The Art of Hero Worship

by Mia Kerick

  “That’s it, we’re out of here.” Liam holds his hand out. I take it and rise to my feet. “And this, Jason, is just another day in the life at the Norwell house.”

  “Your life is so damned tough, Liam.” After delivering his last comment with even more sarcasm than he’s used so far in our conversation, if that’s possible, David Norwell sucks down the end of his coffee and crumples the cup. “I’m an investment banker, Jason.” He looks right at me. “A very successful banker from what you can see.” He gestures to the gorgeous living room. “My wife and son don’t appreciate all I do for them… all the sacrifices I make for them to keep them living in this style.”

  I have no idea how to respond, but Liam starts tugging at my hand, and I know that this visit has come to an end. I came here to find out more about Liam’s pain and I think I have a pretty decent picture of it now.

  “But Lucy… all I had to do was look into her eyes and I could tell we were on the same page, in a way Donna and Liam never could be and never will.” He rubs his eyes in a show of emotion, and I want to rub mine because I can’t believe what I’m seeing—the most dysfunctional family in the humble state of Maine. Make that in all of New England.

  For appearances sake, I dig deep and say, “Well, I’m glad to meet you, David. And thank you for the coffee.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” He steps back to admire the life-sized portrait of his daughter.

  Liam and I exit through the front door instead of heading back through the three-bay garage. We actually run down the walkway to his car because neither of us can get away from the misery in that pale, yellow house, which is certainly nobody’s home, fast enough. Once we’re inside his car and backing down the driveway, I ask, “Are they going to be furious at you now, because of the stuff you guys said to each other?”

  Liam stops the car at the end of his driveway, looks at me blankly, and shakes his head. “Nope. What you just witnessed is normal daily life at my house. I’d call it par for the course. In fact, I think our little get-together with my folks went fairly well.”

  “Shit.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say, except for, “That sucks.”

  “Let me quote my father, if you don’t mind.” Liam throws the car in drive. “You said it, I didn’t.”

  20

  We decide to go straight back to Liam’s apartment as the Norwell family’s offensive behavior pretty much killed any hopes we had for a dreamy and romantic drive along the rocky coast of Maine. The return trip seems longer, which is probably because Liam refuses to speak. He’s not angry at me; he’s just consumed with worry and despair, and I decide that we’re going to talk out this entire situation tonight.

  When we arrive at Liam’s place, I suggest he takes a long hot shower while I make grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup. He needs a few minutes by himself to get back in control, and I need time to figure out how to begin the conversation that is essential in starting to heal Liam’s distress.

  The color is back in his cheeks when he emerges from the shower, a thick, white towel wrapped around his waist.

  “You sure know how to dress for dinner,” I say, placing the bowls of soup beside the grilled cheese sandwiches on his tiny kitchen table in the corner.

  “I didn’t think you’d mind,” Liam replies.

  “You were right…. I don’t. You must be starving.”

  He drops into a chair and stares across the table at me. “I’m hungry, but I… I think we need to… to talk about a bunch of things.”

  “Of course we need to talk, but everything, including talking, is easier to do when your stomach isn’t growling. So I want you to put down a couple sandwiches and at least one bowl of soup.” I don’t wait to see if he starts eating, I just dig in. He watches me for a few seconds and does the same.

  ***

  After dinner, we get ready to turn in, and when we stretch out next to each other on the bed, Liam allows one of his long, noisy sighs.

  “You ready to talk now?” I ask. The room is dark and cool and the blankets are soft and warm on our naked bodies, creating the perfect condition for a powerful conversation followed by equally powerful sex. At least, that’s the plan in my hopeful mind.

  “Not really, but I know it’s time.” Liam reaches out, snatches up my hand, and pulls it to his chest in a surprisingly needy gesture. He blurts, “I knew I had to save you because I didn’t save her.”

  Liam gets to the point far more quickly than I expected.

  “I could hear Lucy… she was crying, Jason, and she was calling my name… but I couldn’t get to her.” His voice is low and soft, even monotone.

