Slammed

by Teagan Kade

  Need to talk, I text.

  I’m headed to the Cat House, the oval dome of it the same murky off-white as the clouds above. The last stragglers leave in a similar state of depression, the air of defeat palpable.

  I’m standing in the square outside when someone grabs my arm, spinning me around. For a horrible second I think it’s Creepy Guy, but it’s Nate. A moment passes where we just look at each trying to get a sense of the mood, of how to bridge the gap between us that suddenly seems so wide.

  Nate lets go of my arm. “He told you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Nate looks to the sky. “I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I couldn’t see the good it would do.”

  “You thought that if I knew I wouldn’t want to be with you, right?”

  “Be honest. If you had known, would you have even looked twice at me?”

  I don’t know. Everything’s so messy now. “How am I supposed to answer that, Nate?”

  “Do you remember me, in the home?”

  I do now. I do remember the whole thing with a clarity I never wanted. I remember the old man, the cages he used to lock us up in when we were naughty. I remember Nate, Jackson, whoever he was back then smiling while he was beat, smiling at me. I never wanted that part of my life to see the light of day again, but here are the two most important men in my life hauling it all to the surface again.

  As good as this thing is, or was, I don’t know if I can do it. And there’s more. Nate’s got issues, that much is clear. The way he punched that guy, the thing with Charleston… even if he deserved it.

  Nate can see it, see I’m slipping away from him. “What is it? Tell me.”

  Rain starts to fall around us, fat drops of it drumming away on my shoulders.

  I start to cry, thankful for the cover the rain provides. My voice wavers. “Maybe this was a mistake, for both of us.”

  “That’s your dad speaking.”

  Maybe it is. “He has a point. The rage you have inside you, the violence…”

  “I can control it.”

  “Back at the game? That didn’t seem like control. The solution to every problem isn’t to put your fists up.”

  The rain’s beating down harder. I walk up as close to him as my head will allow.

  He throws his hands up, already looking to throw in the towel. “I’m just trying to protect you, Lucy, like I always have. Can’t you see that?”

  “But that’s just it. I can look after myself. We’re not in the home anymore.”

  He looks frustrated, water running down his face, that which I’ve come to know so well. “Is it the stepbrother thing? Because that doesn’t matter to me, and it sure as hell shouldn’t matter to you. Our parents got together when we were kids. So what?”

  “It’s not that. It’s you.”

  His whole body changes, posture firming, defensive. “Me?” He stiffens and then relaxes, just like that, not defensive any more, but something far worse—defeated.

  He shakes his head, water running in rivulets down his face, his jersey soaked through. “I just…”

  He’s slipping away. Don’t let him go. Fight.

  “What?” I push. “Tell me!”

  He looks down at the ground, his own distorted reflection caught in a puddle there. “I want to be free, of that life, of feeling like… this, of everything.”

  I pull him to me, suddenly desperate seeing what I could lose, that the greatest thing I’ve known could just evaporate before my eyes. “You can be.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t. Your Dad said it and you know it. I know it. I’m damaged goods, completely fucked. You’re only going to get burnt being with me.”

  “I want to be with you.”

  He pushes me away. “You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

  He walks away.

  “Nate!” I scream, my voice hoarse.

  Soon he’s part of the night, a shadowy memory.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  NATE

  I make the shower as hot as I can. I don’t even bother with the cold. I want to burn.

  The water is scalding over my back. I place my arms up against the tiles, head-butting the wall. You fucked this whole thing up. You.

  Why? Why do I want to hurt Lucy like that, take out the loss, my past, everything that has gone wrong in my life on her, the only good thing left in it?

  I try to convince myself that she’s another lay, that I’ll get over her, but I know I can’t. I need her like I need oxygen, every time we’re together better than winning, better that anything I’ve ever felt on the court.

  Protect her by staying away. Protect her like you always have.

  But isn’t the best way to protect her by keeping her close? I think back to that stalker. What if I hadn’t been there? What would he have done to her? I hit my head harder against the wall at the thought.

  I turn the tap off, watch the way the water spirals down the drain and with it any hope I had of happiness.

  It’s not too late.

  I stand there thinking it over, thinking until I’m dry and raw.

  I decide.

  I’m not going to let her go—not now, not ever.

  *

  I slip into Gamma Phi easily. If nothing else, juvie did teach me a few black arts. Perched on a ledge on the side of the house, I squat and pick the lock on her window. It whines like a cut snake when I open it and for a moment I think I’m cooked, but inside Lucy and Amber remain asleep, the cool breeze I bring with me failing to stir them as I step inside and close the window.

  Amber’s snoring with a drawn-out narrrk narrrk. I’m amazed such a sound can come out of such a tiny body.

  I crouch beside Lucy, her lips just parted and her hair hanging over her eyes. I brush it back behind her ear. She gives a little start and wiggles her nose like a rabbit. I have to stop myself from cracking up.

  Here goes nothing.

  I cover her mouth and tap her on the shoulder.

  Her eyes blink open and she goes to scream before her eyes adjust.

