Need

by K. I. Lynn

  Her voice infuriates me. Her words piss me off. A part of me feels guilty for admitting this, but her mere presence angers me. I don’t wish her death. I don’t. But I sure as hell don’t want her on the other side of my door, trying to talk to me. I don’t want to see her, hear her voice.

  So I refuse to respond to her, hoping she’ll take the hint.

  She doesn’t.

  “Kira, honey, please.”

  Her pleading tone angers me further. I grind my teeth and pray for the strength to stop the explosion I feel building in me.

  The door knob rattles as she tries to open it.

  She can’t. I locked her out. I locked the whole word out because all I want is to be left the hell alone. She’s getting her wish. Her little marriage. Why can’t she just leave me alone and go plan her fucking wedding or something?

  “Kira!”

  “Leave me alone!” I scream out, jumping off my bed and stomping my foot on the floor. Breathe. Breathe, I tell myself, knowing that arguing with her won’t do any good.

  My mother is stubborn. Worse than a rock. Once she’s made up her mind about something, there's no moving her. It’s a trait we both share, so if she thinks I’m opening up that door, she’s sadly mistaken.

  “Kira, you’re being absolutely unreasonable!”

  The fragile hold on my self-control snaps. I grab the picture frame off the nightstand by the bed—the one with our family portrait inside—and fling it at the closed door. I hear her shocked gasp from the other side of the door as the glass in the frame shatters and rains down onto my carpet.

  “I told you to leave me alone! You got what you wanted, now why the hell can’t you just go?”

  She turns the knob one more time, forcefully, and when it still doesn’t open she slams her hand against the door. “Kira, now. Or I swear to God, I’ll punish you.”

  I let out a bitter laugh at that and rush to the door. But I don’t open it. I don’t trust myself. I just lean against it and tell her quietly, “There is absolutely nothing you can do that’s going to hurt more than this.”

  “Kira please, stop this. You’re overreacting. It’s been ten years since your father died—”

  “This isn’t about him!”

  “But there’s been no one else. Don’t you think I have the right to move on?”

  The urge to ask her if she’s fucking stupid hits me strong, but I hold it back. There’s still a small, rational part of me that knows this is my mother I’m talking to, no matter how much respect I’ve lost for her. “The other woman?” I seethe. “Really? You were that pathetically lonely that you couldn’t go find your own man. You had to steal someone else’s.”

  My mother lapses into silence and I stand there, trying to dredge up an ounce of guilt for what I’ve just said.

  There’s none.

  It’s the truth. Her dirty, disgusting truth.

  “I’m your mother,” she finally whispers and I hear the tears in her voice. “You can’t talk to me that way.”

  “Just because you’re my mother that doesn’t mean I have to respect you, or your choice.”

  “Kira, Steven and Abigail’s marriage had already gone through really tough times.”

  Why is she still explaining herself to me? Why even bother? “Thing’s had gotten better between them, so save it. You got between them. You ended their marriage.”

  “Steven fell out of love with her. He came after me—”

  Oh, great. The story gets better. “If you had thought what you were doing was right, you wouldn’t have hidden it from us for so long.” And I wouldn’t have had enough time to get my hopes built up, to have my dream dangled in front of me and then ripped away before I could grab it.

  “Listen, honey, we’re in love with each other. I know you don’t understand a lot about love at your age, but some day you will, and then you’ll understand why Steven and I have to be together.”

  I'm going to be sick. Right here, on the white carpet in front of my door. Her words are nothing more than a knife, stabbing into me over and over. I do know about love and you’re taking it away from me! People might say that I'm only fifteen. What the hell do I know about love? That I will eventually move on, find someone else, and truly fall in love later on.

  That isn’t true. I don’t know how I'm so sure, but I know that I'm not going to be able to get over Brayden. I'm not going to be able to rip what I feel out of me, no matter how much time passes.

