by Jess Bentley
She bites her lips together and nods, closing her eyes. I feel her hips trembling underneath me.
“That's it, Jordan,” I whisper, letting my tongue dart against the velvety skin of her earlobe. “Just like that.”
The plane lurches again, and I insert one finger inside her, flicking gently at the tip to caress her G spot. As the plane rolls and trembles, I fuck her with my middle finger, rolling my thumb over her clit until she shakes beneath me, harder than the plane.
She's not quiet when she comes, but she's quiet enough. I'm sure the man behind us can hear her desperate, nearly muted cries, but I don't care. She comes against my hand in a shattering, clenching surge, wetting my palm beautifully.
“You see?” I ask her as I withdraw my hand. I run my sticky thumb over her lower lip and her tongue slides out tentatively to taste herself. “I knew you could do it.”
Sighing deeply, I watch her as her eyes begin to close. The thick, humming air of the plane and the bliss of her orgasm are enough to tip her over the edge into sleep. For long minutes I just watch her, thinking how lovely she is. How unique in the world. How blissfully unaware of the truth.
I realize suddenly that I can't be the one to tell her. But I can be there for her when she finds out. I can use whatever resources are at my disposal to help her. I'm not sure what she's going to want to do, but whatever it is, I'll be there. I have to protect her.
13
Jordan
“What the fuck were you thinking?” asks Kelsey. “What is wrong with you, for fuck’s sake? Are you actually retarded?”
“Um, no,” I answer, confused. Why is she turning on me like this? Why does she suddenly hate me? I’m not sure what to say, since maybe she has a point. But does she have to address me like this? I would never speak to anyone like that.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” she mutters, shooting me a look like daggers. I try to keep my head. She obviously doesn’t have hers. But part of me wonders if she might be right. “Don’t you have anything to fucking say? Whatever, I’m done with you.” She shakes her head, disgusted.
“Um, I’m not really sure what I did, Kels,” I say carefully. “If I did something stupid, you can tell me. But I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”
“Well, it was my idea to be friends with Britt, and instead you just ran off and started a friendship with her. If you want to be so close with her, I’ll just be close with my other friends.”
“I uh,” I start, my mind reeling. Why is she attacking me? “I uh... thought we were all friends? Like we were all going to be friends together.”
“Well clearly not. Didn’t you go to the movies with her on Thursday?” she demands. The tone of her voice is shrill. “I didn’t get any text messages from you. You didn’t call me. You chose to hold her closer to you. So I am going to do the same. No hard feelings, but bye.”
“Uh, okay,” I barely get out before she spins around and storms off. My hands are shaking, so I stuff them into my pockets, confused. I never suspected she could turn on someone like this. Or more than that, that she could turn on me like this. I am practically her sister for crying out loud. Joined at the hip, and have been for years.
“Kelsey,” I say weakly, but it’s too late. She’s already gone.
Maybe I should have told her that I was going out with Britt. Maybe it was wrong of me not to invite her, but I thought she said she was going to be busy that night. And besides, she has other friends who she goes out with on occasion without me. Sure, I get jealous sometimes, but I figure it’s normal. But apparently she’s allowed to do that and I’m not. That’s how it is, I guess.
Unless that’s not how it is anymore. Now it feels like I’m not even friends with Kelsey. I walk across the common area, trying to avoid the eyes of my schoolmates. Through one of the windows, almost in slow motion, I see Kelsey and Britt talking and laughing. Then Kelsey shoots me another look—an appraising, cold look. Britt doesn’t notice. She has her head thrown back and is covering her mouth like she always does when she laughs hard.
Kelsey slowly turns her head away from me, but her eyes trail me a little longer. I stop in my tracks. Could they be talking about me, laughing at me? If I keep going in the same direction, I’ll have to pass them. And that doesn’t seem the wisest course of action right now. Still, I’ll have to find another way to my calculus class. Kelsey had tested out of it—she was as amazing at math as she was at making me feel like shit today. Fuck it, I’ll just pass her, and that’ll be that.
