All amusement vanishes from his lips as his mouth turns into a straight line. He raises a bushy brow, causing a crease to form on his forehead. He eyes me carefully, as if his words are going to send me running to the hills. Based on my track record, they just might. That seems to be my MO where he’s concerned.
“Do you want the full-truth or the half-truth?”
“Both,” I force out, unsure of whether I want to know what the full-truth consists of.
As soon as the word flies out of my mouth, Darren stands up and walks over to my side of the table. A shiver runs down my spine when he drums his fingers on my shoulder. They brush the delicate skin on my neck as he parts my hair to the side, leaving the nape of my neck exposed to his hungry gaze.
My head lolls back, and I bite back a moan when he presses his lips to the apex of the flesh where my shoulder and neck meet. He slowly trails kisses up my neck, the mere contact singeing my skin. My heart beats faster with each lingering peck.
“The half-truth is I want our friendship back. You were my best mate at some point. The one person I trusted more than anybody. The one shoulder I could always lean on. The only woman who could always make me laugh, even on my worst day. I miss that. And I want that again.”
Even though his words are muffled, I can still feel the weight of their sincerity squeezing my chest as he whispers them to my neck.
“And, the full-truth?” I ask breathily, my mind still swirling from this connection. Having his lips on me again feels so right, even though I know it’s wrong. I should stop this, cease all physical contact, but my body won’t let me.
“I want so much more than just friendship with you, Alyssa. I want a fresh start. A second chance to be with you. To try all over again. I know you’re scared, and quite honestly, I’m fucking terrified too. But I have no doubt that there’s no other woman like you, my Cherub.”
I hum as he sucks on the spot right under my chin, making it very difficult to string the jumbled-up words bouncing in my brain together to make a sentence.
“Darren, I—”
“Shhh,” he presses a finger to my lips, silencing me. “Please, don’t make your decision now. Spend some time thinking about it. When you have an answer, come find me. Gray house on Sand Dollar Road. Goodnight, Cherub.”
With those parting words, he swipes the powdered donut off the table, and exits the premises, leaving me with a lot more questions than answers. Oh, and a newly awakened libido.
Chapter Fourteen
Aly
My hands dance across the keys as I attempt to type up my course syllabus. I should have finished this hours ago, but I've been distracted lately. I'm trying my best to keep my mind focused on the historical past rather than my own personal past. And failing miserably at that, I might add. I can't help it. My mind is fixated on my encounter with Darren last night.
Just one swift glance at him and I'm remembering how it used to be. I brush my fingertips against my lips as the phantom feeling of our last kiss strikes me. I can still taste him on my tongue. Damn, he was delicious. I bet he still is.
As I stare at the blinking cursor, I realize that I've only written about three paragraphs so far—definitely not long enough for a course syllabus. Time to buckle down and give myself another self-pep-talk. Dammit, focus, Aly! You're supposed to have this syllabus done and in Dean Chambers' inbox in two days. You don't have time to daydream about your ex-boyfriend. You left him, remember? He is your ex for a reason. In the end, he wasn't the man you fell in love with. The one to whom you gave your heart, amongst other things. It's over. Hell, it's been over for half a fucking decade. Time to move on with your life. A life that doesn't include Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, Darren Gracen.
Turns out, the pep-talk was exactly what I needed. By the end of the hour, my syllabus is completed and sent off to Dean Chambers via email. In all honesty, though, it was just a temporary fix to my problem. Now that my task of the day is complete, the floodgates open, allowing the memories of Darren I locked away to swarm me. My first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first time. He was a part of all of it.
"God, I loved him," I whisper under my breath to no one in particular.
"Loved who?" My mom asks, brewing herself a pot of coffee. As usual, she has impeccable timing. It's been too long since I've lived with her, making it easy to forget about her hawk-like hearing.
There's no point in lying to her for two reasons. One, she will see right through it with her lie-ray vision. And two, Ms. Abney probably is going to have it plastered on the front page of the Gazette if it's not already.
