by Sonya Jesus
He rushes towards me, gently pushing me onto his desk chair and lowering himself until he nears my lips. “Glory is Austin’s penis.”
I sit back, finding Connor’s discomfort amusing. “Do you have a name for yours, too?”
His mouth drops into an “o” shape before it reshapes into a huge smile. Connor leans against his desk, still in his boxers, and says, “No babe. I prefer not to name my protruding members.”
I giggle at this and turn the chair around so that I can get a better angle on him.
“It looks like you are feeling better?”
I nod yes. Even though he’s concerned, I don’t know what underlying emotions he has.
“I heard about it. Haley told me everything.” I stop the eye roll before it happens. Haley. It all comes down to Haley again. “I wish you would have told me though.”
“I didn’t have my phone.” Defending myself is the best I can do because he’s right. He crosses his hands under his chest. The movement makes his muscles bulge and draws emphasis to the tattoo on his chest. I clear the Vixen out of my head. I need to have a serious conversation, not jump his bones. “But you are absolutely right Connor. I should have said something to you.” I am not all to blame here though. “Did you come over to see Haley?” I wanted to confirm if he even tried to come see me for two reasons: I need to know if he and Robins confronted each other, and I need to know if he cared enough to come.
“I didn’t,” he says, looking toward Austin’s closet. “Haley told me Robins was there and I didn’t want to cause an argument when you were trying to rest. I could have come over when he wasn’t there, but I just didn’t want to risk it. I told Haley to call me the moment you were up.”
“I woke up a few hours ago.” I test the time delay in the information chain.
“She didn’t say anything.”
So, she only conveys information when it is convenient for her?
He uncrosses his arms, grabs onto my hands and rolls me over to him. “The important thing is that you are feeling better and that you’re here, Babe.”
“So, you’re not mad?”
“No,” he replies, pushing me to my feet, unsuccessfully, causing me to stumble into his arms.
I laugh at my own clumsiness before addressing him, “That’s really good.”
He wraps his arms around me, pushing me closer so that he can rest his forehead against mine, “Maybe I was a little angry. You were sick, and I hated that you choose him to comfort you.”
“I-” he plants a soft kiss on my lips, stopping my explanation.
The peck ends, and he continues, “Haley explained it to me yesterday, and I’m trying to get it. He and your suitemates are the closest you have to family around here.”
Haley said that? The same Haley who obviously had a crush on my boyfriend? Why was she advocating in my favor? And if she knew my every movement, why not tattle on me? Why not tell Connor that Robins spent the night and let him doubt my fidelity? And why the hell refer to Robins as family when she secretly thinks I’m in love with him? “That makes no sense.”
“What?”
Shit. I said that aloud and the tinge of irritation in his voice means I’m not going to get myself out of this one. Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe, it’s time I stop pretending like I can have a functional relationship with someone, and start following what every single cell in my body is begging me to do. So what if Robins wants to play the field and be single for awhile? Maybe, it’s time to find out what it’s like to be with Christopher and not just Robins. Maybe it’s time to let my Vixen put my sexy panties on and get me what my heart wants.
Or maybe not. I talk a lot of talk, but practically need to be wheeled out in a wheelchair when it comes to the walk.
My Vixen warns, You’re going to be stuck in grannie panties forever.
I probably am. I surrender and try to remedy my mistake. “I mean, it makes no sense for her to say that.”
“I know what you mean.” He releases me, the vein on his neck throbbing as he breathes heavily. “You don’t agree because there is more to it with Robins, isn’t there?”
I don’t know if I stumble backward or if I’m just metaphorically blown away by his words, but either way, his intensity makes me stutter, “No.. uh.. well…” I pause as his face hardens. “Maybe? Not really?”
“Lia, I’m trying here.” He steps back even further, adding physical distance while still trying to keep us connected. “Just be honest with me, for once.”
I take a really deep breath, and sit on his bed, so he doesn’t see how much telling the truth freaks me out. “Okay.” I pause, lick my lips and fold my hands in my lap. Squeezing them tightly, I begin, “If I told you there’s something about Robins that makes me curious, would that answer your question?”
“It’s a start,” he snaps. “Now, how about you go ahead and finish?”
Is he asking me to finish the relationship or finish the confession?
“Connor, before you showed up, Robins was the man in my life. And I guess, wanting to be with you stirred up some feelings that I have to work through.”
“What kind of feelings?”
“Connor… I don’t know if that’s a good idea...” The anger in his eyes makes me gulp down my stalling tactics, but not confess the depth of my feelings in their entirety. “I haven’t let myself figure them out yet. I’m not even sure I want to.”
His face softens. “What do you mean?”
“I’m really confused, right now.” I peek at the vein on his neck, relieved that it has stopped pulsating. I continue, “I’m confused because you make perfect sense to me and he makes no sense at all. I feel incredibly guilty all the time because when I am with him, I forget you, and when I’m with you, I forget him.”
“That’s fucked up, Lia.”
“I know... I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but what happens when neither of us is with you? ”
“I spend it trying to figure out what the hell my heart wants.”
He uses the mouse to wake up his computer, and clicks on my photos, bringing up the picture of Dylan and me from the afternoon we had lunch together. “And him? Where does he fit in?”
