Bear Creek Road

by L. C. Morgan

  ***

  Sitting at the dining room table, I stared at the cabinet below the sink—the one that held what remained of the mind-numbing vodka.

  I didn’t want to drink it, but I was going to.

  I’d only left Joe a few hours ago, but I missed him. That feeling pulled me in the direction of the front door, leading me where it wanted me to be.

  When I pulled up to Joe’s cabin, I didn’t waste any time, jumping out and jogging up the stairs to knock on the door. My eyes landed on his bare chest when he answered in nothing but that pair of red and black flannel sleep pants.

  Stepping aside, he motioned me in. He didn’t ask why I was there, just stripped me of my jacket and gestured for me to take a seat on the couch.

  His place smelled different. More murky and pungent, as if his usual musk had gotten wet and grown a bit of moss.

  I knew what it was, but I was still surprised to see the joint sitting in an ashtray on the side table.

  “Can put it away if you want,” he offered, and I shook my head.

  “No, it’s fine.”

  Nodding, he sat down beside me. My latent teenage hormones kicked in when he picked up the rolled paper with his fingertips, placed one end in his mouth and lit the other. My eyes roamed from his lips to his bare chest, then back up to his lips again as they released a slow roll of stored smoke.

  Licking my own lips, I adjusted uncomfortably on the couch cushion. My hand accidentally turned on the TV, and the silence was replaced with low moans and heavy pants—the unmistakable sounds of people having sex.

  Wha—

  Had he been watching porn?

  I turned my head toward the TV, and he leaned over me, reaching for the remote, but I was quicker, pulling away and placing it just out of his reach. I snickered softly as he groaned to himself, my laughter dying once he rested his forehead against my clavicle. The vibrations from his chest went straight to the space between my legs. It throbbed worse the longer he lingered and the longer I watched the couple on the TV.

  Joe’s hot breath wasn’t helping the situation, blowing across my chest and heating the bend of my neck. His hand had since found its way to my knee. My eyes followed as it slowly ran up my inner thigh and his fingers disappeared under the hem of my sleep shorts.

  “You like that?” he asked, lighting fire to my stomach as he traced the edge of my panties, lightly skimming the tip of his finger back and forth.

  I automatically spread for him, my mind numbed by how good it felt to be touched. My head was spinning with thoughts of him sliding under my panties and slowly sinking inside.

  Do it.

  The knot in my stomach loosened when he pulled his hand away instead. I was relieved. I was disappointed. I didn’t know what I was when he grabbed me by the elbow and stood me up with him.

  Shock took control of my reflexes when he tugged on the hem of my tank and I raised my hands, letting him lift it up and over my head. The sudden movement caused my braless breasts to bounce and my nipples to perk. Bending forward, he covered one with his mouth, and I sucked in a short breath as his hands went for the waist of my sleep shorts.

  “Touch me,” he ordered against my skin, his mouth switching to the other breast as he stripped me of my shorts and panties. I did as he said, the synapses in my brain firing erratically as I stroked him through the open flap of his thin flannels.

  Am I dreaming?

  If I was, it was a really good fucking dream.

  Rock hard and breathing heavily, he released my breast from his mouth to spin me around and push me down, face-first onto the couch.

  I laid my head on the armrest and tried to control my breathing. The rapid rate was making me dizzy—too dizzy to turn and try and look at him. Instead, I listened to the ruffling of fabric while he hurriedly undressed himself behind me.

  My heart sped with the dip in the couch, my ragged breath audible while he adjusted my legs to fit between his on the narrow cushions. I kept my eyes trained on the television, unable to turn and watch him as he settled his weight on top of me.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe I was letting it happen when I felt him rest his hardened length along the crack of my ass. My hips pushed back as he pressed forward, rocking dry skin against skin.

  The motion caused a strong pressure to build. I ached between my thighs, wanting desperately to be able to spread my legs and feel his stiff length sink deep inside.

