Libra Rising

by Stacy M Wray

  Not even allowing myself to think about those strong hands on my body. His tongue between my legs. The completeness I felt when he finally entered me.

  Okay, so a few thoughts slip in. The rest, I’ll deal with later.

  “Is everything okay?” I look up from my desk and see my boss, Mrs. Daily, eying me with concern.

  “Sure. I’m fine.” Even my voice is robotic, and I know she’s not buying my fake smile, either.

  “You’re quiet today. Except for the slamming of drawers, thumping of files on your desk, or zooming around the place like you’re being timed for your work.” She laughs a little. “Other than that, I’d say nothing is noticeable.”

  I cringe inside. Have I really been that bad?

  Resigning to the fact that I have a lot to deal with, I slump in my chair and admit, “I just have a lot on my mind. I’m sorry if I’m being obnoxious – I had no idea.”

  She relaxes, placing her fingers on the edge of my desk. “Harper, you’re fine. I wasn’t judging – just concerned.” She studies me, waiting to see if I’m going to divulge my reasons. When I don’t, she continues, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to be out of the office this afternoon and there’s no reason for you to stay. Go home. Deal with what’s on your mind.” Her warm smile reflects the sincerity of her words, and I find myself appreciating them immensely. Although, I don’t know if being alone with my thoughts is what I would consider a good thing.

  But since she acts like she’s doing me a favor, I muster up a genuine smile and thank her.

  On the way home, I stop at the grocery store and stock up. It’s just me for now since Dad is dealing with his demons. And as I’m being checked out, my carted items being scanned and beeped into their proper places, a thought occurs to me. I never asked, but wondered, how on earth my dad could afford rehab. I know it’s got to be outrageous, but I was just thankful he was going. Now, I think it screams of Mr. H and his generosity. The ache inside my chest tightens as I fight back my emotions.

  I will not have this check-out girl witness me break down.

  Once home, I unbag my groceries and look around for something to do. My eyes scan the kitchen, landing on my coat hanging on the hook near the door that leads to the garage. I spy the edge of a white envelope poking out of my pocket, inhaling a breath as I remember what it is.

  I hesitantly approach my coat, tugging the last physical connection to Mr. H from the pocket, staring at it. My throat constricts as I attempt to swallow around the lump.

  I feel lonely, for the first time in a long time.

  The letter feels heavy in my hands, as if the words carry so much important weight. Sitting at the kitchen table, I tear the paper across the top and slide the page out carefully. Unfolding it at the creases, I brace myself for his voice.

  My dear, sweet Harper,

  For a tough old man, this is going to be rough. I didn’t want to leave this world without telling you what you mean to me. I’ve never met anyone like you, Harper. You’ve been knocked down so many times and you get right back up, dusting off your britches, shaking a fist at the world. You worked your way under my skin the first day you showed up on my doorstep, full of tenacity, begging for work. You’re like the daughter I never had, and I think you know how much I love and admire you. No one deserves a college education more than you. I know your dad let you down, but he’s been dealing with a heartache that I understand completely.

  We all deal in different ways, but we deal. I want to explain why I left Reed more. I don’t have to worry about you, Harper. I know you’re going to educate yourself and make a living at what you love. So, I gave you the means to get started. Reed? Well, I don’t much guess that he’ll be educating himself, but I wanted to make sure he’s taken care of – no one has ever bothered to put him first. He needs to know what that feels like. I know he’ll find his way, but it will take him much longer than you – I guarantee it. Don’t give up on that boy, Harper. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know I discouraged it, but I’ve seen that look. It’s the same way I looked at my sweet Susan. Don’t let that slip through your fingers – hold on tight. Fight for it. Be patient.

  And now, since I’m about six feet under, I don’t care if I divulge that little piece of information you’ve always been digging for. Reed’s birthday is October 15th.

  Mr. H.

  Tears cascade down my face at a rapid pace, and I gasp as I let that last line soak in.

  Reed’s a Libra.

  He’s the air to my fire – the air I’ve been searching for.

  The air I need to breathe.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Reed

  July 2014

  It’s hotter than hell. Sweat pours from my head as the July sun beats down on me. I wipe my brow with my right arm, wondering like mad why I’m doing this.

  “Lift your end higher, douchebag, or it won’t clear the truck.” Brent’s always bossing me around, especially since it’s his dad’s company we work for. I know I can walk away whenever I feel like it, but I like knowing a comfortable piece of my past is in close vicinity. He’s always good for a laugh or two, and I can be myself with him.

  So, here I am in Tulsa, Oklahoma, alongside Brent, working for a moving company, making shit money. My inheritance finally hit my bank account, but I haven’t given it much thought, refusing to believe that that old man is no longer in my world. Like if I spend it, he’ll truly be gone. I know it’s all bullshit, but I still haven’t come to terms with it.

  And I still haven’t read that damned letter.

  It’s been six months since I walked away from Harper. Not one day goes by that I don’t think about her. I relive that night we spent together over and over, the memory frayed at the edges from overuse. I thought I’d be able to purge her from my system once I finally had her, felt what it was like to possess her body. But it just made it fucking worse. I still want her more than anything else in this world.