I gather my hair and fasten it into a braid. My mom waits patiently for my response as she sips her coffee. Her beady eyes watch me over the brim of her mug.
"Darren," I croak out, surprised by how difficult it is to say his name. What the hell is that all about? My mother's eyes widen with interest as his name reverberates around us.
"Is that so? What made you say the D-word?"
I can't help but smile, knowing that my mother still refuses to say his name. This is not because she didn't like him. Quite the contrary actually. She loved him deeply. To be fair, though, his accent probably aided with that. By not speaking his name, my mother is still respecting my wish never to say his name in my presence. Hearing it was hard, especially in the first few months after I ended things and the whole town turned on me, taking his side with their blue ribbons.
I turn my head to the left, averting my gaze. I can't look at her and say this with a straight face, knowing she is going to lose her shit. "Because I talked to him last night.”
"You what?" Her shriek bounces off the kitchen walls.
My mother becomes a game of twenty questions, trying to pry more information out of me. When? Where? How? How did you feel? What does he look like? What does he do? She asks every question you can think of…and more. To answer her, I rehash the whole story, from the initial collision to the marathon runner, then the grocery conundrum, ending with the town meeting surprise talk.
She joins me at the kitchen table, grasping my hands in hers as she sits down. She cocks her head, a worrisome expression etched in her features. "What are you thinking?"
I don't know. That's the truth. I have a basket full of questions rattling in my brain. All of which, I don't have answers to. What should I do? Do I want to give us another chance? Can I? Does he still love me? And most importantly, do I still love him?
There are just too many questions, and I need answers. ASAP!
Abruptly, I scoot out my chair and stand up. "I've got to go, Mom."
I'm already halfway to the front door when she hollers at me. "Go where?"
"To get answers!"
* * *
It takes me about twenty minutes to arrive at his front door. It's a decent-sized house. Probably a one-bedroom by the looks of it. It's painted a cool gray color that probably has some kickass name like storm, shadow, or wolf. Definitely all masculine sounding names, perfect for a bachelor pad…God willing.
My hands start to tremble as I force my legs to wander to the front door. It's not a mahogany wood like my brother’s house. It has more of a fiberglass look—much more suited to Darren's style. Or at least, it used to be.
It's difficult to remember that I don't know him as well as I used to, that is…if I still know him at all. He could be an entirely different person. He might not like the same things. Such as: the same food, TV shows, books, movies, and women. A shiver runs down my spine at that thought. What if he regrets what happened last night? What if it was some kind of decision led by his dick?
I muster up enough strength to get my hands to stop shaking just long enough for me to knock on his front door once. Luckily, that's all it takes for it to swing open a few seconds later.
But it's not him on the other side of it. My head spins. My stomach starts to churn. My heart is pounding so rapidly, it hurts. If my mouth wasn't so dry, I'd likely vomit from the sight of her. That's right—her!
; Rather than him answering his own goddamn door, some woman did. This woman is wearing just an over-sized shirt. A man's shirt. Darren's shirt. It's a white T-shirt with a cow chewing grass centered on the front. Underneath the eating cow is the catchphrase Moo-chas Grass-ias. A wide-toothed grin is plastered on her face.
We women only wear an over-sized man's shirt for two reasons. One, when we want to be comfortable (usually when we are on our periods). Or when we've just had sex.
Based on the blissful glaze that afflicts her mocha-colored eyes, and the tousled hair that looks like it has been fisted in a thousand different ways, she is wearing it because of the latter reason. Which can only mean two things. He has a girlfriend, fuck buddy, or whatever she calls herself. And by the looks of it, he just fucked her brains out.
Chapter Fifteen
Aly
"Can I help you?" Cow Girl asks. One of her perfectly shaped brows arches upward in confusion.
Think fast, Aly. Come up with a believable excuse.
"Have you been saved by the Lord?" Seriously? That is the best I can come up with? I am so pathetic. Why didn't I just say I must be at the wrong house? Why did I have to throw religion into it? Stupid, spastic brain.
