by Carian Cole
“There is. I don’t know what it is either. This is new for me too, ya know. You think I do this shit?” He waves his hand at me and at my glass of orange stuff. “I’m just following what I feel and seeing where it takes me. I think you should do the same. Stop putting walls up.”
“Really? And what about my boyfriend? Of twelve years?”
He pulls out his little e-cig and starts puffing on it. “I don’t fucking know, Evelyn. But after twelve years, and here you are sick and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass, I think I’d be taking a good hard look at this.” He takes a long drag on his e-cig. “I like you, you’re different. I like how you make me feel. I love how shy but feisty you are. I want to fuck you stupid and watch you come undone and then fuck you back together again.”
My thighs start to burn. Yes. Do that. Whatever that is.
“Well, that’s romantic, Storm. And therein is why I would never be with someone like you. I don’t want to be with some pig who just goes around randomly fucking girls with no regard to their commitment and values. That’s why God made sluts—so men like you can have something to keep their feeble little one track minds happy because they’re too shallow to have real relationships.”
Oops. He looks really pissed. He’s shaking his head at me in disbelief. “Wow, Evie. I thought you kind of knew me a little fucking bit, or at least could see that I treat you different, and I was hoping we could figure out the fucking reason for that. Together. But fuck it.” He pushes my feet off and stands up. He points his finger from me to himself and back again. “This is why I don’t have relationships. This fucking bullshit right here.”
“I’m already in a relationship, Storm,” I remind him. My voice is strained from talking too much and coughing. Or maybe it’s because I’m about to cry because seeing him mad and upset is slowly chipping away at my heart.
He grabs his leather jacket off the chair and pulls it on. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”
The minute he leaves, I burst into tears. He has my head so confused. I don’t even understand what just happened or what he was trying to say, or why I even care. My words came out so much worse than I wanted them to and made me seem like a total bitch. I just feel so sick and confused! I am in no position right now to be making decisions or thinking about where I stand with people. Can’t he see that?
My phone rings and I answer it quickly. Maybe he’s calling to say he’s coming back.
“Hello?”
“Wow, you sound even worse than yesterday.” Michael. Dammit.
“I know... I feel like crap. How are your meetings going?”
“Good, everything is good. You better get some rest. You can call me later if you want, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, I think so.” No... He just left because I called him a pig.
“Okay, hon. I hope you feel better soon. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Ugh. I’m not sure what Storm has done to me, but he’s got himself so embedded into me right now. I hate it. My life was normal before he came into it. I was happy and content, going through my day-to-day routine. I thought Michael and I were happy. I didn’t know I was missing out on so much feeling. I don’t even know how else to describe it. How can everything I feel and want change in just a week?
I debate calling Amy so she can talk me down, but my throat is hurting so much I don’t even think I can handle talking that much right now. I wish I could call my mom. I feel like I’m having a meltdown from the past week. Being trapped in the truck, not eating or drinking enough, worrying about my job, getting sick, Michael being gone, Storm confusing the hell out of me... It’s all just too much. My life is usually so incredibly boring. Nothing new or exciting ever happens. Now I have a rock star telling me he wants to fuck me silly. I don’t even know what that means.
I stare at my cell phone thinking maybe I should send Storm a text and say I’m sorry. I’m not even sure what I’m apologizing for, though. No. I’m not going to give in to his crazy. It’s better he is gone. I have never been one of those girls who psycho-calls and texts men, and I’m not about to start now.
The front door opening and closing causes me to jump. “You should really lock your door.”
I try to suppress the smile that immediately takes over my face because I don’t want him to see I’m glad he came back. “What’s the point? You’ll just come in anyway.”
He grins at me and hands me a latte. “I got you your favorite coffee. I thought maybe it would calm your shit down.”
Every part of me wants to squee over the man who brought my cat a toy and me a latte. I can’t wrap my head around him at all. How can he be so thoughtful, but not be into relationships? Does he treat his fuckbuddies like this? I have to know.
I sip the latte and thank him while he settles in the chair across the room.
“Storm, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you treat the women you’re in those non-relationships with like this?”
“Like this how?”
“You know... lattes, breakfast smoothies, cat toys... that sort of thing?”
“No. I haven’t done shit like this in a long time.” A sadness veils his eyes, and I wonder if he is thinking of his wife. I wish I had never read that article on the Internet.
“I do appreciate it, Storm. I’m really just not used to it.” I take another sip of the coffee. My throat is hurting so bad and now one of my ears is congested.
“I know.” He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the couch against my legs again. “Let me ask you something now.” He takes the cup from my hand and puts it on the coffee table.
“Okay...”
“Can you give me twenty seconds of you not thinking, not analyzing, not worrying, not pushing me away? Will you do that for me?”
“I’ll try.”
He grins at me. “Not try. I want you to do it.”
“Okay. But only because you got me a white mocha.”
“Shhh...”
