Losing a Piece of Me

by K. B. Andrews

  “Are you ready? I got your text an hour ago, I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.” I lean in and press a quick kiss to her lips. She doesn’t shy away, instead, she grabs ahold of my shirt and pulls me back in.

  When she pulls away, she looks into my eyes and says, “Thank you.”

  I take her hand, flashing a smug grin at the douche that was talking to her.

  “It was nice meeting you, James. Thank you for the drink and maybe we will see each other again.”

  He nods her a polite farewell but shoots me a dirty look, to which I reply with another sly smile.

  Hand in hand, we cross the grand room and escape back out to the parking lot.

  “Thank you for that. Even after all these years, she still doesn’t get it.” She shakes her head as we approach my bike.

  I lean against it and observe her. She’s swaying back and forth on her feet, she must be nervous and wanting to get away from me.

  When she finally looks at me, I give her my most enticing grin and motion with my head toward the road. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  A smile spreads across her face. “What?”

  I straddle the bike and lift the kickstand. “Come on, Lex. For old time’s sake.” She’s hooked, she can’t resist it, but I throw another grin her way for good measure.

  She wants to go. Despite the fortress walls she has built around herself, I can see in her eyes how badly she wants to say yes, to tear down the pavement with me with the wind in her hair. “I don’t know, Striker.”

  I reach out my hand. “Shut up and get on.”

  She pauses, and I catch a glimpse of something flashing in her eyes, but after a moment she takes my hand and gets on the bike. I kick the bike to life and rev up the engine a few times before speeding out of the parking lot.

  Her arms wrap around me and her hands rest on my lap, just a few millimeters from finding out just how excited I really am. She squeezes me tightly between her thighs, a little trick I filled her in on long ago for holding on while riding. Knowing her sexy-as-hell legs are around my hips only makes me harder.

  I push everything down, everything I’m feeling. It’s time to start figuring out how to get her to open up for me. This bike ride is the first step, I am sure of it.

  We spend hours on the bike with the vibration between our legs. My hands are damn near numb from it, and once I can no longer feel my fingertips, I pull into a deserted parking lot so we can climb off to stretch our legs.

  I light a cigarette for myself and she motions for it, so I hand it to her and light another. “Still smoking?”

  “Only in stressful situations. What about you? I thought you were going to quit?”

  “I did. I just keep an emergency pack in my sidesaddle.” I shrug. “You know, for stressful situations.”

  A smirk pulls at her lips but she doesn’t say anything, instead taking a long drag from her cigarette. The cherry glows bright in the darkness and its faint orange-red glow lights up her face.

  “So how did you get trapped with that douchebag?”

  She scoffs. “My mother, how else?” She begins pacing in front of me, followed unfailingly by my eyes. “I can’t believe I’m back here.”

  “You had no intention of coming back, did you?”

  She shakes her head and takes another pull. “Not in a million years.”

  “How come? Because of me?”

  She stops suddenly. “Being here, it just brings up painful memories. I’m filled with stress, and regrets, and…” Her eyes meet mine. “Love.”

  Fuck. Looks like I’m making progress faster than I planned.

  “Love, huh? I didn’t think you loved me.”

  Her pacing starts up again. “You fucking know I loved you.”

  I stand and take a step away from my bike. “Then why did you leave? If you loved me, you never would have been able to do that. You would’ve at least said goodbye.”

  She squares her shoulders. “Don’t tell me what I should’ve done. You don’t know. You would’ve done the same thing in my position!” she yells.

  Lex never yells. At least, she never used to yell. She was always cool, calm, and collected, thinking everything through before making a move. If she’s yelling, she must be feeling something strong. As far as I know, it could be the first thing she’s felt since leaving me.

  “Then tell me, Lex!” I close the distance between us, positioning our chests inches away from each other without contact. Our eyes lock. “No secrets between us, remember?”

  She’s dumbfounded. She can’t move. She can’t look away. She’s frozen, and I don’t know if it’s shock or fear that’s keeping her here, but whatever it is, I’m going to use it to my advantage.

  As quick as I can move, I pull her in for a kiss. A lip-crushing, tongue-tingling kiss that is painful and strong, yet soft at the same time. Her hands automatically wrap around my neck, holding me to her as she explores my mouth.

  Her chest brushes against mine and I feel myself grow rock hard. My fingers trace up her thigh, making their way up under her dress and stopping just as they meet the curve of her ass, which I grasp firmly to lift her onto my bike.

  Her legs wrap around me and she pulls me closer, her hands never ceasing their exploration of my body.

  I don’t know how far to let this go. I want her fiercely, but is she ready for that? Can she handle what I want to do to her?

  I decide to test the waters. My hand runs up the inside of her thigh and I lightly rub against her. Nothing more than a thin piece of material lies between her and my hand and I want to slide beneath it. I want to feel how much she wants me, how wet and ready she is for me.

  A soft moan slips from her lips as I apply gentle pressure just where she needs it. I start to slide my finger in through the side of her panties, but stop myself and pull back. I want to look in her eyes and judge her reaction as my fingers take what they want.

  She doesn’t stop me, which surprises me. If her walls had come back up, she would put a stop to this, wouldn’t she?

