by Haley Jenner
I grumble at her attempted movement, and her head drops on a defeated cry as she ceases her movements. Using the bend in my knees, I pull out and power back inside of her. Her head tips back and I lean forward to claim her mouth. I fuck her roughly. Bite her lips. Squeeze her body hard enough to leave marks. I use my body to communicate the depth of feeling I have for her. I show her how fucking desperate she makes me. I fuck her hard enough that she'll feel me tomorrow. The day after and the day after that. I want her to know this was me. Only me. That I can manipulate her body to feel this level of pleasure. No one fucking else. Just me.
Our screams, our grunts, moans, growls, cries are loud. Screaming into the small hotel room. Reaching down her stomach, I brush my hand across her clit as I feel her begin to throb. The move has her entire body shuddering at the feeling, and she comes almost instantly on a shout. I follow behind almost immediately, the feel of her tightening on my dick too much. I yell her name as I empty inside of her, slumping against her with my sweat slicked body. Our breathing is erratic, heavy as our entire forms move with the pressure.
"Fuck, Strawb'ries. Can't you see how much I fucking love you?" I stress, my face buried in the side of her neck. "You own my soul, Aubrey. I can't fucking live without you anymore."
A severe sob causes her entire body to convulse, and I step back immediately to turn her. Searching her face, I see the love she has for me breaking her heart. The sadness, so pure, so unfiltered in her wet eyes. "No, Jake," she whispers, her hand moving to massage her chest cavity. The pain too immense. "No. You were never allowed to love me, J-Baby. God, you were never supposed to trust me with your heart."
I stumble backward at her rejection. My body seeking support from the opposite wall. "Tell me you don't feel it back," I demand softly and her eyes close tightly at my request.
"I... You can't... I... No, I..." she stutters around the whimpers agonizing her throat. Closing her eyes tightly once again she covers her mouth and cries loudly into her palm. Her tears track her face and I stand in shocked silence. How the fuck did this happen? How could a declaration of love be met with such fabricated rejection?
We stand in tearful silence. My stuttered breaths and her cracked sobs widening the harrowing emptiness between us. "What do I gotta do, Aubrey? What do you need to make you love me enough to make the jump?" I scrape out, my voice cracking as water drops from my eyes.
I watch silently, save my stumbled breathing as Aubrey's heart breaks in front of me. I watch as she chooses to deny her feelings for me, her head shaking as her lungs work to suck in large gulps of air. She's suffocating in her lies. The pain her denial causes cutting off her airways, constricting her breathing.
I want to shake her. Scream right in her face. Cry. Yell. Slam my fist through the nearest wall. But defeated is a word I now feel defined by. I'm so tired of fighting alone, of trying to make her see. I know she loves me back. I feel it when we touch. I see it burn from her bright blue eyes when she looks at me, when she smiles. But how long can she continue to reject her feelings, reject me until I lose myself? Has it already happened? Because I don't recognize myself anymore. I'm not this guy. That's what I thought anyway, what I would tell myself repeatedly. Now I feel strangled by guilt, drowned by rejection, overpowered by an unrequited love. I've spent countless months trying to make her see me as worthy. Trying to convince her that loving me is the right choice, that my love would bring her happiness. All that fighting, all the deceit, all the lies, have led to nothing but a stifling emptiness. I feel hollow inside. Hollow and bare of any available fight. It's gone. Vacated my body, my mind, my soul. She took it all. My heart. My soul. My integrity. My honesty. She took it all without the slightest hesitation. But, I gave it over willingly. In hindsight, it was actually pathetic how eager I was to hand it all over. So, I'm not even angry with her for taking it. For soaking up everything she so clearly needed. But defeated is the right word, the only word I can possibly use to describe how I feel.
I don't speak. Couldn't if I wanted to. What would I say? I've said it all now. Everything. I've given her everything, and she continues to say no. Nothing I say or do now will change that. Slumping against the wall, I slide down to my ass, hanging my head between my bent knees. Sniffing loudly, I work to pull my shit together, drying the final tears from my eyes before lifting my head.