  The more he rocked, the lower he shifted, working his cock between the juncture of my upper thighs. Slippery from anticipation, the shaft slid easily back and forth, coming dangerously close to where I wanted him, and where he no doubt wanted to be.

  I swallowed a whimper when he suddenly pulled away and spread me apart, taking his time in order to watch me writhe below him.

  I froze when I felt his thumb run up the center of my slit, his other joining in to spread me further. Shamelessly, I lifted my hips in the air, very much needing him to fill the achy hollow between my legs. I bit my lower lip to keep from moaning out loud once the head of his cock found my entrance and he eased it inside.

  As his hips met the round of my ass, he pushed mine into the couch, the weight of him easily pinning me down. The position allowed him to go deep, hitting me in just the right spot and pushing a surprised noise from my lungs.

  “Oh, God.”

  Moving my hair to one side, his mouth brushed the back of my neck. His soft, slow kisses left me breathless and dazed while his palm skimmed over my ribs and down the side of my stomach. He cradled the bone of my hip and then his hand dipped between me and the cushion to softly cup my mound.

  He stole my breath again when he thrust forward, molding his hips with my backside and pressing me harder into his hand. I closed my eyes as he placed a soft kiss to my shoulder then nipped it with his teeth while making short, hard thrusts that hit me deep.

  My head buzzed and my body hummed in a rush of sensory overload.

  Feeling the tingle spread from my toes to my thighs, my hips lifted, my forehead pushing harder into the arm of the couch. I gripped the edge of the cushions as my orgasm snuck up on me hard and fast.

  Dropping to his elbows, Joe’s thrusts became sloppy and stuttered, almost as if he was holding off, but couldn’t. A low groan escaped him and he stilled before pulling out to ride the peak of his orgasm on the crack of my ass.

  His ragged breath heated my neck as he hovered just above me, dipping down to place soft kisses across my shoulders.

  “Things are better when you’re around,” he confessed against my skin. My heart fluttered, dropping down into the pit of my stomach. The beat flourished and spread, warming me from the inside out, and I smiled.

  A brush of cold air hit my back when he pushed himself up and climbed off of me. I lay there with my overheated cheek pressed against the armrest until he reemerged with a towel.

  Once he cleaned me off, he helped me up to sit before clicking off the TV and collapsing on the couch beside me.

  The question of whether I was supposed to go or stay was answered when he draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me close. Regardless of how uncomfortable I felt cuddling on his couch naked, my eyes closed as he fingered the ends of my hair.

  “Promise you won’t leave.”

  My eyes snapped open at his request. Peeking up, I found his eyes closed, those long lashes of his dusting the darkened circles just underneath. I reached out to run a finger over the ends, and his eyes opened to look down at me.

  Tonight or ever? I wanted to ask, but didn’t as we stared at each other, my discomfort subsiding until he rose to his feet and offered his hand to lead me down the hallway and into his bedroom.

  Chapter Ten

  I woke up to the smell of bacon.

  Smiling, I shoved my nose into Joe’s pillow and breathed him in. His sheets smelled better than bacon. Clean and masculine, completely different from the way mine smelled. Mine didn’t smell like anything, not unless th
ey were just washed. And even then it was a generic detergent, whatever brand happened to be on sale that week.

  With a groan, I rolled out of the bed and made my way to the bathroom. When I came back out my clothes had been neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

  Smiling, I got dressed and ran my fingers through the rats in my hair then went out to find him standing over the stove.

  He looked so domesticated, standing there and scratching the side of his beard, spatula in hand. The muscle in his arm rippled in time with the lazy scratch to the underside of his scruffy jaw.

  “Hungry?”

  I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “Starving.”

  I sat at the table and watched while he pulled out two plates and loaded them with bacon, eggs and toast. Two glasses were already sitting out for me—one filled with water, the other with orange juice.

