Vérité

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Chasing me back to my dorm, he stopped along the way to tease and taunt me with kisses and little nips at my neck. “You ready for me . . . forever?”

  We tumbled through my front door, peeling off our clothes as we made it back to the bedroom before Tiberius said, “Gotta slow things.”

  He took his time, taking off my bra and now-soaked boy shorts before spreading me on the bed in front of him. He dragged my body to the edge of the bed and knelt in front of me, sliding his tongue along me. It was slow and teasing, but I liked it. He was working me up, and I felt each touch of the tip of his tongue. When he finally flicked against where I wanted, I arched my back off the bed, wanting more.

  “Oh, Ty,” I moaned, and he picked up the pace. He may not have had a lot of women before me, but Tiberius was completely in tune with my body. Maybe that’s what happened when it meant something.

  I came on a string of moans and whimpers, and then I was pushed up to the pillows, Tiberius looming over me. I lifted my head and caught a glimpse of him stroking himself two or three times before diving inside me. Every nerve frazzled and sparked as he entered me. I felt each stroke, every movement, and I wanted to savor each one like an ice cream on a hot day.

  “Feels so good, T,” he whispered across my cheek while he was deep inside me, moving leisurely. He kissed me, the remnants of my orgasm fresh on his lips. “So good,” he said as he nudged his shadowed face across mine, the short hairs of his scruff catching my smooth skin.

  I cried out as he started moving faster. “Tiberius, yes, more. Faster, bébé.”

  “English, Rex,” he muttered.

  “Faster, baby,” I demanded, and he obliged.

  We both held off as long as we could, taking every last ounce of pleasure before we came together. After we cleaned up, Tiberius said, “I can’t move, I’m exhausted, girl. Wanna stay here tonight, and Trey’ll get us in the morning?”

  “’Kay. I have to send an e-mail in the morning to Lindsay about some stuff to review over the break. Can you believe she’s paying me to FaceTime with her on Saturday and Sunday so she can prepare for finals? The girl’s nuts.” I giggled.

  “For her man,” he added.

  “But I don’t know if it’s from a good place. More like she’s worried about him finding someone else while he’s abroad, or doesn’t trust him,” I mumbled as I snuggled into him. There were some advantages to my smaller bed, like being closer.

  “You know that’s not me?” Tiberius said out of nowhere.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m not looking at ball babies—”

  I had to interrupt him with a laugh. The whole notion of ball babies was so funny to me. Then again, with my past, I shouldn’t make jokes.

  “Or girls in other places.”

  “I know, Tiberius. I know, babe,” I said, then stroked my hand down his arm and let it settle across his abdomen before I fell asleep.

  “Oh shit, don’t do that!” Stacy’s shrill voice carried through the hall.

  Groggy, I opened my eyes to hear some male grumbling that I couldn’t exactly make out before Chey screamed bloody murder. “Don’t you fucking manhandle my roommate. Get the fuck outta here, old man!”

  I started to crawl toward the end of the bed to grab some clothes and see what was happening when someone burst through my door.

  “Tingly!” He stopped and surveyed the scene, his eyes widening before he spoke again. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck did you do this time? Goddamn, I flew here to try and get your life back on track, just to see you made an even bigger fucking mess of it!”

  “Dad?” was all I could make out. I hadn’t even felt or noticed Tiberius sit up behind me, looping his arms around me and pulling the blanket higher to cover my nakedness.

  “Sir? Could you give us a minute to get decent?” Tiberius asked.

  My father, Colt Simmons, standing here in the flesh and blood, was someone no one asked for a minute. He shook his head while fuming at us. “No, I certainly cannot. Get the hell out of my daughter’s room. She’s expecting someone else,” he roared.

  Who else?

  Just then, I heard more commotion at the door. Stacy and Chey were swearing up a storm. Thank God, sweet Ginny was still out. She would have no clue what to do with a scene like this.

  “Colt?” I heard my mom yell. “Honey, we’re here!”

  And then standing in my doorway were my mom and Pierre.

  For Pete’s sake. Peet’s Coffee. Phillip Phillips.

