by Ally Sky
"I understand," he tilts his head to one side. I swear that if he continues like this, I will lose it. "You're suffering from sexual frustration, and I'm guilty."
"You're guilty," my finger turns to him. "It’s your fault that I'm so . . . pathetic. A few whispers in my ear and I do what you want."
"You're far from doing what I want, but that I will handle when we're alone." His sentence resounds in my head like a wild roar. "You're not the only one suffering certain affects, the only difference is I know how to take care of myself. Maybe that's the first thing we need to solve, maybe it's time you didn't depend on me to satisfy you."
"That's why you're so relaxed? 'Cause you took care of yourself?" He thinks that's what I needed to hear, now? That I should imagine him, touching himself?
The situation is only getting worse. If I was in distress before, that picture, stuck in my mind now, is going to send me over the edge. This is another one of his tricks to make sure I don't stop wanting him.
"I don't think any of us wanted me to stay up all night because of an erection that refused to come down. Do you think it's easy for me? I've waited for this moment for years."
"I don't want to change," I try explaining to him the depth of the problem. "I don't want to be dependent on you or anybody else. I want to stay independent, to find work and support myself. I want to make my own decisions without my brain going on a forced vacation just because you're around."
"No one is stopping you," his brow shrinks. "Did anyone tell you not to find a job?"
"I don't know what I want to do."
"So you're not doing enough to find out, Lizzie. Start imagining your dreams."
"I don't have dreams," I interrupt his motivational lecture with hostility. "I didn't dare have them, because they were not within my reach. I'm like a girl who just graduated from high school and doesn't know what to do next."
"You're not a high school graduate," he waves his hand at me, "start making plans, for God's sake. I'm here, I can help. I want to help. You can work at any job or study, you can stay home if that's what you choose, stop worrying about bullshit like when are we going to have sex and think about the big picture."
"It's not bullshit to me." I'm deeply hurt.
"It's bullshit," he continues, ignoring the shudder in my voice. "It'll happen when it happens. What you want to do with your life, that's the question you need to be asking yourself."
"I want to go home." What's the point of staying here and fighting more? What's the point of being in this hotel if we can't be in the same room?
"I'm taking you there." He pulls his hair back. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't accuse me because we both got carried away. We have enough drama in life without adding to it, don't make up stories in your head."
"Don't touch me if you have no intention of going all the way," I explain in case he didn't understand until now. "I'm on the edge."
"Noted," his voice falters. "Please pack your things."
"We're packed, you can start the car as soon as you finish eating."
"What about your breakfast?" Mr. 'I'm in charge of you' is taking care of my health.
"Not hungry." There's no chance that anything will enter my stomach while it is making impressive flips like it is.
"As you wish." His shoulders drop, and he goes to open the door.
"Drop us at my mom's, I want to see how she is," I ask in disappointment. Our first vacation was completely destroyed. At least Viv is not aware of that, at least she will have a good memory.
"How will you get home?" He glances at me over his shoulder.
"She'll take us home in the evening." He nods, as if I need his consent.
"Let's go." He gesturres toward the living room with his head, crossing the threshold, leaving me for a few moments in the bedroom, gathering myself and my unhappy thoughts. Four hours. It's my test, to survive four hours with him and his smell and my imagination, which insists on drawing a clear picture of Colin taking care of himself. Damn it. He'd better take care of me, and he'd better do it soon or an atom bomb would fall on our town and leave ruins behind.
Colin stops his jeep in the driveway in front of my parents' house, after we barely survived the trip. Vivian didn't fall asleep, and we spent the last four hours listening to singers named Justin. I have an overdose of Bieber and Timberlake, and Colin seems to be in a similar situation. I get tiredly out of the car and open Viv's door, Colin taking my bag out of the trunk.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," he mumbles as he hands me my bag by the strap, which I hang on my shoulder.
"Okay." I give Viv a hand.
"Don't be mad."
"I'm not mad." I struggle with a suffocation that threatens to take over every good part of my life. "Just, trying to deal with your return, Colin, is not simple."
"I know." He crouches down, his face in front of Vivian.
"Take care of your mom, okay?" He strokes her hair.
"Okay, Dad," she nods seriously.
"Love you," he kisses her forehead.
"I love you back," she chirps in a sweet voice. He straightens up again and looks at me with bright eyes.
"I'll call you or something," he says with a shrug.
"Or something," I mutter.
It would be best if your 'something' solved the problem, Colin!
"I want to see Granny." Viv pulls my hand toward the house.
"We have to go."
"Tomorrow," he nods, and I follow Viv. She opens the door and runs inside to look for her beloved grandma. The next thing I hear is her scream, which resonates loudly.
"Grandpa!"
My heart leaps, then lands back inside my chest. She took him in? She listened?
"Hello, Elizabeth," my father says in a hesitant voice as Vivian climbs into his arms.
"Dad . . ." I'm not sure what to say.
"Your mom is in the kitchen. I'm sorry for the mess." His head points toward the sofa, beside it lays his backpack.
"I understand." She has you sleeping on the couch, well done!