  I'm going to be stuck loving him for the rest of my life, and they are going to make him my brother.

  I can’t tell her that. But, oh, I want to. I want to rail and continue screaming, show her just how heartbroken I am.

  What good will it do? I don’t want her to know about me and Brayden now. She will probably use it as an excuse, find more of a reason to keep us apart.

  Truth is, in a matter of a few hours, the lifelong trust I’d had with my mother has gotten obliterated. Now, there's nothing left. I can barely bring myself to keep speaking to her, let alone confess something so private, so damn important to her.

  “Please. Please,” I beg, voice hoarse. “Just go. Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

  “She asked you to leave her alone,” I hear Ryan say from down the hall. His tone is tense. Forcefully calm, but tense.

  “Ryan—”

  “Mother.” Mother. Not mom, as he’s always called her, but mother. “She’s upset and I don’t blame her. Just let her be.”

  “I can’t believe the two of you are this against the idea of me finding happiness. I’ve given you both everything. I’ve never failed you.” My mother sounds like an unsure little girl.

  How can she be so clueless?

  “You failed us the day you decided to become the lover of a married man,” Ryan says in that same deadened tone. “Now, I suggest you give us both time to deal with your ridiculous decision.”

  “Ryan!” My mother cries, clearly surprised at the way he’s just spoken to her.

  Two days ago, neither of us would have dared.

  She changed all that.

  I don’t hear anything else for a few seconds. Ryan must have gone back into his room. I feel her presence on the other side of my door. My stomach quakes at the thought of her trying to explain her actions to me again. I get it. She’s selfish. She wants Brayden’s dad and doesn’t care who she has to run over to have him. Nothing she says to justify herself will change how I feel.

  She loves Brayden’s dad.

  I love Brayden.

  In less than two weeks, she’ll get what she wants. The man she wants.

  And I’ll be stuck living the rest of my life without the one boy I love. I’ll have to watch him grow up, become a man, and I will never have him.

  I wanted so many things with him. Things that won’t get a chance to happen now.

  More of his kisses. More of his body. To have the right to hold his hand.

  God, he’s just so sexy, and he turns me on so much. I’m supposed to watch him go on with his life, go back to fucking every girl that spreads her legs for him, and I’ll never have known what it was like to be his.

  All because of that stupid marriage and the paperwork that will legally make him my brother.

  He isn’t my brother yet.

  I still have time.

  We still have time.

  My heart explodes inside my chest at the realization of what that means. One thought, and I’m trembling, the hollow ache in my body pounding, calling out for one person.

  I can still have him. Maybe just once, maybe a few times before the wedding, but our parents aren’t married yet, won’t be for another ten days.

  I can still have him.

  All the tension and nausea leaves me as it all becomes so crystal clear to me. I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without knowing what it’s like to be with him—and that’s because I can’t live my life like that.

  I need to know. Even if it’s just for a little while b
efore we’re truly separated. Brayden wants me. He'd gotten so hard and had stared at me like he wanted to eat me.

  I want him to eat me.

  Now.

  There’s no point in waiting, not when we’re about to lose our last chance to be together.

  I trip over myself as I rush to my bed, pick up my phone, and I start typing out a text to Brayden.

  The night we first kissed, jealousy had flashed in his eyes when I’d mentioned the other guys. It told me everything I needed to know—Brayden doesn't want me with anyone else, either. He doesn’t want another guy having me, being my first.

  He wants it.

  I tremble harder, going wet between my legs, my skin tingling with excitement at the thought of being as close to him as I can get.

  I hit send on the text, not even thinking twice about being blatantly honest with him about my intentions. Not after how he kissed me. Not after what we’d shared together.

  Coming over. I want you. Need to be with you before they get married.

  I make sure I turn the lights off in my room to make it look like I’ve gone to bed. I’m tiptoeing to my window seconds after, sliding it open as slowly as my raging hormones will allow. This is it. It’s going to happen, and I’m going to have it with Brayden, and my entire being feels like it’s come alive for this one moment.

