Spider

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  My dick’s harder than I can ever remember, and all I want to do is kiss her again.

  She moves closer to me, her tits pressing against my chest. My hand slips down to her neck and I graze the soft skin there, caressing her as I picture my lips sucking on her throat. I imagine my tongue playing with her nipples. Fuck. I want her.

  “I want you,” I say, my voice heavy with lust.

  “Kiss me again,” she says as I gaze into her eyes.

  Damn. There’s something about her—

  A pocket of turbulence shakes the plane out of nowhere, and several passengers gasp and cry out.

  I forget about kissing as fear flickers over her face and she clutches her seat once again. “Was that normal?”

  “Just turbulence. The pilot will probably take us higher to get out of it,” I say as the jarring continues.

  Ding! The light to put on our seat belts comes on.

  She closes her eyes, her voice high and reedy. “We’re going to crash, aren’t we? We’re going to die.”

  “Hey.” I grab her hand and lace our fingers together, wanting to comfort her. “It’s going to be fine, I promise.”

  She looks down at our hands in surprise just as another bump sends a passenger stumbling on his way back from the bathroom.

  She turns green as she folds herself into my chest. I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Rose.”

  When I get scared, my throat gets dry, so I look around for a flight attendant to get her some water. However, they’ve disappeared, probably buckling themselves in. I unclip my seat belt even though I’m not supposed to and stand to dig a bottle of water from my backpack, hanging on to the overhead so I don’t fall. Once I find it, I quickly sit back down and hand it over to her.

  “Thousands of planes take off and land every day,” I say as she turns the bottle up.

  “You’re a musician, not an aerospace engineer.” Her voice is a bit snappy.

  I get it—she’s terrified.

  I understand that. I have my own hang-ups: I don’t let people close to me.

  “I happen to not like flying either. I just hide it very well.” I take her hand again, intertwining our fingers.

  She peeks over at me. “Really?”

  I nod. “You know what else I’m scared of? Opening shower curtains in every single hotel I stay in. I’m convinced there’s going to be a knife-wielding psycho who looks like Dolly Parton waiting for me. Maybe it’s the giant boobs, maybe it’s the wig, but something about her scares me. Also, roaches with wings. I know I’m a grown man, but what if I try to kill the bugger and miss and then it comes back with all its friends at night and then crawls in my ear and messes with my brain?”

  She smiles, just a hint. “Your imagination is limitless.”

  “Don’t even get me started on zombies. I mean, what the hell is up with Americans and scary shows? Don’t they know that someday scientists are going to reanimate people, and then what are we going to do? Send those walking skeletons to Mars?”

  “I love The Walking Dead,” she murmurs.

  “You’re a zombie-lover, just perfect.”

  “If we crash, let’s come back as zombies.”

  “As long as we can be together, it’s on, love.” I raise a brow and watch as a slow blush starts at her neck and works its way up her face.

  Something shifts between us, becoming softer and more intimate—even more so than the kiss. It feels fucking good. Relaxing for the first time in what seems like weeks of being on the road and doing shows, I lean my head back against the seat and stare at her, picking her features apart and trying to figure out which part I like the most.

  Has to be the lips.

  Or the red highlights in her hair.

  No, it’s definitely the way she looks at me with her eyes up and her chin slightly down, as if she doesn’t quite know what to make of me.

  “The turbulence stopped,” she says, her eyes brightening as she straightens in her seat and looks around the cabin.

  I nod. “It stopped a few minutes ago while we were talking.”

  “Thank you for distracting me.” She looks at the spider tattoo on my neck. “You have to tell me . . . how did you get a name like Spider?”

