by Bourne, Lena
"No, you don't." I have no idea why I said it. I know nothing about why he has to go, or why his brother was just kicking down his door.
"Yeah, I do," he says, more steel in his voice now, though his shoulders are still slumped.
"I'll wait then," I say and sit down hard on one of the chairs.
He looks up at me hopefully like it's all he really wanted to hear. But his eyes change color, and the shadows make them black. "If you want."
He turns, grabs his phone off the bed and strides out.
The walls start pressing in as soon as the door clicks shut. I wrap my arms around my stomach and move to the window, so I don't have to stare the walls down. Scott jogs out of the alleyway and slides into a black sports car idling by the curb, parked right behind my car. The tires screech as Michael pulls out, and they're gone.
The buzzing of the fridge behind me is the only thing that breaks the silence. I'm all alone in this whole building, and the world is spinning so fast now, as though it's making up for all that lost time. This apartment is not even lived in, and it's growing colder by the minute. Scott's saliva is drying on my neck, tugging my skin together. I don't belong here in this sad little apartment. I can have that at home. Something cracks behind me and before I know it, I'm grabbing my purse and running down the stairs, though the alleyway, digging frantically for my car keys. I lock the doors as soon as I'm inside and drive away too fast, ignoring the stop sign at the end of the block.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day, rain is coming down in sheets. I glance out the window a few times, hoping, dreading maybe, to see Scott's truck in Kate's driveway. But, of course, it's not there. Today's no day to work in the garden.
Did Scott expect me to stay last night? Did he want me to?
I pour myself the first whiskey soon after breakfast. Mom's coughs have been echoing through the house since dawn, battering at the last fragile pieces that still hold me together. I crack open her bedroom door, but the room is dark, smells of pine and stale sweat, dust, old linen. Edna chases me away, saying to let my mom rest, that she just gave her a shot of morphine, and it barely took.
I want my mom to wake up. I want to watch a movie with her, eat lunch, or go shopping with her. I pace up and down my bedroom for most of the afternoon. Kate calls a few times, and even Brandon sends me a text apologizing for yesterday, but I ignore them both. I can't speak, I can't cry, and I can't stop pacing.
Dad comes home at six, visits mom for a few minutes, and unpacks his pads and folders on the dining room table, saying he missed his train and already ate in the city. He holds the whiskey bottle up to the light and shakes his head at me. "How much did you drink?"
"Some." I must have drunk ten glasses today. But I'm not drunk, and I'm not calm.
"So, have you reconsidered going back to school?" he asks and sits down at the table with a grunt.
I'm twirling my fork in the plate of cold spaghetti Bolognese, the glistening clumps of meat turning my stomach.
I get up and dump the nearly full plate in the sink. "I'm taking the semester off."
I run up the stairs, ignoring his warnings to keep it down.
Mom's coughs rattle me like they're scraping the life from my chest, not hers. I rush to her room, kneel by her bed, and massage her back. Her lids flutter open, but it's all yellowish white underneath, and her face twists in pain. She doesn't see.
"I already gave her almost the maximum dose today," Edna complains to Dad by the door.
"Give her the rest then," Dad says.
I stand up and get out of Edna's way.
Mom was so well yesterday. Her cheeks rosy, she'd laughed. How can she be so sick today?
Dry sobs overtake me. I'm clutching my chest, rocking forward and back, willing the tears to stay in. I lose the battle as Dad's bloodshot eyes lock on mine. His sorrow pierces me hard, merges with my own, and grips my throat until I can't breathe. He strides over and tries to hug me, but I run from the room. There's nothing he can do, nothing he can say. Nothing I can do for him and nothing he can do for me. This horrible pain is love turned ugly, turned monstrous and deadly. And I can't take it.
In my room, I throw myself down on the bed and scream into the pillow. It's not fair, not right, and there's nothing I can do. Nothing I can give, nothing I can change. Nothing anyone can.
I'm not even crying, I'm just screaming for I don't know how long. My throat is swollen and sore by the time I finally pass out. I wake up empty like a cracked bowl, all it once contained gone. The house is quiet even though it is only ten o'clock.