“Hi Britt,” I say, as brightly as I can manage. “Kelsey,” I add like an afterthought. Who knows how she’ll punish me now?
“Hey!” Britt turns to walk with me and quickly falls in step. “Did you get your calc homework done? See you later, Kelsey!”
“Bye Britt.” The slight emphasis Kelsey gives to Britt’s name lets me know that she is definitely considering ways to punish me. And now I’ll be punished for whatever Britt does too.
I wake up with a jolt, the darkened plane humming with its solid energy. My breath is caught in my throat. I can’t tell if I’d been dreaming, or remembering. Is Kelsey my friend, or my tormentor?
And what is King? The same?
I look around frantically, catching the eye of a passing stewardess. “Yes, Madame. Would you like something?” she asks.
“I’ll get a scotch on the rocks,” I say. “Make it a double.” I don’t know why. I’m not much of a drinker, and I never drink scotch. And I think I heard the double thing from a movie or something. But she just nods, her perfectly coiffed blonde hair not moving.
“Yes of course,” she whisks off to retrieve the drink, and I realize I’m clutching the arms of my chair. I’m totally disoriented. It seems there’s nobody seated next to me to fight for the space, because it’s hard for me to even let it go. I thought it was full, so someone must not have shown up for their flight? But the attendant soon is at my side. She puts the tray table down on the seat next to me with a practiced motion, and hands me the glass. I fumble through my purse and she shakes her head no, meaning that I don’t need to pay. Soon I’m bringing the burning liquid to my lips, the fumes from the drink already searing my nostrils.
Just like it permeates my nose, the alcohol begins to pervade regions of my brain, and I let go of the armrest, and let my head hit the back of the chair again.
I guess I am just a glutton for punishment. I begin to think of King’s hands, how they could creep over me, draw me in, effortlessly, gracefully, like a cat with a mouse. Watching the mouse try to get away is always the greatest thrill, to let it almost out of reach and then to pull it back in and claim it.
That’s how I feel when he touches me, like he’s completely in control, every nerve of my body on fire, needing him as he toys with my affections, my emotions. My body. Teasing each part of me, making me wonder if he would gratify me, or bite me, his lips so close to my skin that the energy field was jumping between us, until they closed on my nipple, and I arched my back pushing myself as near to him as I could. His teeth glancing against the hard nub as his hand reached around and squeezed, hard.
My breath catches in my throat, this time from excitement, happy that he’s claiming me, feeling everything he did to my nipple like a ghost hand on my clit, bringing me close to orgasm without even being touched once. I imagine myself falling over the edge as his knee pushes between my legs, his cock sliding up my thigh.
Then his hand opens his fly, pulling it out, his cock bouncing in eager anticipation, and feeling my skirt being yanked down as he slides between my legs.
But I have to stop feeling this way. This is fantasy, that’s all.
I left Paris. Left King. And left Kelsey, even if she did leave me first. The schoolyard may have been the first place I had given up my strength and my power, and then with King. I’ll be damned if I will ever do it again. I’ll get over this situation on my own.
Maybe I’ll get a dog.
I force my mind to stop thinking about King and
Kelsey and start thinking about a dog. Maybe a big dog. Though that wouldn’t fly too well in Manhattan. It’s time to leave my parents and get a place on my own, though. If I move to Inwood or something, maybe I could live by a park and still be on the subway line to get downtown. I muse about a Bernese Mountain dog. Their friendly but intimidating size is just the perfect animal to snuggle up to and to ward off would-be attackers with. I wonder how much they cost?
It’s nice to know that I have a bit of money coming to me, but I have no idea how much it is. I hope I haven’t blown through it and more already.
It’s difficult to figure how much it is. Kelsey had some vague side business that she never really told her parents about—something online that made her some real cash, but that she didn’t like to talk about. I always encouraged her in it but her parents were not impressed, preferring to get her to concentrate on her studies.
