The Fear That Divides Us

by M. N. Forgy

  “This is stupid,” I whisper, looking at my phone for the time. I don’t do dates, yet this is a date. Shane is a nice guy, but I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. Dates lead to feelings, which lead to love and ending in heartache. I look down at my black dress and black heels. What was I thinking, dressing up like this? I should have dressed in sweat pants or something unattractive. This is going to give him the wrong idea for sure.

  Just as I’m about to turn around and head back into the building, Shane pulls up in a red convertible. I wonder if he’s trying to compensate for the size of his penis with such a flashy car. I bite my lip trying to stifle the laughter rippling up my throat at the internal thought.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” he says. I step up to the car and slip into the passenger seat before he has the chance to get out. I don’t want him to open my door for me, or have the idea this is anything other than two colleagues going out for dinner. That’s it.

  “Where would you like to go?” Shane asks, shutting his door, twisting in his seat to look at me. As usual, his blond hair is combed back and he is wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and what looks like khakis. I can’t really tell in the dark car.

  “Me? You’re asking me?” I asked surprised, pointing to myself.

  “Yes. I had to bribe you into coming on this date in the first place, so where can I wine and dine you? Where will you feel most comfortable?” Shane questions, a smile crossing his face. “Hopefully not a supply closet,” Shane teases, making me laugh.

  I give him the address and he drives off. He’ll be pissed when he sees where I am taking us, but the place won’t give off a romantic vibe, or the idea I’m going to call him for a second date.

  ***

  “A coffee shop?” Shane questions, as he looks out the car window.

  “Hey, you said anywhere,” I laugh.

  “You really want to get rid of me, and quick,” he laughs, taking his gaze from the shop to me. His forehead creased in worry lines.

  “Come on, you can get a donut,” I tease, climbing out of the car.

  “Oh, can I?” Shane mocks.

  “You owe me another date, a real one where I pick,” he demands, his voice serious as he opens the door to the coffee shop.

  “No, the deal was a date. We’re on a date. No second dates were in this deal,” I remind him.

  “This is not a date. This is out for coffee, which we do in the break room. Therefore, you owe me a date,” Shane explains, smiling big.

  Well, this plan backfired.

  I sit on the soft tan couch in the back of the coffee shop as Shane grabs us some coffee. He knows how I like it, straight with two sugars. Actually, I’ll drink any kind of coffee, any which way; I love the stuff. I’m addicted and I could use help for the things I would do for a cup of coffee.

  “Just how you like it.” Shane sets the coffee down as he sits next to me on the couch, crossing his legs as he leans back.

  “So, Jessica, I have been working with you for a couple months and know hardly anything about you. Tell me about yourself.” He turns his head just slightly, pinning me with his brown eyes. I shift uncomfortably.

  Maybe the coffee shop wasn’t a good idea. I should have picked somewhere that allowed no talking, like a movie.

  “Not much to tell. I work and when I’m not working, I’m with my daughter,” I respond quickly, avoiding eye contact.

  “Hmm, I see,” Shane says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Where are you from?” he continues to question.

  I sigh and set my coffee down on the wicker table next to me. “Nevada.”

  “I see you’re not much for talking,” he says with a chuckle.

  “I just—”

  “It’s fine, Jessica. I know you’re not one to dive into your personal life. I know you better than you think though,” he says with a smile, lifting his right eyebrow.

  “You think so? And what do you know?” I ask, shrugging. He sets his coffee down on the table, taking a deep breath. This ought to be good, ‘cause I don’t even know myself.

  “I know you love sports,” he responds, looking at me, his brown eyes glistening with brightness that he thinks he has me figured out. “I know you love the color pink, and you hate company get-togethers,” he continues, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “How do you know all that?” I ask.

  He leans in close, too close, his lips brushing against my ear. “I have seen you sneak into the lounge to see the score of a football game,” he replies softly. “You are always wearing pink scrubs, and I never see you at company functions.”

