by Anne, Betsy
The next moment happens in a blur. She’s on me like glue. She slams her body hard up against mine, pinning me to the wall. She not very big, but the action takes me by surprise, so I’m powerless for a second. She reaches up on her toes, and kisses me sloppily. She grinds herself against my crotch as her hand grabs at my zipper. I look over with shocked eyes to see everyone at her table staring, mouths agape, including Ms. Bitchface from earlier. She’s mad as hell and yanks her purse off the chair and walks out with two other women.
I try, unsuccessfully, to pry myself loose, but she’s like a snake winding around me. I look back over to where her party was, and they’re all gone. Some friends. You’d think they would have at least tried to intervene on her behalf, especially with her being so drunk. My head is spinning, I feel like I’m about to black out. The music changes and a deep, throbbing beat begins to pump through the speakers. It’s so dark in here; the only lights are strobes that occasionally hit our faces and remind me who’s kissing me. Shit! I can’t do this; she can’t do this. Why is she doing this?
I feel the beat pulse throughout my body, and I can’t help but give in to the overwhelming sensation of it all. I’m near blackout, my dick is hard and the beat of the music feels like fucking. I jump in with both feet, and grab her hard. I press her body against mine, rubbing her over my swollen crotch. I kiss her back as deeply as she’s kissing me, and we’re practically fucking against the wall. She grabs me by the shirt, and guides our linked bodies down the hallway toward the bathroom. It’s a one-person-at-a-time, with a questionable lock on the door.
She opens the door, and we fall back into the dank room. With one hand, she deftly pushes the lock in, and turns her full attention back to me.
“Wick, I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first time I ever saw you. The only reason I’ve stayed with Lach this long is to be near you. I used to masturbate thinking of you after my friends told stories of how good you were in bed. Your big cock, your magical tongue. I want to feel it, Wick. Lick my pussy,” she says as she hops up on the dirty sink and spreads her legs. She holds her knees apart for me, and she’s not wearing any underwear. I’m not sure if she started the night that way, or they came off somewhere during the evening.
My half-asleep brain is registering little, but I know what to do in this situation. When you’re offered pussy, you lick it. I kneel down, and pull her legs open wide. She grabs the back of the sink to hold on. I throw her legs up over my shoulders, to help her gain her balance. That’s when I dive in. I savagely suck her clit, and stick my tongue into her pussy. Her outcry of pleasure is muffled by the club noise. I taste the sweet crevice that’s moist with her arousal. I press my thumb against her asshole firmly, as I continue to lick and nibble the lips of her pussy. She’s completely bald, not what I would have expected, and she has a small heart tattoo on the mound above her clit. Really not what I expected.
She writhes and shoves my head deeper to feel me. She begins to shout, “I’m coming!” and she rubs her bald pussy over my face as she orgasms. My dick is rock hard, and my addled brain has gotten me in this deep, so I pull her down, and turn her around. I yank up her skirt, and plunge myself deep into her swollen cunt. It’s hot and tight from her recent orgasm, and it feels great. I grab her hair and yank her hard against me. I’ve been hard most of the night, and my cock needs to be drained. I don’t have a condom, so I don’t want to come inside her. I turn her back around, and push her down to her knees. I shove my cock into her mouth, and shoot cum down her throat. She chokes on the girth at first, but then drinks it ravenously.
I zip up my fly, and pull her out of the bathroom. I push our way through the tight crowd, we exit the club, and I grab the first waiting cab. We tumble in, I say my address and blackout.
Chapter 12
Jesus Christ, what the hell have I done?
My head feels like it’s going to explode. I don’t know what was in those shots, but they were powerful. I can’t blame the alcohol for this one, though. Even though my memory is playing keep-away with the details, I know what I did.
I’m reluctant to roll over to see if she’s still here. I can’t sense anyone in the bed, so I hesitantly reach my arm over. No one there. Thank, God. I lie on my back and stare at the water-stained ceiling of my bedroom. Some mornings, I’ll lie here and stare at the water marks like clouds, and try to see different images in the random shapes, but not today. All I can see is a piece of shit ceiling, in a piece of shit apartment of a piece of shit person.