"You should go," I scrape out, my voice cracking on the whispered plea.
Her eyes close instinctively at my voice, forcing more tears to track down her flushed cheeks. Nodding, she takes a breath to speak but I offer a slight shake of my head.
"Please don't, I can't... just... don’t."
The blankness in my tone mirrors my decimated body language, and she bends to grab her small handbag before moving the few steps to the door. Her hand pauses on the handle for a split second before she pulls the door open and disappears through it. It closes softly behind her, and I can feel her through the door. I hear the soft thud of her head against the wood before the sound of her sliding to the ground. It's silly to find comfort in her presence in that moment, but I do. I find comfort in the time she allows herself to stay there.
In the end, I'm not actually sure how long she stayed. Possibly hours. Enough for the sun to begin to creep through the dark drapes and split shards of light throughout the room. My eyes fall heavy on the door when I hear the slight movements from the opposite side of the door. As if I stare hard enough, long enough, that maybe I'd see her, just a glimpse. Just a small snapshot to help keep the pain alive, just for a moment longer. To stop the numbness my mind and body had begun to force upon me. It’s all in vain, of course that wouldn't happen. Instead, my eyes keep contact with the door as her footsteps echo farther and farther away from me until they drift into silence and I’m left alone.
I sit on the floor for hours. Long enough for room service to knock on the door and inform me I have to check out. Now I sit in my car, staring at nothing, working out what the fuck I’m supposed to do next. I could pretend last night was it. That neither of us will be tempted to reach out once again. Maybe it was, but I can't risk it. Can't risk the possibility that we'd find ourselves back there again. Because, fuck me, in this moment, in my complete numbness, I'm barely hanging on. The weakest of threads is bearing the weight of my heartache and adding even the slightest hope would snap it in an instant. I'm not actually sure she'll answer, so when her soft voice, sounding so young and broken whispers my name into the line, I have to stop the bile trapped in my airways, from escaping.
"Last night was it, Aubrey,” I rasp through my tears. “I can't take any more pain. Every time we have contact, no matter how good it feels at the time," I cough, clearing my throat. "It's agony afterward. I'm so fuckin' broken inside. Promise me you won't contact me anymore. Please. You won't give me what I truly want, what you actually want, so promise me you'll give me that."
"I promise," she chokes out, a small sob reaching me through the line.
Rubbing my eyes with my index finger and thumb, I work to relieve the sting in my already tender eye sockets. The unwanted emotion feeling like sandpaper in my eyelids. "Maybe it's not fair, but if I'm weak enough to reach out," I trail off into silence, swallowing the lump short-circuiting my ability to breathe.
"I won't answer," she concedes, the admission sounding as forced and as unwelcome to my ears as it did coming from her mouth.
"Thank you," I grate out, tipping my neck back, chin to the roof of my car.
I can't bring myself to hang up, and it seems Aubrey is much the same. Our goodbye is said in silence. Long, speechless minutes are shared, and as the seconds tick by, the emotion heightens. Her stuttered breathing and muffled sobs are echoed by only my sharp intakes of breaths.
My phone beeps acknowledging its lack of battery, and I finally find the strength to take one last deep breath. "Catch ya' 'round, Strawb'ries."
Pulling the cell from my ear, I feel like I've been stabbed when Aubrey's strangled cry at my endearment pierces the silence before I can en
d the call. Switching it off, I toss it to the passenger side floor with excessive force as a loud stammering breath tears from my throat.
Driving back to Carnation is surreal. I feel numb. I don't exactly know how I should feel. I know I seem to think I've been robbed of something inside. That something has been taken against my will. Which is so fucked up and so far from the truth. In all honesty, I basically tripped over myself to give everything to Aubrey freely. Shit, I begged her to take it all. So to feel robbed, to feel as though my love had been taken unwillingly from me, is laughable. It's a joke. I'm a joke.