  I pull my face from his, my cheeks flushing from the amount of blood pumping through my body from how close he is, but he’s wrong. I wear pink scrubs because they are the only ones that were in my size when I last went shopping. And I hate sports with a passion. That day I was in the break room, when he is referring to me sneaking off, I had heard they found a dead body in Nevada; it was all over the news in the surrounding states. I was scared to death of who that corpse may belong to, so I watched the news every chance I got that day. I live in constant fear that Travis’s body will be found. Fear of my past, fear that it may come forward and repeat itself. It turned out to be some judge who had gone missing due to Alzheimers. How they haven’t found a body that belongs to my ex-husband is beyond me. I guess the Devil’s Dust is that good, which is frightening.

  I give a weak smile at Shane and look across the coffee shop. A young couple, both with blond hair are snuggled closely together. The young, handsome guy’s whispering into the woman’s ear. Her face down, there’s a glow staining her cheeks. I notice her hand sliding up his leg under the table, sneaking a feel. They look so lost in one another, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. I look away, thumbing the top to my coffee. I don’t want love. It starts out like something out of a fairy tale sure, but it ends like a horror movie. I glance back up, watching the couple. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss those days of having butterflies and laughing over nothing from being so stupidly in love. The sudden thought of love consumes me, ravishing my mind. Sometimes, I wonder if I am in love with Bobby. The way he makes me feel when I am with him and how our bodies speak to one another when we have sex always stays with me. But then I remember what it feels like when your world is turned upside down; how it felt to run as the sun was rising, terrified. I quickly realize love is not a good thing, nor something I want to pursue with anyone.

  “I need to get home. I work tomorrow,” I state, standing up. My thoughts taking a turn for the worse, I suddenly feel uncomfortable.

  Shane smirks, and stands with me. “Right, well let’s get you home then. But I’m serious; you owe me a date.”

  Walking out of the coffee shop, a bright flash glares in my face making me wince and cover my eyes.

  “Get back!” Shane hollers in the direction of the blinding flashes, grabbing my hand, and yanking me forward. I look past the flashing and see a man with a camera, who’s frowning at Shane’s harsh tone.

  Shane opens the door to his car and shoves me in, before racing around, and getting in on the other side.

  “What was all that about?” I ask, my hands shaking from the excitement.

  “Who knows. Let’s get you home,” he replies, his body stiff and unfriendly. For the first time since I met Shane, he is not looking at me when he is talking to me, and his eyebrows are pinched together in frustration. He is lying. I can tell.

  I sigh. I just need to get home. This whole date was a big mistake. My nerves are on end, and I may throw up. My mind instantly coming to Bobby, wanting to seek comfort in something familiar.

  As soon as Shane drops me off at my apartment, I tell him goodbye and head toward the building. Not giving him the chance to ask to come up, or the ‘should we kiss’ awkwardness that might follow after going out with someone. I go inside and dig for another wine bottle in my cabinets, needing the comforting numbness it brings. I sigh and lower the bottle. Deep do
wn, I know I could just go find Bobby and he’d stifle the overwhelming loneliness that’s eating away at my conscience, but I know I shouldn’t.

  Bobby

  Small hands slide up my legs, waking me from my sleep.

  The familiar scent of coffee and perfume greet me: Jessica. I sit straight up, only to be knocked back onto my bed when Jessica plows herself into me. Her hands grasp the side of my face as her plump lips kiss mine feverishly. I wrap my hands around her back, and pull her onto me, my dick tightening knowing what’s to come. Jessica’s body does something to me, makes my dick crave for more. When Jessica and I are together, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Nothing from today or yesterday matters. It’s just us, delivering what the other needs… each other. Sliding her hands into my hair, she pushes herself closer. Her tongue darts into my mouth, deepening the kiss.

  This is Jessica 101: her sleeping with me has to be on her terms. I lay the charm on thick, yet she denies me on the spot. She does eventually come around, usually in the middle of the night.

  She pulls her body away from me, her hands cupping my cheeks.