  My fingers slide into her and she grasps my shirt, trying to pull my lips back to hers. But I don’t allow it. “Open your eyes,” I grit out. My voice is thick, heavy with lust and need for this woman.

  She does as I say and I see it. The walls, they’re back. She isn’t allowing this to happen so she can feel my love for her again; this is just so she doesn’t have to feel the pain and regret that she associates with me.

  I pull my hand away and back up. When her feet are back on the ground and I’m sure she isn’t going to fall, I turn my back to her and rub my eyes.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Her voice is shaky and confused.

  My shoulders rise and fall in rhythm with deep breaths as I try to calm myself. Finally, I turn to her.

  “Not like this.”

  “Not like what?” she whispers.

  “Don’t forget that I know you. I fucking know you and always have. Six years doesn’t change that. You may want me to believe otherwise, but I know you.” Anger builds up, a steady, burning pressure in my chest. I can’t believe she would try using me like this.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When I looked into your eyes, do you know what I saw?”

  She wraps her arms around herself and shrugs.

  “Nothing.”

  Her brows pull up in confusion.

  I close the distance between us again before continuing. “You forget how well I can read you. I know you. I know your soul. I know you build walls inside yourself to keep from being hurt. I know you run as soon as anything gets even a little bit tough. And I know what you were trying to do just now.”

  “What do you think I’m trying to do, Striker?” The walls come up just a little higher. It radiates from her eyes and rings out in her voice.

  “I thought you were letting this happen because you’re finally allowing yourself to feel how much you love me, how much I love you. But that’s not what you were doing at all, was it?”
I pause to let her answer, but she doesn’t.

  “You were allowing this so you didn’t have to feel. You were using me as an escape, and that’s not how this is going to go, sweetheart. I’m going to make you feel again, Lex. If it’s the last fucking thing I do, you are going to feel this.”

  I move around her and get on the bike. She steps away as I kickstart it and then climbs on. She is clearly tense and uncomfortable, but seeing her like this pleases me in my angered state.

  The ride back to her car is silent and filled with tension. Thank God we’re on my bike and all sounds are drowned out by the loud engine and the wind blowing in our ears, making it impossible to talk. I’m happy for the lack of conversation, it gives me time to calm down.

  When I pull up to her car, she climbs off and gives me a longing look. I’m cold to her, I can’t help it. Right now, she just has me so pissed off that I can’t think straight. Somewhere inside of me, I know that this girl has a crack inside of her. She’s not broken, though, no matter how much she thinks she is. It’s just a crack, and I can fix a crack.

  She turns away from me without a word and gets inside her car while I watch her in silence. She cranks it over a few times, but it finally starts. I make a mental note to check under her hood and see what the problem is, but keep my mouth shut. I’m still angry. I don’t take off until she has driven out of the parking lot.

  Instead of going straight home, I cruise around for a little longer. I need to calm down, sleep won’t come easy when I’m this aggravated.

  I’m even angry at myself for being angry. I know something is going on with her, I just don’t know what. It’s the same question I’ve wondered about since she left six years ago. What made her run?

  She’s challenging me. She doesn’t know it, but she is. If I can’t get her walls down, I don’t deserve to be with her. It just means I have to try harder.

  With that thought, I turn and head home. As I turn down my road, to my surprise, her silver-blue Prius is setting in my driveway. She’s outside of the car, leaning against the driver’s side door. I pull up next to her, shut the bike off, and dismount, watching her the whole time.

  “You’re right. I was using you, and I’m sorry.”

  When the last word leaves her lips, I rush at her. I pin her against the side of her car with her legs wrapped around me. My lips find hers and I taste her, I feel her, I’m completely wrapped up in her. Every last drop of my confused mix of emotions pours out through my kiss.

  Her hands make a fist in my shirt, pulling and tugging, wanting it off of me. When I don’t budge to help her, she tries even harder, yanking the fabric until it tears.

  The sound of the cloth ripping and the feeling of the cool night air against my skins causes something to snap inside of me. I have to have her. I don’t fucking care if she is using me to take the edge off of her pain. If that’s what she needs, that’s what I’ll give her.

  With my hands cupping her ass, I walk us into the house, straight through the front door and up the stairs to the bedroom, where we both fall on the bed. I catch myself with one hand while the other remains on her.

  Her legs are pulling me closer while her hands go to my belt buckle. Her nails dig into my stomach from her desperate attempts. I hike her dress up to her waist and pull at her panties. The fabric rips and tears away just as she has my jeans sliding down my ass.

  Without warning, I thrust into her, filling her. She tightens around me and calls out. I pump into her hard and fast, grasping her hips to meet my movements.

  I’m not taking this slow. This is fast and rough. This is a desperate attempt from an even more desperate man. I bare my soul to her. I’ll take her any way she lets me, because there is no other way.

  Chapter 7

  We run from the road and dart to the tree line while flashing red and blue lights follow close behind. I chuck the red spray paint over my shoulder as he takes my hand and pulls me behind him. Both of us are out of breath from laughing and running so fast, adrenaline coursing through our veins. Running from the cops always makes me feel alive.

