Off Course

by Sawyer Bennett

  All he says is, "Good girl," before resuming his kiss and I am powerless to stop the fact that I'm sucked under a giant wave of lust and yearning that he's induced inside of me. His kiss is hard and unyielding. I try to participate but he's in complete control and I can do nothing but submit, so I just wrap my arms around his neck and hang on.

  Cillian's hands grip my ass, kneading my flesh while he grinds himself into me, hitting me at that spot that is sure to have me screaming in a few moments. My breath starts hitching over the sensation and pleasure ricochets through my body.

  I'm on the verge... ready to slip over the edge and completely yield to Cillian. It's almost on the edge of my tongue to beg him for something more, when he pulls his mouth away from me again. His breathing is ragged and he flexes his hips into me one more time, causing my body to shudder and my legs to squeeze him tighter.

  He's looking at me with a mixture of desire and... anger?

  Yes, that's anger in his eyes I see, and I can see it warring to take over the sexual heat that's still bubbling. I become still and on edge, my grip in his hair loosening.

  Cillian then lowers me to the floor but he doesn't move his body away. His hand snakes into the back of my hair and grips it tightly, pulling my head back just a bit. It's another display of dominance, to show that my body will bend to his.

  Oddly, I don't even think to fight against it.

  "My band mate...Maeve... tried to kill herself two days ago. That night we kissed. That's where I've been... taking care of her."

  I gasp. "My God. I'm so sorry. Why didn't you just tell me that? Why the display of male testosterone just now?"

  He releases my hair and tenderly strokes his fingertips across my cheek. I have to fight not to close my eyes against the softness of his actions, even though his eyes have gone cold. His voice is deliberate when he says, "I didn't tell you because I don't take orders. And that display? That was so you never forget that your body responds to me, no matter what demands come out of that fuckable mouth of yours."

  Ouch, those words hurt, even though I probably understand that he's being driven by stress over Maeve's suicide attempt. He has to be in a world of pain right now.

  "Then why tell me about it at all? You made your point."

  His hand drops from my face. "Because... you deserve to know there was an important reason that kept me away from you. But that's all you get from me, and I'm only giving it because I got what I wanted from you first."

  Now I'm the one to get angry. "Is this some sort of game for you? Is that how you get your rocks off? Because if it is, I'm not playing."

  "No game, Renner. This is who I am."

  I'm beyond frustrated and want to slap him silly right now. "I don't get it. I don't understand what you want from me?"

  Some of the ice melts from his eyes. He reaches down and takes my hand, bringing it to his mouth. He turns it around and places a gentle kiss on my palm, and just like that, I'm ready to melt back into him. "You're complete submission to me, Renner. That's all I want. And you just gave it to me."

  "No," I insist, anger flaring hotly in me and I have the urge to stomp my foot like a child because he's making me crazy. "I did not give it to you. It doesn't work that way. There has to be something reciprocal."

  His hands come up quickly, gripping my shoulders. He leans in, gives me a swift, hard kiss and pulls away just as abruptly. "There is reciprocity, babe. You got something out of it and you know it."

  Gah. What did I get out of that exchange? Sexual frustration? Anger? Hurt feelings?

  Before I can even think of anything to say, Cillian spins on his heel and walks to the door. "I'll catch you around," he says, and then he's gone.

  CHAPTER 8

  Cillian

  "Dude... you need to get your head out of your ass."

  Those words cut into my thoughts, which have been getting progressively darker and pissier as each day passes.

  I look over at my best friend, Sean Lundie. He can be an absolute eyeful to behold. He's like a walking carnival, almost too bright and outrageous to comprehend. His head is shaved smooth but you know he's a ginger because he has a bright red goatee hugging his mouth. His face is covered in metal. Both eyebrows sport multiple rings and he has a barbell through the bridge of his nose. Each cheek is pierced with another barbell and he has labrets through his upper and lower lips. Huge, black ear gages frame his face.

