Sublime Forgiveness (Sublime Series Book 3)

by Charlene Zapata

  I can’t help but laugh. I’ve only been with two other girls and the first one, the one I lost my virginity to, I don’t even really remember because I was so drunk. Rumors spread fast in this town whether they’re true or not. She doesn’t seem to notice my lack of experience as she slides her body on top of mine.

  I slowly run my hands down her back until I reach her skirt. I start to push it up her thighs as she undoes my zipper. Before things get out of hand, I tilt us to the side, pulling my wallet from my back pocket. I slide a blue square out and quickly tear the condom package open as the girl pulls my jeans down just enough to gain access to what she really wants. The second I get the condom in place, she scoots over me. Before I know it, she starts riding me. Every time she tries to kiss me, I turn my head to the side. If she starts slobbering all over me again, I might just puke.

  My hands start to dig into her hips as I feel the end coming. My head is leaned back against the seat with my eyes closed. I don’t even know this girl’s name and right now, I just don’t give a damn. She moans out my name as we finish doing the deed and for some reason I find it incredibly annoying. As a horny teenage boy, this is great. But isn’t there something more? Shouldn’t I want to kiss this girl or at least learn her name? Before I have time to contemplate anything deeper, her mouth comes crashing down on mine. Dammit. I push her away before she can swallow me whole.

  “Okay, time to go.” I look into her eyes when I say the words so she knows I’m not joking. I see the slightest bit of hurt before she changes her expression into a small smile.

  “Well, ummm…thanks. It was totally worth it. See you around.”

  “Yeah. See ya.”

  After I clean myself up and get rid of the evidence, I lay my head back against the seat. I don’t even know how much I had to drink tonight but I’m going to feel it in the morning. I should probably go gather up the guys and head home but my eyelids don’t seem to want to listen.

  *****

  The next morning, I wake up in a panic. Shit, shit, shit! I must have passed out. The sun is just starting to rise above the cornfield that surrounds the car, causing small rays of light to hit the ground. I turn my head back and forth looking for any sign of movement. Dustin and Nate are nowhere to be found. Fuck. My dad is going to be so pissed. I haven’t stayed out all night on a school night like ever. I climb out of the backseat and take a quick look around. I don’t see the guys or really much of anyone. Why didn’t someone wake me up? Dammit. Screw it, I gotta get out of here.

  I slide into the driver’s side as fast as humanly possible, touching the wires until they spark and the engine comes to life. I peel out of the long driveway backwards until I hit the main road. The clock on the car reads 6:23 am. Great. My dad is already up and probably searching the house for me right now. I step on the pedal, pushing the small Ford to its limits.

  About fifteen minutes later I pull over, parking at least two streets away from my house. I jump out of the car and run as fast as I can through the neighbor’s yards until I reach my bedroom window. I slowly pull on the old wood frame until I hear it squeak out in protest. Once I get it up far enough to squeeze my body through, I climb inside. My bedroom door is still closed, which is a good sign. I strip off my clothes, staying in just my boxers while getting some clean clothes out of my dresser. Just as I’m about to open the door to take my shower, I hear a loud banging.

  “Vincent, this is your last wake-up call before I come in there. You better get up and get to school or there will be consequences. Do you hear me, son?” I open the door to his angry face and look of utter disappointment.

  “I’m up Dad. No need to yell.” He grunts then walks away. At least I made it home before getting busted. That would have sucked. My father is a fair man but if you cross him, damn, he takes everything away and makes my mom monitor my every move. He even took my bedroom door off once for a whole month just for coming in at 2 in the morning. Granted, I was only 14, but still. Not having privacy made me rethink some things. Like don’t come home wasted and walk through the front door. I’ve since perfected the art of sneaking back into my house through my window.

