I slept in his arms that night.
In the morning, I was sure that after hours of his mouth on mine and his fingers deep inside of me that I was ready. I slid my hands over Matthew’s impressive length, guiding him to my opening.
He rolled the condom on and slowly pushed inside. I knew that I was opening for him, but the pain still stole my breath. I cringed, fully aware that his eyes were focused on my expression.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Yes. Oh god. I’m sorry. No.”
“No?”
“No. Do… your thing.”
He winced, dropping his forehead to mine. “My thing?” He laughed, and I managed a nervous chuckle, feeling him pull out.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“I can’t hurt you. When you look like you’re in pain, I just… lose it.”
“Lose what?”
“I don’t know. My thing, I guess,” he teased.
“Oh Matthew, I’m sorry,” I cried, pulling him close again. “Kiss me. I’m ready. I’m an actress. I can act like I’m not in pain.”
He scoffed, kissing the tip of my nose. “Listen, baby. Let’s give all of this a few days, okay? I’m sure you’re still sore from last night. Slow. Remember?”
We did exactly as he’d suggested, and lasted exactly three days.
We’d ordered Chinese take-out and parked on his couch in front of the Cleveland Indian’s game. Halfway through the second inning, I was beneath him on the couch, and he was shoving my skirt up to my waist.
“I need you,” he growled against my breast, and I moaned, wrapping my legs around his waist.
“I’m ready.”
He cursed, fumbling with his pants. “I need to go upstairs and get a condom.”
“I’ll be right here,” I promised.
He was back within a minute, and this time, as he slid inside of me, I moaned, feeling nothing but the depth of his body in mine.
“Okay?” he asked with a whisper.
“Yes… oh god, Matthew, move… move,” I begged, and he groaned softly, his lips covering mine.
“I love you, Vivian. I love you like I was made to love you.”
I lost the ability to speak as he rocked his hips in mine. Something, some fire built deep inside of me, and I met his thrusts, searching for the release that coaxed me closer and closer.
When I came, I came apart. The intimacy of the moment, with him finding his release, and me whispering how much I loved him, bonded us for eternity. It didn’t matter that I was eighteen and he was twenty-seven. Nothing mattered but the way we existed in and of each other.
We fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Sometime around two AM, his anxious curse woke me up. “What’s wrong?”
“I fell asleep… inside of you.”
I froze. “Is that bad?”
“We should be okay,” he assured me, moving to remove the condom and clean us up. “Don’t worry.”
But he sounded worried.
“What, did the condom… break?”
“Don’t worry,” he repeated, gathering me into his arms.
I didn’t worry.
I worried about absolutely nothing but the stage, Matthew, and our promises of love.
. . .
Thanksgiving was traditionally, as my mother put it so eloquently, a giant “to-do.” Normally, we’d travel to Pennsylvania to have dinner with Gram and all of my aunts and uncles. This time, since my parents learned that I was dating Matthew, they insisted on hosting dinner at home and finally meeting him.
“Mom, it’s a lot of pressure to meet the parents. We’ve only been dating a week, and it’s a holiday. This is just too much,” I protested weakly.
She ignored me, continuing to stuff the large turkey over the sink. “Now, Vivian, it’s quite obvious to your father and I that you are head-over-heels for this boy. I am not going to ask you if you’re sleeping with him. As much as I want to know.” She turned to me, her hands still buried inside the turkey.
I chewed on the inside of my cheeks, turning to the spice rack to straighten all of the labels. “Mom.”
“We need to make sure you’re on the pill. That’s the responsible thing to do.”
“We’re using protection,” I assured her, and then cringed, my face blooming with instant hives.
She gasped- an actual, horrified inhale- and turned to me quickly. “Dear lord. Vivian. You’ve known this boy for a week.”
“Stop judging me, Mom.”
I cringed every time she called my twenty-seven-year-old boyfriend a “boy.”
“I expected you to have a little more common sense than that.”
“Don’t insult me. I’m in love with him.”
“Please. In love? I’ve known your father since we were in school together. One does not fall in love in a week.”
“You’re right. I fell in love in a minute,” I snapped, turning for the stairs.
I lay on my bed, contemplating calling Matthew and asking him not to come. I already knew this was going to end badly, but part of me wanted them to know everything.
Everything. Not only his age, but how incredible he was.
Hours later, the turkey was done and I helped my mother make the side dishes in silence. My dad alternated between watching football and setting the table.
When Matthew rang the doorbell, an excited thrill jolted through me, and I rushed to the front of the house.
Ignoring the flowers and bottle of wine in his hands, I threw my arms around him.
He hugged me warmly, meeting my lips in a soft kiss. “Hey, beauty. I love your outfit.”
I grinned, stepping back to do a little spin in my argyle skirt. The matching sweater was very sophisticated, and I was hoping that he noticed my attempt to look older.
“You must be… Matthew…”
My mother stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the two of us, and my father leaned forward, extending his hand to Matthew.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Hale.” He handed the flowers to my mother, and the wine to my father. “Thank you for having me over for the holiday.”
“Wine? How old are you? Vivian?” My father was completely taken aback, and my mother looked ready to faint.