I’m the first to admit, I’ve traveled down some morally questionable roads, but never anything close to this. I fucked my brother’s fiancé the weekend before his wedding. The implications of my actions are flying through my head and I can’t think rationally. Will he find out? Should he find out? Will she tell him? Should I tell him?
Lachlan has been the one decent constant in my life, even ahead of our parents even. He knows things I’ve done and loved me anyway. I think he always hoped I would learn from my behavior, and that I would rise up to the standard he holds for me. How could I fucking do this to him? What kind of monster does that to his best friend and brother?
I violently strike my forehead, which is already throbbing like hell from the alcohol, and it does nothing to ease what I’m feeling inside. I want someone to punch me or kick me in the gut to take my mind off of the pain in my heart. He comes back this afternoon, and we’re supposed to have dinner at our parents’ house. No fucking way. How can I ever look any of them in the eye ever again? If my mother ever found out what I did, I think she’d die of a broken heart. I feel stomach acid bubbling in the back of my throat, and I need to vomit. I swallow hard to send it back down.
I achingly roll out of bed to begin to assess the place. I remember once we got here-don’t remember the ride-that she went to the bathroom and came out naked. We fucked again, maybe twice. The first time, I bent her over the couch in the living area. I recall smacking her ass really hard and she let out a scream. My night-owl neighbor gave a hard “knock-knock” on our shared wall. I’ve heard that many times. Then I remember waking up to her sucking my dick, then climbing on top of it. I laid back and let her work it. I don’t think I came that time. Shit! I came inside her at least twice with no condom. Not only did I fuck my brother’s fiancé, I could have gotten her pregnant. I’m so pissed with myself, I kick my steel-reinforced front door with my bare foot and I think I broke my toe. I feel it beginning to swell, but every sensation is numb compared with what’s going on in my head.
The clock reads two p.m. My stomach lurches again as I remember that Lach will be back soon, if he’s not already. I wonder where Lauren is. Her friends certainly abandoned her quickly last night. I wonder if that’s not the first time she’s pulled some shit like that when they’ve gone out. Poor Lach. He deserves better than the two assholes who are supposed to be the closest to him.
There’s a loud knock at my door, which makes me jump. If it’s Lachlan, he’ll read it all over my face. I tiptoe over, and peek out the peephole. It’s Lauren. I open the door fast, and yank her hard by her arm to come inside. Her face is swollen and red. I hope that means she’s been crying and feels guilty. The only shred of decency I’m clinging to is the fact that I didn’t start what happened. She did. The “why” is what I need to know.
“What are you doing back here? What the fuck was that last night?” I shout, so loudly she backs away. This is the Lauren I’m used to.
She’s kneading her fingers so forcefully, I think they’re going to snap off. Her guilty eyes are roaming the place, and looking everywhere but at me.
“Answer me, dammit!” I shout even louder.
“Something bad has happened, Wick. Has anyone called you?”
Oh, shit. He found out.
I run over to my nightstand to check for my phone. It’s not there. I see my jeans still in the spot where I stepped out of them to fuck her, and check the pockets. I have two missed calls from my dad, but he didn’t leave a messag
e.
“Did you tell him?” I shout again, as I grab her by the shoulders. I feel as if I could start shaking her and not stop until she’s lifeless.
“No! Of course not! But someone did. He found out early this morning, Wick. I think Karen must have called him.”
“Who the fuck is Karen, and why would she do that?”
“Oh, you know who Karen is, Wick. You saw her last night.”
Double shit. She used it as vengeance against me.
“You need to listen to me, Wick. Lachlan was in an accident. He was driving so fast, he lost control of his car, about twenty miles from home. Your parents were notified, and they called me. Of course, they have no idea why he was speeding. They were worried about me,” she says as a whisper. She knows that life as she knew it is over. “I couldn’t tell you over the phone, I had to see you,” she says as she reaches a hand up to my face.