  Unable to stop smiling, I picked up the orange juice and took a sip. I didn’t know how long it had been since I had eaten a home cooked meal, probably sometime before my gran had passed. My stomach grumbled with anticipation, my heart warming as I recalled one of the last things she had said to me.

  “A hands-on man is an asset, Laney, a blessing. If he cooks, cleans and can save you from spending your life savings on a mechanic, he’s a keeper.”

  That was right before she had tried to make me promise not to marry Mark—a businessman who pressed his socks and folded his underwear.

  Gran had hated him.

  I smiled up at Joe when he placed a plate in front of me. “Looks good, thank you.”

  Taking the seat opposite of me, he wasted no time digging in. I started with the eggs since they were always the first to cool.

  The silence probably wasn’t as awkward as my thoughts were making it out to be. My gaze alternated from my plate to his bare chest. I refused to look any higher than that.

  After a while he took a break from eating and cleared his throat. Forcing myself to look up, I found his bloodshot eyes focused on mine.

  “Sorry about last night.”

  He was?

  “I mean, I’m not sorry.”

  He wasn’t.

  “It was fucked up … I was fucked up. I shouldn’t have assumed. I didn’t even know if you—”

  “I did.”

  We stared at each other a moment until his eyes wandered down to my chest. He averted them to the side then gave a curt nod at his plate. He poked at his food.

  “I don’t do that all the time,” he said and then clarified. “Smoke. I don’t smoke all the time.”

  Nodding, I broke off a piece of bacon and popped it into my mouth, not really sure what to say, not really sure what he wanted me to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all.

  Who was I to judge what he did in his free time? It obviously didn’t affect his day to day life, so no harm, no foul, right?

  “I have bad days.” Still staring down at his almost empty plate, his fists clenched and then relaxed just as quickly.

  My heart hurt for him. I understood bad days, had plenty of them myself, but they were nothing like his, I was sure. Compared to his, I reveled in my pain. How trivial it was. I gave thanks now that I went through it and that it had changed me, that it pushed me to make this move that led me to where I was now—here with Joe.

  I wanted to go to him, comfort and kiss the bad away, but I didn’t. Instead, I pushed my plate across the table, smiling at him as he finished off his breakfast then moved on to finish what I couldn’t.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  Taking a bite, he spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Maybe.” He shrugged. “Sometime.”

  Just not right now.

  The unspoken words hung in the air, and we each held the other’s stare again, both understanding what was meant, but left unsaid.

  He wasn’t ready.

  Not for this.

  Not yet.

  But I would be there for him when he finally was.

  ***

  Standing in line at Mayes Market, I watched my phone ring, fighting the urge to answer it. It was a blocked number again, one I now knew could be my ex-best friend Julie’s. I could feel it. It was her.

  In that moment, I wanted to answer the phone. I needed to talk to someone. But I had to remember, I didn’t have a someone anymore. The only person I had to talk to was Mona, and I couldn’t talk to her about this. I couldn’t tell her how I’d just spent the night with her brother, or the fact that I’d been off birth control for months.

  The idea of throwing my phone out was getting more and more tempting. I could get a new number; shit, maybe I could move to a different town because now there was Mona’s face smiling up at me from the screen.

  My thumb hovered over the “end” button wanting to push it. But I knew what ignoring Mona entailed. There was no avoiding her.

  “Hey,” I answered, too afraid she’d just show up at the house later if I didn’t. I’d warded her off for the past two days, telling her I was gardening and if she really wanted to help she was more than welcome to come shovel manure.

  Thankfully her hatred of manual labor and animal feces had worked out in my favor.

  Moving down the line, my eyes rolled at her words and then roamed over the bottles of vitamins, landing on a twin packet of prenatals. I wondered how much of a walking contradiction I would be if I bought a twin pack of prenatal vitamins and the morning after pill in one purchase.

