Reprieve

by A. E. Woodward

  FROZEN IN PLACE on the couch, tears flow from my eyes like rivers. My heart aches as I revisit old wounds. I knew this would happen. This is why I never talk about the past, and why I’ve spent years of my life numbing the pain. Aware that my face is red and swollen, I slowly turn and face Asher, who stares back at me, slightly stunned. “Why does it hurt so bad?” I ask, my voice broken and strained as I force the words out between sobs.

  He doesn’t say anything, just gets up and grabs the tissue box, coming to sit next to me, the cushion dipping with the extra weight. Caught off guard, my body tilts inwards, my shoulder leaning against his. He offers me the tissue box. I take one and then move away. Only slightly, though, just so I’m not touching him. His eyes drift to the space between us, before he says, “Because you’ve spent far too long pushing it away. Sometimes being strong isn’t the best thing for us.”

  I slide the tissue underneath both my eyes and blow out through my cheeks. “Well it fuckin’ sucks.” Asher laughs, and I’m not sure what’s funny. But I stop thinking about that when he places his arm around my shoulder.

  “That’s for damn sure,” he says, squeezing me gently.

  I snap my head around to look at him. He’s relaxed, seemingly unbothered by this casual gesture. I can’t say the same for myself. Feeling my body go rigid, a look of realization comes over Asher’s face and he immediately removes his arm. “Shit.” He jumps up from the couch and takes a few steps away, wringing his fingers nervously. His back is to me and I get the sense that he’s collecting himself.

  Understandable.

  He turns to face me. “I’m sorry,” he says, gazing down at my still shocked face.

  Unsure of what just happened, my mouth opens and closes a few times before I find the right words. “You don’t have to apologize,” I say quietly, and my eyes fall to the ground as I try to explain my reaction. “You took me by surprise, is all. It’s nice to feel like I have a friend.”

  He rubs his forehead, placing his hand over his eyes and sighing. “You’re supposed to just be a patient.”

  “Then why doesn’t it feel like it?” I ask in a moment of bravery. He drops his hand and my eyes meet his. He can say I’m just a patient all he likes. His eyes can’t hide the truth. They tell me a different story. And the way they’re looking at me makes me think that Asher’s feelings are just as muddled as my own.

  “I don’t know,” he mutters. Neither of us moves, but although his body remains frozen it manages to communicate his unease. Our eyes are glued, locked in a battle neither of us knows how to win. My eyes fill, flooded with an unknown emotion, and tears run down my cheeks. I expect him to look away, but he doesn’t.

  Instead, he takes a small step toward me and stops. My heart thunders against my chest, my palms slick with sweat. I place my hands against the sides of my thighs, and run them back and forth on the fabric of my jeans. I need to think of something else. Someone else.

  Asher takes a few more tentative steps before he kneels down in front of me. Without a word, his hand slowly crosses space between us before landing on my face, his thumbs moving through the wetness on my cheeks and I lean into his touch. With a small smile, as he snakes his fingers to the back of my neck, resting his thumb behind my ear. The touch is light, yet familiar, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Slowly, he traces the line of my jaw. I close my eyes, reveling in his touch and then in an instant, before I can change my mind, I lean forward and place my lips on his. For a moment he doesn’t move, then his lips part slightly, his tongue tentatively exploring mine.

  My heart soars and without warning, a memory from the tub resurfaces: his lips on mine, my fingers in his hair, my front pressed tightly against his, my body burning. And just like in that dream, I surrender completely, my lips opening for him, willing—no, urging him to continue. He intoxicates me.

  Desperate for more, I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and pull him toward me, pulling us back onto the couch, my knees falling outward to make room for him between my thighs, allowing him to deepen our kiss.

  And what a kiss. This isn’t a fairytale kiss. No. This is a mouths open, tongues searching, hands clawing, hip thrusting, moan inducing, hot, hard kiss. This is the kind of kiss that could last forever, but still be over too soon.