  My room is on the first floor. His isn’t. But I’ve already become a master at climbing the tree next to his window. With the way I feel right now, I’d find a way to fly up there if I had to, so I’m not worried about how I’m going to get in.

  My feet drop onto the grass, and I stop, taking a look around to make sure I’m alone. It’s dark out, late. Only the lights of the houses around us and the moonlight illuminate the neighborhood. No one’s out. I think I hear a few people laughing all the way down the block, but they aren’t close.

  I’ve done this maybe a million times or more over the years.

  It hits me that this time, I’m doing it for a totally different reason—finally, for the right reason—and I rush across my yard and onto Brayden’s driveway. It’s freaking huge and open to anyone’s view, but it’s safer to cut straight across than it is to go around to the backyard. His dad had the motion sensor lights put in weeks ago, and they only turn on when someone nears them.

  Considering the size of his backyard, and thus how many lights had to be installed, the last thing I want to do is run through there and set them all off.

  I run as quietly as I can, making the turn around to the side of the house where the tree leading up to Brayden’s room is.

  I don’t know who planted a damn tree so close to the house that it grew, practically leaning on it, but I love them. I’ve loved them a million times before, but I really love them now. Looking up at Brayden’s window, I see that it’s closed but the curtains are parted and the lights are on inside.

  He’s in there.

  And I’m about to go in there, be with him.

  Brayden’s going to be inside me, where no one has ever been, and I’m not even scared about how much it’s going to hurt.

  God. No. I just want it.

  Want him.

  Heart thudding, I start scaling the tree, my feet knowing exactly where to land, my hands knowing where to grab. It takes me less than a minute to get high enough, and then I’m right in front of his window, and my eyes are on—

  The day my mother came home from the hospital and told me my father had died, I remember vividly how quiet the world went as my brain shut down.

  Two days ago, when my mother cried out that she was marrying Mr. Hunt, the silence had reigned again.

  As I practically hang off that tree and I take in the scene inside Brayden’s room, silence falls.

  But this time, it feels like my whole world collapses with it.

  I think I recognize the blond hair spread across his bed instantly, although I don’t see her face. I don’t see much of anything at first actually, except for Brayden.

  His hand fisting the covers by her head.

  His naked back flexing with each thrust.

  He has her lying under him, both of them across the foot of the bed, so I see the tops of their heads as they go at it.

  Her face is tucked into his neck, her hands clenched around his shoulders.

  His face is turned away from her, pressed into the mattress.

  My heart punches against my rib cage, trying to escape the pain. Trapped, just as I am, with no where to go.

  Her hands are on him. He’s inside her, I know it.

  Fucking. Her.

  A pained sound slams out of my throat. I feel it more than hear it.

  I yell at myself to stop looking, to close my eyes, but I’m riveted. Sick to my stomach and unable to look away. His body is fucking magnificent as it moves against her, although I can’t see all of him.

  Suddenly, the girl tilts her head back, and two things register at the same time. The look of utter freaking pleasure on her face.

  And who she is.

  It’s Jennifer.

  Jennifer-fucking-Henrichs.

  Pain shoots through my fingers, starting at my nails, and I realize I’m clawing into the tree, that I’ve probably cracked at least three of my nails.

  That’s nothing compared to how I feel inside, how shriveled up everything in my chest is.

  Brayden shudders on top of her, and Jennifer writhes under him, and I swear to God, half my organs slam into my throat, the nausea so intense I can’t breathe.

  Then they go still, and I know what just happened.

  I know, and I can’t deal, but I also still can’t move, don’t know how I’m hanging onto this damn tree when I can’t feel my limbs and all my strength is focused on pushing back the pain inside me.

  It’s time to leave. Was time to leave a while ago. I need to get off the tree, get back to my house . . . figure out what the hell I’m going to do with myself, how I’m going to get through this new wave of shit . . .

