Snowbound

by CJ Martín

  Anders digs his keys out of his pocket and opens the door for us. He steps to the side, allowing me to go ahead of him. I drop my coat on the sofa and find my pajamas. It has been a long, weird night and I just want to sleep it off.

  “Gigs,” Anders says, as I brush past him on my way to the bathroom. It’s the first words we’ve spoken since we left Rick’s.

  “What?” I snap. I don’t mean to, but I’m angry, whether at him or myself I don’t know.

  “Nothing.” He changes his mind and turns into the kitchen. I hear him mutter a curse under his breath as the freezer door slams closed. I pause midway to the bathroom and head back to the kitchen. To Anders.

  His back is to me as he tries to roll a kitchen towel with ice with his left hand, his uninjured hand, which is no use at all because he’s right-handed. The ice cubes pop out and scatter in all directions as he awkwardly tries to fold it. He curses again.

  “Here,” I say, walking up behind him. I place my hand on his back and he flinches at my touch. Flinches. This night keeps getting better and better. “Don’t worry Anders,” I say coolly. “I’m not hitting on you. I’m just trying to help.” I re-gather the ice and wrap the cubes in the towel. “Here.” I practically shove it at him before turning to leave.

  He doesn’t take the towel from me, but rather grabs my wrist with his left hand, preventing me from leaving. He tugs my arm, pulling me closer to him. His eyes are narrowed and angry. “You’re pissed?”

  I know he’s angry but I’m too mad to filter my own thoughts. “Nothing gets by you.”

  “Unbelievable,” he mutters, but doesn’t drop my arm.

  “I know.” My voice is caustic. “I am so unbelievable. Can you please let me go now?”

  “I was trying to help.” He grits out.

  “Really? And how’s that? By embarrassing me in front of all those people?” At his blank expression I continue. “God Anders, I know you find me so unattractive, but you didn’t have to announce it to the world.” My words are fueled by anger, but deep down I know the anger is my body’s mechanism to mask the hurt. I will not cry. At least, not in front of him.

  “Gigs,” he says, brushing his fingertips along the inside of my forearm. I can’t help my body’s reaction, and I shiver at the touch. “It’s not you.” He finally meets my eyes.

  Although his look is sincere, I don’t buy his lame excuse. I actually snort. And then I wonder, why doesn’t he find me attractive?

  “Whatever Anders.” I tug my arm free and walk away, but as I leave I call over my shoulder, “Put ice on that. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”

  I make it all the way down the hall to the bathroom before the tears finally come. A small swell of pride blooms in my chest for having kept my composure in front of him. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but I know with certainty that I can’t stay here. With him. It’s not good for either of us.

  My feelings for him are more than platonic and it’s too easy to hope that we may be something more. It’s unfair to be angry with him because he doesn’t return the sentiment. But it kills me to think about him hooking up with random girls and then coming home to me. How did I become one of those girls?

  I put on my PJs and brush my teeth. Tomorrow is a new day. Erika. Her name pops into my head, and I latch on to the idea. I think she mentioned that she rents a two bedroom about ten minutes from the resort. Prices are high here, but I don’t think she has a roommate, so her rent must be affordable. Maybe she’ll be able to give me some ideas. Maybe she wants a roommate.

  I force my lips into a smile, but I’m afraid my face will crack from the effort. Ducking my head, I splash warm water on my face and then apply my cleanser. Face scrubbed and teeth brushed, I feel a bit better. My eyes are still bloodshot and I wonder if it’s obvious that I’ve been crying. How much time I can hang out in here until Anders goes to bed?

  I don’t want him to see me like this.

  Almost as if I summoned him by mere thought of his name, the door swings open and he appears before me. He doesn’t knock, just barges in like he owns the place, and in a way I guess he does. His blue eyes lock onto mine.

  I try (and fail) to remain unaffected by the way his blue t-shirt stretches across his broad chest. Or the way his hair falls in messy, uneven curls. Or the way his bloody knuckles make him appear rough, slightly dangerous.

  “Gigs.” He begins but when his eyes find mine he stops. “You’ve been crying.” It’s a statement not a question, and I think I can detect a hint of remorse in his voice. Or maybe it’s just tiredness.