  Drunk on him, I slide my leg up his body and wrap it around his back. All I want is for him to kiss me harder, longer. I want him so close to me that no daylight is visible between our bodies, fused together like a mass of tangled desire. But my movement breaks the moment. His head lifts and he knifes up, breaking the seal our mouths had formed, and his arms disappear as he backs off, away from me, leaving me in a puddle on the couch. My eyes pop open to find him staring at me in horror. All the color has drained from his face and his eyes are wide with shock, like he can’t believe what just happened. My mind is reeling and I can only imagine what he’s thinking. There’s so much wrong with what just happened that I should be scared, but I’m not. At all. Instead I’m hopeful. Excited.

  “Tegan,” he says, and his voice sounds different, throaty. It’s unlike any other time I’ve heard him speak.

  It’s quiet.

  It’s tentative.

  It’s unsure.

  My heart skips a beat. My stomach flutters. My fingers start to tingle. “Asher,” I barely manage to breathe back.

  “I think you should leave.”

  “I don’t want to.” Knowing that I have misinterpreted everything allows my body to relax. Every muscle releases and my heart beat starts to even out.

  He takes another step back, putting more space between us, as if that will erase everything that just happened. “I still think it would be a good idea for you to leave. In fact, you really need to.”

  Hearing his words makes my heart sink. I want to scream. To pull on my hair and yell. I can’t remember the last time I was rejected and it definitely hurts worse than I ever expected. How did this happen? His lips were just on mine. I felt it and I know he felt it too. No one could kiss like that and not feel something.

  “I know it hurts. It’s easy to misinterpret our relationship; to think our interactions are more than those of a counselor and patient, and that’s normal. Working so closely together we’ve established a bond. We trust each other, you’ve shared information that you probably haven’t ever shared before. But that’s it. I am your counselor and you are my patient—that’s where the relationship ends. I respect you for wanting to take a leap, but what just happened is wrong and it’s time for you to leave.”

  He walks over to the door, holding it open for me, refusing to make eye contact. The heat in my heart travels to my face and I flush with embarrassment. I misread everything. I made something out of nothing.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mutter as I back clumsily out of the door, unable to get out of there fast enough. I need the safety of my room. I need to be anywhere but here.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry. This sort of development is common in this profession but inappropriate contact with a patient is a hard line for me. I won’t be that person. I got carried away.” I swallow the lump in my throat through gritted teeth and nod. “No hard feelings, though, yeah? You’re making great progress, Tegan. I’d hate for this . . . misunderstanding to jeopardize that.”

  Here I am, making an ass of myself, and he’s still trying to make sure I’m okay. Even though my instinct is to throw a tantrum, I don’t want that. I’m far from okay but I force a quick nod and smile, holding my breath to stop myself from saying something I shouldn’t.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his words a statement not a question, like it’s a certainty that everything will go back to normal and we can just pick up where we left off. But I can’t do that. As much as I want to accept his words and move on, it’s just too—damn—hard. My lungs burn and I know that I can’t hold my breath anymore . . . not when he’s the one who takes it away.

  Standing there in the hallway outside his office, I feel my chance sli
pping away. It may not come around for me again. This may be my only opportunity to confess everything I’ve been feeling over the last few weeks.

  “You bring me to life,” I blurt. It’s the truth. I would do anything to spend time with him. He’s slowly become the reason I get up every morning. He’s what I crave, what I need. It’s then that I realize he has become my new drug of choice.

  Asher Hughes is my new heroin.

  The look on his face is almost painful to witness. It tells me everything I need to know, but don’t want to accept. He knows how dangerous this is. How my feelings could be our undoing. Before the words are even out of his mouth I know what he’s going to say.

  “I’m sorry, Tegan. I can’t.”

  EVERY NOW AND then I would get sick of maintaining status quo. Bored out of my mind, I’d go seeking a little bit of trouble. Sometime in my junior year, I decided to skip school with one of the boys on the football team. He was a friend of a friend, but I was smart enough to know that he only wanted to hang out with me because he’d heard I was easy. He figured being with me during the day was safe. Less risk of being seen with the “stoner slut” while everyone was at school.