  After a quick shower to wash away the smell of cheap perfume and booze, I head to the kitchen. My mother tries so hard to make us all happy. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a fuck up. She’s standing at the stove making some scrambled eggs, smiling softly to herself. Sometimes I like to stand back and watch her. She really is quite beautiful. Her dark brown hair is usually up in a bun, but not this morning. No, today she’s letting it flow down her back in waves. Everyone says I have her kind eyes but I don’t see it. Although, I would say I look more like her than my father. Her smile deepens as she starts to fix Joey’s plate. She seems happy with the life she has but I often wonder if we’re enough for her. I think she deserves so much more than what she has but she never complains.

  I decide to take the time to sit down at the table with my little brother and eat a hot breakfast. Nothing makes her happier than taking care of me and Joey. And I should try to make her happy, at least some of the time. Plus, I could really use some good food for this awful hangover.

  “Hey loser. Rough night?” I give Joey a sideways glance that tells him to shut the hell up.

  “Nope. Just hungry.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t eat all my eggs. Mom didn’t make them for you.”

  “Hush Joey. You can share with your brother. I made plenty.” My mom smiles warmly at me while piling some eggs on my plate. I grab a piece of toast and down my juice in one gulp. After scarfing down my food, I give my mom a kiss on the cheek.

  “Love you Mom, thanks for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome. Now get to school before you’re late.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  As I’m walking out the door I can’t help the instinct to smack my little brother. So I do. Right in the back of the head. Punk. I hear my Dad yell something as the back door slams shut behind me. I choose to ignore him and keep walking. Just like every other morning, Tommy is waiting for me at the corner of Vine St. It’s the halfway point between our houses. Only this time he doesn’t have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The closer I get, I understand why.

  “What the hell happened to your lip?”

  “What? Oh. Nothing. Just got into with my old man again. He was pissed when he found out I wasn’t going to play any sport this year. I’m just done trying for him. It’s pointless. Hey, umm…can I hang out at your house after school?”

  “Sure man. Anytime.”

  I feel so bad for Tommy. As much as I hate my situation, his is way worse. We’ve been friends forever but the last couple of years he’s been hanging out at our house more and more. Then I found out that his dad can get a little rough when Tommy doesn’t do exactly what he wants him to do. I think it would be way worse for him if he wasn’t already over 6 feet tall with muscles bulging out in every direction. He’s my best friend, almost like a brother, so I do what I can to make things better for him. My mom loves him to death because he’s all polite and shit. I have to admit, he’s good for me too. When I’m around him, it’s the only time I really try.

  Chapter Three

  The week goes by in a blur. Nate, Dustin and I have been hitting up as many liquor stores as possible trying to get our stash up to a respectable amount. I know I can’t drive this car for much longer. I’m sure it’s already been reported as stolen and it won’t take a rocket scientist to figure out these plates don’t belong to this vehicle. School is boring as hell but at least my nights have been entertaining.

  Last night was the best. We went down to the old quarry that’s now filled with water. It’s not the safest place to go swimming but when you don’t have any other options, it works. I’m not as adventurous as Nate and Dustin though. Those dumbasses jumped off the highest point while it was pitch black outside. We all heard the loud crack of skin slapping the water. When the guys made it back to the top of the quarry, soaking wet, Nate had a huge red
mark across his face. It looked like someone had smacked him hard right across the entire left side of his face. It still cracks me up.

  It’s Saturday morning and I wish to hell I could sleep in but because I hate being broke, I drag my tired body out of bed. My dad refuses to give me money because he knows I will just blow it on booze or other dumb shit. He’s right, so I don’t really blame him. Things are tight enough around here, my parents don’t need to worry about supplying my bad habits.

  Last summer I started cutting grass in the neighborhood. It’s not a bad way to earn some extra cash. It just sucks that it’s seasonal. I only have a few more weeks before the cold hits and the grass stops growing. I should probably save some of my money for winter but I doubt that will happen. I’m not much of a planner. I got pretty lucky, the kid that was cutting all the rich people’s yards over on the good side of town went off to college and didn’t come home for summer break. I was able to pick up most of his customers. So I stay pretty busy and they tend to tip well.