Before I have a chance to think, his lips are on mine, soft and lingering. Touching then not touching. Oh, God. Don’t think. He pulls away slightly, but I lean up to meet his lips again and that’s all he needs to kiss me deeper, his tongue slowly sweeping over mine. A small gasp escapes me. Don’t think. I become breathless, drowning in his kisses. My hands go up to his neck under his long, soft hair, holding him to me. I need so much more of this, so much more of him. He grabs my hands in his and pins them down on the pillow over my head and starts to kiss me wildly, devouring my mouth with his. Holy fuck. I wish I didn’t feel sick. Pulling away slightly, he stares down at me, breathing heavy. He keeps my hands in his grasp.
“I’m going to stop now,” he says between breaths. “But I want you to do one more thing for me.” He kisses me softly again and then pulls back. “I want you to think about the idea of us. But not until I leave. I’m going to stay here until Saturday night with you, and we’re not going to talk about any of this, and I’m not going to kiss you or touch you.” He lowers his lips to kiss my neck, his teeth grazing my flesh. My clit quivers in response. “I want you to come to my show next month, and I don’t give a fuck if you bring Michael and Amy or not. I want you there.” He drags his lips up my neck to my mouth. “Then I’m going to be gone for a few months and you’re going to have a lot of time to think, Evie. When I get back, I want you to tell me what you want.” His green eyes stare down into mine. “Okay?”
I nod slowly, too stupefied to speak.
“And I don’t want you beating yourself up that you just cheated on Michael. I needed to show you what it could be like, because you really have no fucking idea.” Once more, he kisses me, soft and deep. A lovers kiss, filled with a silent desperation and urgency. My entire body is trembling from the impact of it. He lifts one of my hands to his lips and kisses it softly before letting it go.
For once, I have no idea
what to say.
He hands me my coffee again. “Looks like you need this.” I sip it absently. I can’t shake the feeling of his kisses. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to just lie here all day and kiss him, to pull his clothes off and touch him everywhere. I know he would be an amazing lover. He knows exactly how to kiss, where to kiss, and the places to touch. Michael lacks all of that. That’s just sex though, I remind myself. That’s not love and commitment. I do not want to be one of his fuck toys, no matter how good he can make me feel. As much as I don’t want to, and as wrong as I know it is, I know I’m falling hard for him. I just know I will end up hurt, and even worse, utterly alone.
Chapter Eleven
Sometimes, it’s easy to slip into denial about what’s going on in life. It’s safer and easier to exist within the confines of what is comfortable than to venture out and allow yourself to experience new things that might shake the foundation that has become your safety net.
I think most people settle for what is safe at least once at some point in their lives, but a person who suffers from anxiety or depression will almost always run away from goals, dreams, and new life adventures to avoid the possibility of feeling anything new and somewhat scary. It is better to live with the known than face the unknown. Or at least that’s what I’ve told myself for most of my life. That mantra kept me steady, unchanged, consistent, comforted.
I have lived vicariously through my best friend Amy since I was five years old. She is a risk taker, the thrill seeker. My window to the world I am afraid of experiencing. She has been my rock since the first day of kindergarten when two other little girls were making fun of me for crying after my mother kissed me goodbye and left me at the door to the school. I was afraid she would never come back and I would be abandoned forever. And while that didn’t happen on that day, eventually, it did happen. Amy took my hand, told those two little girls off, and walked me into the school, never leaving my side.
“Ev, you need to listen to me.” I am listening to her. I just don’t want to hear what she’s saying. We’re at a small restaurant in town having lunch to celebrate my feeling better and not being fired.
“Amy, you don’t understand...”
She taps her manicured finger on her wine glass and lifts her ice blue eyes to meet mine. “I do, honey, and you know I do. I’ve been through this many times. I’ve dated a lot of men. You’re scared. But this guy really seems to like you. These texts he sends you? I wish men would text me nice things like that, just to ask me how my day is and to say goodnight. Instead, I get this bullshit asking me to bring them cigarettes and telling me to wear a black thong.”
“Well, you do have a fabulous ass,” I tease.
“I know, but I would still like to have a man treat me like a lady once in a while. You’re getting texts like this from a rock star, for God’s sake. I’m getting wet just thinking about it!”
“Amy!”
She flings her platinum hair back off her shoulder and sips her wine. “What? The guy is sex on a stick, Evelyn, and he’s got it bad for you. If I were you, I would not hesitate. Go directly to his bed. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”
“There’s more to life than sex.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Is there?”
“I want more than that, Amy. You know that.”
“Ev! He’s giving you more than that! He’s been sending you cute little text messages with smiley faces for two weeks! Who the hell does that? He took care of you while you were sick with the flu and looked like ass! He’s making a big effort here, and trust me—that is rare, honey.”
“Yeah, but why is he doing it? Don’t you think it’s an act?”
I push my salad around on my plate, my appetite still not back to what it was a month ago. I’m not sure if it’s from being sick or just my nerves being shot to hell.
“I don’t think he would go through this much effort just to put on an act to get down your pants. What would be the point? He can pretty much get any girl he wants. The dude dates models, actresses, and porn stars. If he didn’t really like you, he wouldn’t be wasting all this time, now would he? Ain’t nobody got time for that.”
