The Takedown (The Hookup Book 2)

by J. S. Cooper

  “You make me so horny,” I groaned in her ear. “I want to just take you right here, right now, in the water. I want you so badly.”

  “Nate.” She blushed and then sighed.

  “What?” I froze as I realized she had stiffened next to me. “Sorry, should I not have said that?”

  “No, it’s fine.” She sighed. “It’s just like you can open up about sex, but nothing else.”

  “What?” I frowned at her and stepped back to look at her properly. “What are you talking about?”

  “I asked you about your writing. I wanted you to share more with me. Yet, you blow me off.” She looked sad. “I know this is a weird space for us, but I would like to think I mean more to you than just a quick fuck.”

  “Wow, I can’t believe you just said that, Janie.” I was gobsmacked. “Do you really think that?” I stared at her face for a few minutes and I could tell from her expression that she was hurt. We were at a crossroads in our relationship and I didn’t want to lose her from my life. I didn’t think it was a big deal that I hadn’t told her about my writing before, but it seemed to me that she was a lot more upset than I had anticipated. “I’m sorry I never told you I like to write. Frankly, I was embarrassed.”

  “Why were you embarrassed?” she asked me softly.

  “Because people that want to be writers are full of themselves and I didn’t want you to think I was full of myself.”

  “I don’t think writers are full of themselves.” She shook her head. “I’m just sad that you never shared it with me. That’s all.”

  “I have some other pieces. I can share another one with you tonight,” I said slowly, my brain shouting at me to stop what I was saying. “It’s really personal to me. And well, to you as well.”

  “To me as well?” She looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “I wrote this after everything that happened between us in college,” I said, feeling shy. “After you stopped talking to me. And when I started feeling like shit.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “I see.”

  “It’s not about us per se, or our story. But it was inspired by what I was feeling.”

  “Oh, wow.” She paused for a second. “Are you going to share it with me?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “I would love it if you would.” She nodded. “I really would.”

  “Okay.” I nodded.

  “Tonight?” she asked me eagerly and I laughed.

  “Only if you spend the night with me.”

  “Nate.” She just smiled at me.

  “How badly do you want to read it?” I winked at her and she laughed.

  “Fine, I will sleep in the same bed as you. That doesn’t mean anything is going to happen.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go then.”

  “What?” She laughed. “No more swimming?”

  “Of course not. It’s cold.” I grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up and carried her back to the shore.

  “Nate, put me down.” She squirmed against me as I walked and I let her back down as we got to the sand. “You can’t carry me all the way back.”

  “Sure I can. Look at these muscles.” I flexed my arms and she just rolled her eyes at me. “Come on, goofy,” I said as we walked back to the apartment. I was excited, nervous, and scared all at the same time. I wanted her to spend the night with my, but a part of me was loathed to share something so personal to my heart. Something that told of my headspace after I’d done her wrong.

  ***

  “So, the piece is called The First Time,” I said, as I got ready to hand her my laptop.

  “Oh my God, it’s not about the first time we had sex, is it?” She groaned as she looked at me. Her face was sweet and warm as she sat there in her pajamas, her hair freshly washed and her face scrubbed clean from her shower. I’d wanted to join her in the shower, but I knew it was too soon to just surprise her like that.

  “Janie, I told you, it’s not about us. It was inspired by my feelings when I realized I’d lost you from my life.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “I get it.”

  “I don’t think you do, but you’ll see.” I handed her the laptop and sat back against the headboard. “You just have to promise you won’t judge me.”

  “Why would I judge you?”

  “Because the story is sentimental and I’m not a sentimental guy. And also, I wrote it from the perspective of a girl. I don’t want you to think that’s weird.”

  “You’ll always be my weirdo.” She laughed. “But I know you’re a big softy at heart.” She gave me an impish smile. “Can I read it now?”

  “Go ahead.” I sighed and then grabbed the remote. “I’m going to watch TV as you read it.”

