Summertime Sadness

by Dylan Heart

  Blue walks ahead of me and tosses our bags onto the bed closest to the door. He dives onto the bed, rustling the twenty-year-old comforter, and pulls a switch on a lamp that sits on a nightstand. I push the door closed with my ass.

  I pass a mirror on the way to the second bed and notice that the girl staring back at me has sunken eyes. She’s tired. I sink down into the bed, and there’s another mirror in front of me.

  To my left, Blue unzips a bag and grabs a baggie filled with that magical white stuff. I grin.

  “This place is a dump,” he says with a mischievous smile. “Wanna have some fun?”

  Do I ever. I still haven’t come down completely from earlier, but I’m up for trying it again if for no other reason than, here in this closed room I won’t be as paranoid.

  My throat runs and it’s a familiar feeling. Blue pounds a fist against the air-conditioning unit that sputtered out about ten minutes after we walked in the door. When the motor begins whirring up, Blue leans his face against the blowers, craving the cool air. He immediately clicks the off button. “The damn thing’s blowing out heat,” he stammers.

  Perfect. I grab my plaid shirt off the bed and wipe my face, instantly dampening the fabric. “It has to be at least eighty degrees in here.”

  “It’s about to get hotter.” He stands up, pulling his drenched shirt over his head. Sweat rolls down his chest. “It won’t shut off.”

  “We’re going to have to switch rooms.”

  He shakes his head. “I saw a car pull in last time I went outside, and there were only two rooms when we got here.”

  I throw myself back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan that moves in impossibly slow circles. The air is humid, hot, and thick. Above the fan, the ceiling is cracked all the way to the door. What a dump.

  The front door swings open. A light tangle of a breeze pushes into the room, but only makes it about a foot beyond the door before being forced back out. I hop onto my feet and exit the room, meeting Blue against the railing that lines the exterior of the second floor.

  He leans coolly against the rail, his hands clasped together in a pondering pose. I can feel the Molly coming over me, impatiently waiting for the release it’ll bring me. It’s rather odd that every time I do it, it’s a wildly different experience. I’d expect some consistency, but it seems to be more a roll of the dice. Sometimes it’s fast, sometimes slow.

  I lean one elbow against the railing so that I can face him. There’s a yearning in his eyes, like he’s waiting for something—maybe he’s waiting for the Molly, too. There’s a sense of loss on the edge of his lips, like he needs to say something—maybe it’s I’m sorry. But most of all, what I really notice is the way I feel whenever I look at him, like the rest of the world doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t want to think about everything I’ve lost, but it doesn’t seem like the worst tradeoff in the world.

  “Enjoying the view?” he asks with a light smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re staring at me.”

  “Call me shallow, but I’ll never get tired of looking at you, wondering what’s going on beneath those beautiful blue eyes.”

  “You’re too kind,” he says and looks out into the distance, into the forest that sits on the other side of the desolate highway. “I know we didn’t leave town under the best of circumstances.” He bows his head and twiddles his thumbs. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

  “And I’m sorry I can’t enjoy this adventure, whatever it is.” I latch onto his shoulder, caressing him. “But I know we can, eventually, be happy because you taught me that home isn’t a place. It’s an idea, a person,” I say softly. “You’re my home.”

  “Have I ever told you I love you?”

  “Once or twice.” I shrug with a grin.

  “How ’bout a third?” He turns, resting one arm on the railing. “I love you and I want all of you, but I’ll settle for all the little pieces until you’re happy again.”

  A tear–a happy one–forms at the corner of my eye. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

  “I think it’s slipped out of your beautiful lips a time or two,” he says and brushes his palm against my flushed cheeks. “But you don’t have to say it because I already know.”

  I turn and grip the railing with both hands, my wrists tense against the chipped metal. “When I was looking for you at the carnival, I broke into your dad’s camper.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Broke in?”

  “Walked in,” I correct myself. “There were two envelopes—one had your name on it and the other had Rake’s.”

  His eyes roll sideways, confused. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “They were empty,” I add. “Didn’t you say you had to pick something up from the carnival?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles faintly, as if stating the obvious. “Drugs.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  “We have to make money somehow.”

  My hand rolls into a half fist as I wipe the corner of my eye and force out a yawn.

  “You tired?”

  “No,” I say. “I think the Molly’s kicking in.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Blue bites into his lip, his eyes making waves before settling on mine. “I was just about to say the same thing.”

  I place a hand on his chest, running down the length of his abs and circling just above the edge of his jeans. “You don’t think we should talk about the camper?”

  “I think we can figure out that mystery later.” He picks me up by the waist in quick motion, pulling my legs to the side as he prepares to carry me into the room. It feels like we’re on our honeymoon as he pushes his lips against mine, melting into me with his golden kiss.

  He steadies his hands on my bottom, making sure he’s got me fully supported as he carries me into room 21. One hand pushes the bags off the bed, the other lays me down gently onto the faded white sheets. He hovers above me as all his scents bleed into one. Sweat, musk, Molly, and sex. The weight of his body grinds against me, the friction burning holes in my jeans.

  “Close the door,” I say, out of breath as his tongue rolls across my neck then nibbles against the rim of my ear.