"It's temporary, you know, just until . . ." Until when, until you've flattered her enough for her to forgive you? Oh, I'm predicting a lot of flattery.
"Viv," he says, lowering my child back to the floor, "go say hey to Granny, she’s baking cookies." Vivian doesn't need another invitation and runs to the kitchen, leaving my father and me alone.
"I can't talk right now." I raise my hands in surrender.
"Can you listen?" He sits on the couch and slides into the corner to make room for me.
"Dad," I sigh.
"Please, you just have to listen."
"Okay, but do it quick, I don't want Viv to hear." I walk to the couch with a heavy heart and sit down next to the man whom I never thought would hurt me the way he did.
"I don't expect you to forgive me," he begins, his voice hoarse. "I don't expect Colin to forgive me, or for your mom, who had shown great compassion by letting me back in, even if I sleep on the sofa, to."
"That was my idea," I inform him. "After I found out the truth about your pneumonia. Are there any other lies I need to know about?"
"Lizzie," his voice restricts further, "you were seven."
"I'm not seven anymore, in case you haven't noticed."
"It's not something I talk about."
"This is not a house where people talk, period," I declare. "My life is based on lie after lie, betrayal and treachery, pictures hidden in a closet. That's what I've learned, to lie to my child telling her she doesn't have a father, hiding his pictures in the closet and pretending everything is okay, but it's not okay."
"You're right." He doesn't argue. "Nothing's okay and it's been like that for a long time, mostly because of me."
"Morgan was my brother," I whisper in pain, "and I don't know him. I don't know anything about him, as if he never existed. The only thing left of him is the accusation against the man I love, who had nothing to do with it."
"I can't talk about him," he shakes his he
ad. "Please, Elizabeth."
"You will talk about him and what happened to him, and we won't pretend that you are fine or that Mom is fine. We won't wait for the next time you find a scapegoat to blame for what's eating inside."
"Do you think I'll ever be fine?" He stares at me with a look that breaks my heart, his eyes shining with tears. He looks down and laces his trembling fingers. "Do you think that if I talk about him, it will change something? Will the smell of the garage disappear from my head, or the image that appeared before my eyes or the sound of my screaming?"
"Dad . . ." I put my fingers on his fingers, close them tightly to make it clear that I'm here and that I'm not moving from him.
"My son," his voice brakes, a tear streaming down his cheek, "my son suffered. I wanted to protect you, and when I went into your house and saw Colin and those thugs, I thought they would chase you. I thought they'd use you to blackmail him. I had already lost one child. You were pregnant, and Colin couldn't keep you from them. His father would get in trouble again, and they would come back."
Colin's dad really did get into trouble again, and they really did come back, but I shouldn't say anything. My dad will panic, and God knows what he'll do this time.
"You could have said something and not let me live with the thought that he stopped loving me."
"You would look for him. You would go to the end of the world for that boy." He protests the tears. "Look at you, you raised a beautiful daughter on your own. You were protected, you were both protected, that's all I wanted."
"I love Colin," I whisper in fear, lest he deny it. "Still, in spite of everything, I love him. He's a wonderful dad and he's a good man."
"You're going to marry him, aren't you?" My father gives me another look.
"It's still open for discussion," I lie to myself, most of all. "He asked, but I refused. If he asks again, I don't know what I'll answer."
"Don't let him sleep on the sofa," he laughs bitterly. "We don't like it."
"You have to think, before you do stupid things."
"Stupid," my father breathes in a broken voice, "that's the last thing your brother called me that morning. He wanted to stay at home, but I refused, threatened him with consequences. He went to school, slamming the door on his way out, and I sent him straight into the hands of the scum. Only the previous evening they had . . . "
He doesn't continue the sentence, we all know what happened. We all know how Brock tied him naked to a stand, and how all the football team players took turns with the eggs, and how no one was punished. 'Boys will be boys, it’s a shame to ruin their future,' they told my parents after Morgan hanged himself. Morgan's future didn't matter, just the boys, the football team, and the university scholarships. My father couldn't live with the knowledge that his son had ended his life without anyone paying a price.
"Morgan knew you loved him. Sorry for the cliché," I whisper, "but you know it, the way I know you love me."
"You're not my little girl anymore," he puts his fingers together. "I wish you'd have stayed five."
"I'm sure Colin feels the same about Viv."
"If he knows what's good for him, he'll take care of you and his child, and I don't mean the new car he bought you, Chevrolet or not."
"He'll take care of us or he'll have me to deal with," I press his fingers. "Please stay away until things calm down."
"I can do that." He nods in agreement.
"Now I'm going to check on my daughter, and then you can take us home." I stand wearily. The weekend took all my strength out of me. I just want to get to bed early, close my eyes and sleep.
"Wait," he quickly stands up, "I have something for you."
Without pausing he goes to the bookcase, moves a couple of volumes, and pulls out a picture. "He would have liked for you to have it."
He presents me with the picture, in which I'm about four years old hanging on Morgan's back, who's carrying me piggyback.
"I don't remember that day." I feel the picture with trembling fingers. The only picture I have of Morgan is resting in my palm, and I don't remember when it was taken. I barely remember him.