  We drove around in his pickup truck for a while, listening to music and talking about bullshit. I grew tired of him and decided to add a little fun into the mix, digging through my purse and pulling out the bowl I had tossed in just in case. I was thankful I did. He watched nervously. “What are you doing, Tegan?” he asked, his voice quivering slightly and it took a lot of effort on my part to not roll my eyes at his naivety. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing?”

  “If I get caught with that I’ll get kicked off the team.”

  “So we won’t get caught.”

  He looked out the windshield and assessed where we were. “Can you at least wait until I find a place to park? I really don’t feel like getting arrested.”

  I huffed, annoyed with his whining. Which one of us was supposed to be the girl? Getting high was a way to chill out; I didn’t need him and his paranoia spoiling it before we’d even begun. “Fine. We’re close to the park, so just pull in the parking lot there.”

  “A public place?” I could tell he was questioning my sanity and likely wishing he’d gone to class instead.

  “Don’t worry about it, we’ll be fine. I smoke there all the time.”

  He didn’t ask any more questions, doing what I’d told him to like a pathetic puppy. Men were weak and disgusting. They’d do anything to get laid.

  The minute he pulled into the parking spot, I had the bowl in my mouth and the lighter igniting the weed. I pulled against the ceramic and held the smoke in my lungs, leaning my head back against the headrest before allowing the smoke to billow up from between my lips.

  And all the while he twitched like a meerkat, casting nervous glances left, then right, then left again.

  “Calm down,” I snapped. “No one’s gonna see us. Everyone is at work or school.” I held the bowl out to him, willing him to take a hit because he seriously needed to relax. He was beginning to make me paranoid.

  His eyes shifted around the park again. Confident there was no one in sight, he took the bowl from me. “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, like it was some big secret.

  “Here.” I leaned forward and flicked the lighter to life, burning the weed. He sucked against the bowl like a champ, taking a hit like a professional—not a first timer. He coughed as he blew out the smoke. I laughed for a second and gave him my best, “fuck me” eyes.

  I lit up and took another hit but instead of exhaling, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. He opened his mouth, expecting my tongue. There was that naivety again. I blew into his mouth and to his credit he picked up on what I was doing quickly and sucked back the smoke.

  We did this a few more times, each of us taking a hit and passing off to the other until he leaned over and placed his lips on mine and I scooted closer to him, closing the distance between us. His hands rested awkwardly against my hips, and I could tell that he was going to need me to lead him because it was quite clear he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

  Lucky for him, I had years of experience.

  I grabbed his hand and shoved it underneath my skirt. He broke the kiss, gasping when his fingers touched the soft, bare skin. I grinned devilishly at him. I hadn’t bothered with underwear. I was all about making things easy.

  He looked at me, unsure of himself. I nodded to encourage him and, thankfully, he didn’t waste any more of my time and he slid his fingers inside of me. I moaned, arching my back, lifting my hips to ride his fingers. His eyes were hooded. He was enjoying himself. I had him right where I wanted. He started to pick up the pace, but I jolted up and slid away from him. Shocked and confused, he looked at me. I looked down at his lap where I could see the outline of his hardness pressing against his jeans.

  “Take me to my house,” I instructed.

  He didn’t need me to say why. He was a smart boy. He knew what was coming, so without hesitating he turned the ignition in his truck and started off in the direction of my house. He sped through the streets, eager to get to there and I could see the relief on his face as he pulled into my driveway.

  We hopped out of the truck and I ran inside, stopping only to punch in my code for the alarm before taking off up the stairs, him close behind me, laughing as we went, partly because we were stoned but mostly because we were doing something we shouldn’t. I glanced at the clock; it was almost lunchtime. I smiled to myself. I was going to pull it off.