  “Thanks for knocking.” I avoid his comment and try to walk past him. I’m not doing this now. We’re not even a couple, yet we’re arguing like one. Over nothing. Literally. We’re arguing over something that did not happen.

  “Gigs,” he says again, grabbing me with both his hands. The rough pads of his fingers bite into my soft flesh. He’s so big, so strong, so overpowering. “It’s not you.”

  Still holding me by my upper arms, he bends his legs to bring himself closer to my height. We’re standing close, closer than is comfortable because the bathroom is so tiny.

  “It’s fine.” I lie. “I overreacted.” I turn my head to avoid his gaze.

  “It’s fine?” His voice is tinged with confusion. My complete one-eighty in behavior must’ve thrown him. Good. Maybe now he’ll get a taste of what he does to me.

  “Sure.” I shrug.

  He studies my face a few long moments before he says, “You’re lying.”

  “What?” My mouth gapes open. I thought he’d be relieved. Instead he looks annoyed.

  “Do not lie to me. Ever.” His voice booms in the tiny space, and he squeezes my arms a little as he says the last word.

  “Anders.” His name is all I can manage. I know if I chance more the tears will be back.

  “Gigs, you’re perfect.” He brings his hands up to cup my face. “You’re perfect.” Whether purposely or not, he leans toward me and his warm breath dances across my face. That breath lights a fire in me and I lick my lips unconsciously.

  This draws his attention, and I watch as his eyes trace the movement. It happens so fast. One moment we’re standing there, and the next his lips are on mine.

  His lips are soft and warm and fit perfectly against mine. A shock of electricity shoots through me from head to toe and I tremble against him.

  His mouth glides against mine, tentative at first, but soon grows more heated. He traces the seam of my lips with his tongue and I part my lips, allowing him entry. He groans into me as his tongue finds mine. Gripping my hips with both hands, he pulls me firmly against him. His erection pokes hard beneath his jeans and I sigh as his arms band around me tighter.

  The kiss goes on for an eternity. We both lose ourselves, exploring and tasting. A fire is raging within me, fueled by lust and want. And he feels it too. I can tell by the way he grabs me. The way he angles his head to get a deeper taste. The way he groans as his tongue strokes mine.

  When we both pull away we’re breathless. Instinctually I raise my right hand to my lips and find them wet and swollen. Anders watches me with focused eyes, but doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me.

  After a minute of silence that feels more like an hour, I say, “What was that?” My voice is high and breathy. My cheeks burn with heat. I must be bright red.

  “What you wanted,” he says, eyes never leaving mine.

  “You did that just to make me feel better about the party?” The bottom drops out. My belly clenches and I recoil, withdraw from his touch. I am mortified.

  “No,” he says clearly.

  “Then why?” My voice shakes.

  “I don’t know.” He looks just as confused as I feel.

  The water clicks on as I climb the steps to the loft. I don’t know what just happened between us. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know if he wants me to sleep up here with him. I just don’t know.

  I can’t sleep on the couch
because… Brit. In the chaos and confusion of the fight I forgot about Brit. Shit. Is she still at the party? Will she be back soon? Will she get a ride?

  I make my way over to the bed, stumbling over a pair of his boots—he is such a slob—before I flop onto the bed face down. I bury my face in the pillow and scream, hoping that with it goes some of my frustration. After a minute, I feel no better and my mind is still racing.

  My thoughts are scrambled but every single one leads back to him. Anders.

  I’m falling in love with him.

  “No.” I shake my head from side to side. “Pull yourself together.” My fists punch the mattress, accentuating each word. I know all about his reputation. Christ, he himself admitted that he doesn’t date. He doesn’t do relationships. And the sad truth is I think he may have kissed me tonight in the bathroom out of pity. How pathetic can I be?

  A heavy sigh escapes my mouth. It’s like the weight of the world rests heavy on my shoulders. I drag the covers up my body, cocooning myself in the blankets. I breathe in the scent of Anders. I know I shouldn’t. It’s not good for me to feed this addiction, but I can’t stop myself. I need my fix. I need Anders.