  Sean is also a fan of the ink and he has almost his entire body covered in a multitude of colors. He sports everything from Grim Reapers to fucking Tinker Bell and Snoopy on his body. Probably the most striking tat he has is a red dragon that covers his head. The head and snout of the dragon come down over his forehead, with the forked tongue coming down the center of his nose. The dragon's front claws come down over each temple, and they look like they are digging into his skin. The dragon's body runs down the back of his head, with the tail curling around the left side of his neck and coming to rest lovingly on his collarbone.

  Yes, he is a sight to behold.

  "How is my head up my ass?" My voice comes out edgy and defensive.

  Sean pulls a No. 2 pencil out from behind his ear and starts twirling it in his fingers. It's a drummer thing, apparently. I suppose it's not practical for him to carry around his drumsticks, so he always has a pencil handy that he practices twirling. It's amazing to see him handle his sticks when we perform, but how he gets that little, tiny piece of wood to flip and roll so effortlessly among his fingers is beyond me.

  "Seriously, Cillian... what's up? You drag me out here to the forsaken ends of the earth, telling me you want to write some music together, and all you've done since we got here is brood and pick at your guitar in anger."

  Here would be my house in Oughterard. I bought it over a year ago, and haven't even stayed a night in it until this week. It's the first real thing I've bought with the money I've made but I've never had time to enjoy it. I didn't want to buy something in Dublin, because I was not there often enough and a small flat did me just fine. But I thought it would be nice to have a place to relax and unwind if I ever actually took a break from my work.

  And I didn't really come here to enjoy it now. I really just wanted to get away from Dublin--and Renner--so I could get my head back on straight. I talked Sean into coming with me, because yeah, I thought we could use the time the flesh out some of the songs I had been writing. But he's right... I haven't done anything but scowl and mope for the past two days since we've been here.

  "Hello... earth to Cillian... come in Cillian," Sean says as he waves his hand in front of my face.

  Blinking away my thoughts, I give a sigh. "First, we are not at the forsaken ends of the earth. We're fucking two hours from Dublin. And second, if you don't like it here, leave."

  "Man, you are all kinds of piss and vinegar. You need to get laid or something."

  I just want to ignore him, but the minute he says the words "get laid", my thoughts immediately pull toward Renner. Which irritates the fuck out of me, because that's all I've been doing since we got here...thinking about her. I could be looking out over the lake, and I think about Renner. I could be popping open a beer, and I think of Renner. Fuck...I could probably see a stray dog gnawing on a bone and I'd think of Renner.

  For fuck's sake, she does nothing but dominate my thoughts.

  I thought leaving her apartment the other day and putting some distance between us would cool my desire for her. But if anything... it's heated to nuclear proportions. And not only am I apparently thinking with my dick all the time, but I have a small niggling of guilt burrowed into my chest. When I think back to that day... about the look of hurt that crossed her face over my words, my lungs seem to sink inward upon themselves and breathing doesn't seem to be an option.

  I have no idea why I'm feeling this way. I've never catered to a woman's feelings before, not even when Maeve and I were together, and that was the longest relationship I've ever had. I speak my feelings true, and what I told her
was with complete honesty.

  I don't take orders, because I need control. It is imperative that I be in control, because I spent so much of my life spinning out of it. I can't give it up to anyone.

  And not only did I tell her that, but I apparently had to show her as well. No... correction. I had to shove it down her throat. When she gave me an ultimatum... to talk or leave, every fiber of my being rebelled. I had grown up with ultimatums, had choices unfairly laid before me, knowing that neither option was fair or kind. Knowing that choosing one would hurt just as much as the other.

  So when she gave me two choices, I had no other option but to create a third. And that was to kiss her senseless and show her that she's playing by my rules.

  I know I'm trying to justify my actions to myself, but it does nothing to ease the guilt that's starting to fester.

  Sean and I are sitting on my front porch, enjoying the warm afternoon breeze. I reach over to my left and grab my guitar. I only brought my Gibson acoustical, because it's more soothing to me when I try to start matching up the music with my lyrics and it's obviously more portable than my piano.