  This is the only time I can see pride in my father’s eyes. He has to drive me across town in his old pick-up truck, hauling my equipment every Saturday. But he never complains. My dad is a simple man. He is average height with dark hair to match his dark features. I guess you could say he was handsome once, but the years have taken their toll on his body. Add in the fact that he has been going bald for the past five years, and you see the old man he is quickly becoming. He drops me off at my first job, telling me he will see me in a few hours a couple of blocks over. It’s my responsibility to get my equipment from house to house since all my customers are in the same area. This is how I stay in shape, even though I hate it.

  I have to admit that the smell of freshly cut grass is somewhat soothing. Pushing a lawn mower back and forth, row after row may seem monotonous to a lot of people but to me it’s just relaxing. It gives me time to zone out. I don’t really think about anything. I just concentrate on what’s in front of me. One step at a time, never worrying about what comes next.

  My dad comes back to pick me up a few hours later. After a long day cutting grass, all I want is an ice cold beer but my dad insists on taking me for street tacos. Every Saturday. I shouldn’t complain. It’s the only time we really get to spend alone.

  “So, tell me how school is going.”

  “It’s going.” I look out the window as we pull up to the small taco stand. We climb out of the truck and head up to the window. My dad tells the owner that we will have our usual. Within minutes, our food is ready. They don’t even have a place to sit down, so we end up standing in the parking lot while juice from our hot carne asada tacos runs down our fingers. It really is the best place in town to get street food.

  “Vincent, I worry about you. I know you don’t think I know what it’s like to be your age but I do. I was young once. The mistakes you make now will have an impact on the rest of your life. I just don’t want you to do something that will damage you permanently. I hope you understand why I’m so hard on you.”

  “I get it, Dad. I just don’t see the point. You and mom are doing just fine and you never even finished high school.”

  “You’re right about my lack of education but you are so very wrong about us doing just fine. We struggle every day to make the bills. Why do you think I work two jobs? That’s not the life I want for my sons. I want better for you. Maybe you could even go to college someday.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, let’s get me through high school first.” I hear my Dad’s deep rumble as it begins to climb up his chest before finally bursting out of his mouth into a fit of laughter. I haven’t heard him laugh like this in a very long time. Glad I could be of service, old man.

  “That’s very true, Vincent. Let’s focus on one small task at a time. You ready to head home?”

  “Sure Dad. And hey, thanks for always looking out for me.”

  “It’s what parents do.”

  *****

  Sunday mornings will be the death of me yet. My family goes to Church every week without fail. And there is absolutely no getting out of it. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. I hear the dreaded knock on my door around 7 am. After answering in a very groggy voice, I decide it’s better to get up now than to wait until my father starts screaming that we’re going to be late. I could use a cold shower anyway.

  Joey is always up and ready to go without much prompting, sitting at the kitchen table waiting on the rest of us. Suck-up. Every Sunday, Mom makes us a big breakfast with chorizo, eggs and pancakes loaded with butter and syrup. Just as my father starts to reach for the serving spoon in the giant bowl of eggs, my mother smacks his hand away.

  “This is not for you, Javier!” My mother immediately sets a plate of fresh fruit down in front of him. He grunts but doesn’t say anything else. Ever since he had a minor heart attack 6 months ago, my mother has been on his case about his diet. I can see the worry in her eyes even though she tries to hide it from everyone. I kind of wish he would take it more seriously but who am I to judge.

  After breakfast, we all pile into mom’s tiny blue sedan and head to Church for an hour long service. I should probably pay attention to what the sermon is about, but I can’t help letting my mind wander. I start to scope out all the girls in the pews in front of me. I know most of them, but there are a couple I don’t recognize. Probably freshman that have just started to mature enough for me to notice. I quickly get bored cruising the rows and rows of non-descript girls. None of them can hold my attention for more than a few seconds. I wonder if I’ll ever meet someone that will look at me the way my mom looks at my dad. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that they truly love each other.

