For A Good Time, Call...

by Gadziala, Jessica

  “I could go...”

  “No,” I said immediately. Hell to the no. I was not dragging perfect, amazing Hunter into my fucked up past. I wasn't going to let him be there in case I lost my shit and started beating on someone trapped in a hospital bed. Or, worse yet, falling into a puddle of nothingness on the floor. I couldn't... wouldn't let him see me like that. The me I might be around my family might be nothing like the me he knew and cared about. I couldn't risk losing the way he looked at me. It mattered too much. “No,” I said again, less urgently. “Thank you, but I think this is something I should do alone.”

  “I get that,” he said, pulling me to him. “So when are you leaving?”

  That was a good question. From what Isaiah said, I didn't exactly have a lot of time. If I dawdled, I might miss my chance. I would need to get on a bus as soon as possible. “The first bus out I guess.”

  I felt him sigh against my hair. “I think I might miss you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, breathing him in.

  “Yeah, but you know...” he said, his voice trailing off, sounding way too amused given the circumstances.

  “I know what?”

  “Well you seem to have this particular line of work that makes a situation like this much more tolerable.”

  “Oh,” I said, trying to hide the smile in my voice. “You need a pair of panties to hold you over, huh?”

  He chuckled, reaching town and swatting my ass. “No, I'm good on that front. But keep that phone of yours charged. And be prepared for a big bill.”

  “You know phones don't really work that way anymore,” I teased.

  “Shut up, you're ruining the moment,” he said, his hands squeezing my ass before sliding up toward the waistband of my pants and slowly pulling them down.

  “What moment is that?” I asked, stepping obediently out of the legs.

  “The one where I give you something to remember me by,” he said, reaching for my shirt and pulling it up. He dropped my shirt to the floor, standing back and looking at me for a long time. Long enough to make me shift uncomfortably, to want to cover myself. Then he reached to pull his own shirt off, followed by his pants. “Alright,” he said, nodding, clapping his hands once.

  “Alright?” I asked, my brows drawing down. “Alright what?” I asked, expecting him to reach for me.

  He stepped back, waving toward his body. “You'll remember this,” he said, looking pleased with himself.

  “Oh, gee,” I smiled. “I don't know. I may have seen better,” I said, shrugging and started to walk away.

  His arm reached out and grabbed me, pushing me forward against the counter. I felt his cock slide between my legs, stroking my slick heat. “Have you... felt better too?” he asked, sounding hoarse.

  My hands slapped down on the counter top, the cold shocking against my overheated skin. A million times no. Nothing. No one could ever feel as good as he did.

  “I don't know,” I said, biting my lip to keep from groaning.

  I expected him to pull back and slam deep inside me. I was bracing for that. For that powerful surge of lust. That was what I had come to expect from Hunter. Wild abandon. But he pulled slowly away and stroked forward again, the tip of his cock brushing over my clit. Soft, gentle. Over and over. “You don't know?” he asked.

  All I wanted was for the teasing to end, to feel him inside. To feel us both lose control. But I balled my hands into fists and shook my head. “It's hard to tell,” I said.

  “Hmm,” he said, pulling away from me and I had to fight not to beg him to come back. “Well,” he said a long couple of seconds later, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around. His hands brushed down over my breasts then slid around my back, grabbing my ass and pulling me up off my feet.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs going to the sides of his hips as he walked, finally pressing me back against the wall. “Has anything felt better than this?” He asked, reaching between us and bringing his cock to my entrance, pushing against it for a second before pressing in, but only slightly.

  My head fell backward and I let out the groan I had been holding in for what felt like ages. “I'm not sure yet,” I whimpered, trying to push further down on him, but his hands were on my hips, holding my hard against the wall.

  “Well I guess it's always wise to gather all the evidence before making a decision,” he said, leaning down and kissing me until I forgot all about him inside me, until all I could focus on was his lips and tongue and the strange lightness in my chest.