  Plucking a few strands, I glance at Sean. "How come you don't have a girlfriend?"

  His red eyebrows rise up at my question, and the pencil in his hand twirls faster. He shrugs his shoulders. "I guess they're too much trouble to maintain when you're on the road all the time."

  I consider this and accept it as true. Touring is brutal and exhausting, and it would be hell on a girlfriend to hit the road with us. Yet, it's not really fair to ask one to wait for you when you could be gone months at a time.

  "Have you ever been in a relationship?" I ask, starting to pick out the melody that has been playing through my head. It has a quick tempo and it feels fiery to me, just like Renner.

  "Yeah... back in secondary school. But she broke up with me just before I headed off to university. She didn't want a long distance relationship. Cracked my heart wide fucking open, man."

  My hands freeze on the guitar and I look at Sean in surprise. He's never told me this before. "You're kidding me?"

  "Now why would I joke around about something like that? I'm sharing my pain with you, dude."

  "I don't know. It's just... you always seem to enjoy fucking around with a lot of different women. I didn't take you for the relationship type."

  Sean stops twirling the pencil in his hand and sticks it behind his ear. He leans forward in the old wicker chair he's sitting in, and it creaks under the strain. "Cillian... I'd probably give up my music career if I could have a real chance at being with Aileen again."

  My jaw drops open and I can't accept what he's saying as true this time. "No way. Music is everything to you."

  "No. Music is everything to you. But that's only because it's really the only good thing you've had in your life. It's the only thing that got you through all the terrible shit that happened to you."

  I nod. Music saved me, end of story. Without it, I'd probably be dead now. Right along with my parents.

  Just to clarify his position, I ask one more time, incredulously, "Seriously... you'd give up OTE for this chick?"

  "I'm not sure if it's Aileen, or maybe it's just the chance at true love... but yeah, it's way better than all of this."

  Shaking my head, I go back to playing my guitar.

  I don't get it.

  ***

  The next morning, we're heading back to Dublin on the M6. I had barely slept last night, my mind racing with shit. Renner, my music, Sean claiming love was better than music, Renner, Maeve, Renner...

  I finally gave up on sleep and rolled out of my bed just as the sun was coming up. I hustled Sean to get ready, even though he was bitching and moaning about it the entire time. Fucker was complaining that I was dragging him back to the city, after having been complaining that I dragged him out to the wilderness.

  Sean is napping with his head resting against the window. He doesn't wake up when my phone rings.

  "Yeah," I answer, not recognizing the number.

  "Mr. O'Bradaigh? This is Dr. Madden calling you from Dublin Mind Wellness."

  My stomach clenches tight. "Is something wrong with Maeve?"

  "Possibly. Is this a good time?"

  My sense of foreboding increases, because the doctor wasn't due to call me for a few days. "It's as good a time as any."

  "Yes...well, as you know, Maeve has signed an authorization for me to discuss any aspect of her medical care with you." He sounds nervous...and young.

  "Spit it out, Doc. What's up?"

  "Maeve wants to discharge herself from the facility. She's having a hard time with the lack of contact...with others."

  I sigh. "You mean me, don't you?"

  "Yes. She got her first phone privilege yesterday and apparently tried to call but couldn't reach you."

  I curse under my breath. I had turned my phone off the minute I pulled into Oughterard and had noticed a few voice mails this morning when I turned it back on. I wasn't concerned about it, because hey, I knew people would be trying to contact me. I never thought Maeve would have the ability to call me so soon though.

  "What can I do to help?"

  "I have Maeve sitting just outside my office. I was hoping you could talk to her--confirm to her the importance of staying and giving the treatment a shot."

  "Yeah... of course, put her on."

  I drum my fingers nervously against the wheel while I wait. I glance over at Sean and I see he's awake and looking me with a small measure of worry in his eyes.

  "Cillian?"

  "Hey, babe. What's this I hear about you wanting to check out?" I keep my voice light and positive...despite the fact I want to wring someone's neck right now.

