by Audrey Bell
“You seem to be enjoying it.”
“Well, like I said, I really don’t know what I’m doing,” I smiled, and took a breath, and he leaned down and kissed me. This time, I kept my eyes open.
I watched the quiet intent in his eyes, as he moved carefully and surely into me. I took a sharp breath, briefly startled by the sensation.
I tensed reflexively. “Fuck,” I muttered.
“Relax. Just breathe deeply a few times, okay? If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
It took a second for the pain to dissipate and then he moved in me, tentatively at first, just a slight rock backwards.
I closed my eyes and gripped his shoulders.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he whispered shakily. I tightened my legs around him.
I could tell he was being gentle, responding to my hesitance. I could tell he was holding back.
But even though I knew that, I felt only him and I felt on the absolute edge of control. I was barely hanging onto my own reactions.
I could only register his presence above me and the sea of pleasure as he moved in me. I acknowledged briefly that my mind had gone absolutely blank, like the single thing that existed in the world in that moment was Jack Diamond’s body above me, the soft bed beneath me, his tongue gentle on my lips, his eyelashes fluttering against mind, the warm wave of a building orgasm.
Through the perfect haze, a single coherent thought registered: he was right about Luke doing it wrong.
I dug my teeth into his shoulder to keep from crying out and Jack had taken over, smiling seriously, holding my hip, and controlling every movement so nothing hurt.
“Jesus, Hadley,” he whispered roughly when he finally came. “Jesus Christ.”
I felt like my spine had melted into a puddle. I might have said something to that effect because he laughed. I closed my eyes, breathing hard, thinking of the other things I wanted to say like oh my god. I decided not to say them.
But oh my god.
He pulled out gently, got rid of the condom and came back to bed. He pulled my boneless body back towards him.
“That was good,” I managed to say as he wrapped an arm securely around my waist, and I turned against him, so my head was buried underneath his chin. “You’re good at that.”
He pressed a hard, lasting kiss to my shoulder. “I got nothing on you, girl.”
I dropped my head against his shoulder knowing that I would remember this better than my first time—the dark, lazy Saturday evening when Jack Diamond made me feel like nobody had ever made me feel before.
I somehow fell asleep. When I woke up, he was sitting at his desk, half-dressed, with his feet kicked up on the desktop, reading Absalom, Absalom by William Faulkner in the low light.
He looked at me. “I swear I didn’t drug you. You just passed out.”
I got up and ran a hand through my hair. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight,” he said. He nodded out the window. “It’s snowing again. You should stay.”
“No, I should really get home,” I said. He glanced at the window dubiously. I could see the thick flakes dropping from the sky and covering the world again. All winter it would be like this, days and days of snow.
He got to his feet, holding the worn paperback in one hand. He walked to me and straddled me over the covers, letting the book fall from his hand. “It’s blizzarding.”
“I live two minutes away,” I countered.
“You were drinking,” he said, trying to press me back to the bed.
“Hours ago,” I said. I pushed him back.
“It’s cold. And I’m warm.”
“I wake up early and I kick."
"I don't care."
I smiled, pushed him aside, and got out of bed, trying to pretend he wasn’t watching me while I got dressed. “Sorry about the whole nap thing…”
“Nah, it’s cool,” he said. “You work so hard, you probably fall asleep whenever you lie down.”
“Pretty much,” I said.
He nodded. He smiled softly. “See ya around, Hads.”
“See you around.”
I laughed softly on the stair landing. This was exactly what I needed. Something fun. Something without any expectations. Something with someone as cute as Jack could be.
Chapter Seventeen
I whirled through the next two weeks, eating on the run, and sneaking into the frat house after midnight to see Jack whenever I could, which wasn't enough.
I flew to D.C. for the interview with USA Today, and was dumb enough to not check the shuttle bus schedule when I landed back in Chicago late the same night, worn-out and in the world's least comfortable shoes.
It was amazing anyone ever got anything done in heels.
I called David from the terminal. And sent him half a dozen texts. But he didn’t respond. And I knew that meant he wasn’t near his phone. David never ignored me.
I sat down in the plastic chairs near baggage claim. I had two people to choose from: Andrew and Jack. I chose Jack.
"I'm stranded," I admitted. "At the airport."
"Are you asking me for a favor?"
"Completely," I said.
"I'm going to break the land speed record on my way there just so I can gloat," he said.
He hadn't been lying. I'd only been waiting fifteen minutes when he parked his Jeep out front.
"Where to, my lady?" he asked.
"The newspaper office, if you don't mind."
"I do, kind of. I was hoping to take you with me," he said.
I smiled and rubbed my chin. "Yeah. I've got to go though."
"You can't ever take a night off?"
"I can. Just not tonight."
When we reached the newspaper office, he gave me a rueful look. "You want company?"
I smiled. "Yes, but I won't get anything done."
"Alright," he said.
"Thank you. So much," I said.
"My pleasure. That's what friends are for."
“I might have to stop sleeping with you so we can stay friends,” I confessed.
“Actually, I'm a really shitty friend,” he replied. “So, maybe you should just keep sleeping with me. I'm going to send you a bill for the car ride."