"In our old house, on his birthday, not long before he . . ." The sentence is cut short. "I'll tell you sometime, it was a good day."
"I'd be happy to hear it." I look up at him.
"I love you, Elizabeth, and I'm really sorry."
"I know. Don't betray my trust again."
"Agreed." He holds out his arms to me, I guess he needs a hug more than I do. I let him wrap me in his arms. I set aside the drama to make room for a better future. For the future I deserve.
Chapter 33
The steam from the cup in front of me fills the house with the smell of coffee. I stare at it dissolving in the air and disappearing into the kitchen. At least I managed to sleep. I woke up early, made Viv's lunchbox, took her to daycare, and now . . . nothing. Now I'm not doing anything, not looking for a job, not knowing what I want to do next. Are my options really unlimited, like Colin said? Is it time I go and study something or keep looking for a job that will allow me to be home early, as I had gotten used to? I sigh in frustration. How many mornings will I spend arranging and cleaning the house until I make a decision?
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I get up from my chair and go to see who's lost in the neighborhood and in need of guidance.
"Who is it?" I call through the closed door.
"Your future husband." The answer that comes is meant to amuse me, but does the exact opposite.
It accelerates my pulse and forces me to take a look at my clothes—a pale pair of jeans and a dull black t-shirt.
Pathetic.
What does it matter what you’re wearing?
I open the door with the obvious intention of putting Colin in his place, but as soon as he steps in, the door slams behind him and he turns me and presses my back to it, holding my hands above my head.
"Tell me she's not home," he grumbles.
What? Oh, God help me. The pennies drop one after the other with loud clangs in my mind, when my body realizes what is going on.
He's done waiting.
"She's . . . no . . ." My eyes shine.
"Not at home?" His chest crushes against mine.
"Not home," I repeat his words, like a parrot.
"Glad to hear." His lips lean slowly toward my lips.
Now? We're doing it . . . now?
"I made peace with my father," I blurt out the most stupid thing I can. Colin freezes.
"Babe," he breathes deeply.
"I ate with my parents yesterday. My mom . . ." I can't finish the sentence, as Colin cuts me off with a growl.
"Please don't talk about your parents when we're about to have sex."
"Sorry," I whisper in embarrassment, sending hot waves to my reddish cheeks.
"Where were we?" He leans back toward my lips. My breath turns short, my head tilts back as I lean against the door and prepare my lips to meet his mouth.
"Ready?" he whispers, a second before our lips meet. I nod without being able to answer. I'm a stupid seventeen-year-old in a brutal hormonal attack, that's what I am. A mass of hormones going wild. "Good, because we're done talking."
The next moment he smashes his mouth against mine with a sweeping kiss that demands my thoughts. My head spins and my tongue plays with his. He releases my hands and they go straight into his hair. His hands come under me and he lifts me to him. I wrap my legs around his waist, our kiss becoming more demanding. He carries me lightly to the bedroom, opens the door with his foot and puts me on the edge of the bed. I bite his lip, trying to keep him close, but he straightens up, grabs at the end of his shirt and wildly pulls it off, flinging it into the corner of the room. My mouth waters. Standing in front of me is a sculptured mountain, making my breathing difficult. A mountain of a man who wants to take my body to places I haven't visited in a long time.
"I'm going to spoil the party for thirty seconds, during which time you can be upset, jealous,
and make a scene." He gives me a penetrating look, confusing me. "This will be the last time we talk about it, so be prepared to throw everything you have at me."
"What are you talking about?" I'm still panting from our kiss.
"I guess you don't have condoms." He reaches into his back pocket, takes out some silver covers and holds them in front of my eyes.
"Wow," I lean back on my hands, aware of the fact that the party has indeed been dealt a blow. "Someone came ready."
"Someone had to think about it." He doesn't move, the condoms still in his hand.
"Someone slept with others," I mutter in disgust.
"Twenty seconds," he interrupts my time.
"I hate you." I take advantage of my last chance. "I hate them and I don't even know who they are. I want you to myself. I hate that they all stare at you and your inhuman muscles. I hate the idea that we need condoms because you left me."
"Ten seconds." He waves the silver bundles to tease me.
"If you leave me again, after you get what you want, I will haunt you to the end of the world, and you can be sure that I will find you and avenge myself."
"Five seconds," he answers in a steady tone.
"Have you slept with someone without protection?" My voice shakes with indignation.
"Yes." He doesn't take his eyes off me when he chooses not to lie.
Son of a bitch. Couldn't you beautify the truth?
"Recently?" I pray to God that I'll receive the answer I want.
"Not recently." He doesn't dare come near me, not even a single inch.
"Are you clean?" The tears come to me from the very thought that I should even ask, that I don't know. I was supposed to know everything about him, and here stands the man who was supposed to be my husband in the room that was supposed to be our bedroom, and he is a stranger.
"I'm clean. I'll still wear a condom, and your time is over." He throws the covers on the bed and they land beside me. He pushes me back, his body lying on top of me, covering me, his bare chest calling for my fingers to caress it.