  And then he pushed forward, quickly but achingly gently and I cried out against his lips. Once fully inside, he stilled and continued his exploration of my lips. Like he was trying to press the memory into my skin. As if I could ever forget.

  Every inch of me was clinging to him as if I wanted him to sink into my skin, as if I wanted to sink inside his. Like I would never be satisfied until I did.

  It was fucking terrifying.

  “Hunter...” I whimpered out, not sure what I was saying or what I was asking. Did he feel it too? Was I alone in the scary new sensation?

  He pulled back slightly, looking at me with his gorgeous blue eyes for a second before finally slowly withdrawing out of me and pushing back in. Then there was no more thinking. Just feeling. Just him and his delicious, frustratingly slow pace and my body pulling him, trying to drive us both upward but in an unhurried way. Like I had all the time in the world to get there, like it was something that would add to the experience, but wasn't the only reason we were doing it.

  I leaned forward, burying my face in his neck as I felt my body pushing toward the peak, a sensation of being pulled downward until I burst up, whimpering his name into his skin.

  “I'll remember you,” I said as he came, holding him tighter. It was a promise. A vow.

  Eighteen

  It felt wrong. That all I could think after Hunter slipped out of my apartment. The door closing had felt like a pain in my chest. He said he would call, kissed me almost chastely, then was gone. I stood there dumbly for a few minutes, staring at the door, before turning to go check bus schedules.

  Because I wasn't the girl who pined over guys. I wasn't that pathetic. Nope. Not me. But even as I typed into my computer, his face kept popping into my mind.

  I got up and went to my closet, trying to decide what to pack. What do you wear to go face the man who made your life a living hell after four years away? What can you wear that is a slap in the face to his opinions on how a woman should dress as a silent 'fuck you'? But, also at the same time, be somewhat respectful of the fact that your visiting someone dying in a hospital?

  Eventually, I packed a few outfits and set aside the one I would be wearing: a skintight, knee-length black pencil skirt and a form-fitting pale pink scoop-neck, three-quarter length sleeve shirt. Low black heels. I showered, fixed my hair, applied a little makeup, grabbed my purse and suitcase and headed down to the bus stop.

  I could smell Hunter's cigarettes as I walked out of the building. I knew he was out on the balcony smoking but I refused to let myself look back. If I looked back, I might run back. And that couldn't happen. I pulled my shoulders back and kept walking, a lump the size of a fist in my throat.

  The bus ride was long and nerve-wrecking. I tried to keep myself focused, calm. It was a couple hours. That was all I needed to get through and I could jump on the next bus back to the city. I was the one in control for once.

  But that didn't stop the rolling in my stomach, the tension headache, the sensitivity to loud noises around me. It didn't stop the ghosts of the past creeping in.

  The bus led to a hotel which led to a cab which dropped me off outside of the massive, sprawling white and sparkling window building. I looked up at it, feeling small. Feeling, irrationally, that if I went in there, that I would never get out.

  I took a deep breath and moved into the revolving door toward reception. I was almost done.
Getting there was the worst part. Getting there was full of all the anxiety, the fear. This would be a couple minutes. Say my peace. Leave. I could leave at any time. No one could stop me.

  The elevator dropped me off on the floor. I walked onto the worn, but pristine linoleum floor, my heels making a clicking noise that sounded deafening to my own ears. One of the nurses in deep purple scrubs, looked up and offered me a small smile.

  “Fiona Mary?” My grandmother's voice called, shrill and disbelieving. She rose up out of her chair outside of my father's room, dressed in a simple but expensive gray pantsuit with a single round diamond at her throat. Her perfectly died ash-blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a chignon. Everything about Joanna Meyers screamed simple, sophisticated elegance. She had the house and car to match her wardrobe.

  “Grandmother,” I said, my voice as cold and betrayed as I felt.