  I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand to make sure I wasn’t seeing a mirage, but Pierre was actually there. He looked rumpled and tired, but confused by the scene in front of him.

  “Ma chérie, what are you doing? Your father said you’re waiting for me. Who is this?” he asked in his overdone French accent.

  My gaze pinged like a dodgeball from one person to the next, my head whipping from one side to the other as I took in the crazy scene in front of me.

  “I need you to leave right now,” my father gritted out as he stared bullets at Tiberius. When Ty didn’t move, my father yelled, “Now!”

  “I think that would be for the best,” my mom suggested in her prim-and-proper society voice, yet Tiberius still didn’t move, only gave me a wary sideways glance as he waited for me to give him a clue what I wanted him to do.

  I needed to say something, but my throat was as dry as the Sahara. I tried clearing it and a small squeak came through my vocal cords. “He’s not going,” I made out.

  “The hell he’s not,” my dad said, whipping off his navy sport coat and rolling up the sleeves of his French blue dress shirt as if he engaged in fistfights every day. He worked in a posh office with two secretaries waiting on him hand and foot. The only fighting he did was over the phone with his massage therapist when he couldn’t fit him in.

  “Tigger, what is this? What did you do?” This from Pierre, who coincidentally was not rolling up his sleeves.

  “Don’t you dare call me that.” I glared missiles at the Frenchman.

  “Tingly, you’re embarrassing the family name with this . . . this boy.” My mother paused, her eyes growing wide before she asked, “Did he force you?”

  As usual, Mom’s strawberry-blonde hair was perfectly styled in a bob. Today she was wearing a pale pink St. John sweater set with matching slacks, and had silver Tory Burch ballet flats on her feet. She looked like the Pink Panther ready for the Junior League annual meeting while I sat naked in front of her, wearing nothing but a sheet, all flushed after several rounds of sex with a very large, very virile black man. As I stared at my supposedly newly married French ex-lover in front of me, a giggle bubbled up in my throat at the sheer lunacy of the situation.

  Dad narrowed his eyes at me. “This is not funny, missy.”

  I shook my head and managed to choke out, “I know, but Tiberius isn’t leaving.”

  “Sir,” my dad reminded me.

  “Sir,” I added automatically, then forced myself not to roll my eyes at him before I turned my gaze on my mother. “Mom, what are you doing with Pierre?”

  “Dad and I decided it was time to see you happy, and we know he devastated you when he left, so we brought him back. For you.” Then on a whisper, she added, “It didn’t work out with that other girl, but Dad still sweetened the deal with a job and a house, plus he told Pierre you guys would share the trust with us if it all worked out.”

  “So, kick the bum out and figure the hell out when you’re going to start your life with the Frenchman, Tingly,” my dad said as if this were a merger and acquisition. “He’s back, and we need a moving date and a wedding date.”

  Incredulous at their audacity, I glared at them. “The trust is all mine . . . it was never yours. So if you think giving me Pierre is going to make me feel generous with my trust, you’re wrong. I don’t want Pierre.”

  Tiberius stood from the bed and snagged his boxers, shoving his long legs through them before stalking over to my dad. “Get out!” His six-foot-five-in
ch frame loomed over my dad when he said for the second time, “Get the hell out!” He then turned to my former professor. “And you, Pierre”—it sounded like Pear coming from Tiberius—“go the fuck back to France. Tingly’s mine.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, especially now that I see who my slut of a daughter is planning on sharing my money with,” my dad spit back at Tiberius before turning to me. “And, Tingly, that is and will be my money. Your grandparents were not of sound mind when they left that to you. We are going to make you happy and work this all out.” He stepped around Tiberius as though he weren’t of any consequence to walk toward me and grab my shoulder harder than I expected.

  Seeing me flinch, Tiberius glowered at my dad and warned, “Don’t touch her!”

  Through all the chaos, Pierre merely stood there, saying and doing nothing. When I turned to look at him, he was playing with his cufflink, twisting it and examining the stone in the light.

  Christ, what did I ever see in that fucking excuse for a man? Better yet, why the hell was he back? But the answer was simple: for the money. Just like my parents. Like my dad always told me: “Rich or poor, it’s good to have money, darling.”