There's only one place I know where the emptiness will not kill me, where the pain stays outside and time doesn't pass. Only one person. And the steady, strong Gail knows I'm crazy for even considering it. Whatever I started with Scott will only end in pain; there is no other possibility. My place is here with my mom, staring death down. But smart and sensible Gail is gone, dissolved, disappeared through the crack, and I want the world to stand still.
I take a long shower, and do my makeup, even fix my hair, until it hangs down my back, the loose dark curls glistening in the yellow bathroom light. In the back of my closet, I find the pink and black negligee Kate made me get during Spring break, back when my mom's lung cancer was just a diagnosis that could still be fixed.
I've lost weight since then, but the bra still fits me well enough, covering more than it reveals. I don't think. I'm not planning anything.
I button up my trench coat over it and tie it tightly, completing the outfit with a shimmering diamond necklace that was once my Gran's and a pair of black stilettos. Scott won't say no tonight, I have no intention of letting him, and nothing will stop us. I want to feel alive in the vortex where time stands still. I need him to show me I'm still real, not shattered, with all the pieces gone, blown away in the wind.
I park my car in the street in front of the bakery and glance up at his window. The light is on. My heart is thundering in my chest, but I feel calm, composed like this is a performance I have to master for me, and I mean to do a good job. It's almost like strong Gail is back. Even though she couldn't be farther away, is hardly even a memory.
There's no light in the alleyway, and I feel along the sides of the door for a buzzer, finally pulling out my phone for some light and turning the ringer off in the process. There are only two doorbells, neither with a name attached. I press both. Nothing happens. I press again and hold. I can't be stopped now, I won't be. Still no answer. I try to open the door, and it gives way, splinters raining down from where someone broke the lock.
I jog up the stairs, and rap my knuckles against the door as soon as I reach it. I bang harder when I don't hear him coming.
Finally, the lock slides, and he opens the door.
"Gail." Only the way he says it, it sounds more like 'gale.' It's neither a question, nor a statement, but something in between.
I squeeze past him and let him follow me into the main room, making sure my hips are rocking side to side the way they're meant to.
He's got an open can of beer on the table and a thick manila envelope next to it. Brushing past me, he sits in the one chair that's not occupied by boxes and takes a long gulp of beer, looking at me through slightly narrowed eyes. His gaze is so deep. I can see into his eyes for miles, out of this small apartment, this town, until I'm looking at a world covered with soft snow shimmering in the sun, tall mountains in the distance, pines swaying in the wind. That peaceful place sucks me in, sends shivers through my chest.
"Want one?" He inclines the can toward me, and I'm back in his run-down apartment. He's wearing a faded black t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajamas that have been washed way too often.
I shake my head. He licks his lips, staring at the mounds my breasts make over the collar of my coat. Then he throws his head back and laughs.
"What's so funny?" He's breaking my calm, ruining the charged air, but at least the world is not spinning, at least time is not rushing forward at a thousand hours a m
inute.
He reaches over and flicks up my collar. "This. Jesus, Gail, every time I see you, it's like I've walked onto a porn set."
I tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. "And what's wrong with that? Don't you guys like that sort of thing?"
He shakes his head again like he can't believe I'm really there. "One year ago, if you'd come to me like this, nothing would stop me—"
And that's the Scott I want.
I close the distance between us and straddle him. The chair creaks under our combined weight. "Nothing is stopping you now."
I rock my hips against him. His eyes flick to the envelope on the table and return to a point on my neck. He's holding me loosely, just to steady me. I want him to grab me, do me, wild and crazy.
I lean forward and bite his neck, making him grunt. He digs his fingers into my side like he's about to push me off. But I won't have that, can't.
"Stop biting, Gail," he orders.
"Stop talking, Scott," I counter.
I slide my hips back and forth a little. But he's not doing anything back, not reacting.
