by N. K. Smith
“Yes.”
“Does he make you talk?”
“No. He mmmmakes me w-write.”
“Oh.” It was good that his doctor tried to communicate in ways that made Elliott comfortable.
He looked like he was concentrating and then in an unfaltering voice, he asked, “C-can I k-kiss you?”
Since I’d told him I didn’t think we should work toward having sex, he’d been asking before initiating any physical contact. Of course I always said yes, but he was amazingly cute and sweet when he asked.
I nodded and watched as he inched toward me. He was on his side beside me and I was lying on my back. His lips brushed mine and I took a deep breath through my nose, savoring that earthy orange scent that was entirely his own. I never knew a boy could smell so good.
After a moment, he gently placed his hand on my stomach and traced my bottom lip with his tongue.
Hands down, Elliott Dalton was the best kisser ever.
I had goose bumps.
He moved his hand under my shirt and carefully squeezed my breast.
I’d never had such a gentle man touch me. He was always so careful when we were like this. It was true there were times when he got upset and his muscles reacted by contracting, but that wasn’t his fault.
But when we were like this and he was touching me in this uniquely loving and erotic way, he was never harsh. I supposed this was what lovers did. It wasn’t grabbing and groping. It was caressing and stroking.
He’d unbuttoned my shirt and pulled the cups of my bra down. One breast was covered by his hand, the other by his mouth. My breathing was ragged.
Just as I thought I would never catch my breath again, he tensed. That was when I realized he was pressing into my leg.
I kept still.
My leg itched, but I refused to scratch it. I wanted to grab him and make him do those wonderful things again. But I didn’t. I pressed my head back into the blanket, and waited.
After what seemed like forever, he moved his mouth up to my neck and began working at it. Then he moved his hand from my breast to the button of my jeans.
He popped it and I felt a little scared. I didn’t want to get involved in this if the outcome would be frustrating.
My pants were pulled down past my hips and I felt his hand move between my legs. I tried to focus on what he was doing and how my body felt, but there was this nagging voice in my head that kept asking what the point of all this was if he wouldn’t even let me see his body, if I wasn’t allowed to touch him. Where was this all going?
I didn’t question our emotional relationship, just the physical part.
It seemed to me that it was going to be nothing but frustration. Not sexually, at least not for me, because he seemed perfectly willing and able to provide me rockin’ orgasms courtesy of his hands.
No, it would be frustration of another kind. It would be the kind of frustration I was totally unused to. I wanted to give him back the kind of pleasure he gave me, but he didn’t want that. Every time I wanted to bring him some kind of satisfaction, I’d have to hold myself back.
Even now, as he was manipulating my body in very nice ways, I was focused on something else.
And that sucked.
My body was fairly well-versed in engaging in sexual acts and enjoying it without much participation from my mind, but with Elliott, I wanted to be present, both physically and mentally, so I tried to push out the thoughts rattling around in my head and concentrate on the moment.
My body’s release of tension brought me back to him.
He had sat up and was pulling his shirt over his head. When he saw me looking at him, his cheeks reddened a little and he cocked his head to the side.
“D-d-doctor E-E-Emman-Emmanuel says that you w-wouldn’t be wwwith me unless you c-cared and if you c-care ab-bout me, then you won’t care about w-what you mmmight see.”
I sat up. Holy shit, what was he saying?
Might see? What might I see?
I studied his chest, thinking about how sexy he was, but I asked, “You talk to him about us? About what we do?”
I wasn’t really upset about it, I just wanted to know. I never asked what he spoke to his therapist about because it wasn’t my business, but he did mention it.
“N-no. I-I-I mean, yyyyes. Well, wwwe t-talk in ggggeneral t-terms ab-b-b-bout mmmusic, b-but it’s r-r-rrrrreally ab-b-bout sex,” he whispered the last word.
Damn, I guess he really was working on all this.
My eyes were glued to his hands and they hovered around the button of his jeans. He was going to take them off! He was taking his time with it, though.
“I’ve seen you in your underwear before, remember?”
“B-b-but w-we’re outside.”
I smiled. “The birds don’t care about your underwear. I doubt the raccoons do either. Besides, they’re sleeping.”
His answering smile was shaky.
Even though he knew I loved him and I was sitting on a blanket in nothing but an open button-down shirt and a bra with the cups pulled down, he was making no forward progress in removing his clothing.
I fought the urge to pull his jeans off myself, but Elliott had to do it.
“C-c-close your eyes? P-p-please?”
For a second, fear gripped me, because I hated the dark and not being able to see what was about to occur. In the dark, anything could happen and there was no preparing for it.
But this was Elliott. He’d asked me to do something to make him more comfortable, so I would do it. If he was going to get naked next to our stream on this gorgeous sunny day, then I would do what needed to be done in order to make it happen.
When I closed my eyes, he was on his knees, just like me. I breathed in and out rhythmically. I hated not having all my senses, but I could hear well. I heard the birds chirping and the new leaves of the trees swaying and swishing up above.
I also heard him remove his pants.