  “Bobby.” She rests her forehead against mine, the smell of coffee and alcohol slipping from her breath.

  “Yeah,” I reply.

  “What do you know about me?” she asks, her voice giving off a sense of vulnerability.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” I ask, sensing something is off. I sit up, with her still in my lap. The light from the hallway skids underneath my door providing just enough glow to see her flushed face. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her eyes hold a sense of grief.

  “Just, tell me what you know about me,” she demands, her tone soft but stern. I rub my face and think about it, trying to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing.

  “I know you love coffee. You care about your daughter more than anything. You’re strong and take no shit.” I pause, trying to think about something personal, like a hobby. “I know you love to surf, love cherry cheesecake—”

  “Stop!” she demands, running her hand through my hair.

  “How do you know those things?” she asks, leaning into me, her lips brushing against mine. I close my eyes, and try to calm my anxious breathing.

  “You are always stealing my coffee; plus, you smell of it. You go to great lengths to keep your daughter safe, and I have seen the shit you have gone through to do it. I have had you in my bed with sun-kissed cheeks and the smell of salt lingering on your body, bruises etching your knees from when you have surfed that day, not to mention your surfboard is attached to your Jeep to confirm it. And when we have family parties, you always go straight for the cheesecake,” I explain, pulling her face to look at me. “I know you, Jessica Wren,” I mutter. I know most things about her, just not her darkest secrets. That’s what kills me. I want to know everything about her.

  She smashes her pouty lips against mine, her tongue greedy as it assaults my own. My hands slip from her waist to her thighs finding bare skin. I slowly slide my hands up and under her dress, my fingers teasing the hem of her panties. My cock throbs painfully, begging to be inside of her.

  I know I am not a good man. I have done plenty of things that would justify that. But the feeling I have with Jessica, the way her scent surrounds me and the comforting high I get from her warm skin against mine while we are together, makes everything seem as though I am finally in the right place; doing what I was meant to be doing. There’s no guns blazing, transactions of the club to be dealt with, or blood being shed. It’s raw emotion; Jessica bringing a side out of me I don’t get to experience near enough.

  She pulls her lips away, and her head lolls back as a seductive moan escapes her parted mouth.

  “Damn,” I growl. That sexy-ass mewl that escapes her mouth when she’s turned on does something to me. It unhinges me and any morsel of self-control I have. My only mission is to have her, be inside of her, and make her mine for the night.

  I dig my fingers into her thighs, rocking her clit against my hard cock. The only thing keeping me from being inside of her are my boxers and her dainty underwear.

  I slip my finger and thumb under the elastic of her panties, and tear them from her excited body. Our heavy breaths and the tear of the fabric echo through the dark room. The friction feels fucking amazing, causing me to clench my teeth.

  Her pussy parts, ready for me to take her, as it crosses the material of my boxers, sliding over my dick that’s sticking up under the thin fabric. She’s wet, the damp heat slipping through my boxers as she firmly rocks against me. My rough hands edge up her back, reaching for a way to remove her dress. I’m ready to take her.

  “It’s a zipper,” she tells me, her voice breathy and nearly incoherent.

  I find the zipper and pull it down, my hands sliding along her curves as the material loosens. I want to take my time, savor every second we have together, because I know hours from now, she’ll be gone. But it’s nearly impossible to take my time and go slow when all I want is to feel her body wrapped around mine as she whispers my name while she comes.

  She slips the straps of her dress off her shoulders, making it fall to her waist. I cup the back of her neck and lean my head down grazing the swell of her breast with my teeth, causing her breath to catch in her throat. My hands skim from her neck downward, before they glide across rough grooves; the scars that mar her perfect body. Her body stiffens, and she pushes herself off me. She pulls on my arm, hinting she is ready to be on the bottom.

  It’s the position Jessica usually demands when we have sex; she has to be on the bottom. She has these rules, or rituals, when we fuck. No lights, nothing but missionary so she is always on her back, and no asking why. Sex is still excellent with her; it’s the best actually.