Matthew’s eyes fell on me, and I cleared my throat, taking a deep breath.
“Matthew is twenty-seven.”
The hum of silence erupted into utter chaos.
Matthew lowered his voice, speaking only to me. “You didn’t tell them?”
My mother. “Gregory… Greg, I can’t do this. This is unacceptable.”
My father. “Vivian, there are nine years between you. That is almost an entire decade.”
Matthew. “I should go.”
“No,” I argued, shaking my head at all of them. “No. Mom, Dad, yes, he’s older than me. That doesn’t matter,” I protested, and my mother proceeded to cover her mouth with her hands.
“Oh, dear god, you said… that you’ve slept with him,” she realized, and I shrunk in utter mortification, refusing to look at my father.
“I’m eighteen! I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions-”
“Mr. Hale, Mrs. Hale,” Matthew interrupted me, holding his hand up gently. “I understand your concerns. I’ll go. Vivian, you should have told them,” he chastised softly, and I winced, feeling like I had another parent staring me down. “Please know that I love your daughter. Absolutely. While I’d like to take the time to get to know you both, and explain all of the wonderful reasons why I love Vivian so very much, I’ll respect your feelings and leave you to a quiet Thanksgiving.”
As he turned for the door, I ran to the closet, pulling my coat and purse from the hook.
“Wait. I’m coming with you.”
“Vivian!” My parents called to me angrily, nearly in unison.
“I’ll come back for my things tomorrow.” I lowered my voice to a hopeful whisper, turning to Matthew. “I’m- staying with you. Is that okay?”
/>
He adjusted his glasses, sighing deeply. “Vivian, I’d never say no to you,” he replied, under his breath.
I smiled, my entire body warming at his genuine words.
“Vivian Julia Hale, we need to talk to you about this,” my father said calmly, turning to both me and Matthew. “You have to understand that you’ve caught us completely off guard. We love you and care about you. If Matthew does too, then we’ll work this out. Just… don’t make any rash decisions.”
Matthew paused at the awkward exchange, turning toward my mother. “Mrs. Hale, would you prefer that I leave?”
She only nodded.
“Come on.” I took Matthew’s hand, walking with him toward the door.
We were silent the entire drive to his house. The snow began to fall softly, and as he opened the front door for me, I backed against the wall, lifting my eyes to his through the darkness.
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe… I just asked to stay with you, I...”
His mouth crashed to mine, and I no longer needed words.
“You’re unconventional. Real. Everything moves so fast when you’re in my arms,” he growled, his mouth dropping to my chest as he lifted me against the wall.
We had two condoms left and used them both that night. He went out and bought more the next morning.
The walk of shame occurred sometime around noon as I made my way up the driveway of my house… my parents’ house. Neither of my parents were home, and I assumed that they planned it that way. I packed as much as I could into my suitcase, and Matthew loaded it into the back of his car.
I hadn’t officially moved out, but I felt like I was going home.
Armageddon
K
“Will Smith. Fourth of July. Kid, you can’t pass this up.”
Frank leaned back in the chair across from my desk, tucking his hands behind his head. Though I admired the way that he allowed our relationship to evolve from him being my boss to me being his, there were times that I wanted his input, not his directives.
“I can pass this up. And I should. Dominate was a documentary about BDSM. I won an Oscar for the art and perspective. My next choice will either cheapen my reputation, or reiterate that I am a serious director.”
“You’re really putting too much thought into this. You need to be famous to have a reputation, and you’re not quite there yet.”
“Thanks for the reality check, Frank.”
He held his hands up flat, frustrated. “I’m being honest. You want me to sit here and blow smoke up your ass? You won’t get anywhere like that.”
“Kelsey wants a part.”
He puffed air from his lips, giving a long, low groan. “Bullshit. Bull fucking shit, Keaton. Don’t cast her opposite Will Smith. Don’t cast her opposite anyone. She can’t act. I know you love her, but she can’t act.”
“I know.”
Since the night of the premier, Kelsey and I had grown even further apart. I hadn’t come home that night, and found that she hadn’t, either. While I knew I’d staved off every sexy woman’s advances, I had no idea if she’d done the same.
While there was still a ring on my finger, I wouldn’t sleep around.
“You know how many people are salivating over this script right now, kid? And you got it, right in the palm of your hands. How can you even consider passing this up?”
I tucked the script in my bag, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. Frank stood, and I heard him slam the door of my office.
“Talk, Keaton. What’s going on with Kelsey? I can tell you’re upset. And you’re drinking before noon. Not sure if you realized that.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands, glancing at my glass on my desk.
“She’s impossible. We don’t have fun anymore. Everything is just… not enough for her. No matter what I do.”
“That’s nothing new,” he assured me, lowering his voice.
“She’s different. We haven’t fucked since the night of the premier. That was… three weeks ago. Even when she’s pissed at me, she still wants to fuck.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms and focusing on me with his beady eyes. “You know what I’m gonna ask you, kid. Do you know the answer?”
I shrugged, reaching for my drink. “You think she’s sleeping around.”