  I take away my hand and gesture to Amber. “I don’t know how you sleep with Miss Jackhammer over there.”

  Lucy sits up. I can see down her top, see the soft globes of her breasts.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispers.

  I take her hand. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I fucked up.”

  She looks to the mirror at the foot of her bed, not willing to talk to me directly. “You sure did.”

  I notice the sock monkey sleeping beside her, the one she had at the home. “I see you still have Mr. Muggly.”

  She looks over. “At least he won’t break my heart.”

  I take the side of her face and turn her towards me. “You make me better, Lucy. I need you in my life.”

  “And the fighting, the anger?”

  “Like I said, I’m seeing a psychologist. I’m getting better. Your dad’s idea actually.”

  “I don’t know. I think sometimes I’m the reason you’re like this.”

  “You?”

  “It seems like when we’re together everything else suffers—your game, study, your… mood.”

  “You said it. Until tonight I was playing the best ball of my life.”

  “So what changed?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know, but what I do know with everything I have is that I want to be with you, no matter what the sacrifice.”

  A tear runs down her cheek, falls to the duvet.

  I can’t believe I’m about to say it, but it’s the only way. I look her right in the eyes, into those chartreuse magnets. “I love you, Lucy Middleton.”

  I kiss her, kiss her like the world is ending. I’ve never been crazy, this horny. This girl has done something to me, cast a spell that only seems to break when I’m by her side. “Let me make it up to you.”

  “How?”

  “The only way I know.”

  Carefully, I slide my hand under her duvet. I find the crotch of her panties and d
raw it aside, her warmth so, so close.

  I run a finger down her slit.

  “Nate.” She moans and I have to cover her mouth again, her head relaxing back onto the pillow.

  I draw my finger away from her hole and place it to my lips in a ‘Shhh’ motion. I can taste her there, taste her sweet arousal fresh from the satin heat of her core. My cock tightens further.

  I point to Amber as I release my hand. “Quiet,” I whisper.

  She nods and I move down to the base of the bed, lifting the duvet and crawling in, sliding right up between her legs. I splay her thighs apart with my hands in the darkness, the crotch of her panties hooked away with my thumb.

  For a moment I just take her in, breathe in her sex. She cants her hips towards me and I take the hint, shifting closer to her wet and swollen lips. I hold her under the thighs and lift them a little, her dripping pussy open before me.

  My cock twitches in my pants, pulses knowing how close it is to nirvana, but tonight is all about her.

  I lick her in a single, flat stroke from the bottom of her cleft to the hard nub of her clit. Her breath hitches in response, her hands moving below the covers to capture my hair and draw me to her.

  I press the tip of my tongue into her slickness, relish the way it’s clamped by the warm channel beyond.

  Her spine lifts, arches, and she presses herself against me, my tongue and lips moving to her clit. I draw it between my lips, suck and tease it, bring her to the edge over and over until she’s clawing at my scalp.

  I can tell she’s doing everything she can to remain quiet, but her faint moaning remains, her body surrendering to me completely.

  “Nate.” I barely hear it, but it’s there. A cry for help, for mercy.

  I build into a rhythm, releasing one thigh and spreading her apart for me, a finger sinking into her depths while I drum at her clit with my tongue, her wetness coating my chin, staining my lips, all of her arousal a wanton, physical thing.

  She starts to shake and I keep going, my finger driving deeper and curling up against the corrugated roof of her center, drawing her to me and the inevitable completion I know will come.

  She jerks and quivers, muscles stiffening and drawing tight, her whole body running to the edge, her clit pulsing against the flat of my tongue.

  I want her to come, desperately. I want her to come more than she wants it herself, all selfishness departed just to feel that familiar squeeze again, the soul-shattering intensity of her release.

  Suddenly, she grips my head and grinds herself upon it, bucking up against my tongue, her thighs around my ears. “Don’t… don’t…” but I have no intention of stopping. I keep up the pressure until her orgasm arrives, rippling through her body and suffocating us both. I hold my tongue flat against her, my mouth glued to the hot fissure of her pussy. I hold myself against her as she relaxes, her body turned limp and soft.

  I let her panties go and slide out from under the covers, a particularly loud snore from Amber causing me to freeze until she settles back into the same see-saw rhythm.

  I crouch beside Lucy again and she kisses me, the taste of her own arousal between us, the sexiest fucking thing ever. I want so desperately to throw the covers back and sink myself deep inside her, but not tonight. I’ll be patient.

  I look down into her eyes, drugged and glassy, before kissing her on the forehead and making my escape, practically floating down the side of Gam Phi before dashing off into the night, her cum cooling on my face.

  I cut through the quadrangle, the only sign of life the lampposts dotting the way.

  I smile to myself, hands in my pockets. It’s cold, but I couldn’t care less because everything is back on track again. I have Lucy. I have hope. I’ve been through worse before. College will be a breeze. At least no one’s trying to kill me here.

  I head up a small path down the back side of the math building.

  “Hey, King Compton.”

