by Nora Flite
That did it, that broke the barrier.
Deacon grit his teeth, hissing through them as he bucked his hips. Gyrating, he showed his rhythm existed outside of the dance floor. For once, I felt like I was a fitting partner.
Together we rolled, groaned, rubbed our bodies and let our intimate fears wash away. He held me hard, strong arms wrapping around under my shoulder blades.
It was dull, but I was aware of him crushing against the fading bruise on my skin, the memory not coming to the surface this time. “Deacon,” I sobbed, lashes wet on my face, my knees trembling. Again, I met his strokes, the expanding need inside of me pushing me towards an edge I desperately wanted to fall over. “Please,” I begged, “please, please!”
He arched his back, crying out, my whole being seeming to convulse sympathetically with his twitching muscles. I felt the hot liquid of his release, my own insides hugging at him to keep him within me.
The crescendo of pressure arrived abruptly, the climax so intense I saw spots in my eyes. Disoriented, I slumped back on the sweat soaked blankets, trying to simply get a grasp on my throbbing heart. Everything was lava, my flesh tight across my chest and neck. The tension had vanished from me, a sensation I hadn't experienced in a very, very long time.
Gingerly, he slid off of me, wincing softly in the process. Deacon collapsed against my side, laying on his back, his ribs pumping with gulps of air. Turning my head, I watched his profile, admired his heavy coal lashes, the redness on his lips from kissing me. Drops of perspiration created a sheen on his figure, illuminating every muscle, the cords of his throat.
He's amazing, every bit of him. Does he know that? Is it possible he doesn't realize how fantastic he is? It was a dark thought, leading to the worry of him deciding he could do better than to waste time on someone like me. No, stop, he called you beautiful. Just relax.
“That was something,” he suddenly said, looking at the ceiling with tired eyes. Studying him, I thrilled the moment he rolled his gaze down to me, his body adjusting so he could see easier. His nose was inches from mine, his smile lazy, drained. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” I said in a hushed tone. “No, you're not wrong.” Wanting to snuggle against him, I settled for drifting my hand up, laying it gently between us, against his ribs. Too much had happened to me that day, from terrible moments at the start, to such a moment of bliss. It left me tired, my eyes drooping despite my desire to keep looking at him.
Deacon closed his eyes, so I followed suit, too tired to think about getting out of that bed. “Hey,” he murmured.
“Hmn?” The inside of my eyes was pulling me down, the softness of sleep chasing and consuming me. For a long while, he said nothing else, the realm of dreams tugging at my consciousness.
“Nothing,” he said softly, “never mind.”
I heard his words, whispers that I could have imagined, then thought no more of them.
Chapter 15.
Warm. It was warm. I rolled in the darkness, buried myself, trying to hide from what was coming. There was no way to escape, but I had to try. Burrowing into the softness around me, I moved inches at a time where I knew I needed yards. It didn't matter, I would run, there was no other option. If I turned, meeting the face of what chased me, it would be over. Running, it was all I could do.
Run, and hide.
I broke through the thick blackness, tumbling so fast it shot my heart to my throat. Tasting salt, the electric tang of fear, the sharp sensation of falling filled my chest.
Jerking violently in the blankets, my eyes shot wide, regretting the decision when sunlight filled them with harsh white light. Shielding my face, snuggling down in the bed, I listened to my rapid breathing until it became a slow beat. I'm getting tired of my weird dreams. Hugging the blankets, staring around the room and finding the familiar art on the walls, the memories of the night before drifted back into place.
Oh god, I slept with Deacon.
Sitting up, I slid a hand to my left while looking around, confused by the empty bed. I remembered the vision of him, glistening, panting, sending shivers up my spine. A new quiver hit me at the recollection, bringing a blushing smile. Where did he go?
Exploring the room, I found my clothing discarded in various spots. Dressing quickly, ruffled, wishing for a shower, I tugged at my hair to try and manage the knots. Wearing my old clothes, holding my shoes, it felt shameful to be wandering around Deacon's apartment like that.
