by R. R. Banks
And Jesus Christ, it felt amazing. I'm so happy – so relieved that he brought me to orgasm – that I'm crying.
Caleb collapses beside me on the floor, his face dripping with sweat. But he's smiling and has a look of pure happiness on his face.
“Wow, I can't believe I've been missing out on that all these years,” I say, still stunned by the intensity of the sensations that had just rocked me.
An orgasm with a toy is one thing. But an orgasm from sex was something else entirely. And I am still high from it all. My body is still shaking as Caleb pulls me close.
“Well, truthfully, it probably wouldn't have been that great if we'd done it back then,” he says with a cocky grin. “It would have been good, but I'd like to think I've learned a few things over the years.”
He doesn't understand. And I don't think he ever will. For so long, I've been holding myself back from experiencing true pleasure with a man. Obviously, because of Caleb. Perhaps now that we've talked, cleared the air in some respects, I can move forward with my life. I can let myself commit to somebody both physically and emotionally.
I know it won't be Caleb, since he's leaving. But perhaps, even though he's gone, he'll leave behind the key to unlocking my heart and my mind.
I still can't believe how good it feels though. I can't believe it's taken me this long to finally experience a powerful, earth shaking orgasm.
I am still stunned that I'd actually had an orgasm – with a man. But it wasn’t just any man. It was Caleb. Maybe that's all it took for me to finally let go – having closure with him. Or maybe he was just really, really good – which I can't argue, he was. But there was something more to it than that.
Something much more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Abby
We sit in a booth at the one of the few diners that remains from our high school days the next morning. Something is bothering me about something he'd said the night before and I want to know more. He's hesitant to tell me at first, but eventually, he lays out the whole story about my father. Specifically, about what my father said to him that precipitated him leaving Sheridan Falls.
“He really told you that?” I ask, feeling my jaw fall to the table. “I'm so sorry, Caleb. My father could be so protective of me, but that's ridiculous. You deserve better than that.”
Caleb stares at his coffee cup for a long time. “He was right, Abby,” he says, looking up at me. “He was only trying to protect you from me, and he was right. I'm not a good guy.”
“Bullshit,” I say, shaking my head. “You're not your father. Nothing like him.”
“Yeah? Well I've never been in a relationship long enough to find out for sure,” he says. “And some might say I'm no different than my mom – except I'm not breaking up marriages while I'm whoring around.”
“That's a lot different,” I say. Though the idea of him whoring around bothers me a bit, I push that out of my head and smile at him from across the table. “My father was wrong, Caleb. I mean, look at you. You made something of yourself – you served our country. You're a Marine and you got out of Sheridan Falls. Things my father would never have imagined.”
The waitress comes over to refill our coffees and to tell us our food will be right out. Which, of course, derails the conversation entirely.
“Do you remember,” Caleb says, grinning from ear-to-ear behind that bushy beard he's sporting, “when we'd come here after games. You, me, a few of the other guys and their girlfriends?”
“I do,” I say. “We drove the wait staff crazy. We were obnoxious back then, weren't we?”
“Nah, we were just kids,” he says, playing with the empty sugar packet in front of him. “But those were the days alright.”
“Yes, they were,” I say, feeling the wave of nostalgia wash over me. “Not much has changed here either. It still looks pretty much the same – except for the new booths.”
“The old ones were getting pretty ratty,” he says, looking over at the corner booth we used to sit at. Pointing at it, he asks, “How about that time I got a little handsy and you smacked the shit out of me? Right over there, wasn't it?”
“Oh God,” I say, covering my face. “I forgot about that. You tried to grope me with our friends right there, and I was so embarrassed. But wanna know something? I secretly liked it.”
“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “I knew you wanted my hands all over you. You were just too shy and scared.”
The waitress brings us our food, and as I look over, I realize Caleb ordered the exact same thing he used to always order.
“Not too much has changed apparently,” I say.
“Yeah, well, at least I'm not trying to grope you this time.” He winks at me as he loads his hash browns up with ketchup. Just like old times.
“Well, even if you did,” I say. “I wouldn't slap the shit out of you this time. Probably.”
We dig into our meals. Like always, I get the pancakes with a side of bacon. And just like the old days, Caleb reaches over and steals a bite of my pancakes and gives me a piece of his sausage in return. I smile, taking a bite of the sausage. It all feels so normal, so natural. Almost like nothing had ever happened and no time has passed. It's as if we were preserved in time and finally released back into our daily lives.
Except, this time, I know it's trap.
“So, when are you heading back to Cali?” I ask.
Caleb cringes. “People hate when it's called Cali,” he says with a laugh.
“Fine,” I groan, “California. When are you heading back to California?”
To be an ass, I enunciate every syllable, sounding it out slowly to make a point.
“I don't know,” he says, giving a half-smile as he piled a forkful of hash browns in his mouth. “I'm thinking I might stick around a bit longer than I'd originally planned. It's been nice getting back up here, and God knows when I'll make it back again. Maybe never.”