  Brayden shifts, rising off her.

  Time was already going slow for me, but when he raises his head, and those green eyes—the same ones I’ve spent my whole life loving—land on mine, time completely stops.

  There are tears in my eyes. I’m more ashamed of that fact than I am of the fact that I’m hanging on this tree, watching him fuck someone else through his window.

  His eyes widen. For two seconds, I lie to myself, telling myself that he looks stricken.

  But how can he? Jennifer’s hands are still on him, her legs still spread to accommodate his weight.

  He shoots away from her, fast, so fast, and I know where he’s heading before he even starts in my direction.

  I get one glimpse of him, fully naked, see him rip the condom he’d been wearing off and start storming toward the window.

  I finally let go, right as the tears break free, and I feel myself start crying. I half-fall, half-slide down to the ground, and I land on one foot, my ankle twisting out from under me.

  Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’ll break every bone in my body before I let him see how much this has broken me. How much it hurts.

  Somehow, I wobble the whole way to my house, moving too fast, not feeling the pain in my ankle but knowing I’m probably hurting it even more by putting so much pressure on it. I think I hear his window slam open as I shoot across his driveway.

  It only makes me move faster, panic surging in me. By the time I get to my window, my body is heaving with sobs, and the pathetic little sounds I make leak in as my hearing returns. Shaking, I slide the window open, drag myself in, slide it back closed and clumsily lock it.

  Each breath is a harsh huff. I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to stay quiet. I yank the curtains back in place before stumbling backward, right onto my bed.

  The pain . . . Jesus, the pain is too much, unreasonable. I try breathing deeply, try to stop the tears, but my body has gone completely against me, it’s reactions beyond anything I’ve ever dealt with before.

&
nbsp; It shouldn’t hurt this much. He’s been banging different girls left and right for over two years, and I’ve always known it.

  But I’ve never seen it.

  Wretched, ugly crying forces tears to stream onto my hands that are covering my mouth, trying to stifle the sound. I’ve never seen it before, and it’s a million times worse than merely imagining it.

  And her. It had to be her. She’d been his first and, apparently, she also has the right to keep having him whenever she wants.

  Unlike me. Stupid, pathetic me. The one always waiting, always dreaming and hoping. He told me he didn’t want anyone but me.

  He’s such a fucking liar.

  Absolute misery consumes me and I throw myself onto my bed, bury my face in my pillow, and try to suffocate myself along with the pain. It's a physical struggle to hold myself together, my back arching with the force of each muffled sob.

  The sound of the toilet flushing and the bathroom door opening sends a surge of anxiety through me, enough to calm the force of my sobs, not wanting anyone to hear.

  Less than a second later, Ryan’s quiet voice reaches me. “Yeah, dude. Kira’s fine. Why? . . . I mean, she flipped out on my mom pretty hard earlier and was breaking shit in her room.” He tries to open the door. It’s still locked, thankfully. “The door’s still locked from earlier . . . yeah. She wouldn’t let my mom in. But the light’s are off, so I’m guessing she’s sleeping it off now . . . all right. Okay. Yup. Thanks for checking in on her. I’ll let her know you called tomorrow.”

  It’s Brayden. I clutch the pillow, squeezing it, a fresh dose of rage bursting through me. Calling Ryan's phone to make sure I’m all right? He should just go back to fucking his favorite sex toy and leave me the hell alone. I hear Ryan tell him goodnight and head down the hall to his room, not even aware that his friend and I are no longer friends.

  After tonight, after the way he lied to me, I just don’t see how we can ever be again.

  It’s been weeks since I’ve talked to Kira. A sharp pain pings through my chest and I rub the spot. It’s been doing it every day, every single time I think about her.

  She is . . . was one of my best friends, and it kills me not to have her in my life anymore. She moved into my house, is sleeping across the hall from me, but we don’t speak. The worst of situations.