  Why do I always want what I can’t have?

  Besides, I made it damn easy for her to hate me.

  It didn’t take me long to solidify my plans. I purchased a cell phone, tracked down Brent, bought a cheap used car with my stashed savings, and made the drive to Oklahoma. Being away from Chicago and my past is easier every day. The distance acts as a balm to soothe my tattered past. But I’ll be honest – I kind of miss the city.

  Chicago is a city of extremes. Like the weather – it can get up to 100 degrees in the summer and have wind chills forty degrees below zero in the winter. It’s a city with extreme poverty in sections, but for those who make it, they make it big. Yet, despite these things, I’ve always loved the fact that Chicagoans are unified – they get shit done when push comes to shove, their grit and tenacity leading the way. It’s hard to put into words the aura of the big city – it’s more like a feeling to me.

  I know I’ll go back some day. I’m just not sure when.

  “You ever call that girl?”

  He just won’t let up. I think he focuses more on me getting laid than him. “Nope.”

  “What the fuck, dude? She made it obvious she wants to be riding your dick. Why would you pass that up?”

  Situations like this are usually the only times when I wish I didn’t work and live with him. I’m too easy of a target for his crass words. “Told you once before – not interested.” Finally, getting the couch into the back of the truck, we both hop down to retrieve another piece of furniture. Conversations like this fill the gaps between trips in and out of the house.

  He’s referring to some chick that was standing behind us at a Muse concert last Saturday. I try not to spend much money, but lawn seats were only thirty bucks and I needed a release. Live music is always the perfect cure. But Brent thinks that fucking some strange girl will solve all my problems. Brent doesn’t know shit.

  Rolling his eyes at my answer, he says, “Wanna shoot some pool at the pub tonight?” He has a fake ID and doesn’t hesitate to use it. After becomi
ng friendly with the bartender down the street from our apartment, he gets me in sometimes to play pool. But I never try to order anything. Keeping my nose clean remains high on my list of priorities, and I never feel comfortable in there, knowing that I’m underage. I’ll be legal in just a few months, so soon, it won’t be a big deal.

  “Can’t. Got a class tonight.” His look of disappointment doesn’t last long. I know he’ll go without me, having befriended a group of fellow pool players already.

  Part of keeping my priorities straight means never missing my anger management classes. I’d never admit this to anyone, but I kind of like going, now. The group grew on me quickly, making me feel not quite so alone in my unwanted personal crisis. And it’s working. Not too long ago, I had to use the skills I had acquired when a couple of guys were trying to hustle Brent and me at that same pub during a friendly game of pool. Somehow, I managed to get us out of there before any punches were thrown. I haven’t been back since. That day sparked fear in me, knowing I was underage and shouldn’t have been in there in the first place. Even though I wasn’t drinking, I don’t need that shit, and Brent damn well knows it.

  He keeps asking and my answer is always the same. October will be here before we know it, and then, I’ll be of age. Maybe then, I’ll say yes.

  The rest of the day plays out. I’m completely exhausted, finally finishing the job around four-thirty. After a shower, a nap, and a quick dinner, I’m at my class with ten minutes to spare.

  We meet in a medical office building in a suite with a huge conference room. About twelve to fifteen members show up on any given session, sometimes with a new face popping up. I completed my mandatory twelve weeks already, choosing to continue coming on my own. It helps keep me in control of my emotions. Now, I focus on training for how to keep my anger in check when I come across people just like me – like those guys in the pool hall. That day was huge for me, and that’s why I keep coming.

  A lot of times, the topics are repetitive, especially when a new member steps in and we discuss the situation that brought them there. But I don’t mind the review.

  Most of the time, I keep coming because I know Mr. H would be proud. And, even though I can’t hear his words, I feel them. It kills me every time.

  “Thanks for sharing, Matt. I’m glad you recognize that there is, in fact, ‘okay anger.’ When anger is expressed in a healthy way, and not bottled to the point of explosion later, it’s okay to let people know when they’ve crossed a line. Anger management isn’t about never being able to express yourself. We aren’t trying to turn you into robots, devoid of feelings or emotion. We just want you to channel it like other people, in a normal, not-so-hostile way,” Gary says. He’s been running these classes since I moved here. He’s also part of the reason I keep coming back – he really knows his shit.

  My eyes roam the classroom as I seek her out. Lydia. I hate that I look for her, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’m conflicted when it comes to this chick. The reason I can’t keep my eyes off her is because she reminds me of Harper. Not only does she look similar, sans the full set of lips, but when she speaks in class, her mannerisms and spunk remind me of the girl I left behind – twice now. I know she’s caught on to my stares, because I catch her smiling back at me sometimes. I’m afraid I’m sending the wrong signals. I don’t want anyone but Harper, but lately, I’ve considered trying to get with this girl. I’m so tired of jacking off to an image – I need the real deal, and Lydia might be the closest thing right now.

  I know it’s all kinds of wrong, but each week, the idea that implanted in my head grows to the point where I’m ready to act.

  After class, I make eye contact with her again, and she slowly walks over to me. “Hey,” she says. We’ve made small talk before, so this isn’t anything out of the ordinary. “Great class, huh?”