Andrew was throwing a baseball against the wall in my office, talking through the opinion pages with a few of our columnists. "Hads, we've been lost without you," he said, catching the ball. "How was your flight?"
"Fine."
"No delays?" he asked. "There's a nor'easter over Ohio."
I raised my eyebrows. “Ah, no. No delays.”
"Amazing. Hey, so, did you think about the Valentine's Day issue?" he asked. "Everyone likes the idea. Right?"
The columnists all nodded.
"Ah, I haven't really thought about it. A special edition?" I asked. I sat down on the edge of my desk and tried to give it some serious thought. "You don't think this wouldn't be better for the magazine?"
"Did you read my email?" he asked. "We did a whole section-by-section breakdown."
"No, I have to look at that," I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Well, let's just talk about it," he said. "It's a good concept. It's packaging for an article on sex and romance, which are more than just buzzwords. The holiday provides relevancy to tackle bigger issues, like access to birth control, rates of sexual assault, all the stuff nobody talks about because it's never newsworthy."
"I hear you," I said.
"Well, I don't think you can just say no."
"I'm not saying no. I'm just not deciding now. Okay?"
"Well, when?" Andrew asked. "Come on. It's a good idea. Juliet wants to give editing a try."
"I don't know. How about—”
"Tuesday," Andrew said. "How about dinner Tuesday?"
"I'm on the schedule to copyedit Tuesday."
"I can take your shift," Shuchi, one of our cheery sophomore columnists, offered with a smile.
I e
xhaled. "Oh. Well, okay then." I tried to smile gamely at Andrew. “Thanks, Shuchi.”
"Perfect," Andrew said. "Thanks, guys. Great meeting." He clapped his hands.
They gather their notebooks and left. "So, how was D.C.?"
"Fine," I said. "I was there for like five minutes."
Andrew nodded slowly. "Well, I'll let you do your work."
I nodded. "Thanks. Sorry to be so short. I’m just a little overwhelmed."
"All good," Andrew said. "We'll talk Tuesday."
"Yeah. Yeah."
"I'll make a reservation somewhere."
"Yeah, anywhere is fine," I said. "We can go to Chipotle or something. Thanks."
"Alright," he smiled. "It'll be good. Valentine's Day."
I smiled. "You're killing me."
He laughed and whistled his way out of the office.
I stayed there until midnight and then went to the library to finish up an Arabic essay. I fell asleep curled up in a library chair and only made it home as the sun began to rise.
I had one of those days where time moves fast and slow at the same time—where you're so tired nothing really makes that much sense.
I was glad when it was over.
I texted David to see if he'd be coming back for dinner. He hadn't cooked on Fridays in a few weeks.
He used to respond to my texts instantaneously, but he'd only gotten back to me about needing a ride from the airport the day after. With apologies and emojis and something about being busy with Ben. But he didn’t write back to my text about dinner. So, I went into my room to write a thank you note to my interviewer, Cheryl.
I was worried about David.
Or maybe I just felt a little neglected. I chewed my lip. Maybe I was being selfish.
He was head-over-heels in love with Ben. Ben who had to keep his sexual orientation hidden. Ben who couldn’t afford to have anyone know. Ben who still hooked up with girls to keep up appearances. And David believed it was all necessary.
I knew I shouldn't judge, but I found it hard not to.
Ben could give just a little. He could stop with the girls, at least. If he was making David tone down his whole personality in public, then Ben could stop sleeping with girls.
After I’d written my thank you not, David finally got back to me. Sorry, have plans with Ben.
Jack was busy, too, at a rush event for his fraternity.
I ordered Chinese takeout, turned on reality TV, and felt sorry for myself. I put a stamp on my thank you note, and sighed.
The interview had gone well. They wanted a recent graduate with editorial experience. But, I couldn't get excited about it like I had about the Times job.
I reached for my laptop and impulsively fired off an email to Suzanne at the Times.
Dear Suzanne,
I just wanted to touch base with you and see if there were any other positions at the Times that might be opening up in the near future.
I hope to hear from you soon.
My best,
Hadley
I sent it before I could talk myself out of it.
Yes, it was desperate. But I was desperate, too. I knew what I wanted to do. I had spent almost every Friday night in college like this—alone and exhausted—I shouldn't give up just because I'd heard someone had said “no” once.
I fell asleep on the couch, in the way you fall asleep when you're exhausted, thickly, like dropping heavily into a dreamless cocoon of darkness.
Chapter Eighteen
Cheryl offered me the job while I walked back to the apartment on Saturday night. It was eight o'clock and I was sure the unknown number belonged to a telemarketer. But, it was her, working on a Saturday.
It made me think I really had no idea what I was getting into.
"Can I have a few weeks to think about?" I asked, fumbling with the keys. I was relieved. It was an option and a good one, but I was still holding out hope that I might get a job that I really wanted.
"Sure, take your time," Cheryl said. "We look forward to hearing from you."
I had not heard back from Suzanne. I suppose that was to be expected.