  With the comforter still wrapped tight around my slight frame, I stumbled like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man toward everyone, shouting as tears spilled over my lashes, “Get out! All of you get out. Now!”

  Chey and Stacy stood in the doorway as reinforcements, yelling, “You heard the chick, out!”

  “Mom, Dad, I need you to leave. I have no idea why you thought bringing Pierre back would make me happy, but you need to go. It doesn’t. He doesn’t make me happy! You wouldn’t have the slightest clue as to what would make me happy.” I inhaled deeply and then yelled, “Christ! Get out. I keep saying it. Leave!”

  My chest was now drenched with my tears. Tiberius tried repeatedly to put his arm around me, and I kept batting it away. My entire body was shaking under the heavy down comforter like I was naked in the middle of a snowstorm, but my cheeks were burning up as if they’d been scorched with flames.

  Through all this, Pierre kept saying, “Tigger, ma chérie, please,” fiddling with the damn cufflink the whole time.

  I let my venomous gaze fall on him. “Please what, Pierre? Please fuck me? Please screw me? What the hell do you want, a get-rich-quick scheme? Maybe that was all I ever was to you before we got caught doing the nasty. Did you have your sights set on me long before I knew who you were?”

  He started rubbing his forefinger over his middle finger, something I knew he did when he was nervous. Bingo. “You, ma chérie, I want you. I came for you.” He stood still, now wringing his hands. He didn’t even slightly resemble the cocky bastard I’d thought I’d fallen in love with while he fucked me up against the wall.

  “Stop it, Pierre. Get out and don’t come back. Au revoir. Good-bye.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I stepped backward and tripped on the blanket. Luckily Tiberius caught my elbow and held me upright, otherwise I’d have tumbled over, which would have put a cherry on top of this fucktastic day.

  Totally drained both physically and mentally, I finally whispered, “Please, everyone, leave.” I squeezed my burning eyes shut, the stinging continuing to plague me after they were closed, and I began chanting, “Please, please, get out,” until I finally heard them shuffling out.

  “We’ll leave ya’ll,” Chey said to me and Tiberius, who was still holding me steady with his hand. I heard her close my bedroom door before slamming the front door. With her foot, probably.

  “Ty, please let go.” I opened my eyes to see a storm brewing in his. Dark clouds of fury shaded his normally pale blue irises. “You should go with Trey to Cleveland. I need time to work this all out in my head. Go.” I tried pushing off his chest, struggling for physical space.

  “No, Rex. I’m not running. If you need space to think, I’ll go back to my place and wait for you to call. When you need me, I’m gonna be sprinting back to you.” He kissed my forehead and walked out my bedroom door, shutting it behind him.

  When Tiberius left, I collapsed on the bed, too drained to argue with him about Thanksgiving. He should go with his friend and try to enjoy the holiday, which would be his first without his mom. But he was staying to wait for me.

  Wait for me to do what? I hadn’t a clue.

  Staring at the ceiling with my head throbbing from crying and my eyes burning from tears, I decided that I wasn’t defeated physically. So I threw on long tights and wool socks, added my track jacket over a thermal T-shirt, and laced up my running shoes. I shoved my earbuds into my ears while I sucked down an electrolyte packet, then hit the open road.

  I ran for miles and miles, not even keeping track on my pacer watch. In a daze, I looped the Ag building three times, made a half dozen trips around College Avenue, and finally pummeled down the hill toward the townhouses to talk to Ty. But I nearly collapsed in the road when I saw what was happening in front of Ty’s door—he was standing in front of his townhouse in a testosterone-fueled standoff with my dad.

  Mortified, I stumbled to a halt and turned to run back up the hill. I didn’t want to witness any of this, this being my old excuse for a life converging with what could be my new one—if I wanted. I’d realized on my run that was what Tiberius was waiting for. Me.

  “Get over here, missy,” my dad bellowed, his voice pushing past my the music droning in my ears and freezing me in place.

  “What, Dad?” I said through uneven breaths, my heart pounding in my chest and my legs shaking like leaves as I leaned forward, bracing myself on them as I tried to catch my breath.

