Summertime Sadness

by Dylan Heart

  There’s a short pause before his lips are pressed back against mine. It’s slow, gentle, and passionate. Then it’s quick and rough, and his tongue parts my lips. One hand crawls under my neon tank, navigating its way to my breasts.

  “You’re hot. We should get you out of these clothes.”

  A light chuckle rests in my throat.

  He stands back and grabs the bottom of my tank and in one lightning motion, rips it over my head and tosses it to the ground. I reach behind myself and unhook my bra. It rolls down my arms and drops to the ground. I catch his eyes on my breasts, and then, like a perfect gentleman, he looks away for a split second before facing me again.

  His eyes fill with desire and lock with mine as his arms cross each other, and he tugs his shirt from the hem and pulls it over his sculpted torso, then his head, cutting off my line of sight to his eyes. His slim, rock-hard abs are a sight for the world; the eighth wonder. He closes the distance between us, and my hands knead against the ridges in his stomach, feeling every dip and groove on his swety body. My head tilts forward, resting on his pulsing chest as his lips caress the top of my head.

  I prop my head up and shake my hair to the side before kissing him again. His fingers fumble with the button on my frayed jean shorts. Once the button has popped, my shorts slide down my legs and form a puddle on the ground. His muscular arms wrap around me and pick me up, wrapping my legs around his back and pushing me against the car. My bare breasts smash against his firm pecs as he heaves against me. His hardness pulses through his jeans, past ready for release.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you.” His warm breath fills the air around us. “I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you right now.”

  An arrow of lightning lights up the sky, coloring the scene around us in shallow shades of blue.

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  He takes a moment, nods, and in slow motion, we fall to the ground as a violent burst of thunder explodes in the near distance. The trodden grass is now cool and damp against my back and I know there are two storms brewing—one in the sky and the other somewhere deep inside.

  Blue plants kisses down a path on my bare stomach, forcing a gasp from my parched throat when he kisses his way around my belly button. His fingers curl around the fabric of my panties, pulling them down my thighs and off my legs. My chest heaves as I look down to find him staring back at me. He keeps eye contact as he lowers his mouth against me. My body instantly stiffens, and my head is thrown backward against the grass.

  His tongue dances around the edge of me before driving in. My toes curl. My palms dig into the grass, grabbing a handful of dirt. Behind me, the last neon lights of the carnival power off.

  The heavy weight of his muscular body crawls over me, but he has one hand still running against me. He presses his lips to mine, but instead of a kiss, I give him a command. “Fuck me.”

  “Are you sure you wanna—”

  “Do you want me to change my mind?”

  He pulls himself onto his knees and unbuckles the brown leather belt around his light blue jeans. A slick hand pulls a condom out of his back pocket. He tears it with his teeth and pops a row of buttons, pulling the denim down his hips. The same for his stark black boxers, causing the full length of his cock to spring free.

  Another streak of lightning and another explosion of thunder booms as he rolls the condom onto himself.

  His body lowers onto me and one hand travels to his length, guiding himself in gently. My back arches as he begins to fill me slowly and painfully. I hook my legs around him, firm against his ass as he sinks all the way in. Once he’s filled me entirely, when we couldn’t possibly be any more connected, he kisses me softly, and I don’t need anything else.

  There’s a pained look on his face as he draws out slowly. My fingers dig into his back as he tortuously steals himself away from me. Once he’s at the edge of undoing me, he pauses and swivels on his knees. His breath is ragged as his body shakes. I sweep my palm against his flushed cheek.

  “Okay?” he asks under his breath.

  I nod.

  And he drives into me, filling me to the hilt. My vision goes black. An entire galaxy exploding is painted before my eyes. I pull him closer to me as he begins thrusting erratically. He’s not making love to me—he’s fucking me. And that’s exactly what I want. It’s what I’ve wanted even when I’ve been unable to say it.

  His breath quickens, and when I finally reclaim my vision, the only thing I see is his beautiful face full of ecstasy, his hair pooling drops of sweat at the ends. Once he catches my eyes, his pace slows. He begins to sync to a more natural rhythm. Inch by devastating inch, with measured thrusts, he pulls every part of me to the surface. I’m turned inside out, and I wonder if he even notices.

  This right here is vulnerability. The way his body begins to quake, I imagine it’s the same for the both of us. His eyes pull tight, his mouth circles into a familiar shape. He’s close to the edge, and I’m not ready for this to be finished.

  His mouth lowers to me, the warmth of his ragged breaths brushing against my lips. Every little kiss is a fight to catch our breath. “Come for me.”

  That’s new. I mean to nod, but I don’t think it comes across that way. I’m too busy holding onto his back, trying not to break. In order to save himself, he must switch tempo. I feel every changing beat as his rhythmic thrusts become drawn out. An inch becomes a mile. His cock pulls back, tight like a bow, and then slams back in. It’s fast and it’s slow. It’s torture and pleasure beyond compare.

  My entire body cries out for release, perfectly timed with the earthquake beginning to rumble above me. I wonder if this is how Californians feel right before the plates shift. Helpless.

  “Yeah?” he asks through shallow breaths. He wants to know if I’m ready, but it comes off more like begging, as if release could save his life.

