Not Looking for Love: Episode 4

by Bourne, Lena

  Scott joins me by the fireplace. "I see you found my dad's shrine."

  I turn to him sharply. "Can you stop talking like that, please?"

  But his dad didn't seem to hear.

  "Why? He's really proud of his mantle of grief over here," Scott says, loud like he wants his father to hear. "See, I'm even already on it."

  "What's with you?" I smack his arm as he points to the photo, adding, "Who's that with you?"

  "That's David, Janine's boyfriend."

  "Really? I expected him to be better looking somehow," I say. "Janine being so hot and all."

  Scott takes the photo and gazes at it. "This was taken right around the time they started dating. Back when David lived with us for a while."

  His voice is distant like he's not here with me, but stuck all the way back in the day this picture was taken.

  "He lived with you?" I ask, because I want him to come back.

  His father clears his throat. "Yes, David stayed with us for two years, while his mother dealt with her own issues."

  "She never stopped dealing with them," Scott adds and places the photo back, whispering to me, "She was a crack addict."

  "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Gail," Scott's dad says, and motions for me to sit down in an armchair. "Like cats in a bag they are."

  I sit down and smile, not really sure what I to say.

  "Speaking of cats in a bag," Scott says, leaning against the back of my chair, his bottle of beer by my ear. "Are you taking the one that's living at my place, or is that what I should do with them?"

  I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands, glaring up at Scott. But his eyes are fixed on his dad, who seems like he heard none of it.

  His dad points to the picture of the cats. "We just lost the black one. I found it dead on Scott's bed in June. She always slept there, even after he was gone. And she died there too."

  Scott exhales sharply. "Don't mind him. He's telling you because he thinks it's sweet. Even though it's morbid as fuck."

  Andrew and Tina come in, holding hands.

  "Maybe you could take it down a notch, Scott," Andrew says, and turns on the TV. "I want to at least watch the game in peace."

  Scott's still glaring at his dad though. "You know, maybe you could add Marjorie's picture to the shelf now. Seeing as she's as good as dead to us. There's still plenty of room."

  "Really, Scott," Tina mutters.

  His dad shoots to his feet and I'm sure he'll strike Scott, but he just turns on his heel and walks from the room, the door crashing closed sending a jolt through my chest.

  Tina's looking at me, shaking her head, though I'm not sure she knows she's doing it.

  "Was that really necessary, Scott?" Andrew asks over the sound of the game starting. "Grow up already."

  "Me grow up?" Scott yells and points to the stairs. "When's he gonna grow up and notice what's going on in the real world?"

  Andrew wraps his arm around Tina's shoulders. "He knows what's going on. But he won't ever face it."

  Scott's cheeks are red and he's breathing hard. But Andrew and Tina are both watching the game now, like nothing's happened, until I'm half sure I imagined all of it.

  "We're going," Scott says and I'm on my feet in an instant, saying my goodbyes and following him from the house.

  "We packed up some leftovers for you. They're in the kitchen," Andrew yells after us, but Scott's already handing me my jacket and holding open the door.

  It doesn't even matter what all that was about, just as long as I never have to witness it again. Anything my Gran can throw at me pales in comparison to Scott's family.

  "Big happy family, right?" Scott says once the doors shut behind us. "I told you this wasn't a good idea."

  "Who's Marjorie?" I ask, since it could be the only question he might answer.

  "She's Derek's wife."

  "But they're not together anymore?"

  Scott's got his hands buried deep in his pockets, and I have to jog to keep pace with him.

  "They're still married," he says. "Now stop asking questions."

  There's finality in his tone, and I'm suddenly sure he'll just tell me to go home once we reach his house if I keep asking him questions. But there's one more bouncing around in my mind, the loudest one of all.

  "What did you mean when you said you'd be gone soon?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Scott stops abruptly, like he's reached an invisible wall and I almost run right into him. I'm standing so close our misting breaths are mixing in the air between us. His eyes are darker than I've ever seen them, deeper too, like I'm looking right into the farthest depths of the ocean, where no one's ever been before.