In the bathroom, I didn't find any hint of him. My makeup was smudged, so I gave my face a quick wash in the sink, refreshed by the cold water. He must be downstairs, then.
Hopping carefully down the stairs, I saw the living room had been cleaned up to remove every hint of the party. It made me think of Carlo, which led to less positive thoughts. What if he heard us last night? Glowing pink, my feet carried me quietly around the corner, and there, standing in the kitchen drinking a glass of water, I finally found Deacon.
“Hey,” he said, setting the glass on the counter, smile jubilant. “You're awake.”
“I think I am, yes,” I laughed nervously. “Considering everything that happened, I can't be sure yet.”
His eyes, which had crinkled at the edges with his earlier look of happiness, smoothed away as I spoke. Turning, he dug into a cupboard, plastic rustling. “I can make you breakfast, if you like? Peanut butter toast, nothing fancy.”
Staring at his back, the strain in his broad shoulders, my appetite quickly went stale. Something is wrong. “Oh, sure, thanks.” Leaning against the counter, I watched him stick bread into the toaster, the slots changing to cherry red in seconds.
Deacon stood across from me, limbs folded tight, the lines in his forearms standing out. It drew my eye, my mind flickering with how his muscles had flexed when he held himself over my body.
Flushing, desperate for conversation to break the awkward mood, I cleared my throat. “You, uh, did you sleep alright?”
“Yeah.” Turning his head, he shrugged his shoulders, his smile polite. “I slept fine. I hope I didn't snore.”
“Oh, no,” I said quickly, lifting my palms, fingers spread wide. “Not at all, I--” Deacon reached out, grabbing my wrists tightly, silencing my rambling. Twisting my hands so the scrapes were visible, he fixed a worried look from them, to my stunned face.
“What, when did these happen?”
“It's okay, don't worry, I just cut myself up a little yesterday.”
“You had these the whole time yesterday?” He asked, unsettling me with how upset he seemed. Wishing I'd had some water by then, I swallowed through my dry throat.
“Yes, I sort of—I just fell, that's it, down by where Greg works. I got a little cut up, he came and took me into his spa or whatever, then fixed me. Why?” I asked, unsure what was going on. “What's wrong?”
A long moment of silence passed, the scent of burning bread reaching us both. He let me go, twisting to pop the toast upwards, black crust smoking. “I just... I didn't notice them last night, is all. I'm surprised I didn't.”
“Well,” I mumbled, wishing I knew what to say. “You were distracted, it wasn't a big deal. Just some scrapes.”
“Right. Right, I was distracted.” He was agreeing with me, but not seeming to feel any better about it. “So you saw Greg at his work, and he helped you? That's nice of him, very—I messed this toast up, sorry, I'll take these burnt pieces and make you some new ones.”
“No, no it's fine!” He was already putting new slices in, pushing them down to cook. Why is he so stressed? It doesn't matter if he noticed my stupid scabs or not!
His back was turned to me, a container of peanut butter sitting unopened beside him. I expected him to do something, anything, yet he only stood there, fingers squeezing the edge of the counter. Spotting the white knuckles of his hands, the hard shape of his shoulders, I couldn't take it anymore. The silence, the vibration of unease, it was too much.
“Deacon,” I whispered, reaching out, touching him gently. Like a ripple eff
ect, he jumped, twisting enough to make me yank my arm back. I might as well have touched a hot stove.
Those green eyes found me, erratic, flowing with so much emotion, and not one of them the sort I wanted to see. “Leah,” he started, hesitating. The struggle was obvious, something was on his mind, fighting with him, it terrified me to see him handling it. “I—last night, what happened, that wasn't...”
“What? It wasn't what?” The desperation in my voice was clear, I loathed it. Wasn't good, wasn't what he wanted?
He ran his fingers over his skull, closing his eyes, the look of a worn out man. “That wasn't me. I'm not... I don't do things like that. Does that make sense?”
“Lots of sense, yes.” You don't sleep with girls like me, I thought angrily, a cold numbness seeping in to help cope with this turn of events.