  I want to ask him to start at the beginning, but I realize that if I stop him now he may never start talking again, so instead I listen and let him relate the story in his own way.

  “My bedroom door was hot… I felt it with the back of my hand like they taught us at school… and I knew I shouldn’t open it. And there was smoke coming under the door. I had to go out the window… I had to… but I could hear her…poor Lucy… oh, Lucy….” He makes a desperate choking sound and the emotions pour forth. “I knew she was gonna die… and I left anyway because I was so scared… because I didn’t want to die!”

  I don’t ask questions, and I don’t pull him into my arms; I just squeeze the hand that’s clutching mine to his chest. I want so badly to remind him of what he once told me: you never know how you’re going to act when you’re terrified. But it isn’t my time to talk.

  “I jumped out the window… broke my leg that night… but I couldn’t feel the pain of it until the next day. Mom and Dad… they were outside standing by the tree that we agreed would be our family meeting place if there was ever an emergency. And Mom and Dad….”

  Remembering his parents at that critical moment eight years ago brings Liam to the point of sobs. “Tell me…”

  “Jase… Jase… when she saw me… when I got to the tree, Mom screamed, ‘Where’s my baby? Where’s Lucy?’ Then she asked how I dared to show my fucking face without my sister beside me, and she pushed me to the ground and kicked me again and again, and pointed at the house and told me, ‘Go back in there and get her!’”

  “Liam….” In the absence of actual sobbing on my part, silent hot tears are streaming down my face. “Liam….”

  “And then she said I was fucking useless and I always had been… and she ran into the house… Jase, it was burning… I could feel the heat from the flames all the way across the yard… and Dad had to chase her and drag her back out of there… and she was kicking and screaming and biting and pulling his hair….”

  I’m horrified by the tragedy itself, and more specifically, by the torturous choice Liam had to make that night—to save himself or attempt to save his sister and likely die trying. And I’m furious with Donna for her cruelty and David for not standing up for his son, but, at the same time, I know they all were in pain.

  “I killed Lucy… can’t you see? By jumping out the window to save myself, I caused her death!” Liam pulls his hand from mine and bolts up straight. “When Lucy died, our family died… I did this to all of us! And I’m so sorry!”

  I get what he’s saying. Liam feels responsible for Lucy’s death in a similar way to how I feel responsible for Ginny’s. But he had to deal with his guilt and grief and loss as a child… a child who lost his parents, for all intents and purposes, on the very same night. “No, Liam, it’s not your fault. You didn’t kill her.”

  “Jase, when I heard your whimpering sounds in the theater, it was like I was right back in my bedroom on the night of the fire….” Liam is determined to say what he needs to say, and it’s hard to hear but I let him go on. “I had a chance to do the right thing with you. To make up for… for what I let happen to my sister.”

  “You did the right thing that night in your bedroom. You did what you were taught to do and you escaped the fire with your life intact.” I kneel behind him and drape my arms around his broad shoulders. “And if you’
d left me in the theater it would have been the right thing for you to do then, too.”

  “You can say those things and you can think them… but I saw my mother’s eyes when she told me she wished it was me who’d died in that fire!”

  I pull him back onto the bed and once he’s lying beside me, I climb onto his chest. Seduction might not be the right thing to do at this moment, but it’s the only thing I can come up with that will change the direction of his thoughts. He needs me to do this now. I bend down and press my lips hard on his until we’re both gasping for breath. Then I say, “I needed you in the theater and I needed you at the hotel and I need you everyday… I think somehow… for some reason… you were kept safe for me.”

  Liam’s arms are quickly around me and he’s shifting my body beneath him. “And I needed to hear those words from you… it’s all I want….” In a split second I’m looking up into eyes now less haunted, and more determined and demanding. “I saved you and now I need to know you’re mine.”