Cow Girl twirls a purple tipped strand of her hair around her finger. As she narrows her eyes at me, I smack my hands together in a praying motion and look up toward the sky. "He's watching us, you know."
I mentally facepalm myself for somehow managing to make this awkward situation worse. Cow Girl chuckles nervously. "I'm not interested. Thank you."
In the blink of an eye, the door is slammed in my face. Bitch! How could Darren be with such a—such a…I’ve got nothing. It was wrong for me to call her a bitch in my head anyway. I don't know her. Therefore, it would be wrong for me to judge her. Especially considering she is fucking the one guy I ever gave a damn about. The one guy I ever truly loved.
I bow my head and slouch my shoulders, wishing that the sky above would pour its thundering fury upon me. At least then, my appearance would match how I feel on the inside right now. Like total and complete crap. This frickin' sucks, I mean blows—dammit! Is there not a word I can use for how bad something is that doesn't make me think of Cow Girl giving Darren a blowjob? Shitty—there's the word. This is shitty.
I practically drag my way through town and back to my mother's house. People were staring, but frankly, I don't give a shit. Let them stare. If only he could've just rejected me. That wouldn't have made me feel this awful. It would have hurt, yes. But not like this. This is ten times worse than being rejected.
When I reach the front door, I don't want to open it. I need a minute or two to compose myself before I step inside. If not, I'll get the whole damn motherly inquisition; it's like the Spanish Inquisition, just without all the bloodshed. You know I'm upset when a history reference doesn't cheer me up.
I lean forward, resting my forehead against the front door, and sigh. It feels as if I've been sucker-punched in the gut. I keep trying to get my mind off it, but I can't. When I close my eyes, I see her. With her purple-dyed tips and full-lips. Even behind the baggy shirt, I could tell she's got a nice rack on her. Probably a few cup sizes larger than mine. I'm a nice and perky B, but she is easily a C. Maybe even a D since I saw them through all that baggage.
"Did I hear a knock?" I hear my mother's muffled voice through the door, but I'm too late. She opens the door. You know, the one that was propping me up. Yeah, that door.
Next thing I know, my body is tumbling toward the ground…again. I reach out my hands to break the fall. SMACK! They collide against the wooden floor of the foyer hard, saving me from the mother of all faceplants. The kind that would surely have sent me packing to the emergency room with a broken nose and two black eyes. My hands throb from the pain, but I choose to ignore it as I prop myself up on my knees.
"Oh, no! Aly, are you alright?" My mother kneels by my side to join me on the floor.
I nod. "I'm alright, Mom. Just a little banged up."
“But why did you—"
"I don't want to talk about it," I snap, cutting her off.
Her face drops. Ugh! I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, but I just want to be left alone for a bit. I release a long exhale before I throw my arms around her, enveloping her in my embrace. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just been a stressful morning. I'm going to get changed and go for a walk on the beach."
She rubs her hand against my back, and it's as if I'm teleported back in time. As if I'm a little girl hiding out in her room with tear-stained cheeks because Mommy and Daddy were fighting again. This is exactly how she used to comfort me back then. Well, the hug, the back pat, and the phrase: Mommy's got you; everything will be alright.
As if on cue, my mother leans in to whisper in my ear. "Mommy's got you; everything will be alright."
And dammit if that didn't make me feel better. I'm not saying it solved any of my problems, but it did make me feel a little bit better. So, it was effective in my book. My mom still has the magic touch. Maybe she has more than four superpowers after all.
* * *
Seagulls squawk overhead as I let the sand wedge itself between my toes. Living in New York, it has been too damn long since I've been to a beach. It's easy to forget just how relaxing they are. Well, how relaxing they can be as long as you don't think about sunburns, sharks, other ocean critters, crabs, sand fleas, sand up your hoo-ha…the list goes on and on.