“I think we were both a bit drunk, too.”
No, I wasn't, I thought, and you told me you weren't!
Deacon looked at me, a wounded expression, but I was turning everything off to bare this, my intuition knowing where he was going with this conversation. “I think it would be better if we... slowed down. Just backed off, for awhile.”
“Okay.” The word simply fell from my mouth, it meant nothing.
The smell of toast hit us, this time he popped them out before they burned. For a minute, I watched him fuss over the breakfast he was making for me. If he had done so before telling me this morose news, I would have been fluttering with delight over his effort. Now, I only looked on, wishing I could escape that whole moment.
He wants to end this with me, after he got what he wanted. I was right, before... he doesn't think I'm good enough.
Silent, I walked out of the kitchen, ignoring his surprised comment at my back. My steps took me upstairs, where I quickly grabbed my purse from the floor. Something flickered in the sunlight from the window beside it, silvery, forgotten. Glancing down, I saw it was the condom wrapper, my belly cold and roiling.
“Hey,” he said as I passed him downstairs, his hands holding two napkins, each balancing a sandwich of toast and peanut butter. “What are you doing, Leah?”
“I'm going,” I said sharply, sliding my feet into my heels.
“What about breakfast?” He asked plaintively.
Grabbing the bronze knob, I twisted it violently. “Strangely, I'm not hungry anymore.”
He said nothing else, so I shut the door softly behind me.
****
Walking down the side of the road in my clothes from the night before, hair astray, head hanging down, I was sure I had to look a mess. I didn't care, not at all.
Why am I so stupid?
Kicking at a stray plastic bottle, I tried to get a grip on my emotions. Quickly, I arrived at Vanessa's apartment, wishing the distance was longer between Deacon's place and hers. Not ready to face her, I set my mouth in a grim line, twisting the knob. It resisted, so I knocked, expecting her to come open it.
Is she not back yet? Digging the key back out from under the rock where I'd left it last night when I'd wandered away, I unlocked the door and slipped inside. “Hello?” No one answered, my body slumping in relief. Dropping my purse, I kicked off the heels, hurried into the bathroom.
All I wanted was a shower.
Shedding my clothes, I reveled in the steaming water, my head tilting back to let it pour down my cheeks. Not wanting to think, I made myself focus on the heat, the sound of the droplets. For some time, it worked, water slipping down the drain, the pipes occasionally clanking.
Soaping my hands, I saw my scrapes, remembered how he had looked at me.
I don't understand, I don't understand why... what did I do wrong? He got so upset over not noticing my dumb cuts until this morning—no, I reminded myself, he was already tense when I saw him. I could see it, the stress in how he moved, how tight his smile was. He said that he wanted to back off, did he really mean it?
Imagining the face he had made when I left, I closed my eyes tightly, sat on the bottom of the tub. I held my knees, hugged myself under my soaked hair.
I cried until the water ran cold.
Wrapped in a towel, my long tresses dripped down my back. Opening the bathroom door revealed Vanessa, a paper coffee cup in hand, sunglasses on her head. Her outfit was the same as last night, but she didn't seem ashamed about it like I had been. “Hey!” She said, sipping her drink, sitting at the table. “How did you sleep last night? Sorry I just got back, Greg and I got breakfast.”
“Oh, uh, I slept fine,” I said carefully, dodging around the implication I had spent the night on the couch. I'm not telling her about sleeping with Deacon, she'd freak out. Grabbing a pair of jeans and an old shirt, the logo of the Killer Sons faded on the front, I slipped back into the bathroom, calling out to her loudly. “How about your night, how was it?”
“Good,” she shouted cheerfully, making me believe her. “Greg and I had... well, we had a great time. I don't remember things going so well, he was sweet and just all over me.” She giggled, I was relieved the door hid my jealous frown.
“That's great, really great.” Drying my hair into a curly mess, my bare feet brought me back over to her. Exhausted from my emotional turmoil, I flopped into the chair across from her.