I ferociously slap it away.
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you even grasp the magnitude of all of this? You haven’t even told me what happened to him. How badly is he injured?”
She starts sobbing.
“Oh, Wick! I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me last night. I’ve been attracted to you for so long, I think Lachlan knew it. I couldn’t imagine getting married and never having a chance to be with you. That’s why my friends left last night. When they saw me with you, they knew the night was over. They’ve heard me talk about you so much, they’re tired of it,” she says, still crying as she follows me around the apartment as I look for some clothes to put on.
The bitch still hasn’t mentioned Lach.
“If you don’t tell me now how my brother is doing, I can’t be responsible for my actions,” I say, an inch away from her face, spitting saliva like a wild animal.
“He’s not critical, but it’s serious,” she says, and stares at her feet, “His pitching arm is shattered.”
Dear God.
I sprint to the table by the front door, and grab my keys. I step into my sneakers without tying them and I run as fast as I can to my car. I realize I don’t even know where I going. She hasn’t told me the hospital. She must realize it too, because she runs out the door.
“He’s at Palos Community in Palos Heights,” she shouts out at me.
I speed off and leave her in a cloud of smoke. Thankfully that would be the last time I ever see her.
Chapter 13
Lachlan is lucky to be alive. He took a turn way too fast, and hit a small patch of black ice. His car flipped three times, and he was pinned inside. Fortunately, no one was on the road around him, so no one else was injured. But I know how long it would take the fire crew to get him out, I’ve been on those calls myself. When I arrive on his floor, my dad is outside his room talking to two of the fireman who helped him. They must have been hanging around out of respect for my dad. He excuses himself and rushes past them to come and give me a bear hug. He’s weeping into my neck; I can’t take it.
“Jesus, Wickham, ’is arm. Why ’is arm?” He sobs in his thick accent.
“I know, Dad, I know. Let’s wait and see what the Doc says first,” I say, not knowing exactly what the extent of the damage is.
“’E brook ‘is ribs on the right, all ‘em. ‘Is arm is shattered up to ‘is should-ar,” he says, and I’m having trouble understanding him he’s so upset.
I speak to the attending doctor on my own. He said it was nothing short of a miracle that Lach didn’t puncture his lungs. His arm and shoulder will require a number of surgeries. He’ll have to have pins and plates put in, as well as reconstruction of the shoulder. His baseball career is over. It’s over, and I’m responsible.
I go into his room, and Mom is sitting on the left side of his bed, holding his limp hand. He’s heavily sedated for the pain. She jumps up, rushes over and clings to me for dear life.
“Why was ’e goin’ so fass, Wick’em? “He knows be-ttar than that,” she cries in her accent. Like Dad’s, it’s difficult to understand her.
I know what she’s trying to say. Lachlan has always been a law-abiding citizen; he’s just never been a risk taker, even as a kid. This is way out of character for him to have been speeding at more than eighty miles an hour.
“Poor Law-rn. She must be de-vah-stay-ted. I can’t b’leeve she hasn’t been here, yet.”
I think we’ll be waiting forever for her to show up. She’s giving herself away by not coming here.
I ignore Mom’s comment, having nothing to say to her about Lauren’s whereabouts, so I release her and go to my brother’s side. It crushes my soul to see him like this. He shouldn’t be the one lying here, struggling to breathe; it should be me. He didn’t do anything to deserve this, other than put his full trust in me and his future wife. His pain is just beginning, and for the other there’s no medicine to help. I stare at him, feeling deep sadness that I took him for granted. I’m going to lose him in my life, and I know it. Even through some miracle he finds his way to forgive me-if anyone could, would be Lach-I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll never be able to look in his eyes again without seeing the pain I’ve caused.
Because of me, he’s lost his career, his bride, his health and his brother. The only thing he has to lean on now is our parents. I have to figure out a way to tell them the truth of what happened. I’ve screwed up in the past, but this one can’t be undone or unpunished.