  “Let the whole world watch,” he huffs against the side of my face, his breath hotter than a volcano.

  I push against his chest, rolling him off me and pointing to the door. He groans as he slides off the bed, stretches his arm out, and slams the door shut. By the time he gets back to the bed, I’ve moved to the edge, my feet planted on the floor.

  His head falls to the side as he peers at me through the corners of his eyes. “Not in the mood?”

  “Get over here,” I command. I pull my tank over my head and toss it aside.

  There’s an outline of his hardness pulsing tight in his jeans as he approaches. I pop the first button of his denim, and then pull the rest apart. He’s not wearing anything under the jeans, and he lets out a moan of relief as my hands grip his thighs and my lips caress his abdomen. I suck on the smooth skin of his stomach, and then move further down with every lap of my tongue until I’m nuzzled against the thin stubble just above his cock.

  My fingers slide into the waistline of his jeans, and I tug them down his hips so that they rest just above his knees. His erect length stares me down and I slide my hand across it, gripping it. His hands come down into my hair, but not forcibly. He brushes his fingers softly through my locks as I kiss the end of his length.

  I lick the underside of him, and then roll my tongue around it before taking it in my mouth. He’s only the second guy I’ve ever tasted, and he’ll be the last. Most people say sex is the most intimate thing you can do with someone. I disagree. There’s nothing more intimate than this right here, and I couldn’t do it unless I were in love. So the fact that his dick is pressing against the back of my throat should be all the proof required in the world that I love him.

  “Charlie,” he moans.

  I raise one hand up and rub
the creases of his abs. With my other hand, I stroke his spit-soaked shaft as I pull my mouth off him. I look up to find his eyes locked with mine. My hand strokes his entire length, causing him to gasp with every inch.

  I push myself back onto my elbows and he pulls my jeans off in one quick motion. His lips trace a path of kisses up my thigh until he reaches my panties and pulls them down my legs. I push my damp hair back as he climbs on top of me, kicking off his jeans. His belt buckle clatters as they hit the floor.

  He grabs a breast in his hand, pulling my bra down so that he can rub me bare. When his teeth nibble against me, I arch my back into the warmth of the bed. “Blue...”

  He cranes his head to look at me, his eyes asking Yeah?

  “Nothing.” I shake my head.

  A hand travels between my thighs. His fingers glide against the edge of my opening, running circles around my flesh. I pull his head toward me, forcing a passionate kiss. I hiss pleasurably into his mouth as one finger parts me down below. My knees spread at the welcome intrusion, then there’s another finger. He draws in and out, stretching and preparing me, making me crave to be filled.

  “I love you, Charlie,” he breathes into my mouth.

  “I love you, too.” I take a mental picture of his face so close to mine. Every perfect detail—the way a smile somehow peeks through absolute desire—and every perfect flaw—the story-filled scar below his right eye.

  His slick fingers pull out and he rolls over me, nudging my knees wider with his thighs. His steel cock rubs against me, teasing me. “Fuck me,” I plead.

  He pushes himself up onto his fists, one on each side of my head. His hardness pushes against me, entering me with precision and an unwavering tempo. The further he sinks, the more everything becomes clear. Running is the right thing to do if it means keeping him.

  When his pelvis meets mine, he lets out a well-earned moan. My fingers navigate to the muscles on his back, holding on tight as the ride starts. At first, he pulls out slowly, bringing himself all the way to the edge before pushing back in. It’s painfully slow, but I know the hydraulics are just getting heated up.

  Every thrust quickens while sticking to the same basic beat. He rises to his knees so that his whole body is like a tower peering over me. It’s not fair that his body is a landmark not many will ever see. He grabs a small, unopened bag of Molly that sits at the top of the bed and tears it with his mouth. A thin cloud of white powder follows gravity toward my body.

  His cock reaches the hilt, and he stays there while he slides my bra off my arms and empties a line of the drug in the fold between my breasts. If I did any more Molly, I’d probably get lost in some magical world of rainbows and butterflies, unable to ever find my way back. But he’s much more experienced than I am.

  He pins both my arms against the bed. His tongue rolls against the crease of my breasts, lapping up the line of Molly while he begins to drive into me again. The thrusts are shallower than before, but remain just as effective at making my insides scream.

  At the end of the bed, my toes begin to curl. It’s funny how they always know that I’m about to explode well before the rest of me is able to catch on. Lakeside back onto his fists, thrusting further into me with every bounce. The only thing that could make this better would be a mirror above the bed so that I could see his miraculous ass while he fucks me senseless.

  Sweat drips from his face onto mine. It’s the first time since I came into contact with his dick that I’m aware how terribly hot it is in this room. Our entire bodies gleam with a coat of sweat. If Rake managed to find us and walk in that door, he’d be blinded by the light bouncing off us.

  The bed begins to creak as he moves faster and harder. He’s like a drag racer with a full tank and no speed limits. I fear the bed could break with every thrust. I become aware of the sounds being thrown from my throat. Every time he slams into me, I find myself praying out loud for release.