She must have, in some rare moment, decided that I deserved some of her money, and I would be going to the lawyer to see just how much will be left, if anything, after what I’ve spent on this trip. It probably won’t be much, but it might be just enough to visit a dog breeder and get a puppy. A big clumsy puppy with giant paws, and a perma-grin. One that would never be stolen away from him. A smile and an open doggy mind, just looking for the next treat and the next walk.
I sink deeper into my chair and sip my drink, finally getting out the headphones and flicking on some movie. I’ll be home soon, and that’s what matters.
And then there he is. King. Of course, he pulled me into first class. That crazy dream must have messed me up hard.
Slipping into the seat beside me, veering his perfect hips under the tray table. Smiling at me. And God help me, I snuggle against him. I’d call myself weak, but the truth is he’s just too strong. Overpowering. I have no choice.
The lawyer ruffles his papers.
“Well as you may know, you’ve been invited here today for the reading of the will,” he says, looking at each of the four of us pointedly. “Mrs. and Mrs. Rawlings, as Kelsey’s parents, Ryan as Kelsey’s brother, and you, Jordan, you are here because you have also been specifically mentioned by name in the document.” He clears his throat.
I wonder how many times has he had to deliver bad news, unexpected news. Is there part of him that enjoys seeing the surprise on people’s faces, the shock when he delivers the final blow? I try to sneak a peek at Kelsey’s family. They’ve never been that fond of me, and I don’t really know why.
But I need to remember—now’s not really about me. As her ‘will and testament,’ this is Kelsey’s last statement in the world.
Mrs. Rawlings looks as tight as a drum. Tighter than I’ve ever seen her. She’s a tough woman at the best of times, but not flexible. She always seems like she’s stretched as far as she can go, and right now she looks about ready to break. Mr. Rawlings, however, is a different story. A businessman, a CEO. He probably has a lot of practice hiding his emotions, and he looks calm, despite having lost his child.
Not that they ever seemed close. Kelsey sometimes said that he was so good at hiding his emotions that she wondered if there was even anything there to hide. Still, she often played the part of obedient daughter, apple of his eye, even if he didn’t react too much.
I remember her climbing on his lap, after she was a bit too old to be doing such a thing. “Daddy, please, please,” she mewled, affecting a pout. “You said I could have anything I want!” Her face was a mimicry of childhood, perpetual surprise curling her eyebrows, mouth pursed.
He would always fall for it too, despite his lack of outward affection—handing her some crisp hundred-dollar bills from his roll. “Don’t spend that all in one place, Kelsey. Make it last this time.”
They both knew that that was ridiculous. She would spend it in one place. Getting us into some bar with our fake IDs. Buying a bottle, her childhood disguise forgotten, the childish pout turned sexy moue which she would fix on a man by the bar, her hands roaming over his body, making him want her.
I would always stand in the background, sipping my drink. Now I had to wonder if it was all for show. Was she ever friends with me? Or was I just security for her on these nights? Was she the real psychopath, the real expert at hiding her emotions?
The lawyer is droning on. I force myself to pay attention to him. I lean forward on my chair and rub the tops of my legs. I’ve been spending too much time in the bar myself. It’s been a few days since I got back from the Paris trip. I did manage to get my apartment—the one that I promised myself on the plane back home—but I haven’t stayed there yet. Nor have I gotten my dog. Instead I’m camping in my parents’ basement, emerging only to eat a few bites, and then when it gets dark I head out to the city, shrugging into my old role of standing silently sipping my drink returning, only now I am alone.
“I’ll be reading a prepared statement from Kelsey now, written at age twenty-one.” The lawyer licks his fingertip and turns the page. I always thought that was a disgusting habit. “‘Mom and Dad, you might be surprised by the contents of this document, but in all honesty, I never felt loved by you, and due to this, I will not be leaving you anything in my will.’”
Mrs. Rawlings puts her hands up to her face and holds back a sob. Then she turns to her husband, a pleading look in her eye. “How can she say that?” she stage whispers. But Mr. Rawlings stays stony-faced and impassive.
