by K. I. Lynn
Countless.
It used to be so easy to mindlessly come with other girls. Then I tasted Kira. Now, it’s becoming almost impossible to get off. Unless I close my eyes and imagine it’s her.
And even if Amanda were here, I’d never fuck her inside that house. I wouldn’t do that to Kira.
The memory of her expression the night she saw me and Jen all those years ago flashes through my mind.
I would definitely never do that to her again.
I’ve done fucking enough.
“Brayden, I know you don’t have much of a reason to want to talk to me about anything, but I’m worried about you. And with what’s been going on with Kira . . .” Sonia trails off.
I turn my head back in her direction. She’s staring off into space, pensive.
See, that’s the thing. A part of me will always hold a grudge against Sonia for so many reasons. But somewhere in all the shit that went down, I buried the fact that she's actually a good, decent, caring person. If things had happened differently, I could’ve come to genuinely like her.
I did once, as a kid, back when I used to sleep over her house as often as possible just to hang with Ryan and Kira.
Even if I’d wanted to confide in her, I can’t admit that Kira’s the reason I’m fucked up. That I’m responsible for what’s going on with Kira.
I deserve to be outed, to have the full consequences dropped on my head. For Sonia and Ryan to hate me as much as I hate myself.
But I can’t put Kira in that position with her mother and brother. So, for the millionth time, I lie. “It’s school. Just stressed out.”
Guilt is a tricky little fucker. It slithers through your perception, until you become so paranoid you see signs of it everywhere. You start to imagine that the people around you know your secret.
I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening to me right now as Sonia studies me. The glint in her eye tells me she’s not buying my excuse, and for the first time since coming out here, I feel the cold leaking into my skin.
“Are you sure? Steven told me you’re actually doing really well in school.”
Fuck. I’m really cold now.
I didn’t even know that my father was aware of anything in my life, let alone my grades. Makes sense he’d keep track of it, though; he is paying for it, after all, thanks to the divorce. However, we never speak about it.
We don’t speak much at all.
I don’t like that he and Sonia talk about me. That shit’s normal between a husband and wife, I guess, but I still wish they’d leave me out of their conversations.
“Just because I’m doing well doesn’t mean it’s not hard.” I stare right into her eyes, hoping that doing so makes my bullshit more believable.
She nods at me. It’s that nod. The one that manages to silently convey that I'm full of crap.
“Well, it’s going to be all right, Brayden. Both you and Ryan are brilliant, so you’ll have no problem getting through it.” Sonia pulls her coat tighter around herself. “Now, come back inside. It’s freezing out here.”
“In a second,” I tell her.
She turns to head back inside and waves over her shoulder.
I exhale, relieved, and run a hand down my face. Man, this feeling guilty shit isn’t cute. It makes me twitchy. What reason could Sonia have to suspect anything?
None. But I’m imagining things anyway because my shame is that big.
When am I going to learn?
I need to stop coming back here. I don’t even like my father. Time and time again, the only reason I return is because of Kira and Ryan.
Ryan is my roommate, and will probably continue to be after we graduate.
Kira . . . I can’t keep her in my life in any way. I have to push her away. For real this time. Even I know I keep going back and forth on the decision, running hot one moment and cold the next.
It’s not fair to her. I’m not letting her move on. Forget me.
She has to move on.
I do, too.
Fuuuccck. Fuck. Fuck!
It’s the last fucking thing I want to do.
But what other choice do I have?
Human beings. We’re such odd creatures. Stubborn. Masochistic. Seemingly hellbent on destroying ourselves. It always boggles my mind when I think about it.
Somehow, whatever force triggered our evolution into beings meant to progress and build, also integrated a self-destruct algorithm. We’re often times inflexible to an extreme. We run from change faster than we would run from a tidal wave of lava.
Our souls can be slashed into pieces over and over again, and we’ll still keep coming back for more. Until there’s nothing left of us. Not even a shadow image of who we once were.
And then maybe, maybe, we’ll change.
Not always, though. Sometimes, that fucked-up self-destruction programming keeps us returning to the epicenter of our ruin, all the way to the bitter end.
I have nothing but that faulty programming to blame for the fact that I stayed up all night, until three in the morning, waiting.
Praying.
Hoping, even though any other sane person would have already realized by now that there’s no point in continuing to do so.
I pretended to be asleep when my mom came up to my room to get me for the gift exchange. I kept pretending when Ryan came up and sat next to me on the bed. He only tried waking me once. The rest of the time, he just sat there, the weight of his stare heavy on my face.
I think I know why I didn’t want anyone to speak to me, see me “awake.” It’s not just what I was planning. It’s how I felt about it.
Eager. More alive than I’ve felt in months.
At three, I tiptoe into the hall, still in my skirt and blouse from earlier. The light is on in Brayden’s room, cutting through the crack on the bottom of the door and illuminating the hallway.
Down the hall, Ryan’s door is closed, the light off.
A shadow cuts across the beam of light leaking through the bottom of Brayden’s door.
He’s awake. Moving around in there.