I felt foolish sitting there with my eyes closed as he took off his clothes, but I figured he probably felt foolish asking me to do it. I wanted so badly for him to feel good about himself. He needed to know how good he was, how worthy he was.
His warm hand took one of mine and very slowly, he brought it to him. I was tempted to open my eyes, but I didn’t want him to freak out. This was a trust thing. I was trusting him not to do anything horrible to me while my eyes were closed, and he was trusting me to give him the space he needed by not looking.
I held my breath when I realized he was moving my hand to hold him through his boxer-briefs. It was amazing how the anticipation of what was about to happen heightened my level of lust. It felt better than the orgasm he’d just given me.
I could have focused solely on what was in my hand, but I paid attention to his breathing as well. His breathing was the key. It would tell me if he was near a panic attack.
All of my worries about where this was going had disappeared. He was letting me touch him. He was giving me this and forcing himself to remain calm during the whole thing.
“Sssstop.” He pulled my hand away from him.
I fought to keep my eyes closed. I felt like shit again. This was exactly why I didn’t want to get involved in this shit again. I always went away feeling like a predator.
“I’m sorry.”
His hand squeezed mine and after a second he said, “It’s o-o-okay. I-I-I’m o-okay.”
When he brought my hand back, my fingers curled around him. I inhaled sharply when I realized that he was no longer covered by his underwear. I must have been so focused on how he was doing that I hadn’t heard him pull them down.
I was scared to say anything. I felt like anything I did, any big movements or loud noises, would freak him out and I didn’t want that. It was not lost on me how big of a step Elliott was
taking here.
I didn’t understand why he was so worried. He felt fine. His skin was soft and silky. I didn’t understand his fear.
I went to move my hand and he let me. I moved it slowly as he took deep, shaky breaths. His hand fell away from mine.
The responsibility to be respectful and aware now rested squarely on my shoulders, or rather, in my hand.
Slowly I moved my hand to cup him a little lower.
Oh.
I could tell his body was shaking. Just the tips of my fingers felt again.
He had...
He had only one.
Oh, shit. I was pretty sure I never wanted to hear the story behind that.
Elliott’s breathing was rough and staggered now. He seemed like he might be on the verge of a panic attack.
My eyes opened to check on him and he pushed me away, immediately moving to cover himself with his hands. For a quick second, I could see deep red, nearly purplish lines. I’d seen my share of penises, and I’d never seen anything like those lines.
Those were the scars he’d warned me about.
I felt sick.
I felt sick and disgusted that someone could do that to him.
It was horrible that he felt so bad because of them.
He managed to pull his underwear back up while still covering himself. He wasn’t looking at me. His face was turned completely to the side, so all I saw was his profile. His expression was pained and I could only imagine the memories that flooded through him.
I knew it was his brother who had hurt him like Helen’s boyfriend hurt me, but I couldn’t understand why he would disfigure him like that.
“Joseph did that?” My voice was but a whisper.
Slowly, he shook his head. Not Joseph. My mind raced.
“Your father?”
He nodded, his eyes closing as he drew up his knees and laid his head on them.
“How? Why?” There were so many questions. Even though I didn’t want the answers, I felt compelled to ask them. “Why would he do...?”
“P-p-p-p-p-punishment ffffffor J-J-JJJJJJoseph.”
Holy shit. His dad was a sick fucking bastard. “You were punished for what your brother did to you?”
It took him a while to answer and when he did, his voice was barely audible. “D-d-don’t yyyell, Sophie. I w-was p-p-punished fffffor w-w-what I d-d-did to JJJJJJ... JJJJJ-JJJJJ,” he stopped and sighed, “him.”
I didn’t understand. Like always when he said something about his fucked-up family, I felt completely lost. “What did you do to him?”
“C-c-c-corrupted hhhhim. Mmmmmade hhhhim w-w-weak lllliiiike me.”
“I don’t...”
“I-i-it g-g-g-got inf-f-fected. W-w-when they c-came to t-take mmmme aw-way, I w-wouldn’t llllet them ssssee. They t-t-took me t-to the hhhhospital. There w-w-were a llllot of p-people and I c-c-couldn’t sssstop them. Th-they said it w-was inf-fected, so they t-t-t-to-took it.”
I could picture it. Little Elliott scared out of his mind at all the people asking him to tell them things. They probably had no idea he had communication issues, let alone issues with people in general. They probably scared him so badly that he curled up into a ball and couldn’t breathe. Then they probably shot him up with a bunch of different drugs and shipped him off to the hospital where big, male nurses held him down so that the doctor could do his job.
He must have been scared.
He probably hurt quite a bit, but like me, he would just function around the pain. So when the people asked him if he was hurt, of course he didn’t say anything. Especially about something like that.
How could someone...?
I couldn’t even think about that shit. I didn’t even know if I had a mind sick enough to imagine what his father had done to him.
I wondered if his father had found Joseph being a sick bastard and took it out on Elliott.
His family was so screwed.
There were so many questions I could’ve asked, but one came to the forefront. “If your father did that to you, what did he do to your brother?”
The stillness left his body and Elliott sprang into motion. He pulled on his pants and tugged on his shirt. I took that as my cue to do the same. Once we were clothed again, he finally answered.