  Her question sends me spinning in a whole new direction, careening toward darkness, but I push it back and focus on a happy memory. “It was my twin sister’s name for me. Believe it or not, my natural hair color is almost black, and when I was young, I was super skinny with long legs and arms, plus I loved to climb everything. I’d do this thing where I’d hide and jump out at her. Once I sat on the top shelf of her bedroom closet for two hours waiting for her to get home from a play date. She opened the door and—boom—I popped down and landed right at her feet.” I remember Cate’s angry face and how she chased me out of her room. “She said I looked like a spider. The next morning, she called me Spider to make me mad, but I liked it, and it just kinda stuck.” I pause, staring down at our hands. “She died when we were thirteen.”

  Her face falls. “God, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “It’s not something I talk about.”

  She nods, her face earnest. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

  I nod and look away. There’s no way in hell I can tell her the truth—that I’m the reason my sister is gone.

  After talking about movies and books for almost two hours, Rose drifts off to sleep around hour three of the flight. I’m disappointed to not have her attention, but I know she’s tired from her late night and then being scared of flying. As for me, I’m antsy the closer we get to Dallas and my father. I need a hit of something . . . anything.

  Heidi walks by a few times, her eyes eating me up like I’m her last meal. I mostly ignore her, except to order a double shot of tequila. She’s like the usual girls I see at shows . . . flirty and ready for anything. I fuck a lot of them. It’s what I do.

  But Rose . . . she’s different.

  Heidi returns with my drink and then leans down and whispers in my ear, “Wanna meet me in the bathroom at the back of the plane? You go in first, and I’ll follow.”

  My gut says hell no, don’t do it, but my brain . . . it needs something to shut it up.

  She straightens up and bats her lashes at me. “Five minutes?”

  I flick my eyes down to Rose and pause for a second, but then I turn back to Heidi and give her a short nod.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m feeling warm from the alcohol, but I still haven’t left my seat.

  Heidi walks by me again and sends me a lingering look. Fuck me, please, her eyes say.

  I don’t want her, not really. I want oblivion, yes, but that’s different.

  I want to stay right here with Rose.

  And that’s a huge fucking mistake.

  Rule #1: Don’t get your heart involved.

  Why bother when people always leave anyway?

  And with that thought in mind, I unbuckle and walk to the back.

  I ease into the cramped, antiseptic-smelling bathroom and open the skull face on my sterling silver ring, revealing the white powder inside. I tap out a bump on the side of my hand and sniff it, the burn hitting me hard.

  Yeah.

  That’s it.

  Mixed with the tequila . . . everything’s gonna be okay.

  I hear the knock at the door and open it. She slithers in, smelling like a perfume counter at the mall and nothing like honey and vanilla. I don’t let our eyes meet, and I don’t kiss her on the mouth.

  But something doesn’t feel right.

  She must sense my hesitation because she unsnaps my jeans in a rush, whispering where to put my arms and legs to maximize the space. It only takes six minutes, tops, both of us reaching a new kind of high at thirty thousand feet. It fills my emptiness for a few moments, makes me forget there’s a nice girl out there sitting in the seat next to mine, and for a moment, I almost let her in.

  I finish and walk out of the toilet. She follows.

  I w
on’t recall her name. I never want to.

  Rose

  THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT FLOUNCES PAST me with a gloating expression on her face, and I’m ready to pluck every hair out of her head. My hands clench around my seat.

  How could he be with her? After kissing me?

  Maybe I’m wrong.

  Maybe they just went to talk.

  Yeah right, Rose. Don’t be an idiot.

  An image of him with her dances around in my head as anger churns in my gut.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” he calls out exuberantly as he slides back into his seat and buckles back up. “Looks like we’re about to descend.” I notice there’s a flush to his face as he drums his fingers on his knees erratically. “You missed the fellow in 13B who snored so loud I thought I might have to stuff a sock down his throat. Crazy.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you okay?” he asks, spearing me with a look before dropping my gaze.

  I narrow my eyes, studying him. “Are you?”

  His eyes bounce back to mine. “I’m fine. More than fine. I’m stoked and ready to deal with Dallas.”

  I don’t know what that means, and I don’t ask. I’m too mad to care what he’s going to be doing in Dallas. I hope I never see him again.