  Then he smiles, and yanks me closer, his interlocked hands resting on my lower back. "I was over exaggerating about that. Don't worry about it."

  And I want to believe him with every fiber of my body. But my mind won't relent. "Why would you say that to them if it wasn't true? It's so harsh."

  "I wanted Mike to leave. It seemed like the best way." He's no longer smiling.

  "So he wouldn't tell me your secret?" His dark eyes don't scare me, and his icy menacing tone doesn't either. The only thing that fills me with sheer, panicky terror is the thought of him gone.

  "Yeah, he would've done it. Just 'cause I asked him not to."

  I wrap my arms tighter around his waist, and force myself to look right through the shadow in his eyes. "I don't want us to have secrets."

  He lets me go and walks away. I'm frozen to the spot, my feet stuck in the concrete, because his silent rejection is louder than anything he could ever put into words. Only he's not stopping, not waiting for me, and he's almost at the end of the block. I jog to catch up, my heels clicking in the silence on the sidewalk. Most of the houses we pass are lit, and I can see people through the windows, eating dinner, celebrating, some of them probably arguing too.

  I lace my arm under his once I reach him, and force him to walk slower. "You don't have to tell me."

  He doesn't say anything more, doesn't even look at me, waits for me silently as I get my bag from the trunk and follow him upstairs.

  The apartment is only marginally warmer than the hallway, or the cold world outside.

  He takes off his jacket and shoes, and lies down on the bed, turning on the TV. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, my own shoes and jacket still on, because maybe I should just go home. Only I never get very far when I try.

  "Do we have to watch football?" I whine, since that's what he settled on.

  "I kinda did, yeah," he mutters, tossing the remote to the side of the bed.

  I stand up and let the jacket slip off my shoulders. "There are other things we could be doing."

  He gazes at me, his eyes traveling across my lips to my breasts, down my legs and back up, making me yearn to undress.

  He turns away abruptly, and adjusts the pillows under his head. "Not tonight, Gail."

  I undo my ponytail and move to pull up my sweater, staring right into his eyes.

  "Don't Gail. I mean it."

  "Why do you keep rejecting me?" I shriek. "I don't get it."

  "I'm just still so pissed off tonight," he says, his eyes breaking away from mine. "And I don't want to take it out on you. I don't want to hurt you."

  I sit on the bed and run my hand up his leg, across his crotch and up under his shirt. His skin is icy cold. He really needs to start wearing a proper winter jacket. "You won't hurt me."

  He grabs my wrist and yanks my hand away, holding it back. "I might, so just stop it."

  I lunge to my feet, sending the bed wobbling and storm off to get my jacket. "Fine, I'll go. You clearly don't want me here. We should just stop pretending already. I'm sorry I ever bothered you with my presence. I take it all back."

  The game commentator is screaming on the screen and my jacket's all tangled up so I can't find the armhole. Finally I give up and just bundle it with my bag, turning to get to the door, tears swelling in my throat. Scott's standing in my
way, blocking my path.

  "Why can't you just do what I want for once, Gail?"

  "I am doing what you want!" I shriek. "I'm leaving."

  His hands are on my arms, but I wriggle free, sidestepping him to get to the door.

  "I don't want you to leave," he whispers, but I can't look into his eyes, can't hear the silent please that's louder than anything he could say aloud.

  "Yes you do, don't lie," I mutter, but I'm frozen to the spot again, staring down at the scuffed up wooden boards on the floor.

  "I just don't want to hurt you," he says, his hand traveling down the side of my face. "But you're making it so hard."

  Tears well from my eyes and I don't have a free hand to wipe them away. I look up at him defiantly anyway, his face distorted. "Stop worrying so much about me. I'm tougher than I appear."

  "Are you?" he asks.

  "Yes." I wipe away my tears with my forearm, but more come almost immediately. "So you don't have to worry."