“I think,” Frank began, pointing at the window angrily, “you should get in your car right now, and drive home. What do you think you’ll find when you get there?”
I tipped my head back, downing the rest of the amber liquid. After a long pause, I set the glass down to the desk.
“She wouldn’t do that to me. Maybe she’s ready to get out, but she wouldn’t fuck me over like that.”
“Go home.” Frank urged.
I stared at him evenly, watching his eyes shift to his watch. The vein in his neck always ticked when he was nervous, and right now, it was practically jumping out of the collar of his shirt.
“Why? Do you know something?” I demanded.
Silently, he nodded toward the window again.
“I drove past your house this morning, on the way here. There was a car parked in the driveway.”
I stood up so quickly, my chair toppled over behind me. Infuriated, I slammed my hand over my keys. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Keaton.” He stood, holding his hand up defensively. “You’re like a son to me. I didn’t want to see you hurt-”
“-you should have told me,” I barked, wrath running rampant through my veins. I knew better than to drive angry; I had a hard enough time paying attention to the road as it was, and, as Frank had pointed out, I’d started drinking an hour ago. “Call me a cab. Kathy! Call me a cab!” I shouted.
My secretary was reaching for her phone, her eyes wide with panic. I ignored her and Frank, stalking to the elevator with my keys anyway.
My Audi was parked in my special spot, prime parking for Oscar winning director Keaton fucking Thane. I shifted into reverse and spun the tires, grinding the transmission as I barreled toward my home.
She wouldn’t hurt me.
Over and over, I tried to tell myself that, even if she was fucking someone else, she wouldn’t do it in our home. Deep down, despite all of our problems and bullshit, I did love Kelsey. I’d spent the last seven years married to her. She loved to dangle on my arm as we made our way though the press, and she’d supported me through the shitty times, too.
She wouldn’t do this to me.
I blinked twice, unsure if the car I saw parked in my driveway was actually in my driveway, or the drive next door. Our Palisades home loomed ahead, and I peeled into my driveway, throwing the car into park.
A black Lamborghini.
I wrenched my keys from the ignition, shoving the sleeves of my white dress shirt up to my forearms. I’d never felt so out of control in my life. Part of me wanted to believe whatever she was about to tell me.
Part of me wanted to murder her.
Rather than bursting through the front door, I eased my way in, taking stock of the kitchen. Two champagne glasses.
Articles of clothing littered along the carpet, leading to the stairs.
I followed the clothing trail, stopping for a moment to reach for Kelsey’s bra.
And I laughed.
I laughed so fucking loudly, I was positive they had to have heard me. My response was a pleasured scream from upstairs.
Kelsey’s voice.
And then a deep, masculine moan.
It was contrite. It was so fucking clichéd that, instinctually, I wanted to scream CUT and start the scene all over again. I decided that was exactly what I was going to fucking do; I’d laugh, I’d be sarcastic, and I’d show her that she could sleep with anyone that she wanted and I didn’t give a fuck.
Keaton, what do you wish for, son?
Of all times, my dad’s voice echoed in my head.
I’d been through worse. I stood against the wall in the hallway, listening to my wife fucking some guy, remindin
g myself that I’d been through hell and back, and this was nothing. This was superficial. This was a means to an end.
For the first time in seven years, I thought about the night he hit Luke.
My little brother had been hiding in the garage when I got home from school; I knew because Grandpa and I searched the entire property, screaming his name. Luke had gone to the clinic with a stomach ache, and the school nurse called my mother to pick him up. When she didn’t answer, my dad came to get him and bring him home.
When Luke confessed to lying about his stomach ache because he was nervous about taking a math test, my dad hit him across the face, splitting his lip in two places.
“That’s it. Keaton, take your brother inside.” Grandpa was already on the phone before I could ask what he was doing.
The police showed up, waiting for my dad to return from the bar. Robin, Luke, and I watched as they cuffed my father, leading him to the police car.
“What are you doing?” my mother demanded, glaring at her father.
Grandpa only caught her in his arms, hugging her tenderly. “What I shoulda done long ago, Jane. These kids don’t deserve this. Neither do you.”
My mother broke down sobbing, and Robin took Luke upstairs to clean him up. I ran from the house.
I didn’t stop running.
It rained sometime in the dark hours of morning, and Grandpa found me sleeping in the back of his pickup.
“I promise you, Keaton. The bad times don’t last forever, son. That’s what makes life bearable.”
I rounded the corner, staring into my open bedroom.
Kelsey straddled him, her huge breasts bouncing as she rode the fuck out of the guy beneath her. Her long, blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, and he reached to slap her ass.
She mewled like a bitch in heat.
“I hate you.”
Unable to control my reaction, I tasted the revulsion in my words.
My sentence came out in a shaking exhale. I’d planned to be cynical, to stand with my hands casually in my pockets, laughing as the motherfucker scrambled for his clothes and ran for his life.
Instead, my heart broke.
I did love her; I realized that I did at that moment. I could tell by the pain emanating from my chest. The scene before me burned from deep inside, fueling a rage that I didn’t know that I possessed.
On Heartbreak Ridge: Movie Trilogy Prequel Novella (The Movie) Page 5