“Hhhhhe k-k-k-killed hhhim.”
I felt like I was the one who stuttered as all I could do was sputter small, senseless sounds.
“B-but hhhhhe d-d-didn’t k-k-k-kill hhhhhim on p-purpose, Sophie. My ffffather w-w-was upset w-w-with mmmme and p-p-probably w-w-w-would’ve k-k-k-k-k-killed mmmme, b-b-but J-J-Joseph... B-b-b-but he wwwwas sssick and hhhhe c-c-couldn’t t-t-take it. Hhhhhe d-d-died fffffor mmmy ssssins.”
Just like Jesus. “Your brother fucked you, Elliott,” I said a little too angrily. “How is that your sin?”
It was, of course, the wrong thing to say because he started to panic. His fists curled into the blanket and his chest heaved. His eyes closed and his muscles tensed.
I moved quickly to soothe him, running my hands through his hair and down his shoulders and back. His forehead rested on my chest. It took some time, but finally he relaxed enough for me to ease him down onto the blanket. I’d had enough of this line of conversation, and I was pretty sure he had as well.
I pointed to the sky. “Look, there’s a fluffy bunny.”
He took a deep breath, looked at me and then back at the sky. “Th-there’s a g-g-guitar.”
Good. He needed to talk. He needed to play this game with me. “What kind?”
“A G-G-Gibson.”
I smiled and then pointed to another one. “That one’s a dog on a motorcycle. See its floppy ears?”
I looked over and found a soft smile playing on his lips. “It llllooks m-m-more like one of those r-r-r-r-riverboats to mmmme.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
We lay quite peacefully together. After long minutes of silence, I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He turned his eyes to me and they locked with mine.
I loved him.
“I still think you’re crazy-sexy.”
I was so tired. Elliott kept me up with a constant stream of instant messages all night. We didn’t chat about anything important, just this and that, odds and ends. I suspected he was avoiding sleep.
Since my birthday, he’d let me touch him quite a lot. I was surprised because for all of his reluctance before, he seemed relatively at ease with the shift. In fact, he sought my touch more often than I initiated it.
I hadn’t been able to get him all the way there yet. He always stopped it before he came. He was so shy about that shit and it seemed as though he was much more interested in exploring my body. I wondered idly if that was about avoidance as well, but I found it hard to fight his attentions.
I was just about to fall asleep to thoughts of Elliott’s hands on me, when Jane nudged me very hard. “What?” I practically hissed.
“She just said that you won first place,” she nodded toward our Photography teacher.
“Who said what about what?” I was totally lost.
Jane looked at me like I was crazy. “She entered you into that statewide still life contest and you won the blue ribbon.”
“What?”
I looked around and everyone was looking back at me, including the teacher.
“Huh?” I asked loudly.
Ms. Clark repeated almost exactly what Jane said. I looked at the board and saw the crappy photo of Tom’s rock-climbing equipment.
“Cool, um, thanks.”
I was thankful when everyone stopped looking at me.
After school, Jane talked me into hanging out with her and Rebecca. The longer my relationship went on with Elliott, the nicer Rebecca was to me. It was like I was accepted into
the little club of people she liked all of a sudden.
It had become more common for the three of us to hang out here and there. Elliott never seemed too happy about it and would spend time alone in his room playing music or reading. Typically I wouldn’t stay away from him too long. I hated the thought of him sitting by himself when I was in the same house, but Wallace thought “expanding my interpersonal relationships” would help me transition from angry drug user/abuser to recovering addict with a solid social support network.
I still hated the term “recovering addict” because I wasn’t one, but I’d given up fighting against it long ago. She could call me or categorize me as whatever she wanted. Time with her in therapy made my life more bearable.
Jane painted Becca’s toenails and I thanked the Flying Spaghetti Monster that my toes weren’t going through all that. I found the whole thing boring. After the girl talk stuff was done, I got to spend a few moments with Elliott before going home.
Tom stared at his dinner. Usually steak and potatoes were his favorite meal, but tonight he barely ate.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it medium-rare?” I was pretty sure he did.
“Uh, no, Soph, it’s not your food. The steak’s fine. I just...”
“What?” I asked when he didn’t continue.
“I almost lost a friend yesterday, that’s all.”
I didn’t understand what he meant, so I just looked at him and waited for more information.
“He, well, we went into get an old man out,” he said, obviously talking about a fire somewhere, “but we couldn’t find him and Sean got hit with a beam.”
Oh. I’d always known Tom had a horribly dangerous job, but I’d never internalized it. He went into burning buildings. He went into unknown situations all the time and he’d probably lost a few friends over the years. “Was it on fire?”
“What?” He finally looked up from his plate.
“The beam. Was it on fire? Did it catch your friend on fire?”
“Yeah,” he answered with a nod of his head. “Yeah, the whole place collapsed.”
“While you were inside?” I practically shouted my question. Both of us were taken aback by the force of it. My heart was pounding as I thought about Tom falling through wood and fire and winding up burnt and broken in the hospital. Tom could’ve died.