  His palm is on my cheek, his thumb brushing away my tears. "I can't help it. I'm in love with you."

  My jacket and my bag slip from my fingers, the edge of my laptop hitting my foot. But I hardly feel it. My mouth's hanging open, and my eyes are wide. I know all this as sure as if I was looking at myself in the mirror.

  "Then why don't you want to be with me?" There's something else I should be saying, something a lot simpler, and tons more meaningful. But if I say it, then it will be true. And love is a one way ticket to pain and bereavement. Always and forever.

  "I do want to be with you," he says, and his eyes are blue like a bubbling brook, the gentle spring breeze caressing my cheeks, playing in my hair.

  I kick my bag to the side and take a step closer, wrap my arms around his waist and lean my head against his chest. His heart is beating fast, thumping in my ears like a drum, keeping beat to the rhythm of his shallow, raspy breaths.

  "I love you too," I whisper. There, I said it. Because it's been true for months, and not saying it won't ever change it, and it's something Scott should know.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A text from Phillipa wakes me the next morning while it's still dark outside.

  Have you been watching the news? I just wanted to let you know, in case you haven't. There's war in Syria. Might be important for your term paper.

  Scott's still asleep, his arm covering his head, and I slide off the bed carefully not to send it wobbling. I don't want to turn on the TV, so I dig out my laptop from my bag and try to get a Wi-Fi signal. He doesn't have Internet in his apartment, and all the networks I get are locked.

  In the end, I'm forced to browse the news on my phone, sitting on the kitchen floor, so I won't wake him. The situation is bad, and I'll have to rewrite about half of my paper before next Thursday. I should get started right away.

  Luckily, Scott's keys are in the lock, and I close the door quietly behind me, so as not to wake him. By the time I reach the first open newsstand, dawn has broken, the sky lilac and grey. I get them to sell me Wednesday's papers too, and I'm breathing hard from the weight by the time I climb back up the stairs, and let myself in.

  The sun's up by the time I'm done reading all the articles, and my head's spinning from all the information. I have to get online, and I need to turn on the news. I'm also pretty certain I'll have to rewrite my whole paper.

  Scott stirs, probably woken by my furious typing. I tried doing it on the kitchen floor, but it was too uncomfortable.

  "What are you doing?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.

  "Working," I mutter, speeding up to finish a sentence before I lose my trail of thought.

  "It's the holidays, Gail."

  "The world doesn't stop just because Americans are having turkey."

  "But it's like eight in the morning. We're not having turkey," he says and yawns. "Come back to bed."

  I pull a pile of newspapers closer, putting on my glasses to check some fact. "I should work on this today."

  He gasps, and I can see him staring at me from the corner of my eye.

  "What?" I say, turning to face him. His eyes are sending sparks flying all through me, but I have to finish this, while it's still fresh in my mind.

  "You never told me you wore glasses," he says, clutching his chest like a startled old lady. "Oh, you have to come back to bed. Just don't take them off."

  "What are you even talking about?" I try to sound annoyed, but I'm failing. The desire flowing between us is like a magnetic force and I don't know how I'm still fighting it.

  "Please, just come over here. I'll show you," he sighs. "It'll take like five minutes…no like three minutes."

  I laugh. "How's that going to be worth it for me?"

  "You can go back to working right after," he says and smiles.

  "Is this more of that teacher stuff you keep going on about?" I cross my legs. "Because schoolwork is important."

  He grins at me, his chest heaving, his eyes like the calmest emerald sea. "Totally. And you're like the hottest teacher ever."

  I rise and walk over to him slowly. I've got nothing on underneath my jeans and sweater, and the rough wool is rubbing against my erect nipples.

  He reaches out and pulls me closer, running his fingers over my waistband, trying to undo the button. But he's fumbling it, and I could do it so much easier. So I brush his fingers away and wriggle out of my jeans, watching his tongue slide across his lips. I reach for the condoms on the chair by the bed, then yank the covers off him. He's so hard, I have trouble sliding the condom over him, but he lets me do it, his hands sliding up and down the side of my thighs.