That last bit stings, but I force a smile. “A few more days then?”
“Maybe?” he shrugs. “Or maybe a couple weeks. Who knows? That's the nice thing about what I do – I can make my own schedule, work wherever I want.”
Which reminds me – I know very little about his life at the moment. “So, what is it you do exactly? Now, that you're not a Marine and all.”
“I'm uhhh,” he scratches his beard. “I'm a PI. Not the most glamorous of gigs, I know. But it pays the bills.”
“So, what does that mean? You follow cheating husbands around? Catch them in the act and send proof back to the wives?”
He laughs. “Pretty much,” he says. “Infidelity is one of my biggest money makers.”
“Sounds like the two of us could work together,” I say. “Being a marriage counselor and all.”
“Oh yeah? I knew you were a counselor, but didn't know what type.”
“Yeah, I help repair people's marriages. But couldn't even salvage my own,” I say. “Ironic, huh?”
I give him a weak smile as I pick at my pancakes, suddenly finding myself not very hungry.
Caleb reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I have no doubt that if you'd wanted to repair that relationship, you could have. But some things are just not meant to be.”
Yeah, like him and me, I think. I push my plate away, losing my appetite altogether.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Abby
I lock the door to my office, done for the day. It had been a pretty heavy afternoon schedule of clients and I feel bad because I don't think I gave them my full attention. I'm not sure I did a lot of good for them today. I should probably just issue everybody refunds, to be honest. But then, I don't want anybody losing confidence in me, either. I'll just have to get my head straight, buckle down, and do right by them next time.
In my defense, it's not entirely my fault though. I'm kind of caught up in my own stuff at the moment. Having spent a lot of time with Caleb, really talking, and really connecting with him, I'm starting to feel pieces that have been missing
inside of me falling into place. Some of them, pieces I didn't even know I was missing.
Reconnecting with Caleb has been terrifying. But in a lot of ways, it's also been amazing. By allowing myself to be open enough to talk to him rather than just shout him down, I forced myself to step outside my comfort zone. Allowed myself to be vulnerable.
Those weren't things that came easily or naturally to me, but it was the only way I was going to get the answers I wanted. The answers I needed for so long. And in a way, spending the time I've been spending with Caleb, getting back inside his mind and getting truth and honesty from him have done more to heal me than all my years of therapy.
I'm meeting Caleb for dinner tonight and I find that I'm actually looking forward to it. There seems to be such an easy air between us. I never thought it possible, but I feel so comfortable around him again. It's like two pieces of a puzzle snapping back together again and I don't want to rush things or read to much into anything just yet, but it feels – right. And I know he feels the same way too.
I walk around the parking lot behind the building that houses my office, pulling my keys out of my bag, and press the button to unlock the door.
“Hello, Abby.”
James' voice stops me in my tracks, sending a lightning bolt of fear shooting through me. I turn around to face him and he's standing just five feet from me, a strange little smile upon his lips.
“What are you doing here, James?”
“I came to see you,” he says calmly. “To talk to you.”
“I thought I was pretty clear that we have nothing left to talk about.”
“Oh, see, but I think we do.”
He takes a step forward and I take one step back. But I bump into my car and realize I have nowhere else to go. I look around quickly, hoping there's somebody around who can help me. But I'm alone – with him.
The look on his face is disturbing and sends a chill through me. There's something in his eyes that sets my nerves on edge. That scares me.
“Fine,” I say evenly. “What is it you want talk about then, James?”
“First of all, I want to talk about us,” he says. “About getting back together.”
I shake my head. “That's not going to happen, James,” I say. “I was very clear about that.”
A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is this because of him? Because of Caleb?”
“It has nothing to do with Caleb.”
That's not entirely true. The night I broke up with James, starting anything with Caleb again had been the furthest thing from my mind. I was awash in emotions that night, but there were absolutely zero romantic feelings for Caleb. Things had changed since then, obviously.
But that's not the point.
The point is that if Caleb had anything to do with my breaking up with James, it was only in that I was so overcome with emotion that I finally hit my breaking point. It made me realize a lot of things – things that honestly, were a long time coming. I needed to take control of my life, my sanity, and my happiness back – and that's exactly what I did.
Not that James was going to understand that.
“No?” he asks. “If it has nothing to do with Caleb, why did you fuck him the other night?”
His question made my breath catch in my throat and my blood run cold. How in the hell could he have possibly known that I slept with Caleb? Unless –
“You're stalking me,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“I'm looking out for your best interests,” he corrects me, his voice full of emotion. “I happened to see you come home with him. I peeked in your windows to make sure you were okay and saw you screwing him, Abby.”
“You've got to be kidding me.”
That he could rationalize stalking me that way is more than just creepy. It's terrifying. And it shows me that James is dangerous. I don't know what's going through his mind, but I know that if he's stalking me, it can't be good. I need to get out of there. Get away from him.
“Look, James,” I say, doing my best to keep the nervous flutter out of my voice. “It's been a long day and I want to go home and get some rest. Let's get together later in the week to talk about everything. I'm open to hearing –”
“I'm afraid it's too late for that, Abby,” he says. “That bus has already left the station.”