  His sister leaves tomorrow and I’ll go back to sleeping on the cold, leather couch. Alone. An ache forms low in my belly, but I push it aside. I want to make the most of this night. I will allow myself this one last indulgence, and then tomorrow I embark on Plan No More Anders.

  Despite my best efforts to make the night last, I fall asleep. I don’t realize this until I hear a loud bang downstairs followed by a high female voice. Brit. She must just be getting in. What time is it anyway?

  Turning myself to face the clock, I roll to my side, causing me to brush up against a sleeping Anders. The glow from the fireplace casts him in warm shadows, causing his dirty blond hair to glimmer. He looks so peaceful in his sleep, so serene. I take a moment to watch him (creepy I know) but this may be the last chance I get to watch him this closely. He’s lying partially on his side, partially on his belly, with his right hand extended up over his pillow. His hair falls around his temples, and his lips are parted slightly.

  His lips.

  The lips that just hours ago were kissing me with such passion. Lips that caused my entire body to erupt in goose bumps.

  Another bang from downstairs startles me. I hear Brit curse to herself and then laugh loudly. She must be drunk. For someone who came here with the intent of spending time with her brother, she has rarely seen him. She has, however, had plenty of time to party. Maybe I’m being too judgmental. Being away from her parents, I’m sure she must want to let loose a bit.

  I hear her fluff the pillows on the couch and then a faint snoring. Relieved that she’s settled, I turn back to my side, facing away from Anders. The restlessness from earlier returns. I exhale loudly, trying to get comfortable. Trying to will myself back to sleep.

  A few minutes later I hear Anders’s quiet voice. “Gigs?” A pause, and then, “You asleep?” He sounds vulnerable, so unlike his usual cocky self.

  I remain quiet as he rests his left hand on my bare skin. A spark of excitement passes through me. He rubs his hand delicately back and forth over my low back, his movements pushing my camisole up further. Each stroke is bolder, higher up, and then lower as his hand descends. I have to speak up soon because I won’t be able to endure much more.

  “Yeah.” I squeak out. “I’m awake.”

  His hand instantly drops away, almost as if he were scalded. “Brit could wake the dead,” he says, and just like that he’s back to usual.

  “I noticed.” I roll onto my back, but I leave my eyes glued to the ceiling. I don’t know if I can look at him just yet. I don’t trust myself.

  When he says nothing more I decide to be brave and bring up the kiss. I don’t know how he feels about it, but I can’t have this awkwardness between us. Especially since we’re living together, at least until I find my own place. “Anders about before…” I still don’t look at him.

  “Yeah?” His voice is quiet, a touch of the vulnerability back.

  “Can we…” I falter. “Can we, uh, just pretend that it never happened?” I turn on my side to face him, and his blue-grey eyes meet mine in the firelight.

  He looks hurt for a moment, but he quickly composes himself. “Sure, Gigs.” He gives me a cocky grin. “No problem.”

  It’s my turn to be a little hurt. I didn’t expect him to agree so easily. I don’t know what I expected exactly. I don’t know what the hell is my problem. I’m so far out of my depth here and I decide honesty is the best policy.

  “Sorry.” I bite my lip. “I just don’t want it to be weird. I have no experience with this sort of thing.” I am not embarrassed per se. My inexperience has never really bothered me before, but with Anders, I want to do things. Sexy things.

  A look passes over his face. He hesitates, and then asks, “By no experience you mean… what exactly?”

  Was I that bad a kisser? Does he think that I’ve never kissed a guy? I’ve kissed plenty of men. Well three. But three is still not zero. “Ummm…” I hesitate, not sure how much I want to tell him.

  His hand comes under my chin, titling it up so that I look at him. His hand is warm, but slightly calloused, and the feeling is delicious against my soft skin. “Gigs, if I didn’t interrupt the game earlier…”

  “Zero,” I whisper, still meeting his eyes.

  His eyes widen in surprise, but to his credit he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t make me feel silly, or dumb, or naïve.