  His tears have dried leaving streaks on his cheeks that add to a wild look I’ve never before seen. He speaks in a low husky voice that’s new to me too, and I’m stirred by the rawness and neediness he’s allowing me to witness. “That’s right, Liam, I’m yours.”

  “Tonight isn’t going to be sweet or soft or tender, Jason. And I need you to know that I’m gonna make sure you know you’re mine… I mean, it’s not gonna hurt you, but it might change things.” With these words his fists encircle my wrists and he weighs me down with his body, his burly chest pressing mine into the bed. “Now tell me you understand and that this is what you want.”

  At first I just nod, but the glare he sends me clearly indicates that he wants a verbal response. “Yes… it’s what I want.”

  Honestly, I’m spooked by his ferocity, but the haunted look is, for the most part, absent from his eyes and he’s no longer withdrawn, as he’d been in the car. He’s communicating and it’s honest communication. He’s telling me what he needs from me. “I’ll do anything… everything… you want, okay?”

  He nods and says, “Then brace yourself, Jason.” This order echoes in my mind, as I think he suggested it once before, not too long ago.

  A prickle of chills dances down the back of my neck and skirts around, landing on my chest, which he’s already sucking with such force that I lose my breath. I resist the instinct to push him away or to ask him to wait until I’m ready, because I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for what he has in mind tonight. Somewhere inside, I know that in giving him what he wants, I’m going to get everything I need.

  “So you’ve chosen to live by the honor code… you’ve heard of it, I’m sure. It goes like this: I saved your life and so now you owe me yours. Isn’t that right?”

  “I—I—uh….”

  He goes on talking, despite the fact that I didn’t reply the way he likes me to. “I wanna be the one to guard your life.” He starts to climb up my body. By the time he’s seated on my chest he’s rambling, as if in a trance. “I wanna know that you’re always gonna be safe, and here for me… so I need you to let me look out for you however I see fit… and I need to be able to take you… in bed… the way I want… because then I’ll know you’re really mine.”

  “Yes….” This is all I have time to say.

  Liam has continued to climb my body so that his dick is now directly in front of my face. He paints my lips with its moist tip, and I know exactly what he wants me to do. I slide my arms down to my sides where I know he wants them, and for a split second I’m shocked, because never in my life did I envision myself in this position, or at least not on the bottom end of this situation. But I raise my mouth and feed on Liam’s length the very second he lowers it to my lips. The sound I hear from him when I take him into my mouth is so gritty and primitive that it brings to mind a climax, but I have firsthand knowledge that this is not the case. I decide that he’s experiencing a different kind of release—a release of all the secrets and anguish and feelings of seclusion that he’s kept inside for far too many years.

  He hovers over me, pushing himself in and out of my mouth, forcefully and repetitively, for so long that I can’t imagine how he can hold back his orgasm. His thrusts are rough and abrupt and purposeful; I think he’s unaware that it’s me beneath him, struggling to guide his dick with my tongue in his frenzy of movement. And when he slows enough to reach down, softly caresses my cheek, and say, “My Jase… my Jase,” I know he remembers that it’s me who’s under him. I take this moment to worship with my mouth, my lips, and my tongue, this man who keeps me safe, in body and soul, using a tender dominance I’ve come to crave.

  Without warning, he stops what he’s been so intent upon doing. “Lie flat and open your legs.” It’s an order and I obey promptly. He turns around, and descends upon my body in a heated rush. “I’m gonna have myself a feast. Don’t squirm away from me… and….”

  I’m not new to oral sex, but what Liam proceeds to do to me is in a category all its own. He’s somehow harsh and at the same time gentle; I feel passion and fury with every stroke of his tongue and brush of his beard. On my body, he expresses his heartache at the loss of his family and his joy at finding me. I’m panting within a minute and shouting within two.

  “Liam, let me touch you, too! Please Liam!”

  “I’ll touch both of us!” In response to my begging, he throws himself on top of me, pushes our dicks together and grinds, kissing my lips with a hunger I’m not sure I can satisfy. Within a few seconds we’re both letting go and it’s so all-encompassing it almost hurts. The experience is too intense to actually keep kissing, so our two mouths simply merge, wide open and pressed together, our tongues tangled, but unmoving.