“What are you talking about, James?”
His cheeks flare with color and he looks almost ashamed, but he pulls his hand out of the pocket of his windbreaker and he's holding a gun. The adrenaline pours through me, making my head almost buzz with its intensity. My heart is pounding in my chest like I'd just run a marathon and my eyes widen as I stare at it.
“What are you doing, James?” I ask, my voice cracking with fear. “Why are you holding a gun?”
“Because you're not thinking clearly, Abby,” he says. “And I need to protect you. Get you away from here. Away from him. Allow you to relax a little and get your head back on straight.”
“James, don't do this,” I say. “You don't want to do this.”
“I'm not doing anything,” he replies, his voice smooth and calm. “I only want to keep you safe. Protect you. Even if I'm only protecting you from yourself.”
I shake my head. “I don't need to be protected, James,” I say. “I just need you to put the gun down.”
He looks at me and I can see the resolve in his face. He's committed to this course of action and there's nothing I can say or do that's going to change his mind. The only thing I can do is call for help. Or run. Either of which very well could earn me a bullet.
“I don't want to do it this way, Abby. Believe me,” he says. “But we were happy. And then all of the sudden, this guy shows up and we're not? It's obvious to me that you're not yourself. That you're not thinking or feeling clearly. As a trained therapist, you should know yourself well enough to know that.”
“James, I –”
He waves the gun in my direction without pointing it at me. “We have to go now, Abby,” he says. “Get into the car. Please.”
“This doesn't have –”
“The car, Abby,” he says. “Get into your car now. You're driving.”
I look around frantically, looking for somebody, anybody who can help me.
“Abby,” he says, finally raising his gun, but keeping it pointed low. “Please don't make me ask again. Please get into the car.”
With no other options available to me, I reluctantly open the door and get behind the wheel. James comes around quickly and gets into the passenger seat. He keeps the gun in his hand, but it's pointed away from me.
“W – where are we going, James?”
“I want you to drive down to the marina,” he says. “We're going for a little pleasure cruise.”
“Where are you taking me, James?”
“To my cabin,” he replies. “It's quiet. It'll give you a good space to think. To clear your head.”
“Please, I –”
“Start the car and drive, Abby,” he says, his voice suddenly ice cold. “I don't want to hurt you. I've never wanted to hurt you. But you need to do what I say now, so I don't have to.”
The tone of his voice tells me that he's serious. That something inside of him has snapped and he's gone off the deep end. And I know that if I don't do what he says, he's going to kill me. Maybe he's going to anyway, I don't know.
All I do know is that as long as I do what he says and play along with him, I'll stay alive. And if I'm alive, there's hope for escape. For rescue. For something. I know that it's not going to be long for people to realize I'm missing, and once they do, they'll be out looking for me.
I just need to stay alive until they find me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I pull into the lot of the marina and find it all but deserted. If I don't do something now, find some way to get away from him, I'm going to be in real trouble. If James gets me on that boat and gets us to the Canadian side of the water, nobody is going to be able to help me. I'm
going to be completely on my own with a madman holding a gun.
Which means, I'm pretty much as good as dead.
“I know what you're thinking, Abby,” he says as he gets out of the car. “And all I can say is please don't do it. Don't run. I don't want to hurt you. I love you, Abby.”
I shake my head. “You don't love me, James,” I say. “If you did, you wouldn't be doing this.”
“It's because I love you that I'm doing this,” he says. “Don't you see? We were happy together. We were content –”
“You're wrong,” I say. “I was never content. I fooled myself into believing that I was – but that was early on. The truth of the matter though, is that I stayed with you as long as I did because I was afraid of being alone.”
He looks at me a long moment, a flash of anger passing through his eyes. But then his face smooths out and an eerie calm descends over him again.
“We both know that's not true, Abby,” he says. “Now, come one. We need to get to the boat.”
When I hesitate, James comes around to the driver's side of the car and grabs me by the arm. His fingers dig into me and I cry out in pain as he squeezes hard. He practically drags me down to the docks where his boat is moored and I'm frantically searching for somebody to help me. I spot a few couples sitting on the deck of their boats, some drinking wine, some barbecuing. James pulls me close and puts the barrel of the gun against my ribs.
“Don't make me do something terrible, Abby,” he says. “Please don't make me.”
I've been on his boat with him a number of times and the people at the marina are used to seeing me. Which is why they wave and shout their greetings as we pass on by. They obviously can't see the terrified look on my face or the fact that James is holding a gun on me. To them, we apparently look like a couple in love, taking a stroll down the dock to their boat.
I climb onboard James' boat and he starts untying the lines holding us to the dock.
“Start the engines, Abby,” he says as he tosses me the key.
I look at the key in my hand and wonder if I can get the boat started and get away from the dock before James gets back on board. He's smiling at me as if intuiting my thoughts and I know it's a plan that isn't going to work.