The lawyer continues. I watch for any sign of emotion on his brow, just visible above the paper. For myself, I feel kind of cold. Not really surprised exactly, not shocked that she sent a “fuck you” to her parents at a vulnerable time, but she was never one to avoid interpersonal drama.
Surely, she never thought she would die, though.
Then why did she make a will?
“Ryan, to you I leave my car.” Her brother Ryan sits up. Since her car was totaled in the accident, and she died, they wouldn’t have replaced it. Essentially Ryan still had nothing—not the old chartreuse Karmann Ghia that he might have received and might have been happy to get. I watch him shift in his chair out of the corner of my eye.
“And to Jordan Burke, the one person who ever loved me, to you I leave the contents of my bank account such as it is, and my investments. My family failed me, but you were always there for me in times of trouble, and times of joy.” He hands me a letter. “Here’s a letter. Private communication from Kelsey to you.”
I look around, not sure how to react. Her parents glare at me—a sight that I am already all too familiar with.
The sun is almost blinding as I walk out of the law office. How could she have left me almost a quarter of a million dollars? How had Kelsey gotten ahold of that kind of money? I clutch the letter from her in my hand, the paper crinkling a little at the corners, and shove my hand in my purse. I need to read what she wrote to me as soon as possible, but I want to wait until I am far enough away from her parents and family. The look on their faces looms in my mind. Accusatory, suspicious, incredulous.
Someone hits my shoulder on the sidewalk with their own, bustling past me.
“What the—” I say, but he’s already gone. Manhattan for you. I tighten my grip on the piece of paper. It means as much or more to me than the money. It’s the last message I will ever have from the woman who was, for better or worse, my best friend.
When I turn the corner, I see a small coffee shop. It’s no fancy place with good-looking baristas. But because of that, it’s a perfect hideaway, where I won’t be bothered. I walk in, the door jingling. A woman walks out, drying a mug with a dishrag.
“What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have a coffee and uh...” I glance at a glass-covered container. “A piece of pie.” I might need some fortifications to get through this.
“Coming right up,” she says, motioning to the small row of tables up against the wall. “Sit wherever you like.”
“Thanks.” I’m still clutching the paper in my hand, my fingers beginning to ache a little. I can barely contai
n myself. It’s not excitement exactly, and it’s not anxiety. What could she possibly want to tell me?
I pull the chair out and sit down, looking around. There are only two other patrons in the place, and they seem caught up in their own business.
I pull out the envelope, smoothing it against the chipped Formica table. My heart is beating fast. Oh Kelsey, how did we get to this point? Why aren’t we both here together right now, just having a diner breakfast? Why are you only a letter to me, and a strange inheritance?
The waitress sets down the coffee and pie with a smile. “There you are. Free refills.”
“Thanks.” I might need them. Involuntarily I shiver. My mother used to say I would get cold whenever I was emotional, and now it’s become a bit of a sign to me that I am not exactly handling things well once I start shivering.
My mind goes back to King, and his hands on me, slithering up and down my body, stealing sensations out of me, making me feel. I needed it, because otherwise I was grieving too hard. Too much.
The envelope just sits there. It’s mocking me with its false innocuousness. Why does it scare me so? It’s just paper. I take another sip of my coffee. For all I know, it could be a sweet message that just tells me she loves me and wants the best for me. So why does it remind me of King and his desire? What could Kelsey have done to make this money?
The waitress looks at me. “Everything okay, honey?” she asks. “You want anything else?”
“Not right now, thanks,” I say brightly.
“You want the bill? Up to you. There ain’t nobody else in here, so you can stay as long as you want.”
“I think I’ll just hang out for a bit, thanks,” I answer.
“Suit yourself,” she says, and walks away, purposefully wiping a few tables as she goes.
I wish things were simple. Why didn’t I just learn how to deal with life, and death, in a normal way? Do other people?