I always thought so highly of my integrity. Was so confident in myself as someone who was honest. Someone who would never put aside their morals, their ethics for something they desired. I was so fucking righteous. How the mighty fall, eh? I was always so quick to judge Archer and Annabelle for their errors. For every mistake, for every single misjudgment, I held myself higher. Felt that I would never be like Archer at his weakest point. I despised his flaws, his failings. Yet, his fragile moments were centered around his honor, his love, his commitment to Annabelle.
Me? Mine were centered around lies, around deceit, around unfaithfulness and pursuing something that wasn't ever really mine. I lied. I cheated. Some fucking stand-up individual I turned out to be.
The hardest part though, the most difficult to stomach, is that because it was all done so secretly, so closed off from reality, people still view me as one of the good guys. My friends and family look at me as honest and caring. What would they think if they knew the truth? Would they pity me like they did Archer? Would they look down on me the way they did him? Or would they let their blindsided loyalty dictate their reaction and cast me as the victim?
I wish I never had to find out. I wish that they would live none the wiser for the rest of their lives. I thought their blame being centered at Aubrey would be hurtful, difficult enough to swallow. But it was their view that I was a wounded, helpless creature that cut the most. It was the realization that in the end my past integrity, my past honesty, had made them see me as being taken advantage of. That I was weak. That Aubrey sunk her claws in and I was too vulnerable, too delicate to fight it off. I guess they were right, about my weakness anyway. I think that's what makes me most angry. That their view that I wasn't strong enough to push my feelings aside and do what was right, was right on point. I hate that the sweet, loyal person they all knew and loved, blinded them to the fact that in reality, I was a piece of shit. I was unreliable, untrustworthy and most definitely not deserving of their sympathy. No more or no less than Aubrey anyway.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Aubrey
“Aubrey,” David calls quietly, his voice soft, coaxing and so out of character, I turn instinctively toward him.
His focus is on the road, and I watch his teeth grind within his jaw. He’s nervous, but I understand that. This could make his career, make the work he’s committed his whole self to, all worth it. This is it. His moment, a test if you will. A bid at his biggest client, one that will undoubtedly change his standing in the company he’s given his life to. He’ll be revered, respected.
He glances toward me, only a fleeting look before his eyes return to the road as he drives.
“David, I know this is an important night for you, I’ll be on my best behavior.”
I hate that I have to recite those words, but he nods. The tick in his jaw flexes again with the tension the anticipation for this evening brings. It clouds him with an air of vulnerability you never see from him. Enough to almost tempt me to reach out. To touch him reassuringly in some way. Almost.
I think an act of intimacy would throw him off as much as it would me right now. It’s sad that this is now our reality. That we’ve come to a point in our life where we feel the need to warn one another to behave in a way we see fit. Or that a simple loving act of encouragement would make each other anxious.
I watch his profile as he drives, he’s focused, but clearly somewhere else. His entire career depends on tonight. Watching him as closely as I am isn’t something I do often, not anymore and I try to recall if either of us ever gave this relationship a proper shot.
Did I support him in his endeavors the way I should have?
Has he ever really embraced the person I am, or been proud of the strength and confidence I have in myself to speak my mind? Did he ever think he could truly love me?
Have we always really resented these traits that seem to have formed such a crater of mistrust and misery around us? Or have we grown into it?
“Did it annoy you from the beginning?” His neck twists immediately as my voice breaks the quiet in the car, his face showing his confusion at my question. “My openness, forwardness, who I am…. I guess?”
I shouldn’t be doing this to him now, not on the bridge of such an important moment in his life, but the question falls from my mouth before I can give it a second thought.
“No,” he answers, shocking me with how genuine the simple word sounded.
I’m used to him sighing, the sound always laced with such irritation, such annoyance at anything and everything I do. But now, he sighs and there’s an acceptance, a sadness in the sound.
“I admired it when we first met. I found it refreshing. It was different from the falseness and pretense I’m surrounded with on a daily basis.”