  “Yeah.” My eyes fall to her mouth, wanting it to be an exact image of Harper’s, but I know her mouth couldn’t be more different. However, that seems to set things into motion.

  “You want to grab a drink?” And there it is – my in.

  I wince in fun. “Yeah, I would, but I’m not twenty-one yet.”

  Soft laughter falls from her, and I realize it’s not like Harper’s, either. But I quickly brush it aside, knowing I don’t want to pass up a potential chance at this sick experiment I’ve been contemplating. “Okay, then how about a coffee? There’s a place right up the street.” I can’t help but notice her surprise to my admission, though. I hope she doesn’t change her mind. She looks to be a few years older than me, and I’m hoping she isn’t worried about me being legal. And I’m not talking about partaking in alcoholic beverages.

  So, I decide to put her mind at ease by saying, “I’m only a few months shy for a drink, but I’m certainly old enough for coffee.”

  She smiles, and I notice that she relaxes a bit. “Come on.” She nods her head towards the exit, and I follow her. From behind, she could pass for Harper, no problem. Same build. Same height. Same hair color and length.

  You’re a piece of shit, Reed.

  Our meeting ended at nine, and for this time of night, the coffee shop seems crowded. We manage to snag a table as an elderly couple leaves the shop. Both of us order plain coffee, nothing fancy, and we continue with small talk – where we’re from, inquiring about family members, where we work. Everything except for what brought us to the class in the first place, which is fine by me. I have no intention of talking about any of that. It’s not needed for what I have in mind.

  She sends me all the right signals – licking her lips more than once, touching my arm whenever either one of us says something funny, and the clincher – she likes sex with younger men. Not sure how that came into play, but I heard it all the same.

  “You ready to get out of here?” I make sure my voice is laced with promise, just to make sure I’m not missing any cues. Watching her eyes, I notice they become darker – a sign it’s a sure thing.

  “Most definitely,” she says, her voice dropping in pitch.

  I remember passing a dark alley on the way to the coffee shop. My eyes search for it as she grabs my hand. As soon as we happen upon the entrance, I tug on her arm, pulling her down the small paved path between two bricked buildings, completely hidden from view. Lightly shoving her up against the wall, I press my body into hers as our mouths collide. Harper immediately appears behind my eyes, and Lydia is all kinds of excited about my actions if her moans are any indication. I make sure she can feel how hard I am – it’s kind of hard to miss. It’s been so fucking long that I’m afraid I’m about to embarrass myself.

  I thank my lucky stars that she’s wearing a skirt. I wonder if girls fantasize about a quick fuck when they slip one on as they’re getting dressed. I would, if I were a girl.

  Using both my hands, I raise her skirt up to her waist. My fingers dip into her barely-there panties to find her soaking wet. She’s immediately on my dick, squeezing it on the outside of my jeans. Her enthusiasm is greatly appreciated. It isn’t long before she takes me out of my pants, pumping me up and down like a pro.

  Pulling away from our kiss, I reach into my pocket for a condom, ripping it open. I make the mistake of glancing at her as I’m rolling it over me. Her expression is nothing like Harper’s would be in this moment. Being the dick that I am, I grab her and spin her around, roughly raising her ass in the air.

  “Put your hands on the wall,” I demand. She does as she’s told, tossing me a look over her shoulder, suggesting that she’s even more turned on now. I’m just about to tell her to face the wall when she does it on her own, bracing for what I’m about to give her.

  I knead the flesh of her ass as I conjure my image of Harper. It’s not hard to do now that Lydia’s not looking at me. I know this is fucked up. But it doesn’t stop me. The need possessing me is so strong that I can’t stop it. I drive into her with such force that I almost come merely by the contact, stilling myself to gain some semblance of control. When I’m ready, I
grab the back of her hair, yanking on it harshly as I move in and out. My other hand grips her shoulder to pull her towards me as I pound into her. Harper…Harper…Harper…

  I continue to block out how twisted this is as I use this poor girl’s body, needing to get closer to Harper in any way that I can. One…two…three more thrusts. I come so hard into the end of my condom that I almost see stars. She screams out and I just now notice that her hand is between her legs, getting herself off. God, I’m such a prick. And I know instantly this was a mistake. That it’s not going to help me one tiny bit.

  I feel shallow, hollow. And instantly, I feel like I should apologize to Lydia.

  But I don’t.

  Yeah, I won’t be going back to class any time soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Harper

  November 8-14, 2014

  Aries Horoscope: This can be a powerful week for tapping into your intuition. There may be reasons to make peace with the past in some way, bringing a better understanding of where you’re headed. Believing a lie that you tell yourself can knock away at your confidence in yourself, in others, and in life. Some realities may need to be faced this week, but you have every tool available to make it a positive experience. It’s a good time to stay true to yourself and what you believe.

  I’ve been at the library for nearly four hours preparing for my Spanish II exam. Not only is it nerve-wracking that little to no English is spoken during class, but we need to present an oral presentation as part of our test and it freaks me out. I can read and understand quite a bit of Spanish, but speaking the language is on a whole other level for me.