  “How was Heidi?” I say, keeping my face carefully composed even though I want to smack him.

  He pales and opens his mouth to say something, but then compresses his lips and looks down at his hands. His index finger traces the lines of the LOST tattoo.

  “Did you really have sex with her?” I was holding out hope that I was wrong.

  He nods.

  Disappointment slams into my chest, hurting more than it should have for a guy that I just met. “You’re an asshole.”

  He swallows, talking fast. “I know, but nothing was going to happen between us. You’re too nice for me and obviously we’ll never see each other again, and trust me, if we had hooked up, I wouldn’t have called you the next day and asked you out on a date. I don’t do that—ever.”

  “No need to explain to me. I’m not jealous,” I snap. “I feel sorry for you.” I shove his jacket at him.

  He puts it on slowly, his eyes still studying me, and even though I refuse to look back, my entire body feels the intensity of his gaze, as if I were under a microscope.

  “Rose, look, it didn’t mean anything. Sex never means anything with me.”

  “Nice to know you’re such a slut.” I ball my fists up.

  Why did I let him affect me like this?

  Because you’d liked him.

  In the periphery of my gaze, I see him rub his face, his hands scrubbing at the dark shadow on his face.

  “I didn’t even kiss her—I don’t ever kiss them.” He doesn’t say the words to my face, but rather at the seat in front of him.

  I ignore him and stare out the window.

  The plane begins its descent. Normally I’d be clinging to the seat, my heart in my throat, but I’m too revved up.

  “I always screw shit up,” he mutters.

  We come to a halt on the landing strip and he shoots up as soon as we can, making his way to Heidi, who hands him his guitar and a piece of paper.

  Probably with her phone number on it.

  I hate to break it to her, but he won’t be calling.

  He sends a look back over his shoulder at me and my eyes blaze at him, even as my throat tightens.

  I feel stupid.

  Naïve.

  At the exit, he turns around one more time, and his eyes meet mine as he tosses a tentative hand up as if to say goodbye.

  I give him a one-finger salute.

  He disappears from my view just as my phone buzzes with a text from Anne.

  Robert and I are waiting for you downstairs next to baggage claim. We have a surprise for you. ☺ Love you bunches! Anne

  Pushing down my anger at Spider, I groan. I hate Anne’s surprises. Last year it was a drive to Tin Town to see my old house and neighborhood. She said it was because she wanted me to see how far I’ve come, but mostly I just felt sick, remembering Lyle and Mama. I hate Tin Town and what it took from me, yet it’s who I am, and somehow I don’t think I can ever outrun that.

  What’s going on? I respond.

  You get to meet your new stepbrother today.

  Oh. I frown, already in a shit mood. I can’t recall Anne even telling me Robert Wainwright had a son.

  But then I didn’t know much about Robert at all. He and Anne are newly married and just back from their honeymoon.

  Another text comes in but I don’t check it because I’m too busy exiting the plane. I make a stop at the restroom to freshen up and change clothes before Anne sees me in this dress, which I know she won’t approve of. I’m not a people pleaser, but I do try to keep things easy between us. How could I not? For the past four and a half years, she’s taken care of me. She took me out of a foster system that was doing me no favors. In fact, the last home I lived in before Anne, I had to fight to keep one of the older boys from crawling in my bed at night. I was later removed from that house for kicking his teeth in. Trust me, Anne has her quirks, but without her, I never would have gotten to go to a private school or have nice clothes.

  She wants a perfect little Highland Park girl and I do my best.

  Except for secretly applying to NYU.

  And getting my butterfly tattoo in New York.

  Feeling excited, I look in the mirror and tug down the back of my dress at my neck to see how it’s doing. Still red and sore, the hand-sized butterfly sits about three inches below my nape, and I know Anne is eventually going to see it, but I don’t care. I’m in love with it because it reminds me of the beautiful boy who came into my life briefly when I was eleven. He flitted in and gave me hope. His kindness meant something and seeing it is a reminder.