  I straddle him, and rub against his hard cock, again wishing there was no rubber separating us. His hands are sliding my sweater up, and I gasp when the cool air hits my tender nipples.

  I've already forgotten all I read since dawn, and now I'll just have to reread it all. But it doesn't matter, because the heat building in my groin, coiling up into my stomach is all there is. The sun is rising over the perfect blue sky in his eyes, and we're not in this apartment anymore, but lying in a vast wintery plain somewhere, only the cold doesn't touch us and the snow is soft as cream.

  I adjust my hips and slide down onto him, whimpering as I open up, his cock passing right over the spot where heat is building, lodging deep inside me, hitting the place I didn't even know existed before I met him.

  I buck up and down, faster and harder, wanting more, all of it. Heat is roiling inside me and it's like I'm melting into him, or maybe he's melting into me. My breasts are bouncing up and down, my breaths hard jabs laced with moans and whimpers. His fingers are digging into my hips, the only thing keeping me from toppling backwards.

  My fingers find his lips blindly, and then he's sucking on them. The heat builds and builds, my body melting into his, until I'm sure there'll be nothing left once I open my eyes. And that doesn't bother me. I climax in stages, like I'm climbing the stairs, each explosion building on the last, until I can't hold it back anymore, have to reach the landing, find release for all the heat before I melt into less than a puddle.

  His lips are wrapped around my thumb, and his thrusting up into me. I meet each one, letting go, opening up completely. I feel him explode inside me, and I'm finally on the landing, shuddering as the waves form a tsunami, pulling me under.

  I lay down his chest, his breaths tussling my hair, our hearts beating hard and loud, perfectly in tune. He pulls the covers back over us and I close my eyes, so glad I stayed and didn't run.

  "Don't you have some important school project to finish," he mutters once our heartbeat returns to normal.

  I lift my head and kiss his neck. "I do. But I need to get online."

  Only it makes no sense for me to stop kissing his neck now, leave his arms and go do homework. None whatsoever.

  "The place downstairs has Wi-Fi," he says later, when my head is resting against his chest again, my jaw aching slightly from the kisses. "If they're open today. Sometimes it works over by the window."


  "I tried that already, I couldn't get a signal." I climb off him and sit on the side of the bed, wiping my glasses on the edge of my sweater. "Maybe I'll just go downstairs. It'll only take an hour or so."

  I sit on the floor, my feet together in a lotus position and lean forward, stretching my lower back. It's aching like crazy from all the sitting and typing I've already done today.

  "What's this now, some yoga before you go?"

  "No, we did this at ballet" I mutter, stretching my side now. His eyes are gliding over me, until I think maybe he won't let me leave.

  "Ballet? You still do that?"

  "No, I quit in ninth grade, after my boobs started growing and my teacher thought I had no future as a dancer," I explain, memories of that hurt bubbling up in my chest.

  I feel his eyes on my lips like he's actually kissing me. "Well, thank God for that, right?"

  I get up and pull on my panties. "I didn't think so."

  "Well, I do," he says and lies back down. "OK, go now, or you won't get to."

  He watches me dress, balanced against one elbow, and I'm doing it slow, because I really don't want to leave.

  "That's like the smallest computer I ever saw, Gail," he says as I'm packing up my laptop. "Did that come with your doll house?"

  "Oh, super funny, Scott," I say and eye him over my shoulder. "Because I must have played with dolls when I wasn't doing ballet, right?"

  He shrugs and grins. "Something like that, yeah. It's also about how you can buy a pretentious, overpriced computer, and call it useful."

  "It is useful! I love it," I say, running a hand over my laptop like I need to comfort it now that he's insulted it.

  "Calm down, I was joking," he says and lies on his back. "I used to have one of those too, but I lost it."

  "How do you loose a computer?"

  "Well, there's more to it than that, obviously," he says and drapes the blanket over himself. "Maybe I'll tell you sometime."