  We reached the top of the stairs and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close, kissing me again. Our tongues teased each other and I could feel the hardness of him pressing against my belly button. With my free hand I reached down and rubbed against his jeans and he moaned, stumbling slightly as we crashed through my bedroom door. I didn’t bother to close it behind us, pushing him backwards onto my bed. Grinning, I removed his clothes quickly. I was running out of time. “Do you have a condom?” I asked.

  His eyes grew wide with panic and I knew that he didn’t. Amateur.

  “It’s fine. I have some.” I went over to my nightstand and rifled through the drawer. I tore one off and tossed it to him, not caring what the fact that I had a stash of condoms looked like. It was no secret that I liked having sex—at least I was being careful. He fumbled nervously with the packaging as I undressed. I watched him roll the condom down over himself then slowly climbed on top of him, trapping his hips between my own, my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as I slid down his length, my body welcoming the intrusion. He was bigger than I was used to and it excited me. He reached up with his hands and pinched my nipples. Shockwaves ran through me and I started rolling my hips against him, watching as he closed his eyes, knowing he wasn’t going to last long. I just hoped I’d timed it right.

  He grabbed my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as I continued to bounce on him. Even above his loud groans I heard the downstairs door slam shut, and looked down at the poor guy, completely oblivious to what was about to happen, his concentration elsewhere. His eyes remained shut, his moans turning to grunts as I picked up the pace.

  I heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Showtime.

  “Oh, fuck,” he yelled, and his grip tightened on my hips, his muscles seizing as his orgasm ripped through him. Right on cue, the thunderous voice bellowed, “What the fuck is this?”

  “Shit!” football guy groaned, his face contorted in a combination of ecstasy and fear as he rode out his climax, unable to move.

  I jumped off him and covered myself with my sheet, using it as a shield as I looked toward the open bedroom door . . . where my father stood. There was a squeak from my bed and the poor asshole covered himself with one of my pillows, his mouth agape, gaze flicking between the man in the doorway and me. I looked at the pillow and made a face, making a mental note to burn it.

  “What the hell are you doing, Tegan?”

 
; “What I do best.” I glared at him, knowing that he was powerless. There was nothing he could say or do to remedy the situation before him. He had no right to.

  “This is unacceptable, young lady.” He paused and looked at the boy I’d taken complete advantage of. “And what is your name, boy? I have some parents to call.”

  “Please don’t call my parents,” he begged. “I’m sorry, sir, I won’t ever do it again.”

  “Damn right you won’t,” my father scolded, picking up the clothes that lay scattered around his feet and throwing them at the shaking boy in my bed. “Now get the hell out of my house before I change my mind.”

  Scared shitless, he gathered his clothes and ran out of my room, faster than I’d thought humanly possible. I glared at my father. “I hate you,” I seethed.

  The words had barely got out of my mouth when the back of his hand connected with my face, the sting spreading across my cheek. Tears welled in my eyes. I placed both my hands on top of the spot that was burning and looked up at him with fear in my heart. “Watch your mouth,” he scolded.

  The elation I’d felt moments ago vanished, replaced instead by bubbling rage. The man standing before me was a coward. I wanted him to fear me. He may hold all the good cards, but the secret to winning is not holding the aces, but playing a poor hand well.

  “I know the truth.”

  And I didn’t have to elaborate. He knew what I was talking about. The shock swept across his face, the fear in his eyes, giving all the confirmation I needed and I smiled. Knowing that he couldn’t fuck with me anymore was the best feeling in the world.

  TODAY BRINGS MY first session since Asher and I got carried away on his couch. I should be dreading having to face him again, but I can honestly say that I’m more anxious to see him. It has been four days. The longest I’ve gone without seeing him since arriving here. He cancelled my Wednesday session, claiming he had a cold but I called bullshit. He just wasn’t ready to be in the same room with me. Afterwards, I had hoped that he’d show up at my window again; sweep me off my feet. But then reality set in and I realized that he had been serious. The line was drawn. He wasn’t going near it, or me, again.