  It had been a long time since I saw her. Two years. I had still been sporting the dark brown I had dyed my hair that year, and wearing nothing but thrift store baggy men's clothes, desperately trying to disconnect from my old self. My face had been burned and I was gaunt thin from living on the streets.

  I had been a mess.

  It had taken me eight months after getting a roof and food to slip back into my more natural state. I stripped my hair, I put on some weight, and I bought clothes that fit. I put myself together.

  She had only seen me when I was still in pieces.

  “You're here,” she said, sounding like she was in complete shock.

  “I'm here,” I agreed, inclining my head slightly. “Wasn't that the intention when you sent Isaiah to break into my apartment?”

  “He broke into your apartment?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  “Oh yeah we had a... nice little reunion,” I said, feeling the nurses eyes on us. The tension made the air thick and sharp. Like at any moment, someone might lose a limb.

  “That explains his dour mood since he returned,” she said.

  “How dare you?” I started, walking closer so I could lower my voice. “We had a deal.”

  “I might be a lot of things, Fiona Mary,” she said, lifting her chin much the same way I did and I wondered fleetingly if that was where I had picked up that habit. “but I am not stupid. When your father passes on to Heaven, you will have no reason to keep calling me. So I really didn't have anything to lose by giving Isaiah your address.” There was a certain sadness in her voice when she said I would stop calling her, like she would genuinely miss it.

  I exhaled my held breath through my nose and shook my head. “You know, Grams,” I started. “if you had just once cared about me... not as your son's daughter, not as a soul that needs to be saved, just me as a person... I would have happily kept in touch. I don't have anyone else. But all you want is submission and obedience. And I'm not your fucking puppy,” I growled, watching her face jerk back like I had struck her.

  A shadow moved from the room behind her, coming out into the hall. “What is all the racket out here... Fiona Mary,” Isaiah said, looking surprised. He was ragged, his eyes heavy and red. He looked past me, over my shoulder with a look of trepidation.

  “Don't worry,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn't bring him.”

  “Bring who?” Grams asked, perking up. “you told me you didn't have any respectable gentlemen in your life.”

  “Well,” I said, smiling wickedly. “he's not respectable. And he's certainly not a gentleman,” I added.

  A strange look came over my grandmother's face then, a light in her green eyes that almost seemed amused. “Have you... sinned with him?” she asked, only sounding half-concerned as she usually did about the idea.

  “In every every room and every position,” I agreed and one of the nurses coughed to cover her laugh.

  “Well,” Grams said, waving a hand. “God will forgive you of that. He wouldn't have been so forgiving of you not saying your last respects to your dying father.”

  “Respect wasn't what I came here to give him,” I said, taking a deep breath. “But I promise I wont pinch his IV lines,” I said, winking at the nurses. There was a pained silence that I finally broke. “Is he awake?” I asked, looking at Isaiah.

  “Yeah,” he said, watching me like he was trying to study me. Like there was something about me that confused him.

  “Good,” I said, moving toward the door. “I can get this over with then,” I saw my grandmother moving to step in behind me and I blocked the doorway. “I can handle this alone,” I said firmly then went inside and slammed the door.

  There was a curtain pulled, blocking his bed from view but I could hear his machine beeping and his breathing, raspy and slow. I leaned back against the door, taking a deep breath. The encounter with my grandmother had bolstered my confidence a bit. I could do this. I could walk over there and dish it out as much as I used to have to take it.

  I took a long, slow breath, pushed off the door and walked around the curtain. To say it was a shock would be the biggest understatement of my life. My memories of him were like that of a child: he seemed huge, imposing, powerful. But there he was, completely swallowed up by the bed, his body swimming in it's hospital gown. He looked old and frail.

  At the sound of my heels, he turned expecting, I imagined, to see my grandmother. His eyes squinted for a second, uncomprehending before they went wide. “Fiona Mary,” he said, reaching for the button that slowly bent his mattress upward. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well your mother thought it was important enough for me to be here that she broke our deal and sent your son up to see me.”