  “Go on then, now shh,” she said and I watched as her eyes went eagerly to the screen and she started reading. My chest felt tight and I felt a tension in my shoulders as I remembered how alone and lost I’d felt when I’d written that piece. How guilty and ashamed of myself I’d been. How I’d wondered about her and if she hated me. How I’d let her down. How I’d hurt her. I’d almost gone out of my mind when she wouldn’t speak to me. It had been the worst feeling in the world. The absolute worst. I couldn’t let that happen again. I had to remember that. I only wished my body would accept that it couldn’t have her again. Having her again meant complications I didn’t want to encounter. Unfortunately, my body didn’t want to listen to my brain.

  Chapter Six

  Janie

  I could feel Nate’s eyes on me as I stared at the laptop screen. My heart was racing as I sat there in his bed, the feel of his lips still imprinted in my mind. I was so excited to read this new story. So excited to be inside his head. This was basically the first real indication that I’d gotten that he’d been really hurt about our time in college as well. I was nervous to read this story. Nervous to see what he was going to say. Nervous it would be something I wouldn’t want to hear. Maybe it would be about some immature girl that had no clue and tried to force him into a relationship. I chided myself inwardly. “Just read it, Janie,” I mumbled under my breath. I took a deep breath and focused on the screen and started to read.

  The First Time

  I knew exactly how I’d do it. I can picture the majestic cliff in my mind, the billowing waters crashing into the rocks below, waiting in all their ominous glory. The fall would be quick, cold, faltering. For a few seconds it would feel like flying. Before the fear set in, of course. And then the fear would turn to dread and every last fish in the ocean would look up and think to themselves, there goes another one.

  Today is my twelfth birthday. I’ve one more year to go until I’m a teenager. That’s when everything will change. That’s what my mom says to my dad every night. “Just wait until she’s thirteen, you think we’ve got it bad now. Just wait. Everything will go haywire. The boys, the booze, the drugs, the sex. Appreciate her for who she is. We won’t have this perfect girl for much longer. She’ll realize he’s more than her friend and we’ll be in trouble then.”

  What sort of trouble? I don’t know. And more than a friend? Eww. He’d never be more than a friend. He was like my brother. I’d like a big brother, if I could have one. Someone to protect me and do anything for me, without wanting something in return. That would be nice. Really nice. But I don’t and that’s okay. He’ll do. He’d do anything for me. Even when he’s mad. Even when he says “Lexi,” like he doesn’t want the word to sully past his lips. I don’t even really remember a time that he wasn’t in my life. He’s always just been there. I’ve always just been there. I suppose that’s the problem.

  It’s an effort to open my eyes. The sunlight plays games with my mind, making me think I’m seeing things I don’t want to see. Though, that’s a welcome break from the voices in my head, they remind me of everything that I don’t want to know. Everything that makes me fallible. I’m completely normal. That’s what I tell myself every morning when the blinding light tries to wake me up. “I. Am. Compl
etely. Normal.”

  “Lexi.” His voice is urgent as he whispers, slightly too loud to be subtle. I ignore him. “Lexi,” he whispers again, this time, his voice is louder, more insistent, not caring if anyone hears him. I smile to myself slightly at the knowledge that he’s willing to get in trouble to get my attention. I still ignore him though. “Lexi.” He’s no longer whispering and I feel his fingers tapping on my shoulder. “Lexi.”

  The teacher looks up and glares at us. She wants to separate us, complains at every parent-teacher meeting that we’re troublemakers, distracting to the class.

  “Cory and Lexi, be quiet.” Her eyes show her distaste as she speaks and then looks away. I’m surprised that she doesn’t say anything else.

  “Lexi.” His voice is almost begging.

  “What?” I turn to him finally and look at the mole on his right cheek, as opposed to in his eyes. If I look in his eyes, I’ll cry.

  “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” he mumbles and I feel him pushing something into my hand. It’s a piece of paper. Tattered and worn, the corners ripped. I open it slightly and see pencil and black pen marks, and some mathematical equations with red lines through them.

  “It’s the only paper I had,” he explains and I look into his eyes then, desolate and pained. I wince as he stares back at me, searching for forgiveness. I don’t know for which sin he’s trying to atone, but his doe-like brown eyes soften something in me that I don’t want to be softened. I can feel myself wanting to forgive and I hastily look away.