  “Yeah,” I choke on my own words as I forfeit my entire being to the rupture within. My fingers curl against his back. My heels dig into the curves of his ass, pulling him fully into me. Just when I think he can’t go any further, he pulls himself onto his elbows and slams into me, furthering his strokes by another intoxicating inch.

  He fucks me through my orgasm, the stars in the night unable to compare to the stars beneath my eyes. My arms fall to my sides, unable to hold onto him any longer. I see the explosion from light years away. His entire body shudders, rattling me to my core before he drives in one final time, slamming me to the hilt and threatening to send me into an immediate relapse.

  When he collapses onto me, I swear I can hear our hearts gearing up for war. Un-poetically, a drum of thunder roars through the sky about ten seconds too late.

  “Amazing,” he cries, followed by a nervous laugh.

  I’m still trying to catch my breath, but I’m sure he can see the agreement in my eyes. He brushes a curl of hair away from my face and lowers himself to kiss me softly.

  My phone vibrates against the ground, so I reach over and grab it. It’s too late to answer, but there’s a voice-mail waiting for me from my mom. Blue crawls off me, grabs his jeans, and takes a seat against the car. I slide my finger across the screen of the phone, loading up the camera.

  “Hey,” I smile, catching his attention. “Smile.”

  “What for?”

  The flash illuminates the scene. Captured on my phone is a gorgeous, candid photo of Blue.

  He frowns.

  “It’s okay. I took it above the waist.”

  “It wouldn’t bother me if you didn’t,” he says with a wink and stretches out, placing his entire weight on one arm. He’d do great in porn.

  I click the camera icon again, capturing another memory. This one in its entirety—his naked, suntanned body contrasted against the slick grass.

  I’m fully dressed now. Blue wears nothing but his jeans as we both sit flush against the car. I pull my hair through my hands, trying to make myself presentable for when I walk through the door of my house
. There’s a good chance my mom will be wide awake on the couch, lost in a daze as she streams a certain Nicholas Sparks movie.

  “It sucks that I’ll probably never see you again,” I say, fully aware that I couldn’t sound any more unaffected.

  He pops one palm against my knee. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “You’re leaving town tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t tell you?” He tosses his shoulder. “I think I’m gonna be sticking around for a while.”

  “What are you talking about?” There’s gravel in my throat, and a race within my heart.

  “I’ve spent my entire life dreaming of going home, but I’ve never had a home to go home to. I’ve decided to give life away from the carnival a shot. Most people run away to the carnival. Well, I’m running away from it.”

  There’s no point in lying. That scares the hell out of me. Him staying here would mean that this is no longer an isolated moment in time. People in this town, like any other small town, talk. It’s not even that I’m ashamed of what they’d say. It’s just that this was all supposed to be dangerous, random and done.

  I shake my head in disbelief. “How are you going to afford to live?”

  “I’ve got enough money to last a few months. I guess I’ll have to find a job or something, which shouldn’t be too hard, since I’ve been working since I was twelve.”

  My brow arches. “Twelve?”

  “I spent my youth robbing civilians of their hard-earned coins, working the game booths with my mother.”

  I’m sure he’s a walking storybook, every page filled with a lifetime’s worth of magical text, but I still can’t get past the fact that he’s planning on calling my home his home. “Not to badger you with an exhausting game of twenty questions, but where will you stay?”

  “My uncle has an empty apartment above his barn.”

  “I didn’t know you had family here.”

  He laughs. “Charlie, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  Isn’t that the truth. “And there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “Touché.” His abs fold as he leans across me. One hand brushes against my cheek. “I wanna know things about you, though. Your favorite movie, your favorite song, your favorite color—”

  “It’s Blue.”

  “I know.” He smiles and it lights up the dark, though that could be the lightning.

  The other half of me, the half that’s not scared shitless, wants nothing more than to see him again.

  “Will I see you again?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s kissing me, cupping me at the chin. My body shifts so that I can embrace him in return as he says goodbye with his mouth.

  When it’s over and he pulls back, I have an answer. “Call me.”

  The skies are in full-on downpour mode and I’m parked on the side of the road. For a car that’s only two years old, my windshield wipers are far too inadequate. I hope Blue was able to get to shelter before the torrential rain began, but it’s mostly a false hope. The storm began moments after I pulled onto the pavement.

  I sit here contemplating several things, but at the forefront of my mind are two things in particular. I would like to thank Jimmy Clay for being an uneducated meteorologist, because if it weren’t for him, I never would have met this mysterious, sexy, charming man.

  I would also like to not-thank Jimmy Clay for the same reason, because thanks to him, I’m torn—torn between wanting to see Blue again and wanting to keep tonight as nothing more than a snapshot of a memory in time.

  Chapter Five

  The sun shines through my window, setting my skin on fire. It’s the first of September and a thin layer of sweat coats my body. While I was asleep, I dreamed that I told my mother I wasn’t going to college. I was prepared to face the scorn, but she embraced me instead. She followed that up with the promise that I had made the right decision.

  In reality, I’m sure that conversation is going to go slightly different than I optimistically dreamed.