“He doesn’t,” I answer honestly. Looking at the screen, I realize Connor had been thinking about our relationship before I even got here. He clicks to a few more pictures, stopping on a few and pointing to random guys, asking me the same question over and over. I give him the same answer, every time. Until he reaches an older picture of Gavin, and my anxiety causes my breath to change. I hope for him not to ask about him, and God takes pity on my soul.
Or enjoys torturing it. Connor gives me a frustrated look and starts at the beginning. Scrolling through them, “You and Robins. You and Mason. You and your girls. You in class with a bunch of guys. You and my fucking RA. You and your suitemates. You and your suitemate’s boyfriend. You and a bunch of senior guys I don’t even know their names, you and…I don’t even know who this is.” He passes by a few more, identifying the people in my pictures. “You even have pictures with some of the soccer team, people you don’t even talk to.” He’s talking about an old picture, one I had forgotten about with Christian, Dylan and some of their friends. “So, tell me. Where. Am. I?”
“Connor, some of them I don’t even know.”
He shakes his head in agreement and mutters, “Exactly.” He leans against his dresser.
I stare at my photos, a bunch of small thumbnails at parties, at practice, the Rook, the Breaker, during class. My campus life in a picture show. I don’t want to admit that he is right, but I understand. There are pictures with everyone, except my actual boyfriend.
“Everyone has a connection to you on your page, even people who don’t even matter to you. Then what does that make me?”
I don’t move. I never meant to make him feel this way. I try to call his name, and he asks me to let him finish. “I’m nothing to you, Amelia.”
“No, t
hat’s not true. These people, some of them I don’t even know their names.”
Not helping. That’s the exact words his eyes are conveying right now. They are squinty and downturned at the ends. So, I just shut up and let him speak.
“What’s below doesn’t matter then? You might as well post a picture of me with the hashtag irrelevant, because sometimes that’s how I feel in your world.”
“My world?” I question him.
“You know what I mean, Lia.” I’m not exactly sure if this is about us or him right now. To be frank, I don’t even think asking would be right. Even though I hear Robins´ voice in my head, being with you gives him street cred, I can’t let myself believe that this guy, who is nearly in tears, is using me. “I should be with you, not hearing about you from other people. I’m tired of hearing about Robins, and the fucking thing you do with the Pooh Bear quote. It coupleizes you.”
Coupleizes? I irritate him enough to make up words.
“Wherever there is Amelia, there is Christopher. Damn it! Half the school calls him Robins.” My eyebrows raise at the new information. Connor nods in my direction. “Yea. And you know what he does when they do? He says, ´Only my girl calls me that’.” He huffs in disgust. “Only his girl.”
I wasn’t aware he did that.
“Aren’t you my girl? I’ve been under the crazy impression that you and me… we had something.”
I just look at him. He is absolutely right. I exclude him from my “public” life, but he was missing one big thing. “Connor? Did you post about us?”
His jaw ticks, giving me my answer.
“Where am I in all your pictures online?”
I thought so. We stare at each other, each of us listening to the thoughts running through our brain, trying to search through all the shit our doubts are telling us, and find one single logical sentence that can fix this. But, I can’t think of a damn thing other than how we aren’t working. We’ve somehow made our relationship a secret by not posting anything on social media. And why? So we can remain single in the eyes of others? Or because we didn’t believe we could make it last? How dysfunctional is that?
“Lia?” He breaks the silence first, finally finding something he thinks will salvage our relationship. He pulls out his phone, saying, “Let’s make it official?”
My phone pings in my hoodie pocket, and I slide my hand in, clinging tightly to the phone. Before I pull it out and confirm that he just gave me a final shot at an us, despite all the wrong things we’ve both done, I tilt my head up and see that tinge of hope in the watery glimmer of his eyes. My eyes blur with unshed tears, but I can clearly see the finish line from where I am sitting.
This is what happens when one person stops running. The chase is over. Either I get up and cross that finish line with him or let him cross it alone. I either give him what he’s willing to wait for- my love, and use a public declaration as a down payment until I am able to return his, or I walk away. I don’t love him, not in the way he wants me to, but I could come to love him that way. I like him enough to try. I guess that means something.
But, what about Robins? What about all the what-ifs he stirs inside me?
“Lia?” Wary of my reactions, he asks, unbothered with masking the sound of defeat. “Are we worth all this drama?”
Feels like shit when he’s the one doubting our relationship. My heart beats way too fast. He waits patiently as I listen to my irregular heart, waiting for it to make my tongue move. I wait for it to do something, anything, but it doesn’t. All it does is ache, and echo the pain through me.
I’m not hurting because it’s almost over, I’m hurting because I’m petrified that I’m ending us to start something that may never lead anywhere. All the uncertainty surrounding Connor, all the doubts floating in my head, have one thing in common: Robins. He’s holding me back from moving on. Which makes no sense, because moving on to something requires an end to something else.
I suck at this relationship thing. I want to be good, but I don’t want to hurt Connor anymore. I look at him, ready to burst into tears for what I am about to say.