  Eventually I hear the final Amen of the service and stand to stretch out my aching muscles. Cutting yards keeps me in pretty good shape but it also takes its toll on my body. But right now none of that matters because I get to enjoy the rest of my day doing my favorite thing in the world. Fishing with my dad and brother.

  A few years ago, my dad took me and Joey to a place about an hour outside of town. I don’t know how in the world he found it, but I’m so glad he did. It’s our little spot now. Our very own creek hidden away behind several rows of trees. Every Sunday after Church, we head home to change and grab our gear while Mom packs us a few sandwiches. We usually get home just in time for dinner. I secretly think my mom loves having some peace and quiet for a few hours.

  “You boys have a good time and bring me lots of fish to fry up tonight!”

  “Yes ma’am.” Joey and I say in unison as we do every week.

  “Martina, thank you for making our lunch. I love you and will see you soon.” My dad gives my mom one of those awkwardly long kisses before finally letting her go. I mean, I get it. They love each other but can’t they save that garbage for when they’re behind closed doors?

  “Let’s go love bird.” I pull on my father’s arm, urging him out the front door. We load up in his pick-up truck after throwing our gear in the back. We are a bunch of guys, so the talking is very limited. My dad turns on the radio, blaring old country music all the way until we reach the dirt road.

  It’s almost as if nature is demanding silence. Requesting the loud, city boys to be calm and obedient. Quietly, we gather our fishing poles and tackle box and head toward the water. It’s a little bit of a hike but completely worth it. The minute I hear the water crackling over the rocks, a calmness fills me. One that I haven’t felt anywhere else ever, except this spot, our spot. We don’t speak as we take our positions. I cross over the narrow part of the creek to get to the other side, then walk down about a quarter of a mile. There is a huge, solid rock with my name on it.

  After getting myself settled in for a long day of fishing, I get comfortable on the stone beneath me, hoping to catch a small nap before the fish start biting. Just as my eyes begin to close, I hear Joey off in the distance. I look up to see that he already caught his first fish of the day. Lucky bastard. Now I have to be on full alert. I can’t let my littl
e brother get ahead of me.

  Hours later, with three empty sandwich bags in my pocket, we head home. My stomach is already growling. It doesn’t help my mood that Joey ended up catching four huge fish while I ended up with nothing. My dad just patted me on the back and said I would get em’ next time. He also caught four fish, so he has no room to talk about next time. I must have changed spots like ten times throughout the day. Still no luck. Maybe that was my problem. I’m not know for my patience.

  When I walk in the house empty handed, my mother immediately comes over to comfort me. She places her two tiny hands on either side of my face, making me look into her deep brown eyes.

  “Vincent, you can’t always be the best. Sometimes it’s okay to let your brother shine.” She gives me a warm smile that melts away my bad mood. She has a point. Joey has never caught this many fish before. I’m usually the one with all the spoils.

  “You’re right, Mom. Now let’s go clean some fish. I’m starving.”

  “That’s the boy I raised. Always willing to help others.”

  I wish my mom knew the real me. The me who sneaks out all the time and drinks to try and numb the emptiness that always seems to be a constant ache in my heart. I don’t know why I feel that way, I don’t really have any reason to, but it’s still there. Lingering in the darkness, begging for attention. It feels like an impulse, a need that has to be met. Every night I feel it clawing its way to the surface until I just can’t take it anymore. The only thing that alleviates the need is leaving my tiny house in search of something more.

  Chapter Four

  Monday morning comes with a huge hangover. I can’t even remember what happened last night. And I don’t think I want to. I was either too drunk to hear my father’s constant banging and yelling at my door or it’s early enough that he isn’t awake yet. I roll over in my bed and lift my head slightly to see the clock. It reads 6 am. I think I barely got three hours of sleep. I might as well get up because if I go back to sleep now, it will be impossible to find the motivation to go to school. Besides, I really don’t want my parents to see me before I’ve had a chance to clean up.