  “It’s fine,” I whisper and try to ignore the pounding in my head. Constant thoughts and questions roaming through my mind. I can’t stop myself from opening the paper. It reads simply, “To my best friend, happy birthday.” I blink, heartbeat racing. He knows what this means to me, but it’s too late.

  “I only hang out with her because she has no friends.” The words reverberate in my ear as if being played from a loud speaker on repeat. Over and over again. She has no friends. I have no friends. He is not my friend. The voice is cold, dismissive, uncaring. His face is impassive, light. He shrugs as he speaks. Then his eyes see mine, from the corner, staring at him, wide open in shock. My mouth slack, my heart racing, my fingers playing with my hair nervously, wanting to rip it out, wanting to hit the wall. Wanting to feel the pain somewhere else, other than inside of me. I’m nothing. To him. To my best friend. To the one I’ve shared all my secrets with. I’m nothing. He stares at me, something in him freezing as he watches me. He knows I’ve heard. He knows he’s hurt me and I know from the way his lips slacken and he starts fidgeting that he regrets it. I don’t know if he regrets the words or if he only regrets me hearing them, but I don’t care. I turn around and run away. I run to the water. Cold, welcoming, all-consuming. I jump in, fully-clothed and let the riptide carry me away and bring me down. The pervading darkness feels like an entryway to the light and I’m at peace with myself for a few seconds. The seaweed rubbing against my face makes me open my eyes and I imagine that I’m a sea monster, looking for my next victim and it makes me feel powerful, it makes me feel whole. The bad feelings are gone, going, fading. Then he grabs me, pulls me out of the water, drags me back up to the beach.

  “Lexi.” His eyes are desperate.

  “Yes.” I blink at him, trying to imagine his brown eyes sparking flames of fire at me.

  “Don’t do that again.” His lips are pursed. His voice isn’t angry, more sad and lost.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I say, shivering now. The sun has set and the cool breeze threatens to give me a cold. My head is pounding again.

  “I love you, Lexi.” The words drip into my ears like honey from a honeycomb, yet, I feel nothing. This is his redemption, his swan song, his outpouring of love. This is all the things he’s never been able to tell me. This is for all the notes that were half-written.

  “Am I your best friend?” I whisper, smiling up at him in my most beguiling way, batting my eyelashes at him, wondering if my mascara is dripping, making raccoon eyes out of my appearance. Wondering if he thinks I’m beautiful.

  “You’re my best friend.” He nods, the tiredness in his voice making me reach up to touch the side of his face gently.

  “I thought so,” I said, content, my eyes drooping as my own tiredness takes over and I drift off. “I. Am. Completely. Normal,” I mumbled as I faded back to sleep.

  ***

  A flitter of pain, followed by a series of thoughts, and then a pounding, a jarring cut to the stomach and a flash of heat.

  “Lexi,” he whispers and I keep my eyes closed. “Lexi,” he says again and there’s doubt in his voice. I want to cry, but then he’ll know that I’ve heard him. I remain motionless and uncomfortable. There’s something tickling the top of my head and I want to scratch it, but I can’t. That’s my punishment for being duplicitous.

  “She’s still sleeping, Cory.” That voice again.

  “I know.” He doesn’t sound certain.

  “You should get some coffee.”

  “I want to be here when she wakes up this morning. I want to wish her happy birthday,” he explains, as if he needs to tell her why he’s staying by my side.

  “She might not wake up for a while.”

  She says that every day. And every day I want to tell her that she has no clue. She has no idea who I am. Today is my twenty-fifth birthday. I’ve one more year to go until I’m engaged. Engaged and finally happy. I’ll have my own family. Three kids. No, five kids. Three boys and two girls. They’ll all have names of flowers, even the boys. We’ll be a group of flower powers. I want to laugh. My kids would be teased, but it would be cute. They’d have a story. They’d tell my story. How he named a flower after me. How he’d colored the sky in pinks and purples and made the petals come alive. How he’d sent dozens and dozens of bouquets, day after day, for weeks, the Lexi’s. The Lexi’s. Because he loved me so. Because he knew that I was falling. Because he was scared. Because it wasn’t the first time. And he knew I wasn’t perfect. I. Am. Completely. Normal. Became my whispered mantra, behind closed doors.