“Say it, Lia,” he pleads, but only my eyes speak. I swipe away the words as they fall down my cheeks, catching them before they reach my lips and force me to say something I will regret.
I can’t do this. I can’t decide between the certain and the uncertain on a moment’s notice.
“I think my heart is ready to cut its losses, Amelia.” He’s closing himself off. “I fucking told you I love you, and I don’t even know if you like me.”
He’s right.
He runs his hand through his hair and rubs his forehead, smoothing the worry wrinkles with the palm of his hand “Lia, I love you but I can’t-”
“Wait.” I take my phone out of my hoodie.
“I’m listening,” he says, fixing his eyes on my screen.
“Let’s not make any decisions tonight. We’ve both done stupid things and haven’t really been…” I stop, trying to find right words. “Well, I haven’t been focused on us, and I think with some time maybe…”
“Are you asking for a break, Lia?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never really asked for one of those, but I don’t want to stop seeing you.”
“You just don’t want to see only me?”
“I don’t know what I want, Connor. My heart is conflicted, and I need time to figure it out. Maybe, we rushed into a relationship, or maybe I am just scared because I am in a relationship and I haven’t had very many of those before. It isn’t fair of me to ask you, but-”
“Okay, Lia.”
That was too easy. “Really?”
“We are back to being non-exclusive. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to handle all of this, but we will figure it out. I want to give you what you need.”
What I need… That’s a good question.
Chapter 12: Amelia Memorabilia
Hawk
Nothing can possibly ruin my day today. Not after the night I had last night. Yes, Amelia’s fainting spell petrified me, and I didn’t enjoy having Robins confess his love or the Aiden and Dylan reminder, but when everyone left her all alone, I snuck into her room again. This time, I didn’t go there to plant a camera or collect another souvenir, I went to simply hear her breathing. If not for Harper’s obnoxious snoring, I wouldn’t have risked escaping and seeking sanctuary from her horrendous flight noises in Amelia’s room. Blessed boisterous snores.
At first, I sat on Mel’s bed and watched her sleep for just a few minutes. I memorized the rhythm the soft hum her breath made while she slept. The melody acted as a lullaby, coaxing and lulling me to sleep. When I could no longer tolerate keeping my eyes open, I tiptoed over to her. The peaceful sleep her stressful day had brought on, and the ache of loving her from afar for so long finally cajoled me into touching her. I risked it all just to have the gentlest of touches, a soft, intimate caress along the tender skin of her cheek.
The peril begins when the soft touch stirred a longing in my loins. My body vibrated with the need to be closer, and I had to fight against every muscle in my being not to take her right there. I had to feed my need to have her. So, I went back to Mel’s bed and laid on it. While adjusting the pillows to make myself more comfortable, I smelled the lingering perfume on them. Mel and Amelia wear the same perfume; it was as if I was laying in her bed.
I unzip my jeans, freeing the King, and tighten my grasp around my engorged shaft. I pump him gently to the rhythm of her breathing, enjoying every gentle tug and prolonged descension. The exhilarating thrill of being exposed in her room led to my quick euphoric release, but the need wasn’t satiated. Not with her in such close proximity. I desired more. I wiped myself off with the tissues on Mel’s desk and pocketed my seed before zipping up and making the best decision of my life. Remembering that Dr. Rubenstein gave her high-grade painkillers in her IV to help the stomach cramps, I locked the door and tested the depth of her slumber by making noises near her, shining a light, and fi
nally by touching her again. I tested various intensities of touch before I decided to get into bed with her.
Those fifteen minutes of holding Amelia in my arms were the most amazing moments of my life. Not even the release of killing Bruce, or that pesky maid, could compare to the bliss that having my Queen in her rightful place brought me. When she snuggled into me, pressing against my body and accepting my arms around her, I never wanted to leave her. I craved to bring her with me, but I couldn’t. So, I took some of her with me.
I grab a rubber band from my desk, then unlock the door to Amelia’s room and switch on the lights. The room illuminates, revealing my treasured Amelia memorabilia. Sitting on the floor next to the trunk, I take the key and unlock it. I loop the rubber band around the strands of hair, until every hair is tightly secured, and grin at the piece of my Queen in the palm of my hand. This is without a doubt my most prized possession.
I find the underwear, a pair I bought for her, and wrap it around the hair, then close the trunk and secure my treasure. She will never know it was missing because I was careful to snip hair from the inside where it wouldn’t be noticeable.
Grabbing the stack of photos I had forgotten to put away yesterday, I stare at the long tendrils of curls. As I slide my finger over the laminated sheets of paper, I remember how just a few weeks ago, I wondered what the ringlets would feel like. Now, I possess them, and they feel like thin threads of pure silk. I long for the day, where, in the throes of passion, I can fist my hands in her hair and be familiar with every millimeter of her body. I’ll possess all of her.
I reach for my phone with my free hand and check the countdown, roughly 575 days until I become the single most important person in Amelia’s life. That’s an outrageously extensive time to wait, and to be honest, waiting was a lot easier when her chastity wasn’t being threatened. If I speed up the abduction, I can avoid all the unnecessary turmoil her love life is putting me through. I’ve never felt so out of control of the controlling side of me.
