Bittersweet Symphony

by J. L. Beck

  “Since when do you evade questions?” We stare at one another, her fist clenching in anger. It’s almost turning me on. Almost.

  “Since when did you start caring about anything other than pussy?” Her voice is growing louder with every question that escapes her lips, and right now, the word “pussy” coming out of them is hot as fuck. Then it hits me that she insulted me, and that pisses me off.

  “Since you, Kennedy. Call me crazy to care for more than just “pussy”, and please prove me wrong if I am wrong, but I think we both need a friend.” I try to hide my cocky ass attitude, but can’t help it. It’s part of the asshole side of me.

  “I don’t need a friend,” she says shyly. I won’t call her bluff; she’s going through enough, and it would be unfriend-like of me to do such a thing.

  “We can agree to disagree, sweetheart, but you’re not leaving until you open that pretty mouth and tell me what the fuck happened.”

  “Do you always swear?” she asks.

  “Yes. Do you always not answer questions?” I’m kind of getting irritated that she gets under my skin the way she does.

  “Do you always ask so many questions?” Her face is filled with less anger and more happiness.

  “Basically. Now talk or you’re not getting any ice cream.” Her eyes light up at the mention of ice cream. Just when I think she’s finally going to open up, a knock sounds on the door. She looks at the door and then back at me. Oh, this is going to be good.

  I make my way over to the door, opening it just in time since Rex is about ready to barrel through it.

  “Dude, what the fuck took so long to answer the door? Beating your meat are ya?” he jokes. I open the door wide, making room for him to walk in. A light giggle is heard behind me. Rex gazes over my shoulder to find a giggling Kennedy.

  “Uhh…who is she?” he asks, clearly confused by the fact that there is a chick in my living room and her legs aren’t spread wide. I only bring girls home for one reason, and Kennedy being dressed is a sign that there is a problem.

  “Kennedy, meet Rex. Rex, Kennedy.” They look at each other, Rex more so astonished. I know somewhere along the line, Kennedy has heard about Rex and Jenna. Kennedy doesn’t know the extent of my feelings for Jenna back then, but I am over it now. Those feelings and memories were swallowed up by countless women and copious amounts of liquor. So what? Don’t judge. Everyone goes through a mid-life crisis at some point; mine was just really early.

  “Nice to meet you, Rex,” Kennedy says, trying to hide the fact that she was crying. I don’t know why she tried; he can tell. Hell, anyone can tell. Guess she is just too strong to show weakness.

  “Well, this is a shock,” Rex says, his eyes looking at mine. I shrug my shoulders. So what? It’s not that big of a deal that a girl is here to actually just be here. I can turn over a new leaf.

  “He doesn’t typically bring girls here for more than one purpose, I’m assuming,” Kennedy butts in. I look at her, shooting daggers. Just because it’s known that I fuck everything with tits and ass, doesn’t mean I want Kennedy to know. It doesn’t mean I want to boast about it in front of her, either.

  Rex doesn’t respond to her comment, thank God; instead, he sends her a smile and averts his attention back to me.

  “Are we still hanging out? Or… I can go, bro. I can come back a little later.”

  I contemplate my decision wisely. I want to hang out with Rex, but I desperately need to protect and watch out for Kennedy.

  “Oh! No worries, Rex, I was just getting ready to leave…” Kennedy exclaims, readying herself to run for the door. She’s a smart girl, but I’m smarter.

  “Actually, Kennedy has a few things going on with her, and I plan on helping her out. Maybe you can swing by a little later,” I say, trying to form some type of non-creeper smile. I wrap my arm around Kennedy before she can make it to the door. She keeps quiet, and I know I’ve won this.

  “Oh, okay. I’ll go hangout with Mimi and Jenna,” he responds, giving me a concerned look as he leaves. I can’t help but wonder why he is concerned; I’m not going to hurt Kennedy. Maybe it’s the fact that a girl is here to begin with or maybe because I want to spend time with Kennedy, and for the first time ever, Rex knows what it’s like to be blown off by his brother.

  “That is totally un-fucking-needed,” she snarls, pulling out of my arms.