  “Lexi.” His voice again, closer, his lips next to my ears. I can feel his breath, warm, tickling my cochlear. I feel his fingers touching the side of my ear, brushing my hair back carefully. “Lexi,” he whispers again, more urgently. I can see his brown eyes in my mind. Big, beautiful, loving. They remind me of the woods and the feeling I got when I went camping and slept in a sleeping bag and stared up at the stars. They remind me of that minute of pure bliss, when I felt one with nature, when happiness dominated every thought in my head. When I watched my father kissing my mother on the cheek. When I felt the wind caressing my skin, loving that I was appreciating Mother Nature and all her glory. In the woods, I was everything and nothing. “Lexi.” His voice is urgent again. “I want to wish you a Happy Birthday.”

  When I was eighteen, he told me that he hated birthdays. He was mad that I’d gotten him a big card with a balloon and a teddy bear and surprised him with a picnic in the park. “Lexi.” He’d been really angry. “I told you, I didn’t want you to do anything for my birthday.”

  “I just wanted to make you feel special,” I’d squeaked out, hoping he would start laughing and pull me into a hug and thank me, but he didn’t and a hollow feeling filled me. Emptiness. A wonder of how much he hated me. A wonder of if he wouldn’t talk to me again. Self-preservation. Fear of him pulling away. Crickets chirped next to us as we sat there, ripping pieces of bread into chunks, both of us eating monotonously, sitting there in silence. I pretended I was a bear, munching happily and that he was Goldilocks, in a petulant mood. He only needed time to realize that I’d done a nice thing. A sweet thing. Yet, I could feel the waves again, creeping up, threatening me, wanting to pull me down. I wanted to run, retreat into my safe place. I wanted to erase him. From everything.

  “Don’t do it again. Respect my feelings.” The words reverberated in my ear. I can’t breathe, so scared am I that he won’t remember that I didn’t me
an to hurt him or make him mad. “Happy Birthday, Lexi.” Those words again, filling my brain, his fingers still in my hair, brushing softly. I want to open my eyes. See if his nails are still as well kept as I remember them being. Wondering if he had a moustache or if he’d shaven. I preferred him with the stubble. I liked running my fingers along the prickly hair and yelping, pretending that he’d cut me.

  “Lexi,” he whispers and his voice sounds young. My stomach lurches. I don’t want to remember any more.

  “I’m seven now.” I burst into song. “I’m seven. Today is my birthday. Today I am seven.” He holds my hand, squeezes it. “You’re my bestest friend ever.” I squeeze his hand back confidently and grin widely at him.

  “Nope, you’re my bestest friend ever.”

  “Nope, you’re my bestest friend ever.” He shook his head; his eyes alight as he spied the chocolate birthday cake being brought into the room.

  “I’m older than you, so I’m right.” I let him know in my non-bossiest voice ever and ended the argument.

  “Lexi, be nice to Cory,” my mom lectures me, but in a nice way. She’s not mean. She loves me. Not as much as him, but she loves me. I’m nice to him, of course. I give him a piece of cake. Let him eat it before me. That makes him happy. Of course. The warmth before the cold.

  Twenty-one. The birthday we didn’t celebrate together. The only one. He didn’t even remember. Didn’t care. I waited by the phone. All day.

  “Ring, ring, ring, ring.” Fifteen shots of vodka later and the phone was covered in vomit and tears. I was curled up in the bed hugging my pillow, bloodshot eyes seeing wolves in the dark wanting to tear me to shreds. I had a razor. Too far away to grab. Tiredness consumed me and the red eyes, the red eyes made me retreat under the duvet, made me hide away. The pain was welcomed. Then the beep. Beep. “Happy Birthday, Lexi.” It was him. I smiled. I. AM. COMPLETELY NORMAL.

  “Lexi.” he whispered. “Lexi, it’s me.”