  “I’ve offered to help Mr. Jones here move schools. I could meet with the assistant dean and explain I will make a sizeable donation to the department if he assists in finding a transfer. This way, Pierre can be with you. He’s going to stay here and wait for you to finish school.”

  “Are you crazy? Have you gone mad?” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The cold air did nothing to chill my fiery inferno of a temper. “I told you—I don’t want Pierre. Should I say it in another language? Two or three languages?”

  Tiberius had edged between my father and me, providing a physical buffer, I assumed. I wasn’t sure who he was more worried would become physical—my father or me. I sensed another warm body standing near me and turned to see Jamel was there, his furious eyes locked on my dad.

  “Tingly, I’m your father, and for once in your life, you’ll listen to me.” His chest puffed out as he stalked toward me, all five feet eleven inches of him full of attitude. Tiberius took a step to the left and blocked his path. Without any direction, Jamel moved to my dad’s right, further blocking him.

  Glaring at my father, I yelled, “You mean like when you offered my virginity to Blane Maxwell? Guess what, Dad. He’s as gay as they come! He’s probably spent more time staring at your ass than mine. We only lied about sleeping together. I’ve never listened to you, and I’m not about to start now.” Tiberius left his foothold and corralled me in his arms.

  “What about when you blew Blane’s dad? Sucked my best friend’s cock in broad daylight for everyone to see? Did you do that for me? Or was that all for your own sick enjoyment?” Spittle gathered in the corners of my dad’s mouth, his pale cheeks turning ruddy. “That’s poor character, Tingly. Character not deserving of the trust, if you ask me.”

  “It’s always the trust! The trust this and the trust that! You don’t even need it!” My head spun, and I felt myself starting to shiver clear through to my bones. Unsteady on my feet, I drew a long breath to steady myself. The air had started to cool, the clouds heavy with flurries, and goose bumps lined my skin. I ran my hands along my arms to stay warm.

  “I don’t hit old men, but you’re forcing me to take a swing,” Jamel barked. “Get outta here, man, and don’t come back. Take that French prick too ’cause if I see him, I’m gonna bloody him.” Jamel looked even taller and more daunting than usual. He was formidable as he loomed over my dad, standing up
for me.

  “Leave, Dad. They’re right. Don’t come back.”

  Completely exhausted, I sagged against Tiberius, my head crashing like a wrecking ball into his chest. There was nothing left. I was bones and skin; my muscles, my heart, and voice box all defeated. A war had been waged and I won, but not without casualties. Tiberius would have questions about my past, and Jamel would have more. I knew they stood up for me, and that meant something, but what would happen when my dad left? Would they toss me out too?

  And where was Pierre? Funny how a few months before, I was still in denial about his affections for me. The truth was I’d transformed in his eyes from a quickie fuck to a green card and a job.

  “Go,” I whispered to Ty’s chest.

  “He’s gone,” he whispered back.

  I looked up to see Jamel escorting my dad back up the hill where a town car waited. Weird. I was in such a zone when I raced down here, I didn’t notice it.

  “Come on, Rex.” Tiberius scooped me up and carried me into the townhouse.

  I clung to his broad shoulders and back like a girl being rescued from an inferno. My head shoved deep into his neck, my legs bunched into his arms, I felt us walk over the threshold and heard the door clicking shut behind us. My throat hurt from breathing heavily during my run, then screaming, and now crying again. I sobbed quietly into Ty’s sweatshirt, my nose dripping onto the heavy fabric.

  I didn’t even have the strength to look up and see where Tiberius was setting me down, and then I felt something hard underneath my butt.

  “Rex, sit still for one second,” he whispered into my ear. His hand went to my shoulder, holding me steady, and I looked up to see him turn on the shower.

  The bathroom immediately filled with steam, and my body relaxed in the warmth. Tiberius slowly lifted my shirt off, carefully slid my athletic bra up, and then helped me stand so he could push down my tights. I wrestled my shoes off, one foot at a time, not bothering to untie them. My socks came off with my leggings, and then I was airborne, Tiberius lifting me into the warm spray.