  “What? When I said you weren’t leaving until I got answers, I meant it. Now start speaking.” I hold my arrogant asshole tone in place. I refuse to be weak around her. When I told her that allowing someone in is just asking for headache, I wasn’t lying. Give someone your heart and nine times out of ten, it will get broken. Promises are made in the moment and never truthfully lived up to. You can’t promise to love someone your whole life - people change, life changes, and people die. It’s easier and better this way.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Ryder.” Her eyes glaze with fresh tears as she peers at the floor from her seated position. My steps eat up the short distance between us.

  “How about if you tell me something, I will tell you something? A secret for a secret.” I want to warm up to her, so she knows she can talk to me about anything and everything. I am willing to spill a couple secrets to find out some of hers.

  She watches me, hesitating as her lips purse at me. I can see her thinking; her nose crinkles and forehead wrinkles as she tries to determine if I’m playing her or not. Her emotions are scattered, and I know trust isn’t something she gives out often. Trust is to allow someone in, to give someone something that’s capable of being broken. She and I are more alike than we thought.

  Kennedy

  He watches me intently, waiting for me to spill my guts to him. My deepest, darkest secrets. His eyes pull me in, wrapping me in a lush, green blanket.

  “There’s no reason to be scared of me, Kennedy. I would never ever hurt you, nor would I ever allow someone else to do so. I know it’s hard to believe, even more so coming from a guy like me, but you can trust me. I swear.”

  I almost want to laugh, and I almost do. Trust, coming from someone who told me the other day that allowing others in leads to nothing but heartache. What does he know about trust? Nothing, he knows nothing. Suddenly, the anger I had towards what Sam did is now directed at Ryder.

  “What do you know about trust, Ryder? You’re the one always speaking in poetry riddles and shit. Blah, blah, blah, heartache, and all that crap. Tell me what is it that you know about trust?” I’m spewing hate, and I know it. My words are like a slap to his face, and if I were him, I would’ve already kicked me out.

  “Trust…” he says the word like it’s not something that he says often, as if it’s foreign to his tongue.

  “Yeah, trust. That thing we both know you have for no one. That thing you’re speaking about right now even though you have no experience with it.” I’m angry and sad, and I just want to be left alone.

  His body leans into mine more, crowding me into the couch. A dark look passes on his face, and I can see him trying to keep his emotions in check. I can see him trying not to unleash the beast on me.

  Strangely though, I want him to. I want him to let me in, so I can tear down all of this walls.

  “Trust is something I had a very long time ago. Something that was kicked, punched, and yelled out of me. To trust someone is freedom. When you’re a child you trust your parents to love you and protect you, but what happens when they don’t, Kennedy?” Ryder’s breath is hot on my face as his words hit me. The coldness, anger, hate, and distaste are evident in every single word he speaks. I should be scared, but I’m not.

  “I trusted my dear, ole dad to be the man of the family, to protect me, and teach me the ropes. But, he taught me more that.” His voice takes on a sinister tone, and I feel a shudder run through me as his finger wraps around a lock of my hair.

  “When someone beats you, takes away your choices, and forces you to do things you don’t want to, you lose trust. You lose hope, and you lo
se the idea of love. I don’t believe in fairytales, Kennedy… but if I did… If I fucking did, it would be with you. “

  One single tear escapes my eye, all the emotions of what he went through swarm me. I feel absolute guilt for the things I just said to him moments ago.

  “I… I…I’m sorry, Ryder. I didn’t know. I swear if I did, I wouldn’t have ever said such things.” With our faces so close, I can feel the heat in his stare, the passion that he feels deep down inside.

  “I don’t want your pity; just remember next time you assume someone doesn’t know something, think about where they may have come from. Assumptions are nothing but judgment. Ask questions, and if you don’t get an answer, imagine walking in their shoes for a day.” The anger vibrates off of him in waves as he stands up and stalks off into the kitchen. I hear the banging of cupboard doors and drawers shutting. A moment or two later, he appears in front of me with a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

  I take the bowl in my hands, watching him as he takes the seat next to me. Is he bipolar? Literally a moment ago he was pissed, now he’s all lucky charms and crap.