Still tiptoeing, I move to his door, hoping it’s unlocked and I won’t have to knock. My hand wraps around the knob, and I gingerly turn it, slowly, quietly, holding my breath . . .
The door opens.
The last thing I expected to see was Brayden fully dressed, in the middle of closing the duffel bag on his bed.
He freezes, as if sensing me, but doesn’t look up.
It takes a few seconds to realize the obvious: he’s leaving.
His body goes taut, his head slowly rising and turning in my direction. The blazing green of his eyes cuts right through me.
I take a single step back.
He’s angry with me. Furious that I’m here. That I came.
His phone lights up on his bed.
An incoming call.
I watch him reach for it. Straighten.
Answer it.
“Hey, babe.”
That self-destruction mechanism engages once more, keeping my feet rooted to the floor.
Or maybe I know deep down that I need this. That without this final, irrevocable blow, the old Kira will never die.
I want her to. I want her destroyed. Nothing more than ashes. An embarrassing, bitter memory. She has to die in order for me to be free of the hold he has over me.
But as I stand here, eyes locked with Brayden’s while he speaks to his girlfriend, the old Kira’s death is so much more horrifying than I ever expected it would be.
“I’m glad you’re awake, too,” Brayden says, those unfeeling eyes, an expression I've never seen on him, are focused on mine. “Yeah. I’m leaving now. Already let Ryan know I’m taking the car. Yeah, he’s cool with it. He understands I need to head straight to you.”
What happens inside me at this moment is something I’m sure I won’t come to terms with for a while.
I understand the magnitude of it. What will most likely happen to me in the wake of this event, but I do
n’t acknowledge anything.
Anything.
That is, until Brayden speaks again.
“I’m leaving right now. I . . . I miss you, too.”
I flinch as if he’d struck me.
He had.
I turn to leave the room, head bowed like the chastised little girl I am, and slowly close the door.
My heartbeat sounds so hollow in my ears.
That’s because I’m hollow. Empty. There’s nothing left. I’ve given this pain—this love—every ounce of energy my mind and body were capable of giving. I’m a sponge that’s been left out in the desert for too many years. You can squeeze and squeeze, but nothing’s coming out.
I step into my room, eyes locked on the floor, unseeing. I close the door behind me.
And finally let Brayden go.
One Week Later
Brayden left that night to go be with his girlfriend.
That’s why I left, too. I’m no longer fully here. Thinking of him being with his girl no longer makes me ache.
I don’t feel much of anything, actually.
It’s such a fucking relief. Absolute freedom. Yeah, there’s no room for joy in the void I’m existing in, but I don’t care; there’s also no more heartbreak.
I’ll give anything to never feel that pain again.
My heart feels nothing, and it’s fucking beautiful. So many years of pain and longing, gone.
But, as I stand in the driveway, watching my brother preparing to drive back to school in his rental car, I realize that my new emotional “freedom” is obvious.
Ryan places his duffel bag in the passenger seat, closes the door, and walks to the front of the car. Sighing, he sits on the hood and crosses his arms. “You look better.”
I say nothing, only stare at him.
He runs a hand through his hair. “You also look . . .”
Emotionless? Dead? Like a breathing statue?
I bet.
“Kira, I wish you would just tell me the name of the motherfucker that broke your heart so I can break his fucking face.”
My brother, the ever-calm one in our group. It’s a testament to how much he loves me that he’s ready to resort to violence on my behalf.
Somewhere inside my numbness, my love for him continues to thrive, strong enough to stop me from divulging the truth.
I should tell him, shouldn’t I? Let him know that Brayden doesn’t give a damn about me in the end, that he lied to me nonstop about wanting me so he could keep dragging me back into his life.
Only to wreck my heart each and every time.
I stare into my brother’s eyes, the same exact shade as mine, the same color of our father’s eyes. I think about how different our lives would’ve been if Dad hadn’t died.
We would’ve never moved here. We wouldn’t have met Brayden. Our mother wouldn’t have stolen another woman’s man.
I wouldn’t be broken.
And Ryan and Brayden wouldn't be best friends.
Yet, they are, and as much as I would love for Brayden to lose that, I can’t do that to my brother.
“I’m fine, Ryan. Don’t worry about it.”
“You aren’t fine, Kira.”
I won’t argue with that. “I will be. So, don’t worry.”
“Why won’t you tell me who he is?”
Because I don’t want to hurt you. “Ryan, let it go. It’s fine. I’m going to be more than okay. You’ll see.”
Two Weeks Later
Some people are lucky. They fall into a protective shell and remain there for years. Their emotional switch simply stays off and they can go on existing like that, blessedly numb.
Mine didn’t stay off. I lasted about a week after Ryan left. A week of repressed fury that came at me out of nowhere one night.
I’m not okay. So far from it. But I’m sticking to my resolution that I will be.
In this solitary emotional upheaval, I've learned something: alcohol is really fucking great at helping with things like that. So is pot. We’re becoming fast buddies. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder how I ever lived without basking in the “I don’t give a fuck” it gives me.