  Inside a stall, I take off my dress and slip on a pair of brown leggings and a modest, high-neck, maroon-colored sweater Anne bought for me. I pull out a pair of taupe booties and push them on my feet. After I dress, I remove the red lipstick and apply pink instead. I brush on a light coat of mascara, powder the sheen off my nose, and brush out my long hair until it shines.

  After stuffing the dress and Converse into my backpack, I make my way to baggage claim, craning my neck to find Anne’s blonde hair.

  Because Robert is tall and dressed conspicuously in an expensive suit, I find him immediately and see Anne behind him. Dressed conservatively in a knee-length pencil skirt and heels with impeccable makeup, she has her attention on Robert and the person he’s talking to—a tall guy in a gray leather jacket.

  Whatttt?

  I stop breathing as realization dawns.

  Robert’s English. Spider’s English.

  No.

  No way in hell.

  My eyes bounce back and forth between Robert and Spider as they stand there talking.

  They’re nothing alike.

  They’re like night and day, fire and ice.

  Maybe they’re just chatting, old buddies who realized they were from the same country.

  My phone pings again and I pull it out to see two texts from Anne. The first one was sent while I was still on the plane but was too busy to get.

  Your stepbrother was on the plane.

  And there it is . . . confirmed.

  The next one is Where are you?

  She must have just sent it.

  I look back up to watch as Anne turns to Spider and hugs him. It doesn’t take a person like me who reads others well to see that she’s uncomfortable with him right away. The truth is in her stiff countenance and the way she keeps throwing glances Robert’s way. Robert moves to stand next to her as both of them talk to Spider. I don’t miss that his dad’s eyes are narrowed on him, raking over him, as if searching for something.

  Spider hasn’t seen me yet, and I watch as he pushes back hair that has fallen into his face, tugging on the ends as if he’s anxious. I notice the vulnerable look to his shoulders as he slumps down to fi
ddle with his guitar. A small part of me forgets my anger and wonders what’s going on with him and his dad.

  I cling to my pillow and pretend it’s a wall between Spider and myself as I march over to where they stand. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure everyone in the vicinity can hear it. I’m nervous and angry yet strangely excited about seeing Spider again.

  “Clarence has been on the road for the past few months,” Robert’s telling Anne as I approach.

  “Can’t you call me Spider like everyone else?” Spider says, a tightness to his face.

  Robert ignores him, his eyes going over Spider’s shoulder to me. He motions for him to be quiet. “Hang on, there’s Rose,” I hear him say.

  Anne waves and then grabs my hand as I reach them. She pulls me in for a light cheek kiss, the scent of her perfume familiar and comforting even though we aren’t terribly close. I smile broadly at her as she asks how I am and how the flight was. I reply normally. No way am I going to let on anything about Spider. I can already sense that things are iffy between him and his dad, and no matter his faults, I don’t want to add to their particular family drama.

  I watch out of my peripheral vision as Spider slowly turns to face me.

  Surprise is on his face, more so as his eyes take in the change of clothing and the subdued lipstick.

  Robert, who I only met a few months ago when Anne announced she was pregnant, smiles at me. We’re still feeling each other out, but my initial impression of him is that he’s a lot like Anne . . . conservative and a bit unemotional.

  He gestures to Spider. “Clarence, I’d like for you to meet Rose, your new stepsister.”

  Spider grasps my hand, and a current zips between us. I recall that kiss on the plane even though I don’t want to.

  Both of us just stand there.

  I think he’s reeling.

  I know I am.

  I tug my hand away, realizing we’ve been holding hands too long for it to be normal.

  “She’s seventeen,” Robert says carefully in his clipped tones, his eyes going from me to Spider.

  A flash of surprise crosses Spider’s face before he quickly covers it. “Is that right? I thought you were . . . older,” he says, a bit of an accusation in his tone.