Ugh. Models, actresses, and porn stars. Like I needed to be reminded of all of that.
“Evelyn, let’s get serious for a moment.” She pushes her plate away from her and leans her elbow on the table. “You know I love you like a sister. I love Michael, too. But you guys seem to have outgrown each other. He doesn’t make you laugh or take you out. He’s never home anymore. He’s completely thrown himself into work and playing golf. And that’s okay. He has every right to follow his goals. But what about your goals and dreams? You want to get married and have a baby. You want someone who makes you laugh. You want someone who will snuggle on the couch with you and watch funny movies. You need someone who will take care of you and be patient with you, but also be able to get you out of your own head. And, after years of boring, unfulfilling sex, I think a part of you is waking up and wanting a little more. Some adult romance. Some wild sex.”
“Amy!”
“It’s true, Evelyn.” She finishes off her wine. “This isn’t easy for me to say, but I have to because I love you. And I hope you don’t take this wrong because it will kill me, sweetie. I think a big part of you holding on to Michael is because he was there with you when your parents died. Your parents knew him. They liked him. I think the thought of being with a man who your parents never met scares you. I think you’re scared to move on. I know it’s scary for you to let go of someone else, Evelyn. You’ve dealt with a lot of losses. But I think you might have to be brave and let go of the security you feel with Michael and give someone else a chance or else you are going to end up miserable. I know your mom would never want you to be in an unhappy relationship. She would want you to be with someone who excites you, and takes care of you, and sends you cute little smiley faces.”
I let out a big sigh and fidget in my chair. I hate when she is always right.
“You’re right... I know you are. I’m just scared. It’s so hard to picture starting over, giving up twelve years, just so much change... I love Mike, and I know he loves me, but you’re right, we’ve become more friends and roommates. I’m not even sure when or how we got like that. I think we kind of went into denial. I really thought we would get married, have a family... and now, my head is all fucked up with Storm. I mean, I’ve only known him two weeks, but we just have this connection. But honestly, Amy, how am I supposed to even think about being in a relationship with someone like him? He travels, he sleeps around, he has money, he has women crawling all over him, and he’s amazingly sexy, he’s practically living on a different planet compared to me. How do I fit into that? I’m just little boring me. I can’t see it lasting... but he’s just so persistent that we should give it a try. I don’t know what to do.”
I can’t look at her because I know I will start to cry, and I’m afraid I might not be able to stop. She reaches across the table and holds my hand.
“I’ll always be here for you, Ev. You’re not going to be alone, I promise you. No matter what happens, I will be right here and go through it with you. Stop stressing out so much and thinking you’re not good enough for him or that you won’t fit. He’s a big boy. He knows what he wants. “
“How did I get so lucky to have you as my best friend?” A tear slides down my cheek that I quickly brush away.
“We’re both lucky. You’ve gotten me through the worst shit ever, too. Now, I want you to get your head together, okay? Allow yourself to find happiness. And ya know what? It might not last forever and that’s okay. The important part is that you’re happy and not spending your life in hiding. Now, I have to get back to work, but I can’t wait ‘til New Years to see the band play and meet Storm in person finally. Maybe he’ll autograph my boob.”
“That’s not even funny.”
I have a text from Storm waiting for me when I get back to my car.
Sto
rm: Can you call me?
Me: No. I have to get back to work
Storm: How was lunch?
Me: Good. We had a nice talk. She’s looking forward to your show. She wants you to sign her boob
Storm: LMAO I wouldn’t do that
Me: I hope not!
Storm: I wouldn’t mind signing yours tho ;)
Me: I think I can pass on that.
Storm: Can you call me tonight? On your way home maybe?
Me: I’ll try
Storm: Try hard. I miss your voice.
Smiling, I stash my phone back in my purse and head back to the office. Today is my last day, and then I have five days off for Christmas. We usually go to Michael’s mom and dad’s house for Christmas dinner, and I can’t say that I ever enjoy it. They just watch television and eat, argue with each other, exchange a gift or two, and then we leave. I try to get along with his mom and sister, but they are not overly friendly so I usually occupy myself at their house by doing the dishes or reading his mom’s gossip magazines. Growing up, my family had wonderful Christmas dinners. My mom loved the holidays. She would decorate the house while my dad would string lights all over the house and yard. He would put up those plastic lit reindeer and snowmen. As a little girl, I loved it, and I couldn’t wait to grow up and have my own house to decorate.
On my way home from work, I stop at the grocery store so I can pick up some things to cook for the next week. I’m going to bake cookies, an apple pie, and make a ham for Michael because that’s his favorite. He promised he would be home for a few days, and I want to use this time to see if we can reconnect. It takes two to tango, so if something is wrong in our relationship, half of it is my fault, too. Hopefully, if I show him more attention, he’ll come around.
My phone beeps as I’m driving home so I check it when I stop at a red-light.
Storm: Hey, I was hoping to talk to you. I’m at the studio, but I can talk for a few
Frowning, I throw my phone back into my bag. I’m not going to reply or call him. I have a car full of groceries I just bought to make all of Michael’s favorite meals over the holiday. I need to stay focused.