  Would that make me the world’s biggest asshole? Would I be saying I didn’t want this hypothetical baby, but maybe the next? If I ended up taking the appropriately named “Plan B,” did I deserve the next? If there even was a next. If there even was a now. But what if there was? Sometimes the pill didn’t work. What if I took it, but ended up pregnant anyway? I would need the vitamins. If I bought the vitamins, I would have the vitamins, which in turn, would save me a trip to the store.

  All this indecision was weighing on me. It turned and tormented my insides, all while Mona considered growing out her hair, pondered if Practically Pink was really her color and worried over the fact she didn’t feel bad enough for running over one of Mrs. Martin’s cats.

  Grabbing the vitamins, I tossed them in my basket and moved up the line. All things considered, I could use the extra nutrients. All these aches and pains were starting to bother me. I could feel myself getting older. I could see it in the growing lines that had etched themselves into my face.

  “Mona, how old is your brother?” I blurted into the receiver, realizing I’d never asked. It was a wonder we even knew each other’s names.

  “Twenty-nine. Why?”

  “Uh, no reason.”

  Just wanting to make sure I hadn’t just banged a minor, I thought sarcastically and stepped up to the counter.

  “Hey, Mona, I gotta go, but I’ll talk to you later, ‘kay? Bye.” I hung up before she had time to argue, paid for my purchase and headed back home where I took a nice, long shower.

  It was later that night that I was sitting at the dining room table, staring at the box, so small and unassuming, its colors bright and beaming in purple, green and blue. The two chalky white pills inside weren’t as vibrant as their container. I almost felt as if they should’ve been black. The box should’ve been black, perhaps adorned with a circled fetus and a red line slashing straight through it.

  A little morbid, maybe. But how easy they made it to just pop them into one’s mouth, two at a time, down the hatch. No worry, no second thought. However, all I could seem to do was think.

  What was the big deal if I took these? I mean, they were pills, just a couple of pills. What was the difference between these and a condom, or scheduled birth control for that matter?

  Taking a drink of warm tap water, I wet my throat, trying to remember when I became so sensitive. Why was it that I was having to talk myself into taking something so harmless?

  Maybe I gained a new appreciation for life in my old age. Maybe the pang of loneliness I sometimes felt was weighing hea
vily on my soul. Maybe, just maybe, a baby wasn’t unwanted.

  Leaning forward, I placed my head in my hands.

  I should tell him before I take it. He should have a say, one side of me thought.

  A say in what? Your choice of birth control? thought the other.

  Groaning, I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.

  I was overthinking it.

  Pushing out the chair, I headed to the bathroom where I thought more on the prospects of having versus not having a kid.

  I didn’t really have any expectations on who they would turn out to be or which one of us they would look like, but I hoped it was him as I studied the dark circles under my eyes in the mirror.

  Shaking my head, I washed my hands and walked back out to find Joe sitting in my seat.

  My heart skipped with the creak in his chair as it gave under the shift of his weight. He placed his elbows on the table. His stance not stressed, but contemplative, he raked a hand through his hair, stopping to casually scratch at the underside of his jaw.

  I took the seat opposite him, eyes trained on the proverbial elephant in the room.

  I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t speak. The words parked themselves right on the tip of my tongue, and they weren’t about to budge. They were just as stubborn as me, just as stingy as him when it came to his words.

  He had opened up today and shared a part of himself. What if the reality of our careless choices stunted our growth, destroyed all that little bit of progress we’d made—a one step forward, two steps back kind of deal?

  I didn’t want to think about it, but that was all I could do—let my thoughts try and drown out the silence. It was deafening, the sharp squeak of my chair teetering on the thin line between slightly annoying and overly obnoxious as I shifted in my seat.

  The whole situation was unbearable. I willed him to speak, say something, anything. I wanted to know what he was thinking, how he felt … if he wanted me to take them.

  What if he did?

  What if he didn’t?

  Of course he did.

  Biting the edge of my thumb, I somehow found the courage to peek up, following his blank gaze back down, wondering if he knew what they were, what they did. I mean, I barely knew the mechanics of it, and I was a woman.