I unlocked the door, finally, and pushed into our apartment. The light to David's room was on, for the first time in days. Most of the time, when I came home, he'd gone to sleep or he'd gone to Ben's.
"David!" I shouted.
When he didn't call back, I walked into his room frowning. He must have left the lights on before he went out. I sighed, disappointed, and flicked them off.
And then I heard a sound, like whimpering. I turned the lights back on and crossed to his bathroom door.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to barge into anything in the shower, but it sounded like someone in pain. "Hey, David?" I called softly.
I knocked. “David?”
“Hadley?” he called back shakily.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, f-fine,” he said.
“You want me to come in?"
He didn’t say anything so I pushed open the door. He was hunched over the sink, pressing a blood-strained cloth to his mouth.
I darted across the bathroom. I put my hands on his back. “David,” I gasped.
One of his eyes was brimming with tears. The other was badly hurt, already swollen shut, concealing the robin’s egg blue of his iris that had startled me the first time I met him. “David,” I repeated. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“Honey…”
“Ben and I got into a fight.”
“He hit you?”
“We got into a fight,” David repeated, like this was different. His lip was split and he was bleeding from the gums.
“David,” I said. “You need to call the police.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Stay there. Here. Sit down," I said, kicking down the toilet seat and pushing him by the shoulders so he was sitting. "I'm going to call the cops. I'll be right back."
"Don't! Hadley, I’m serious. Stop. Please don’t, Hadley. We got into a fight. It was mutual. I’m not a girl.”
“I never said you were.”
“Well, it’s different.”
“No, it’s not different.”
“It’s completely different.”
“Nobody’s boyfriend should hit them,” I yelled at him, furious at the implication. “David! He beat the crap out of you.”
He swallowed thickly. “I said I was fine.” His voice broke as he said it and I instantly regretted raising my voice. “Can you please just help me?”
I sighed. “Just give me a second."
"Don't call the police, Hadley. I'm begging you."
"Okay. I won’t. I’m getting you ice.” I tried to collect my thoughts as I walked to the freezer. Don’t get emotional. He’s been attacked by someone that he’s in love with. Be logical and be firm and you can talk about it in the morning.
It all sounded fine in my head, but as I reached for a cloth to wrap the plastic bag of ice in, I wanted to stomp Ben bloody.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered to the refrigerator. “Stupid fucking asshole.”
I walked back to David’s room. He’d pulled off his blood-spattered shirt and sat on the toilet, shivering. I handed him the ice and went back into his room. I took his fleece to him, and helped him ease his aching shoulders into the sleeves.
“Thanks,” he whispered brokenly.
I clucked. I couldn’t help myself. “Come into the living room,” I said, pulling him up. “I’ll make you tea.”
I helped him onto the couch and flipped through the channels, looking for something that might make him smile. That would be hard. But I found a rerun of Make it Or Break It, a cheesy ABC Family show we’d been obsessed with our freshman year, when we were both clueless eighteen-year olds.
“Love this show,” he said softly.
I put on the kettle, drumming my fingers against the countertop. The silence was fraught with his fear and adrenaline. I wanted to take it away for hi
m. I made a cup of Chamomile with honey and brought it to him.
I sat down cross-legged next to him on our couch and he leaned against me, cradling the cup in his hands. “Thanks, Hadley.”
“Yeah, of course,” I said softly. I ran my fingers through his short hair. He’d cut it for Ben.
“I feel like an idiot,” he murmured.
“You’re not an idiot.”
“We just got into an argument,” he said softly. “I know what it looks like. But, it was just an argument.”
I swallowed. “What happened?” I asked as neutrally as I could.
“He hooked up with this girl,” he said. “I asked him—I asked him if he could stop doing that. He got upset.”
“And he hit you?”
He shrugged. “No. I tried to leave, and he wouldn’t let me. But I tried, physically, to go and he got pissed off and…” He swallowed and closed his eyes before he continued. “He tried to apologize. I wouldn’t let him.” He bit his lip. “But, it was, you know, we were both winding each other up. I just didn’t know he’d snap like that.”
“Your boyfriend isn’t allowed to hit you,” I said as firmly as I could. I thought he should know that already. I thought everyone knew that intrinsically. But he was insisting they’d had a fight, which was a totally different situation. Even though I didn’t see it that way. And I could already feel him tuning me out.
“David?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll talk to him,” David said. He shifted.
“Did you hit him back?” I asked.
“No, no,” he shook his head. He laughed softly and sadly. “You know me. I’m only verbally confrontational.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Dave, I know this seems like a fight to you. But you shouldn’t stay with someone who hits you. No matter how crazy about them you are.”
He didn’t say anything. He reached for his tea and took a sip. “It wasn’t like that, Hadley.”
“You keep saying that, but he hit you.”
“I know, but it was different.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Let me see your eye.”
He dropped the ice from his eye and winced at me. “How bad is it?” he asked in a small voice.
“It’ll be fine. Keep the ice on it.”
“He’s under a lot of pressure,” he continued. “And he’s afraid about the whole thing and I just picked something that bugged him to begin with. And, I don’t know. I couldn’t let it go.”