I stand up abruptly, knocking into the table, overturning the can. Beer froths as it covers the envelope. Scott curses and yanks it away, wiping it on his shirt. Then he pulls out a stack of money, all hundreds and fifties, and inspects them for damage.
"Was it payday today?" I ask stupidly. There's too much money there, more than he could make in a year gardening.
He tosses the money into one of the open cardboard boxes by the wall. A dark shadow rests across his eyes again, but it's not for me. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Gail."
I decide not to. I can't care. The money and whatever bothers him about it makes Scott too real, and I need him to be only the gardener from my fantasy.
I untie my raincoat and pull it open, showing him what I'm wearing underneath. "You're right. I couldn't care less about any of that."
His chest heaves, his nipples erect under his shirt that's a size or two too small. But he just stares at me, doesn't touch.
"What do you want from me, Gail?"
"How much more plain can I make it, you dumb shit?" I hiss. I don't know why I insulted him; it just came out. A scene of predators roaming the forest in deep winter stretches in his eyes. This is what I want.
He stands up so fast the back of his chair knocks into the wall. His fingers dig painfully into my butt as he yanks me toward him. I lean forward and bite down on his lower lip, feeling the little bumps slide off the edges of my teeth. "Fuck me," I mumble into his lips.
He grabs my neck with his free hand and squeezes. I bite down harder.
His hands meet around my throat. I sigh and let go of his lip, leaning back into his hands. But he doesn't squeeze, instead he kisses me gently on the lips, barely touching. Not what I want. I don't want love. I want sex.
I bring my fist into his stomach; right where his pecks end and his six pack begins. I hit just hard enough to make him gasp, as hard as I can really. His stomach is a wall.
"What do you think you're doing?" I hiss, forestalling any argument from him. "I don't want to make love to the help. I want you to fuck me. Then I'll leave, and no one will ever know I was even here."
I feel him tense, his coiled biceps transferring tension to my neck.
"I didn't come here for sweet kisses, so let's stop pretending!" I say, unable to stop talking now, and jab him again, harder this time. "This isn't love. And never will be."
He turns me, still clutching my neck and slams me into the table. "Whatever you want, Gail."
With one hand still around my throat, he pushes me down onto the table, his eyes black. Blood rushes to my head, and my heart races, beating against his thumb.
He yanks down my panties with his free hand and forces my legs apart with his elbow. But as he pries me open, his touch is gentle, as soft as a breath. It's a caress, nothing more. His grip on my throat loosens, and I buck my hips up into his hand, demanding more than this caress.
"Don't slow down now," I growl, jabbing my stiletto into his hip.
He pinches me down there and slides his finger in. I gasp, but I'm wet enough. I push down, scratching my heel against his leg to get his pants down.
"I can't believe—" he starts, but I slam my heel hard into his leg.
"Shut up and fuck me already! Or can't you?" The words are coming from somewhere deep inside me, somewhere I never knew existed.
He pulls his pants down and slams into me. I scream as my head bangs into the wall, making sparks erupt across my vision. It does nothing to alleviate the sharp pain down there. He freezes for a moment, his eyes searching my face, like he wants me to tell him I'm alright. Anger explodes inside my chest. I don't want his pity, his care, or his love. I want this pain. It's the only thing grounding me, reassuring me I'm still here, still alive.
"That's it," I gasp and lock my legs behind his back, impaling myself further, and letting him in, "now finish it."
He pulls out slowly and pushes back in slower, repeats, sending slivers of warmth through me, making me moan, and erasing the pain. The slivers form rivers of warmth, of safety, pleasure, and life. He runs his finger across my lips, softly, barely touching. Like he cares. I take his finger between my teeth and bite down. He yanks his hand away, and my teeth catch on his knuckle. "I'm not here to play house, you idiot," I groan, forestalling anything he might want to say.
I know I'm hurting him, and I'm a total bitch for doing it because he's done nothing to deserve it. But I don't want to be the only one hurting, the only one suffering. It's been just me and my pain for too long. I need someone with me.