Vanessa drummed her fingers on the coffee cup, her smile impossible to control. “Did you eat yet?”
The hard lump in my stomach shifted, an empty, sickening ache. “Yeah,” I lied. “I'm good.”
She didn't act like she suspected anything was wrong with me. Draining her cup, she tossed it lightly towards the trash, grinning when it landed inside. “So, last night, I saw you dancing with Deacon. Things looked like they were getting a little hot and heavy.”
Staring at her face, the tilt to her smile, I did my best to keep myself from ruining my act. “Kind of. He's... a good dancer.” He's good at a lot of things. My thoughts were not happy with that fact.
“I guess,” she shrugged. “I think he's a better singer.”
Touching my hand to my shirt, my brain buzzing with the memory of how he had sung my favorite song, I felt my mouth sliding into a frown. I couldn't stop it, the descent was too sharp, too fast.
Vanessa sat up straighter, eyeing me like she had finally gotten a good look at me. “What is it, what's wrong Leah?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled, brushing my hair behind my ears, my shoulders damp from the wet strands. “I was just thinking about how bad I am at singing.” Please believe me, I'm not ready to talk about last night.
Setting her elbows on the table, she lifted her eyebrows at me curiously. “Is this because I mentioned how good his ex was at singing?”
“What?” I asked, startled.
“I never meant anything by it, I only saw her once, and I guess she was pretty good, but who cares about that? I mean, he clearly likes you, what else matters?”
What else does matter? I wondered, but my interest, mixed with a strange part of me that wanted to pick at my wound, was intrigued. “Can you tell me about her, about why they broke up?”
“Oh,” Vanessa gave a weak laugh. “Ugh, I don't know, do you really want to talk about his ex-girlfriend?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. Maybe it will help me understand what I did wrong. Or how to fix it... can it be fixed?
Sighing, she rubbed the side of her neck, leveled a serious look at me. “Honestly, I don't really know. They dated when Deacon and I went to college together, I saw her when she came to visit him out here.”
“She didn't live here?”
“No, she's from Kentucky, like him.” Shrugging, she waved a hand in a slow circle. “High school sweet hearts, I guess.” My mouth tightened, she clearly saw me grimace. “Hey, you asked about this, I can stop if you want.”
“Please, no, keep going. So she came to see him here?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Maybe five, six times? The rest, he went home and I imagine saw her then. Far as I knew, they seemed fine. He never had a bad word to say about her. She seemed sweet,
the wholesome sort.”
Wholesome, I thought, not the type that has a one night stand. Not like me, I get it.
“Anyway, they broke up... I want to say three, four months ago?”
“That recently?”
“You're one to talk,” she mused, tapping her cheek, deep in memory. “But yeah, he was pretty broken up about it, but before you ask, no, I don't know what made them split. Why does it matter?”
Sliding down in my chair, I gave a mild smile in her direction. “I guess it doesn't.” She doesn't know why they broke up, what would make that happen after so many years? Did she end it, or did Deacon?
Vanessa leaned forward, her palms flat on the table between us. “Forget about all that. You know what you should be thinking about?”
Seeing her grin, I felt a prickle of interest. “What's that?”
“My fashion show!” Winking, she jumped from her chair and propped her hands on her hips. “You didn't forget that was tomorrow, did you?”
I had forgotten completely. “No, of course not. Uh, what did you need me to do again?”
“Tonight,” she said, tugging out her phone, checking something, “I need you to look over the designs I have, the order of the runway models, and load some things into my car to take to the building.”
“Why didn't you just leave everything at Pale Blue? Wouldn't that have been easier?”
“No, some of it I've been finishing here on the side. Plus, the actual show is at the Vino Center, downtown. Didn't I tell you that?”
Wracking my brain, my arms folded together across my chest. “Maybe. I don't think so. It's fine though, you just need me to be here with you tonight?”
“Yeah, I'll be loading up the car here later, then taking it down to work to grab a few more things before dropping it all off at Vino. We need to get there by eleven, that shouldn't be a problem though, right?”