  “You’re doing what?” my mother screams as she paces back and forth. I don’t know what it says about me that my eyes are focused on her bare feet padding against the soft carpet. From the television, there’s a familiar mating call, the atrocious sound of some crazy political thinking out loud with their mouth.

  “I know the timing’s bad, but you know I can’t leave you right now.” There really has to be another reason I’m staying. Sure, she’s heartbroken, but I shouldn’t be putting my life on hold for her, especially since she hasn’t asked me to. There’s something else holding me back, and I just wish I knew what it was.

  “You don’t need to worry about me.” She motions with her hands. “Go finish packing your things.”

  I let out a resigned sigh. “I’m not going, Mom.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, maybe I’m not college material.” Then again, that nut-bag on TV graduated college. What does that say about me?

  She’s waving her hands again. We all have that one annoying thing we do, and that’s her nervous tic. Personally, I’m a run my hands through my hair kind of girl, but to each their own. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not stupid.”

  “Of course, I’m not stupid, Mom.”

  She quits pacing and snarls at me. “Then how could you do something so stupid?”

  That was a quick turnaround. “My life doesn’t end today because I’m not starting school tomorrow.” I’m on cracked ice, and I really need to be careful with my choice of words. She could go into melodramatics at any moment, and if she hits the wrong octave, it might just crack the ice.

  “Oh, my God,” she cries and brings her hand to her mouth. She drops onto the edge of the loveseat and shakes her head. “This is all my fault. I should have been a better parent.”

  My eyes somersault backward. She’s ridiculous. “You were a perfect mom.” It’s not exactly the truth, but she was no Mommie Dearest either. I mean, there were no wire hangers to be found in this house, but I’d chalk that up to the changing of the times.

  Her attention snaps toward me. Her brow furrows, and I know things are about to go south. “Are you on drugs?”

  “No.” I let out an exasperated sigh that fades into a moan. “But I should be.”

  Her chest sinks and I suddenly remember she’s not one of my friends and will expect me to pee on a stick within the end of the hour. “I let you watch too much television.” She’s really gunning toward an Oscar nomination.

  “Good God, would you get a grip?” My turn to snap, I guess.

  She throws herself onto her feet. “Get a grip?”

  “Yes, get a grip. You’re acting like it’s the end of the world. It’s not. Whatever my reasons are, they’re my reasons. If I leave and go to school now, I’ll fail. Not because I’m stupid, but because I don’t want to be there. I’m not saying I’m never going, but I am telling you that I’m not going right now.” I say this in one breath, and I suddenly feel like a smoker unable to catch my next breath. “It’s my decision. So find a way to deal with it.”

  A little overboard, Charlie…

  She doesn’t say a word. She’s stunned, sad, angry, or all of the above but definitely over-sensitive. I could try to make things better, but I don’t think it would make a difference what I say next. She walks past me, brushing her shoulder against mine, and exits the room.

  Not able to take the rambling of Fox and Friends anymore, I whisk the remote off the coffee table and flick the television off. The front door slams shut, and I hear something hit the ground. Could be a family photo, or it could be the foundation of the house cracking. But there it was—her Oscar-winning breakdown. I hope she comes home later tonight cooled down and able to talk about this rationally. Maybe I could even snag an Oscar of my own—in the supporting actress category—as I bring my mother back to the realm of reality.

  Summer isn’t exactly happy with me, but who is these days. We’re in her bedroom folding clothes and packing them
into boxes that were stolen from the dumpsters behind the local supermarket. We’ve been best friends since kindergarten, and up until about five minutes ago, we were supposed to be roommates at Ohio State. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow for an early start, but she’s not leaving until next Saturday. In retrospect, I probably should have given her more warning, but on the bright side, my dad still doesn’t know. And he won’t be finding out anytime soon.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” She shakes her head in disgust and throws a pair of jeans into a box.

  It’s only semantics, I know, but she’s the one who’s actually doing the leaving. I’m staying put.

  “You could have told me earlier. Like, at least a month ago,” she says. “You do know that I’m going to be the only girl on campus living solo in a double, right?”

  That sounds awesome to me.

  She grabs a pile of shirts and stuffs them into another box. “I can hear the whispers now. Who’s that loser bitch with no friends in room twenty-three?” She throws her hands in the air. “I bet she smells funny, they’ll say.”

  She’s always had a flair for the dramatic and I can’t help but laugh. “You’ll be fine.”

  She looks at me with a suddenly huge grin. “I’ll just have to find someone to replace you.”

  “Bitch, I’m irreplaceable,” I say and push her lightly.

  “Speaking of irreplaceable...” She grabs me and throws me onto the bed. Her legs straddle me as she pokes at my forehead with her finger. “Since you just dropped out of the rest of your life and doomed yourself to forever live in this town—”

  “Thanks...”

  “Does this mean you’re going to get back with Mr. Plaid? The love of your life, Dillon fucking Parker?”

  “Doubtful.” I grab her by the waist and roll her off me and onto a pile of not going with her to college clothes. I scoot off the bed and hop over a pile of shoes, before standing in front of the body mirror that hangs off her bedroom door.