I take his nipple between my nails and squeeze, meeting his thrust when it comes. With my legs locked behind his back, I pull my hips up, wanting him deeper, harder.
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my hips, and he lifts me off the table, getting a better angle, forcing my legs apart with his biceps, coiled now, tense. His thrusts are faster now, angry, urgent, and hateful. The river of heat inside me is frothing now, rushing, and becoming an ocean. I arch back and let it engulf me. I open to his thrusts completely, grunting, moaning, whimpering as his cock jabs into that sensitive area inside me on the way in, and caressing it on the way out. I scream out as the boiling ocean of pleasure explodes, and spreads upward into my chest, into my mind, erasing all in its path as it swallows me whole. Spasms overtake me, and I'm shivering. But he's still slamming into me, breathing hard. The wave builds again. I close my eyes and ride it, letting it flood me a second time, part-screaming and part-groaning escaping my mouth.
He tries to yank his cock out, but I won't let him. I want it all. Want to finish this the way it's meant to be done. I buck hard, pulling him back into me with my hands on his ass. He shudders, and I gasp as his hot seed erupts inside me.
"Shit," he mutters, partly collapsing onto me. "That was intense." He looks at me, searching my face, his eyes soft and sleepy like an evening in spring. I turn my head away and close my eyes. For once, he stays quiet. I squeeze my legs together as he pulls out and walks away, savoring the warmth, enjoying my racing heart, the flush in my cheeks, the sweat cooling on my back.
A few moments later, the shower comes on. Somewhere to my left, a moth is caught in the paper lantern of the light, buzzing frantically as it collides with the bulb again and again.
I rise and sit on the edge of the table staring at my panties. I should put them on, leave, go back home, and forget all about this. I should. But the warmth is still filling my belly, and I feel so light, so whole, and so real. I kick off my shoes and stumble over to the bed, turning off the light to let the poor moth survive its obsession with the light. This time.
The air mattresses wobble as I climb across the bed, and lie on my side staring out the window. Scott's sheets smell like him, his cologne mixing with the sweet smell of fabric softener. Downy, the blue one, the one I always get too.
I should leave, I should. Behind me, the moth is still buzzing, still trying to
escape. I feign sleep once I hear the bathroom door creak open. I listen to Scott's footsteps as he walks into the room. My eyes are open, but I'm breathing evenly, and my back is turned to him, so he can't see me. He stands there watching me; I can feel his gaze on my back like a soft summer breeze.
It takes forever before the mattress finally wobbles as he climbs in beside me. He smells of soap and toothpaste. He'll fall asleep, and then I'll leave. I don't want to talk. I just want to lie here in this vortex, where time has no meaning.
He moves nearer, and I feel his breath on my shoulder as he pulls the blanket over my back. I stay completely still and keep my breaths completely even. He slides closer still, and places his arm over me, balancing it against my thigh. For all its weight, it's as light as a sheet. I close my eyes.
We can stay like that for now. Not what I wanted, but I don't want it to stop either.
"I think your phone's ringing, Gail," he whispers like he knew I was awake all along.
I jerk up and look behind me. The buzzing is there again, and this time I know it for what it is. My phone, not the moth.
He lifts his arm, and I scurry off the foot of the bed, digging in my coat pocket. Dad's smiling face is flashing at me and suddenly I can't breathe.
But it won't stop ringing just because I don't want to pick up. I press the green button and hold the phone to my ear, already sobbing.
"Where are you, Gail?" my dad says. "Mom's at the hospital. Come."
"OK," I mutter, feeling like this is the first day of school and I'm on my own, pretending to be brave, wanting to make my parents proud.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dad's called me four times already. I could already be too late to say goodbye to Mom.
My hands are shaking as I run them across the floor, looking for my clothes. Only I have no clothes. I came here in my underwear, chasing something I don't even want. Panic grips me. I have no time to go home and change. Mom might be dead by then. She could be dying right now, and I'm frozen, thinking about what to wear. The familiar, terrifying abyss opens in my mind, sending the room spinning, feeding off my panic, turning the world to churning, bottomless darkness.