  It’s not like I killed someone, I just made our town’s sign a little more entertaining. I hear Barney yell behind us. “Murphy, Grant, I know that’s you. Hands in the air!”

  We spur ourselves on, picking up speed. We run as far as our legs will carry us. Suddenly, Striker stops and holds his finger to his lips. We both freeze and listen, our ears detecting nothing but silence.

  He gave up.

  I let out a giggle and Striker picks me up, spinning me in the air. Our eyes lock and something is exchanged between the two of us.

  We had just shared our first “real” kiss. Not a “try it out” kiss like when we were kids, but a kiss that was wanted by the both of us, not just me. I have been waiting years for this night. Waiting for him to want to kiss me.

  He places one hand on the tree trunk and slowly backs me up against it. He’s still holding me, my legs are wrapped around him and I can feel his hardness.

  His eyes watch mine intensely and his jaw flexes. Our breathing is labored from running, but it only makes the situation that much more erotic.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful. Do you know that?” He brushes a fallen hair away from my face.

  A flush of red paints my cheeks, and my eyes look everywhere but at him.

  He places his fingers under my chin and lifts until I’m forced to look at him. “I mean it, Lex. You’re wild and free. You have something nobody else has.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have me. I love you. I’ve loved you since I heard you laugh at me for getting in trouble when we were twelve-years-old.” His lips crash into mine and I hold on around his neck for dear life.

  “I fucking love you, Lex.”

  My eyes flutter open from that dream. I look around me and, for a minute, forget where I am. Then I look around and realize I’m not alone in bed.

  It’s Striker.

  My heart slams in my chest and my breathing picks up.

  What have I done? I slept with Striker.

  No, no, no. What have I done? Why did I do that? Why did he allow it? He knew I was using him but he allowed it anyway. Why?

  Fear paralyzes me as I sit still, watching him sleep. His bare back is uncovered by the sheets, and he looks so innocent lying there oblivious to the waking world. For once, he’s at ease. Striker is never at ease. He’s always wound tight, always brooding and serious. Not now.

  This realization strengthens the panic building inside of me.

  I slide out from bed and grab my clothes, quietly stepping out of his room. In the living room, I quickly get dressed before running out the front door. If he woke, he never made a move to stop me, and I’m thankful for that.

  I can’t handle this right now.

  The bright green digits of the clock on my car stereo tell me it’s still early. Early enough, I hope, to slip undetected into my mother’s house. I pray to be so lucky, because I sure as hell can’t imagine explaining this to her. Not only did I skip out of my sister’s engagement party early, but I snubbed her guy and ran off with Striker, the guy she’s always hated.

  She thinks he is the reason I turned against her, but truthfully, she brought that on herself by trying to manipulate and control my entire life. My sister may have given into her, but she doesn’t have the fight and the drive that I have. It’s my life and I will live it how I want. Not how she wants. Not how Striker wants. Only me.

  When I walk into the house, I’m prepared for the walk of shame and the argument that’s sure to come. I don’t bother being quiet, since I assume I’ve already been caught. I stand in the foyer and look around, waiting for it.

  But it doesn’t come. I shrug it off and head for the stairs. Safely in my room, I lean my back against the door and feel my eyes start to burn.

  How could I have done that? I can’t get mixed back up with Striker. I can’t do it again. My family won’t survive it. I would rather vanish quietly into
the night, never to be seen again, and know that they are happy than to have Striker in my life and know that my relationship broke up a forty-year marriage.

  I push off the door and collapse in bed, curling into a ball and taking a few moments to feel sorry for myself.

  This is it, Alex. The only time you get to do this, I tell myself. Cry it out, get it all out because you have to be stronger than this. When you walk out that door, it ends. Your guard goes back up. You have to hold your head high and take back your ‘fuck off’ attitude.

  Alone in my room, far from anyone’s prying eyes, I let myself feel it. All of it. Every single pent-up ounce of fear, anxiety and raw, indecipherable emotion hits me at once and damn-near cripples me, leaving my muscles weak and shortening my breath to shallow gasps.

  An army of tears is building behind my eyes and I am losing the fight to hold them at bay. My chest hurts from trying to contain it. I hate crying. It makes me feel weak, and I refuse to allow myself to feel weak. That part of my life is over. I have the control now.

  A trickle of tears begins to slip from the corner of my eyes, accompanied by the feeling of a sob starting deep inside my chest, but my sorrowful reverie is interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. I sit up and wipe my eyes in a half-assed attempt to cover up my crying, but know my inner turmoil is still clearly visible on my face.

  My sister pops her head in. “Can I sit down?”

  I wave her in, but don’t trust myself to talk.

  “Why are you crying?”

  I wipe my eyes again. “It’s nothing.”

  “You don’t always have to be so strong, you know.” She brushes her hair away from her perfectly painted face.

  Compared to her, I’m a fucking mess.

  “I noticed you didn’t come home last night.”

  My head pops up. “Oh, I stayed with Gemma.”

  She gives me a knowing smile. “Really? I saw Striker at the dinner last night, and saw the little exchange he had with that guy Mom was trying to set you up with.”

  An awkward laugh escapes me. “You saw that?”