I walk out of the room without a word to them and I go to the hospital chapel. It’s eerily quiet, and I’m alone. I drop to my knees and cry like a baby, begging God to somehow forgive what I’ve done. I want to feel the paralyzing weight lift from my shoulders, but God is silent.
I’m all alone.
Chapter 14
Three weeks he’s been in the hospital. Just as he makes small progress, something always seems to set him back. Pneumonia set into his lungs, and for him to expel the phlegm is excruciatingly painful. He’s had two surgeries to begin the process of setting the arm, and the shoulder surgery has to wait until it is stable.
His agent has confirmed with the doctors that his career is over, and he has informed the White Sox. There’s been an outpouring of support from their organization, and the entire Chicago fire department. He’s still unaware of most of it. His pain is so profound, that he hasn’t been able to clearly communicate, which for me, is a good thing. It’s offered me much needed time to explain things to my parents, but I still haven’t done so. How do you look into your parent’s eyes and break their heart? I know the longer I put it off, the worse it will be.
No one has spoken to Lauren. My parents are convinced that she’s heartbroken, and that must be the reason she hasn’t been to see him. Even though it’s obvious that something happened to make her behave this way, they will not accept it. As much as I don’t ever want to see her face again, I crawl all over social media to try and track her down. No luck. I took Lach’s cellphone from his belongings a few days ago. There was a text from her the day after the wreck, that said I’m sorry, and that’s it.
Using Lach’s phone, I search through his contacts and Facebook friends. I find Lauren’s bitch friend Karen listed in contacts, and I send her a text: This is Wickham, I’m using Lach’s phone. Have you heard from Lauren? Our parents are worried sick. Please ask her to call me on his phone if you speak to her.
I resist the strong urge to call her out and ask her why she felt the need to upset him like she did by telling him, but I know the answer. She did it to get back at me.
I receive a reply from her: I’m sorry to hear about what happened. You and Lauren didn’t care who you might hurt by what you did. Lachlan is a decent guy, and he deserved to know. Tell your parents that she’s doing OK, and then you can tell them what you did and why they’ll never see her again. Too bad you and Lauren never got together before this. You two are made for each other.
She’s right. I’ve been hiding like a coward, not facing my responsibility. I have to tell my parents what happened. They need the truth about wh
y Lauren hasn’t been around and why Lachlan was speeding. I need to do it separately. I decide to take my dad out for a beer, and let him tell Mom on his own if he thinks it’s best.
I take him to the closest pub where he can get his Scotch ale. He grumbles about American beer, and won’t dare drink the “Paddy Piss” as he lovingly refers to Irish beer. He looks haggard, like he’s aged twenty years over the last few weeks. My heart aches for him, having to watch ones child in that kind of pain, and I’m about to make it a lot worse.
“’Ere’s to me fine boys,” he lifts his glass in a toast, “and how lucky we are to ’ave our dear Lachlan alive.”
He throws back half his glass.
“Dad, I need to talk to you. I know why Lauren has stayed away from Lach’s bedside. She’s ashamed of something she did, and she knows she can’t marry him. She feels too guilty to see you and Mom,” I say as I swallow the biggest sip of my beer my throat will allow.
Dad’s face pales.
“What is it, boy? Tell may!”
“I had sex with Lauren, Dad. I didn’t set out to, it just happened. Lach asked me to follow her on the night of her bachelorette party, and I did. We were both really drunk, and she threw herself at me.”
His eyes glass over with tears. This ox-strong brute of a man is going to cry like a baby in public. I continue; I have to get it all out.
“I’m sick about it. She was never right for Lach, and even told me she stayed with him to be around me. She was a different person than the Lauren we all thought we knew. Lachlan deserves the best, not someone like her.”
Tears stream down his ruddy cheeks as he stares at me with pure disgust. His Scottish roots and his firefighter toughness embody manliness, brotherhood and honor. If I were anyone other than his son, he would have knocked me out cold and spit in my face. That’s precisely what it looks like he wants to do right now. I would take it, too, and not raise a finger in defense.