I try not to dwell on that list now. Usually, I do. But I refuse to this time. Nay, I want to enjoy myself and just relax for once. Anybody who ever over-thinks, has an overactive imagination, or always thinks of the worst possible scenario can relate to my situation. I’m unfortunately afflicted with all three of those curses. If only I could turn off my brain for an hour—and you know, not die—then I would finally know what it feels like to be completely relaxed. But since I can't, I'll settle for a temporary state of denial, in which I deny that any of those horrible things exist in the world and trick my brain into relaxing. It works…three times out of ten.
Lucky for me, this seems to be one of those times. I close my eyes and suck in the salty air. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I repeat this process four more times before I feel the tension release from my neck and shoulders. I have entered the delusional state of denial. And I’m finally starting to relax.
I let my eyes flutter open to take in the sight of the majestic sea. The foamy waves crash against the shore and collide with my feet. The ocean is cold today, but I don't mind. I'm so relaxed I might just do something I never do, even in this state of mind. I am going to swim in the ocean.
I know what you're thinking. How could you live in a town that's so close to the beach and never go swimming in the ocean? And the answer is simple. Shark. Week. I have watched too many Shark Weeks on Discovery Channel to ever be comfortable swimming in the ocean again. Ignorance is bliss, my friends. I am, unfortunately, not ignorant enough when it comes to the ocean. If anything touches my leg, anything at all, I will think it's a shark feasting on my leg for his afternoon snack. It can literally be anything: seaweed, a fish, even a lost pair of sunglasses. It doesn't matter.
One time, back in the day when they made those masks for boys that had a shark fin on the top of them, Ethan scared the living shit out of me. I swear, I pissed myself in the Atlantic Ocean. To make a long story short, he had that special shark fin mask—thank you to whatever genius thought of that brilliant invention. The water was murky from the rainstorm we had the day before, and visibility was worse than usual. I was in the ocean looking for seashells to give my mommy, like little girls like to do when a shark fin popped up and started circling around me. I screamed bloody murder, threw all my beautiful shells at it, and ran like hell. I only found out a couple of years ago that it was my twin brother, Ethan, playing a prank on me. To think of how many people I've told that close-encounter shark story to over the years, it makes me feel like a gullible imbecile. After that story, that migh
t actually have some truth to it—the gullible part, not the imbecile part.
Throwing caution to the wind, I start inching deeper into the water. From full-ankle to calf, then knee, finally stopping at my waist. What can I say? I'm still not ignorant nor relaxed enough to submerge myself all the way. I will stay waist-deep, thank you very much.
This isn't so bad. Maybe I am a bit paranoid about the ocean. Why would a shark want to bite me anyway? I've got no meat on my bones, or so my mother would say. Besides, Cow Girl has more curves than I do anyway. Not to mention two meaty nuggets on her chest. If a shark should bite anyone, it should be her. Is that bad of me to say? Well, who gives a flying rat's ass? I am in my relaxed state of mind. Nothing I say, or in this case think, can or will be counted against me while I'm relaxing.
I close my eyes yet again and start to sway back and forth. The saltwater sloshes around me, creating ripples amongst the foamy waves. The sounds of the waves mixed with the loud-beaked seagulls is the perfect mixtape for my relaxation time.
OUCH! Fuck, fuck, fuck! A shark just bit my left asscheek! I am asscheekless. I knew I shouldn't have gone in the ocean. Now, I will never be able to sit again. What guy wants to tap a girl with half an ass? I can hear it now. Oh, baby, I can't wait to turn you around and tap that sweet little…oh, my God, where the fuck is your ass? My life is ruined. If I don't die here, my life is over anyway. I will henceforth be known as Half-Ass Girl. That is the name that will be engraved on my tombstone when I die from the embarrassment or the loss of blood from missing half my ass.
I open my eyes and scan the water, relieved not to see any pools of red blood around me. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a shark bite, but my ass still burns like Hell. My heart beats faster as I tread my way onshore. When my feet hit the sand, I spot a nearby boulder to lean against and saunter my way over there.
Relapse Page 9