  “Isaiah? Isaiah was up in that god-forsaken place?”

  “Yup. Plenty of things to see to pervert his mind on his way to my apartment,” I agreed.

  “I'm dying,” he said, sounding very matter-of-fact about it.

  “Yes, you are,” I nodded, putting my purse down on the windowsill.

  “So you're here to make amends?” he asked, nodding. “For all the heartbreak you have caused this family?”

  “Not even close,” I said, watching as his jaw tightened. That was always how it started. If you watched him close, the anger would start in his jaw. Then he would flush. And his eyes would turn to slits. His fist would clench. I spent a lot of time watching him when I was growing up.

  “Then why are you here?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

  “Closure,” I said, shrugging a shoulder. “To show you that you didn't break me. I know that was always the plan.”

  “Willful,” he spat the word like it was a curse. “you were always so willful. Like your mother.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, glad for the comparison. “I haven't purposely set the living room on fire yet. But I'm still young.”

  “Purposely,” he repeated, looking perplexed.

  “Oh, you didn't think it was an accident, did you?” I laughed, the sound taunting. “It seemed Mom had a bit of a problem with you mutilating her only daughter.”

  “It was discip...”

  “It was child abuse,” I cut him off, my voice raising enough to make him shut his mouth. “It was child abuse. You were a predator who hid behind his bible. You were a weak and pathetic man...”

  “You ungrateful shrew,” he started, his face turning bright red. “Coming in here dressed like a common street whore and throwing your city ideas around like know more than your father...”

  “Listen,” I said, glancing out of the window, watching the night take hold across the sky. “I know there is no making you see how evil you were,” I said, holding up a hand when he went to speak. “What you did was evil. And you can resolve that with your god. But I don't forgive you. For what you did to me and to my mother. Even for the way you have warped Isaiah. I just needed to tell you that before you died and I didn't get the chance to,” I said, grabbing my purse off the windowsill and walking toward the door.

  “You'll burn in hell for this,” he ye
lled as I opened the door, making everyone in the hall look at me.

  “As long as you're not there,” I called back, slamming the door. Outside, Isaiah looked like he was in genuine pain and my grandmother's mouth had fallen open. “I'm assuming that wasn't what you had in mind when you told me to come here,” I said, looking at her. “But, damn, it felt good.”

  I walked out of the building feeling ten pounds lighter than I had when I went in. That was what closure felt like: lightness. Like weight that had been holding you down had finally been lifted.

  I walked down a few blocks to wait for a cab out front of a coffee shop. It was done. I had done it. I had faced the person who made me wake up screaming when I tried to sleep at night, the person who made me carve into my skin, the one who made me look for answers at the bottom of empty bottles.

  Maybe I would never be completely free of him. Maybe I could never be as whole and well adjusted as the average person. But maybe I wouldn't have to spend my life inches from self-destruction. Maybe I could build a life that didn't revolve around trying to avoid my past. Maybe I could sleep at night and have healthy relationships.

  Hunter. I could be with Hunter.

  I grabbed a coffee, checking my phone with the silly hope that maybe he had called or texted. I had only left him a few hours before. It would have been too soon for a call or text. For all he knew, I hadn't even arrived yet, let alone arrived and had my last words.

  The cab took half an hour to take me back to my hotel where I paced around my room in endless circles, feeling too anxious to sleep.

  I could have just taken another bus back to the city. Been done with the town I had tried desperately to escape from. But as I sat down on my bed, slipping my feet out of my shoes, I had to admit that things didn't feel finished. I didn't know why even as I slipped out of my shoes and under my covers, but I knew I couldn't leave yet.

  –

  I woke up the next morning, and before my eyes even opened, I knew what I had to do. I had to go back. To the woods. To the shack I grew up in. I had to face the nightmares that were caused by living in those walls. I needed to look at it from the eyes of a survivor, not a victim.