  She pulls on my arm again, trying to get me to let her go so she can roll over. I stiffen my arms and look at her, wanting her to ride me, to let loose.

  “Bobby, I can’t, you know that,” she whispers. I trail my tongue along my upper lip, and nod.

  Whatever it is that keeps her from doing anything more adventurous than missionary, she won’t tell me. I’ve tried to get her to talk about it, but pushing her to discuss her scars, or try anything more than what she is comfortable with, causes bad memories. The pain that flashes across her face and the way her eyes take on that look of terror, it kills me, and that’s why I don’t push her. I am pretty sure it goes back to her husband, though.

  I flip Jessica on her back, my body hovering over hers. Her blonde hair spreads across the pillow as she looks up at me with heavy eyes. I grip the dress tangling around her waist and pull it down her legs. She leans up, grabs the elastic of my boxers hugging my hips, and pulls them down to my knees. I push her legs open with my hands and slide myself between them, resting my elbows on either side of her head. My dick finds her pussy quickly, and slides in with welcomed arousal. She’s the only chick I’ll let ride my dick without a condom. She’s the only girl I trust to be clean and she’s told me before that she’s on birth control. Her back arches off the bed and a sexy growl sounds from her chest. I lean down and pull her nipple into my mouth, the sweet taste of her skin gliding along my tongue.

  I thrust my hips hard, causing the bed to bang against the wall, and her to moan into the night air. She pushes her head back into the pillow and thrusts her hips up, eagerly wanting more.

  “Say it, Jessica,” I demand.

  “Say what?” she questions, as she pants for air.

  “Say you want more,” I reply.

  “I want more,” she drawls out, thrusting her hips again.

  I slam my dick into her hard. Her hands fly into my hair and tangle themselves, her legs wrapping around my waist as I begin to pound into her relentlessly. Her panting transforms into little moans as her body rocks with each of my thrusts. An electric pulse builds in my balls as my release rises. Her moans grow louder and animalistic as her legs squeeze my hips like a vise. She clamps her mouth closed trying to stifle the noise, and moans through her nose, givi
ng off a humming sound.

  I sit up, putting all my weight on my knees, and grab one of her breasts, fondling it. Her pussy grips my cock, her body thrashing around the bed, and her controlled moans are lost into a fitful of pleasurable cries. My balls squeeze tightly as pressure rips up my cock and spills out, making all the muscles in my body stiffen, causing me to growl while I come violently. My teeth grit as I pump into her a few more times, not wanting it to end. Her screams quiet as she falls against the mattress, breathing heavily, and I am following right behind her.

  I lay beside her and listen to her harsh breathing. Her blonde hair tangled along the pillow, and the smell of sex filling the air. My chest aches trying to catch my breath, my eyes heavy as they want to sleep, but I try and fight it. I hate how fucked up I get over Jessica, and hate it even more when I wake and she’s gone. Sometimes I wish she never came into the clubhouse looking to be saved. I wouldn’t know what I was missing if she never introduced me to the feeling of wanting someone so badly only not to have them fully. I look over at the girl who dumbfounds me, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she drifts off to sleep. Yet, I am fucking thrilled she picked my club to save her. One day, she’ll give into me.

  ***

  I wake up to the sun just beginning to rise, producing barely enough light to see around the room. I sit up and look beside me finding an empty bed. Only the creased sheets greet me, reminding me of the incredible sex we had. She’s gone. I fall back against the pillow and sigh, before closing my eyes and falling back to sleep.

  I finally wake up around noon and grab some jeans and a t-shirt to get dressed. Sliding my hands through my hair as an act of combing before entering the hall, I walk up to the bar, blinking my eyes rapidly trying to wake up.

  “You slept in late,” Hawk observes, his eyes squinted as he glares. His once peppered-colored hair and beard are starting to turn a vigorous white, a staining of old age. He’s fucking old as hell. I don’t even know how old. He is our treasurer, been here way before I came into the club.