  I feel the need to explain. “It was never supposed to be this big thing. It’s not like I’m saving myself for marriage or anything. I just always wanted it to be with someone special. In high school that certainly didn’t happen. In college all the guys want to do is hook up…” My voice trails off. “And now it almost feels like a burden. I mean who is still a virgin at twenty-one? Wait no, almost twenty-two?”

  I honestly don’t know why I’m telling him this. Maria is the only one who knows the truth. I’ve never lied, but I may have led my other friends to believe that I have more experience than I actually do.

  “There’s nothing wrong…”Anders speaks again and I realize that his hand has moved from my chin to my cheek, and is cupping me gently. “Elena.” He breathes my name and my eyes snap to his. What I find there confuses me even more. I see possessiveness and adoration and hunger. But that can’t be right. I must be dreaming.

  Wanting to lighten the mood, I turn my head slightly and say, “I think I’m just going to give in soon. Get it over with.” I can’t believe I’m being so cavalier, especially about something so important, but I need to ease this awkward tension. Anders called me Elena. He never calls me that.

  There’s another awkward pause before Anders asks, “How do… how do you survive?” His tone is so calm and straightforward that I think he may actually be serious.

  “It’s not impossible to live without sex.” I smile at him.

  “I know, but man…” He shakes his head in bewilderment.

  His ridiculous question deserves a ridiculous answer. “I masturbate. A lot.”

  I hear, rather than see him suck in a breath. Well that certainly got his attention. His breathing increases noticeably, causing his chest to rise and fall in quick pulses. He shifts in place, discreetly moving his hands in front of himself. Oh. My. God. He can’t be turned on right now. Can he?

  I burst out laughing. “Anders! I’m kidding.” I continue to laugh, and tears form in my eyes. I chance another glance at him. “God, you should see your face right now.”

  “Real funny, Gigs,” he mutters.

  “Come on. You have to admit that was priceless. I mean, do you honestly think I sit here touching myself all day?” I say between giggles.

  “Enough,” he says a bit harshly. Then he says, almost as an afterthought, “You’ll wake Brit.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” I stretch myself out long, arching my back a little. My cami slips up a little and I q
uickly tug it back down.

  After a moment I turn my head slightly to look at him again and he says, “But seriously, your first time should be special.” The conviction in his voice surprises me.

  “Okay,” I whisper quietly. His fingers skim my hand, tentative at first. When I make no attempt to withdraw my hand, his fingers get a little bolder, stroking up and down my hand. Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, his fingers interlace with mine. My heart swells at the simple gesture. It feels so natural. So right.

  “Good night, Gigs,” he whispers, before squeezing my hand.

  So many mixed messages. So many mixed emotions. And as I drift off to sleep I wonder, Anders, are you that special guy?

  Brit left the next day. Unfortunately, I had to leave too. I’m scheduled to be in Boulder for the next five days. My coach thinks it’s a good idea to reintegrate me slowly. I suspect more than anything he wants to check up on me to make sure I’ve been running my drills. Normally I’d be excited to get the hell out of here. And in a way, I am. I’ve missed boarding in Boulder. It’s what I train for. What I live for. All of my friends are there. But I can’t help but also feel sad leaving Gigs behind. I almost asked her to come with me, but I stopped myself when I realized how pathetic I’ve become. And maybe too, because she starts her internship and wouldn’t be able to come anyway.

  I’m going to miss her. Missing someone is a completely alien feeling for me. Christ, my parents were in Norway for four years after I moved to the States and I barely thought about them. Sure, we talked on the phone occasionally and saw each other during the holidays, but I didn’t miss them. And here I am, worried about being a few hours away from Gigs. For five days. I can’t help myself. And God knows I tried.

  After that night at the party, things changed between us, well at least for me. That kiss alone was enough to make me lose all sense of self-control. But then she had to confide in me about her virginity. I knew she was somewhat inexperienced, but I never thought she was a virgin. At those words every nerve of my body went on high alert. The thought of her body so untouched and pure sparked an incredible possessive hunger within me, and I found myself wishing that I could be the one she would share herself with. The only person she would share herself with. And when she talked about masturbating, I swear I almost came. Of course she was just fucking with me, but I could build fantasies for months of her spread out, in my bed, touching herself.