  "I can't stand it here. I tried to call you yesterday and you didn't answer. You promised me you'd stand by me, yet you never even answered."

  I curse myself a thousand times for not even thinking about being available to Maeve while I was gone. It never occurred to me she would call this soon, yet that doesn't excuse my lapse in judgment.

  "I'm sorry, Maeve. Truly. Sean and I went to Oughterard to work on some music. I turned my phone off. I really didn't think you'd be able to call this soon."

  Her voice is small and hurt. "I got early phone privileges because I was doing well in the therapy sessions."

  "Truly...I'm so sorry. It won't happen again. My phone will be on 24/7. You call anytime you need to talk, okay? But I need you to stick with this."

  "I don't know..." Her voice is pouty now and I know she's trying to get me to commit something more to her. For the life of me, I don't know what it is. The only thing I can offer her is phone contact...the rehab facility's rules, not mine.

  "Maeve... I'm here by phone. And the minute you can have visitors, I'll be there. You know I will. But you have to try to work through this."

  She's silent and doesn't answer me. She's punishing me, I know, because I didn't answer her call.

  Anger and frustration well up inside of me, because her attitude is reminiscent of my Da's. I know Maeve has issues... is sick and needs help. But she's also playing a game, just like my Da used to play.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I ask her, "Do this for me, Maeve... okay? I'm asking you to do this for me."

  I hate to play that card, because I feel like I'm implying some sort of deeper feelings for her than I really have. But I'm desperate to keep her in there so she can get help.

  I'm immediately rewarded, her voice suddenly cheerful. "Okay... I'll do it. But only for you."

  I think to myself, No, you need to do this for you, but there's no sense in speaking it out loud.

  We speak for just a few more minutes, and then Dr. Madden is back on the phone, thanking me for talking to her. He promises to call me back in a few days, and let me know how she's doing.

  When I disconnect, Sean immediately asks, "She wants to leave? After like only five days?"

  "Yeah. She tried to call me yesterday and was pi
ssed I didn't answer."

  Sean makes a disapproving sound in his throat and doesn't say anything. But I can tell he's thinking something.

  "What, man? What was that noise for?"

  I glance at him, and he looks me square in the eye. I hold the look for just a second, before turning my attention back to the road. His words wash cold over me. "I don't think this is going to work out well for anyone. She's definitely got a drinking problem, but I think she has an unusual attachment to you that borders on stalker crazy."

  "No. She just--"

  Sean cuts me off. "Hear me out, man, because no one else has the balls to say it to you. But Maeve isn't right, and I'm not sure thirty days of rehab can fix her. We've all seen the signs for a lot longer than this last breakdown. She's been obsessed with you since you broke up and I'm betting it was going on longer than that. Hell, maybe she even loves you. But you fucked up when you got in bed with her and brought it to the next level. You may have had no problem backing away from that type of intimacy, but Maeve clearly has. She's been spiraling ever since. The drinking on top is just a bad recipe."

  I'm silent as I digest what he's saying. Have her problems been worse and I just not noticed? Is her obsession with me something dark and volatile, rather than just a lasting crush? And, oh, fuck... have I led her on in anyway? I think of those times that I let her sit near me so she can lay her head on my shoulder, or the way she will sometimes possessively touch me when I'm around other women. I usually never stopped it, because frankly, it was easier to let her do it rather than fight.

  "Fuck me, Sean," I say, in acknowledgment that what he is saying is true. "I've made this worse, haven't I?"

  "No, man. That's not what I'm saying. This is all on Maeve. All I'm saying is that we are dealing with a sick girl, and I'm worried that this is going to be destructive to everything we've worked so hard to accomplish. It's just a feeling and I just want you to be cognizant of it when you're dealing with her."

  "Should we cut her out of the band?" The thought of doing that makes me want to puke. OTE will suffer if she leaves. I'll suffer if she leaves, because more than anything, she's still one of my closest friends.