  I turn at the sound, reflexes too slow to avoid something hard and heavy coming down on my arm. There’s the celery snap of something breaking, the hot finger of pain that follows all the way down my spine.

  I fall to the ground in agony, rolling onto my side, my attacker bringing down one more blow onto the same arm, the pain that follows causing light to burst from the corners of my eyes.

  I hear the whoosh as he lifts the object up again, too dark to see anything else, managing to kick out and collect his legs before he has a chance to bring it down.

  The object clatters away hollow, rolling down the path, the attacker getting to his feet and sprinting back into the bushes.

  I stand, teeth gritted from the pain, but he’s gone, all I can see black and searing white.

  I hobble down the path and look at the object, a twelve-inch metal flashlight. My head spins at the sight, the pain bursting in my arm again.

  I barely make it back to the apartment.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  LUCY

  Nate pops another two pain pills dry, doesn’t even bother with water. He cradles his left arm, wincing every time he has to extend it.

  I close the textbook “Are you sure you don’t want to report it? It’s not safe having that maniac running around out there.”

  “I know. I’ll handle it.”

  “Because punching him last time really solved the problem, didn’t it?”

  “Like I said, I can handle it.”

  His stubbornness is already wearing thin. I’ll tell Dad later, see to it someone finds this weirdo and kicks him the hell off campus. “Can I just have a look at it?

  He pulls his arm away again, protective. “It’s fine. Jesus.”

  “There’s no need to bite my head off, Nate.”

  “I’m sorry. I just need to rest, get it better before tonight.”

  I can’t believe he’s actually considering going out there with his arm like this. He’s clearly in pain. “You aren’t seriously thinking about playing, are you?”

  He looks away. “I have to play. We can’t lose again.”

  “I don’t give a Donald Duck if you lose or win. You could do serious damage to that arm if you play. It could be fractured.”

  “Didn’t know you were doing a medical degree.”

  So that’s how he wants to play it, be that arrogant wise-ass that pushes people away. “Don’t do this.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine, Nate. You won’t see a doctor. You won’t tell Coach Smith. You can’t just shut the world out when things go bad and expect miracles. For once in your life ask for help, rely on someone else.”

  “If I go to a doctor, they’ll tell me not to play.”

  “And you know better? Don’t recall seeing your medical degree either.”

  I’m tired. I’ve got two exams next week and I certainly don’t need this kind of HBO-spec drama right now. I collect my books and stand up. “I’ve had it. You want to play, play, but don’t come crying to me when it goes pear-shaped.”

  “I won’t.”

  I leave the library close to tears, and why? Before Nate Compton I was happy enough. I didn’t snap, swear, or cry. I didn’t get off on evading police or getting a finger up my ass. I was doing perfectly fine.

  You were boring and you know it.

  I tell my stupid, Mr. Emotion brain to shut up and walk on, standing taller and determined not to let Nate get to me. He’s a big boy (in more ways than one). He can make his own decisions. If he wants to set out on his own primordial path of self-destruction, so be it. I won’t be held prisoner. I won’t let him drag me down.

  I look down at his mother’s ring, the way it always appears shinier when the sun is low. A pang of need pulses through me, but it’s offset by the reality we’re still strangers in many ways, Nate and I, two sides of a coin with an ocean between them dark and deep. I don’t know if I’m ready to make the crossing, to give my fragile heart to this guy and expect him not to smash it completely. I couldn’t take that. The rejection would kill m
e and I need to be level. I need to pass these courses and get that law degree to make a difference out there in the real world. That’s bigger than any relationship—no matter how much I want it, no matter how much I crave his chiseled features and gorgeous eyes, his thick thighs and the silky shaft of his cock embedded inside me.

  Shitake, Lucy, get a grip.

  So yes, that’s what I’ll do. It’s time to put Nate Compton on ice.

  *

  I enter the house and it’s like walking into a tomb. The other sisters are there, but conversation stops at the sight of me, collective breath held. I stand in the center of the living room feeling like a leper. “What? What is it?” I sniff my armpits. “Do I smell?”

  The house mother steps forward. “Lucy, haven’t you heard?”

  An icy ball of dread slides into my stomach. “Heard what?”

  She takes my arms. “It’s your dad, hon.”

  *

  Dad’s packing things into boxes when I enter his office.

  He turns around, surprised to see me. “Lucy?”

  “What’s going on, Dad? What are all these boxes for?” I want to hear it from his lips.

  He closes the box he’s packing and runs his hand behind his neck, sitting on the edge of his desk backlit by the windows that look out over the village green. “It’s not good, Luce.”

  I step closer. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m stepping down as Dean.”

  I’m going to squeeze it out of him. He owes me that much. “Why?”

  He remains silent until I can’t take it anymore.

  “Tell me, Dad. What did you do?”

  He puts his hands on the desk, taps the tabletop. “I did something I shouldn’t have. I abused my position and now I have to leave.”

  “So it’s true. All of campus knows you messed with his grades, anything to keep your precious star player, right?” The accusation is my voice is knife sharp. “Tell me. I want to hear it from you. Tell me exactly what you did and for the love of god why.”