  After a full minute, he lifts his mouth from mine. Our faces are wet and chafed, as are our bodies, but it’s perfect. “Tell me now,” he utters, and I immediately know what he wants.

  “I love you, Liam, and I’m yours.”

  He was right; everything is different now. I’ve given him full access to my body, and I’m glad.

  And just like that, a soft sweet version of Liam is here. He snuggles down beside me, yawns, and says, “We’re gonna seriously need showers in the morning, man.” Just when I think I know Liam, he shows me a facet I’ve never before seen. “And I love you, too.”

  21

  I still see the haunted look on his face, but it only shows up every now and then since he confided in me what happened to his sister. And I’m not naïve enough to think his problem with guilt and regret is suddenly solved because he talked to me about it, and that years of torturing himself about having left his sister in the house when it was on fire has miraculously disappeared, but having it all out in the open has taken away some of the power yielded by a big bad secret. So I guess I can say that he’s doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. But I wish I could wipe all the pain away for him, I’m not going to lie.

  Classes, as well as our relationship, have been sailing along rather smoothly, which for some reason makes me worry, and now it’s Columbus Day weekend. Batcheldor College’s annual tradition is to welcome back alumni and all past students for Fall Festival. There’s no shortage of activities on and off campus, and Liam and I are participating in the pumpkin-carving contest tonight. We have an awesome idea that involves poking fun at certain presidential candidates. There’s also a theater exchange with some other schools where short one-act plays will be performed in a judged competition at Harrison Theater. Mariah, Ginny’s freshman year roommate and Liam’s friend from the business program, is returning to Batcheldor to play her part in last fall’s production of “Oh, What a Tangled Web.” I’m not yet ready to go anywhere near that theater, even if Mariah is going to be there.

  Last week, she reached out to both Liam and me by email, and the three of us settled upon a time Saturday afternoon to meet between her performances, at College Coffee on Main Street. This is as close to the theater as I’m willing to get.

  Liam and
I are sitting in College Coffee, staring through its glass walls at the theater across the street, and I don’t know about Liam, but my mind is near to bursting with a resurgence of banished fears.

  “Why did we agree to meet Mariah here of all places? This is a bad idea.” I’m certain of it. I’m not ready to casually sip coffee in this close proximity to the Harrison Theater, nor am I prepared to have the serious discussion Mariah has alluded to.

  Liam hooks his ankle around mine beneath the table, which helps me to feel marginally better. “We’ll get through this, Jase. Just grab a hold of me if you’re freaking out. I’ll be here for you, ‘kay?”

  This is yet another example of what I love about Liam. He’s dependable and steady. Even when I feel almost obligated to worry, he lets me know that I won’t be worrying alone. “Thanks… hey, look, she’s here.”

  We both stand up to greet Mariah, and automatically reach out to hug her, but she steps away and avoids the physical contact. “Let’s sit down,” is all she says. And her voice sounds cold and curt, like she means business.

  “We ordered you an iced chai latte, seeing as that was what you always brought with you to marketing class,” Liam tells her. “Hope you’re still into chai.”

  “It’s fine.” Mariah’s blonde hair is slicked back in a tight bun and she’s wearing stage makeup that dulls any softness that would normally show on her pointy face. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you guys, and I’m here to get it off my chest.”

  My first reaction is surprise, closely followed by dismay. I’m definitely not in the mood for picking bones with Mariah. Liam and I have had so many ups and downs in the past six months, all I want is to enjoy some peaceful, happy times with him and our friends. I thought tonight was going to be a bittersweet stroll down memory lane, talking about the good times with Ginny and how much we miss her, but obviously I’m mistaken. Mariah has never been a person to keep her feelings boxed up inside of her, especially the negative ones. In fact, I remember Ginny saying that Mariah could never let any minor problems be swept under the rug.