  “Is this a peace offering or does it have cyanide in it?” I joke. The spoon clanks in the dish loudly as he drops it in surprise.

  “Do I look as if I would poison you?” Right then and there I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, but as I let out a weak laugh, I can tell he’s serious.

  “It was a joke, jerk, learn to take one.”

  “Word to the wise, sweetheart, I don’t do jokes,” he declares all matter of factly and shit.

  “Word to the wise, Ryder, you need to learn to.” He eyes me and then bursts out laughing. His smile is genuine, and a warmth fills me as the conversation fills with a small amount of happiness. I don’t know all of his secrets, but I know enough to know that whatever happened in his past broke him the same way mine broke me.

  “Your turn,” he says, his attention back on his bowl of ice cream. I watch him as he swirls the spoon in the creamy goodness and then dips it in his mouth, licking the spoon in a more than rated R way. Lucky fucking spoon.

  “Mine is way too long of a story, it would bore you and then you would fall asleep and your ice cream would go to waste and… just no,” I ramble, unable to form a coherent thought. I want to be that spoon…

  My spoon glides across the bottom of my bowl, gathering a glob of the minty mass. I shove it into my mouth quickly, relishing the minty, creamy goodness. I let out a loud moan; the taste is amazing. When I open my eyes, I realize Ryder saw the whole thing, and now he probably thinks I make out with spoons in my free time.

  His eyes are wide and hooded. I realize the effect I have on him, and the one he has on me. I know that if we allowed these feelings to grow that they would eventually grow into a wild, fiery inferno burning everything in its path.

  We’re both too damaged for love, or at least I am. I have faith, and I believe in love, but I need someone to equal me out. I think we both know that taking that step forward is more dangerous than anything. Plus, I hate to admit it, but Ryder is right: if I let him in, I know he could rip me to shreds. It’s impossible for the unloved to know how to love.

  “Do you always watch people lick their spoons?” I ask, dipping my spoon back into the bowl for some more sugary goodness.

  “Do you always lick spoons like that?” he retorts.

  “Normally, yes.”

  “Tell me, Kennedy, has Sam always bullied you?” Wow, that’s a fast subject change and not something I really want to talk about. Then again, bullying isn’t really the word I would use, more like harassed or tortured or made my life a living hell.

  “No, not really,” I lie.

  “So why does he find amusement in doing it then?” He’s asking questions he wants answers to, and from the determination in his eyes I know he’s going to push with everything he’s got.

  “Probably because he’s an asshole who gets off on hurting people.” That’s only partially true. Anyone who does what Sam does, does it because of their own insecurities. Plus, he has wanted me since the beginning of time. We used to be best friends; I still know things about him that no one else does. Some things never leave you.

  “Oh, I know he’s an asshole. What I don’t know is why he’s like that to you.” His eyes are prying, his words like daggers to the squishy walls that surround me. I contemplate telling him something, even if it’s little, only because he opened up to me.

  “We used to be best friends. He’s wanted me since grade school, but as we got older, he wouldn’t stop and eventually tried to have his way with me. He’s tortured me every day since, never trying to touch me again, just insulting my every movement.” My sentences slip out with ease, and I can feel the pressure coming off of me in layers. As soon as I get the courage to meet Ryder’s eyes, I wish I hadn’t. There’s an anger so red hot, that I slowly push away from him.

  “He touched you as in… rape… he raped you?” he asks as if baffled by the thought.

  “No. It never got that far, thank God; he just touched me. He would squeeze my boob in passing or slap my ass. He would push me and shove me. It was verbal, physical, and emotional abuse. I thought coming here would free me of my past, but it seems to have locked me in a deeper hell.”

  “I don’t fucking care if his dick went in you or not, or if his finger touched you. If you told him no to anything, then any unwanted touching is the same as rape to me. When a woman says no, it means no; obviously someone needs to teach him a lesson.” Ryder’s anger is boiling over, and I’m afraid if I don’t say or do something, he will walk out the door.