  I almost feel bad for our neighbors in this fully-booked motel. I say almost because I’m too lost in a sea of ecstasy to care. The headboard slams against the wall, making sweet music—it’s the drums. Blue’s grunts are the bass and my moans are the vocals. We have quite the set-up here.

  Sweat falls from his face like a tree shedding leaves in October. My hands trail to the swell of his back, pulling him closer to my body.

  I’ve never seen him quite like this. The first time we met, we fucked, but it was quick and distant. Other times, we just fucked. But this is something else. There’s an animal in his eyes, like he somehow transforms once he hits the sheets. I’ll admit it. I love it. He’s so sweet and gentle in mixed company, but when we’re alone, he has the power to take me on a trip out of this galaxy.

  His blue eyes burn with desire, absorbing every little bit of me there is to see. He fucks me deep into the mattress without saying a word. And there’s nothing wrong with that—sometimes you just wanna fuck someone’s brains out. And my brains are about to splatter against the headboard.

  There are only three things that make me feel alive anymore—sex, Molly, and him. And right now, I have all three. It starts in my toes and then possesses my entire body. I’ve just died and gone to heaven. My entire body tenses, wrapping tight around both his dick and his ass. My knees rise, locking him in place against me as his thrusts become erratic.

  “Fuck,” he yells. “I’m gonna come.” His hands tangle into the sheets, his chest propped up above me as his entire body quivers. I feel every throb as he empties himself inside me. Every tiny tremor threatens to start up my engine again. He drives into me still, each stroke less deep than the one before. After he’s come down from his euphoria and he pulls out completely, I notice he’s still hard as steel. He bites into his lip and I know he’s not finished yet.

  Neither am I.

  He grabs my legs and rolls me over and onto my knees. He inserts himself from behind in one sudden slam. My eyes go blind.

  I wake to a cool breeze blowing through a small opening on the side of the window. It’s a little past three and far from daylight. It’s abnormally quiet, save for the faint blaring of a TV coming from the room behind us.

  The ice bucket is empty, so I grab it and step outside. Two simultaneous sounds occur—the clicking of the motel door and the slamming of a car door. My palm wraps around the railing and rides it as I make my way to the ice machine situated halfway down the outdoor walkway.

  There’s a calmness in the air, betrayed for milliseconds at a time as gusts come and go. My bare feet pad against the concrete, making no sound, as if I’m walking on air. I place the ice bucket under the ice machine and press it back against the handle. Ice grinds against metal, and then shoots out into the bucket. It comes out strong, sending stray chunks of ice against the cement, then rolling toward the railing.

  It’s not hot out here, but it’s warm enough for the ice to melt. It’s slow, but puddles begin to form around each escaped cube. I kick the cube closest to me, sending it flying off the edge of the second floor. I make my way to the railing and set the bucket down, then I lean against the railing with my elbows folded, staring out into the nothing of this once-busy highway.

  It’s difficult to see change in motion. Only when you’re looking back do you truly grasp it. With every breath we take, something changes, but it’s not until we’ve breathed a million more breaths that we notice it. I wonder what my life will look like in this moment when I’m thinking back while rocking my chair on a suburban porch at sunset. Will I be able to see that exact moment that everything changed?

  The bell attached to the office door rings and a man comes skulking out. His arms are heavy and pulled tight toward the top. He looks like a man on a mission and when he turns around and locks his eyes on me, I know what his mission is.

  Rake races toward the steps and I snap backward, tripping over the bucket of ice. The ice scatters against the concrete and scrapes along my leg. I push myself up with my hands, noticing the clanking on the steps behind me.

 
; It’s just like the movies. I’m running from Jason Voorhees and no matter how fast I run, he’s right on me. He pivots around the corner, almost slamming into the railing as I finally catch my speed. I sprint to room 21 and slide past it once I reach it. My hand twists the knob, thrusting the door open and slamming it shut just as quick.

  “Get up!” I scream.

  Blue jolts up in bed, throwing off the stray bit of sheet that managed to wrap itself around his right leg. His head and chest are drenched in sweat–so not the point.

  “He’s here!” I push the deadbolt into place.

  “Rake?” he asks very rhetorically. He knows the answer.

  He launches himself out of bed. Naked and vulnerable, he practically jumps into his jeans, yanking them up over his legs.

  Something thumps against the door. The knob twists and the door pushes open a fraction of an inch before slamming against the deadbolt. Cheap-ass motel door lock.

  “Come on, let me in,” Rake says through the door, taking a break from beating on it. “I just wanna talk.”

  His voice is calm, as if he expects to be welcomed with open arms. I pace backward, bumping into Blue. He grabs me by the shoulder and pushes me behind him as he buckles his jeans.

  “No?” Rake asks.

  Blue begins to speak, but pauses.

  “Come on, Blue.”

  “Just give me a minute,” Blue says to him.

  Rake laughs diabolically. He’s insane. And I’m not down with Blue’s plan, whatever it is.

  “Blue,” I whisper, “you’re not really going to open that door, are you?”

  The look he gives me speaks volumes. Are you stupid?

  “I don’t got a minute, babyface.”

  Babyface? I don’t say the words—I mouth them—but Blue has an extraordinary ability to read lips. He’s not thrilled about it either.