throws everything in the drawer and closes it quickly and we turn to see my mom standing there.
“What’s going on?” she asks, with furrowed brows and her mom voice. “Erik, what are you doing here?”
“He was just leaving,” I say, without looking at him.
“Ashley,” he says, softer now but still firm, “we need to talk about this.”
“Later,” I say. I can’t handle this. I can’t handle any of this. I want to throw myself in my mother’s arms like the child I apparently still am and have her fix everything for me. God, how could I let this happen?
“Talk about what?” my mother asks.
My dad appears in the hallway behind her. “Erik? When did you get here?”
I sit at the foot of my bed, crossing my arms and keeping my head turned away from him. I need him to leave, and I need my dad to go
away. I just need my mom.
And that’s exactly what happens. Erik apologizes and excuses himself and leaves in a rush, this time out the front door. My mom softly says to my dad, “Let me talk to her,” and he goes away too. When she comes in and closes the door behind her, my hands fly to my face and I start to cry.
God, how could I be a mother? I’m still a kid myself.
My mom doesn’t come to me right away though. She hovers at the door just for a moment, then she goes to my nightstand drawer. I don’t try to stop her. I hear the drawer open, and she exhales.
“Oh, Ashley.”
“I’m sorry mom,” I cry into my hands. “I’m sorry.”
She drops on the bed next to me, pulls me into her arms, and I sob helplessly on her chest.
A good hour later, my mom finally leaves my room. We’ve both agreed she’ll tell my dad herself. I lay on my bed, curled on my side, dreading things once more. What’s going to happen to me?
It isn’t long when I hear raised voices. I pinch my eyes closed and press my closed fists against my forehead. I hear a sharp knock on our front door and my heart freezes. Oh god, please don’t let that be Erik. Not now.
But the new voice I hear coming from the living room doesn’t belong to Erik. I scramble off my bed and hurry down the hallway toward the angry male voices talking over one another. I go into the living room to see Erik’s dad facing off against mine and looking larger than ever. My mother is there too, looking like she’s trying to diffuse things.
“You don’t get to come into my house and demand things,” my father is saying.
“What you do with your daughter is your business,” Erik’s dad says in that big voice of his, “but what I do with my son is mine. He has a future and I’m not going to let this ruin it.”
“Oh, my daughter doesn’t have a future?”