I turn away from looking at him, my eyes staring blankly at the road as we drive “What changed?”
Silence spans the small physical distance between us, widening the expanse so significantly I accept that he most likely won’t answer my question.
But he does. And when he speaks the disdain he normally throws my way is missing. “I grew up.” His words are hurtful, but not intended that way. A statement of fact. A simple declaration that he grew out of fondness with me, something I’m never actually certain I felt for him. Not in droves anyway.
Silence ensues once again, and I realize that quiet is our norm. Our go-to. I guess in reality it’s not a bad thing. It could be worse. We could feel the need to fill the gaps with mindless chatter. Maybe I should be grateful that because of David’s stiffness, small talk is something he refuses to participate in.
The difficulty is, I now know the difference between contented quiet and empty silence. When I spent time with Jake, our silence hadn’t felt awkward, it was simply the ease in which we found one another’s company. There was nothing forced between us. We’d chat when we wanted, but we were always happy in our quiet.
David’s silence is awkward. Neither of us seems to know how to be around one another. In the beginning, we’d try for small talk, for senseless conversation but it would always fall flat. Eventually, we both seemed to give up.
Maybe that was our problem. We both seem to stop making any kind of effort. We co-exist, trying in vain to continue this charade. I understand his reasoning, the carefully crafted plan I seemed to slide into without knowledge. I just wonder how long it will last? Does he expect it to continue forever? And I wonder if for the rest of my life I’ll compare David to Jake. I have to assume so. I love Jake, and I resent David. But I have to accept that Jake now hates me. I don’t blame him for that. I hate myself.
This last month or so has been torturous. Not having the contact I crave. I can’t even bring him up in conversation with Annabelle because I know I’ll start to cry. So I have zero idea about how he’s doing. Last I spoke to him was our phone call that finished whatever we had. It was the most excruciating few minutes of my life, yet, I never wanted it to end. I knew that as soon as our call disconnected, I would no longer have any right to Jake. Not that I ever really had a right. But contact was permissible. The fear that phone call filled me with crippled my ability to breathe. Of course he was stronger than me, and when he whispered his easy goodbye, his endearment breaking on a cracked sob, I felt as though the greatest part of me had died.
“Did you ever find attraction in the traits you now seem to despise in me?”
I shift uncomfortabl
y in my seat, pushing thoughts of Jake away to concentrate on mine and David’s conversation. It feels foreign, speaking to him so openly without having to force it. I could lie, but he gave me honesty, so I owe him that.
“Attraction, no. I admired your drive and found your rigid nature…. sweet?” My answer finishes on a question, stuck for how to explain my feelings accurately.
I watch his features morph in thought as he contemplates my words.
“Why stay then?”
I raise an eyebrow in disbelief and he rolls his eyes. “Before. Why stay so long?”
I shrug limply. “I had belief in that fact that we’d grow into something more.”
We let the quiet overtake us again, no longer feeling the need to fill the silence.
“That went so well,” David smiles widely, a small slur in the excitement of his words.
I return his smile, nodding my agreement. He’s right. The night went off without a hitch. We charmed the shit out of the clients he has spent the last few months wooing. They were eating out of the palm of our hands as the night progressed and by the time we left, I had zero doubt that David would claim the client as his own.
“Thank you, Aubrey. You were brilliant,” he praises, so unexpectedly my neck twists in his direction, my right eyebrow arching in disbelief.
He laughs. That’s right, he laughs, chuckles, his eyes closing in amusement. “Don’t be shocked, I can offer praise where it’s due, and you played your part well.”
I laugh humorlessly at his backhanded compliment, but he doesn’t notice, too caught up in his own giddiness.
It’s disappointing that he thinks everyone liked a pretend version of who I am. Truth be told, I didn’t need to school my personality, the client loved it. He drank up my humor and spirit like he was starved of it. He remained plastered to my side the entire night, enjoying my flirtation and wit. David noticed less and less the more he drank and the more booze he consumed the giant stick usually planted firmly up his ass began to disappear.