  “It’s okay, Ryder. You don’t need to fight my battles for me,” I say, trying to soothe him.

  He looks at me as if I’m bat shit crazy. He jaw clenches and his fists tighten. The cords in his neck and the muscles in his arms constrict, and I feel like I’m about to watch a volcano blow.

  “I didn’t think….” I mumble, staring at the ground.

  “Leave,” he grits out. I automatically look up in complete shock. Did he just…

  “What?”

  “Leave! Get out! Go!” he yells, pointing to the door. I don’t stand there one more second before leaving; my mind completely blown by what just happened. I confided in him and he told me to leave. He let me down, breaking that tiny shred of trust I gave him. Guess he knows more about trust than I thought. I can’t help but let the tears escape my eyes. They ease the pain of my slowly beating heart.

  Ryder

  My fist pounds into the punching bag over and over again as the sweat pools down my face. I force myself not to call or text her to make sure she’s okay. She told me her feelings, and I told her to leave. I shoved her out the door, breaking our freshly paved bond.

  It’s not her fault though, I am so angry by what she said about that douchebag did to her, how he touched her. It caused an eruption of something in me, made worse by her trying to be protective. That beautiful, abused girl tried protecting the bully.

  I can feel the skin of my knuckles cracking and the burn in my back and arms, but I push through it. It’s either this or find fuck-face and beat him into next year, and I don’t think Rex wants to come and bail me out of jail.

  I pull myself off the punching bag and wrap a towel around my face to wipe the sweat away. I need a shower like no other. I make my way to the back of the gym and into the locker room. It’s quiet and calming, just what I need with all the shit running through my mind.

  Turning the water on, I wait for the area to steam a little before getting in. I rip off my work out gear and jump in. I let the water beat on my face and chest for a while, pondering if I should go to Kennedy and apologize. I know there is no way I can live without her in my life. I share something with her that I share with no one else. To most people that might seem like nothing, but to me it is huge. It is everything.

  Turning around, I reach for the soap; just as my hand lands on the bottle, I feel a hand land on my shoulder. I look
down and notice the perfectly polished, red fingernails.

  “Chelsea,” I hiss out. It’s been awhile since I’ve slept with anyone. I have been trying to be a good boy and keep my dick out of everything with a hole, because it shamed me to associate myself with Kennedy while doing such disgraceful things. But right now, Chelsea’s hand was looking awfully nice along with her mouth which was turned up in a sneaky smile. She knew exactly where to find me. This interaction in this very shower stall has happened on numerous occasions.

  “I want you,” she purrs. Her nails dig into my shoulders. Chelsea isn’t ugly; she’s beautiful in her own way. She’s no K, but she has something going for her.

  “How badly?” I ask, tempting her. I want to see her beg. She knows how I like it, and I won’t give her shit if she doesn’t give me what I want.

  “So bad… “she replies, gripping my cock in her hand. Her grip is tight just how I like, and I reach out to reward her with my touch.

  “I’ve fingered myself with the image of you pounding into me from behind.” Of course she has, I know how she likes it too.

  “Knees, now. I don’t have any condoms on me, sorry,” I say giving her a wink, hoping it’ll lower the blow. She’s never walked away from giving me a blow job, and I know she won’t now. A satisfied smile plays on her lips as she settles herself onto the tiled floor.

  Her hand grips my balls, and I groan. Fuck, it’s been way too long. The moment she hears my groan, her lips descend over my dick. My hands grab her hair, and all I can picture is Kennedy’s sunshine blonde hair, and her blue eyes pleading with me to pump into her mouth faster. My eyes pop open immediately as I try and get the visions of Kennedy’s pink lips wrapped around my throbbing dick out of my mind.

  Chelsea takes me deeper into her mouth, making sure to hit that spot I like so much. My fingers dig harder than needed into her hair as I pump with all my might. The blissfulness takes over as I feel myself floating, my legs tingling, and I feel above myself. I feel Chelsea’s tongue swirling over my cum as she chugs every ounce down. That alone turns me on enough to give one last push. But just as I close my eyes, images of Kennedy assault me again.