Man, all these years livings as a “good” girl, miserable, and all I had to do was live my life à la Ryan-and-Brayden mode to be happier.
Stupid, stupid Kira.
I’ve learned my lesson, though. Making up for lost time. In the last week, I’ve snuck out and partied enough for two years’ worth.
Next week, I’m partying for three.
People are talking about it, talking about me. Like I care. The only person whose opinion matters to me even a little is Austin.
He’s worried.
Attentive.
Caring.
Today is his twenty-first birthday.
And I’m going to fuck him.
He doesn’t know that yet, but I’ve chosen him. In the name of the new Kira and her new chapter, I’m going to give that boy the best birthday present I can possibly give him. Going to fuck his brains out. I’ve waited long enough.
I pass by my bed, bottle of Jack in hand, my throat burning oh-so-right from my last swig. Using my toes, I push the painting back under the bed.
Yes, that painting. The one I keep pulling out.
I’ve started slicing the canvas apart piece-by-little-piece. Just like Ling Chi—death by a thousand cuts. It’s fascinating. The Chinese used to methodically slice off small pieces of a criminal’s body, making sure to start with non-vital areas, keeping the slices small enough to prolong the agony.
And hold off the inevitable death.
The goal? One thousand cuts, as the name suggests. How sick is that?
As sick as I apparently am.
I wish that painting could bleed.
I take another drink of the Jack and stop in front of the full-length mirror hanging behind my bedroom door.
As drunk and high as I am, I’ve never looked hotter. I know this. I’ve done it on purpose. When I went out shopping earlier, I had one thought in mind. Austin deserves the nicest present wrapping I could find. The by-product? The tiny black dress I’m wearing. It has a bra-like neckline that pushes my breasts up indecently. Hence, no need for a bra.
I picked out a cute matching thong to go with it. It’s currently laying on my bed. I’ve decided not to wear it since it’ll only get in the way.
Black eye shadow, mussed-up hair; no lipstick because that’ll also get in the way.
Damn. I like this new Kira. I should’ve become her a long time ago. But no. I wasted years of my life moping around and waiting for Brayden.
I grab my phone and send Austin a text. How’s the party going?
He takes less than thirty seconds to reply and damn, I really like that. It’s going. Make me a happy man and tell me you’re on the way.
I smile and finish the last of my Jack. I’m on the way.
Craig’s parents are gone for a month, so he offered Austin his house in lieu of throwing the birthday bash at a club. Lord knows the place is six times bigger than a club can ever be. The house is literally vibrating from the force of the music when I get there.
Not that it’s a problem. The mansion sits on two acres of land, with no other houses around. I had to walk up a huge driveway just to get to the front door.
Thank God I went for the ankle boots instead of the heels I’d planned on wearing.
The world pounds around me to the beat of the music and the alcohol in my veins. I’m drunk, high, sexy as hell. I feel good.
And so damn horny. I’m finally ready to experience what sex is like.
Green eyes flash through my mind.
I push them back.
I’m upstairs hanging with the guys. Let me know when you’re here and I’ll come down to meet you.
I don’t let Austin know I’ve arrived.
The party is in full swing, every visible inch of the mansion packed. I make my way past all the people, disregarding more than one interested stare. Some of those guys are really
hot, too.
I ignore them only because I’ve made up my mind to do this with Austin, but honestly, at this point, anyone hot enough would do. I just want it out of the way.
Austin is leaning against the wall on the second floor, talking with Craig and a few other guys from school.
Jennifer is also with them.
I don’t care.
I pass by one of the closed doors and hear high-pitched moans coming from the other side.
How fitting.
Austin startles when he sees me coming his way. His blue eyes drop to my feet, eating me up, and for once I feel powerful. Like a woman is supposed to feel in front of a man she wants to fuck.
Not weak and helpless, like I’ve always felt with Brayden.
I stop in front of Austin and pluck the joint he’s holding out of his hand so I can take a pull.
“Kira,” he mumbles, gaze bouncing between my eyes, lips, and tits.
“Well, look at that. Sporting a new style, huh? Looks like someone’s finally showing her true colors,” Jennifer says, practically sneering at me.
Funny how she says this while taking a pull of her own joint.
Fucking hypocritical bitch.
Austin’s eyes flash, and he glares at Jennifer. “Watch how you fucking talk about her.”
See that right there? That’s why I’m choosing him to be the first one I give it to.
I hand whatever’s left of the joint to someone behind me and grab Austin’s collar. Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss him, slipping my tongue into his mouth.
He freezes for a split second.
The deep groan that leaves him is sexy, but it does nothing to me.
He tilts his head, kissing me back hard. Still groaning deep in his throat, like he’s waited forever for this. His large hands drop down to cup my ass possessively.
And still, I feel nothing.
I bite at his lips, lick his tongue, put everything I have into that kiss.
Nothing.
It’s not the same.
It’s not . . .
I pull away, breathing hard with my fury.
Don’t think about him, Kira. Just don’t.
I nip at Austin’s neck, working my way up to his ear. “Tell me you have a condom with you.”
