by Hart, Callie
It’s my turn to watch in fascination now, as thick ropes of come erupt from him, jetting over my hands and up the sleeve of my jacket. My shirt’s still hiked up around my neck, my breasts still naked, and I gasp when another surge of the white, hot fluid lands on my bare stomach.
Alex shivers as I continue to work my hands up and down his length. I’m sticky, covered in his come, but I don’t stop. Looking up, I find Alex’s eyes closed, his lips parted, his head hanging between his shoulders as he tries to catch his breath. He jumps, too sensitive, hissing through his teeth when I rub my fingers over the tip of his cock again. “Jesus wept, you’re trying to kill me,” he huffs. “Stop, stop, I can’t fucking take it.”
I let him go, feeling rather proud of myself. It goes without saying that he makes me feel amazing, but knowing that I can make him this kind of crazy? Well…it’s seriously fucking satisfying. Alex opens one eye, groaning when he catches sight of me. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Argento. I’ve made a fucking mess of you. No, no, don’t touch anything. Stay still.”
He puts himself away, fastening his pants with quick, sure movements, and then he’s stooping at my feet, gathering snow in his cupped hands. I bite back a scream when he presses it against my stomach, using it to clean away his semen; Alex grins like the bastard that he is. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s not funny, I swear.” The way his eyes are dancing with amusement tells me that it is funny, though. The melted water runs down the front of my jeans, making me squeal, and Alex grabs the bandana hanging from his back pocket, using it to catch up the remaining wetness, drying me off with it, then slowly, veeeeery slowly he corrects my bra, straightening the fabric and guiding the cups back into place, covering my breasts. He fixes up my shirt next, and then collects more snow, reverently cleaning himself from my hands, apologizing again, softly and seriously this time, as he takes care of the mess he made of my jacket sleeve.
His dark hair falls into his face. His eyes flicker upward from under drawn brows, assessing me through his wavy, tumbled locks, and my heart summersaults. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he confesses. “I can’t keep my hands off you. I have no idea how the fuck I’m supposed to restrain myself.”
My fingers are wet and numb from the snow. I close them around Alex’s hands, every part of me alive and singing even from this small contact between us. “Restraint is seriously overrated, Alessandro. Who needs it anyway?”
His full lips press together, holding back a smile as leans down to me, resting his cheek against my forehead. I nestle into him, winding my arms around him, beneath the thick, musty smelling leather of his jacket, and the universe and all its mysteries click into place. I don’t know exactly how long the sun will burn for. I don’t know how black holes work. I still don’t know if there is life on other planets, but none of that’s important anymore, because here, in Alessandro Moretti’s arms, everything makes perfect sense anyway.
“Silver? Is that you?”
I whip my head up, pulse thumping everywhere at the sound of my name. Standing under the street light, eight feet away, Mr. Saxman from the convenience store—one of my father’s high school friends—is standing stock still with a bulging brown paper bag in his arms. He’s squinting into the shadows, hair dusted with snow, concern strewn across his face. I dig my fingers into Alex’s back, horror coursing through me as I realize just how mortifying it really would have been if one of my father’s friends had shown up a few minutes ago. Alex huffs out a breath of laughter into my hair, refusing to turn his head.
“Uh...hi, Mr. Saxman. How are you?”
His eyes crawl up and down Alex’s back, presumably trying to figure out who I’m clinging to like a lost soul out here in the freezing cold night. He takes a step forward but then pauses, seeming to think better of it. “I’m good. Everything okay here?” His voice is sharp. Suspicious.
“Of course. Everything’s perfect.” Plumes of fog billow on my breath, catching in the yellowed glow thrown off by the street light. I mention nothing about the fact that I’m wrapped around a dark-haired guy in a leather jacket that Mr. Saxman has probably never seen before, and Alex still doesn’t turn. He just hums into my hair—a contented, relieved sound that almost makes my brain short out.
“Okay, well…I don’t mean to interrupt. It’s too cold to be loitering around out here, though. Maybe you should think about heading on home?”
“Yes, Mr. Saxman. Don’t worry, we were just about to leave.”
“Glad to hear it.” He heads off slowly down the high street, eyes still boring into the back of Alex’s jacket, the fresh snow carpeting the sidewalk making stiff, creaking sounds beneath the soles of his boots.
Alex begins to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he plants a kiss against my temple. I pinch his side, making him yelp. “Jerk. You could have at least made eye contact with the guy. He would have been less suspicious if you’d smiled and introduced yourself.”
Alex leans back, an eyebrow arched in disagreement. “That guy would have taken one look at me and decided I was trying to mug you or something, Argento. You know it. I know it. Better I left him guessing. Come on, let’s get some coffee before the blood freezes in your veins.”
TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED:
+1(564) 987 3491: You’re dead, bitch. I’m hack out your tongue and fuck your dirty, lying mouth.
4
SILVER
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s, uh…well. I mean, he’s not exactly cute, is he? I s’pose you could say there was something…charming about him?” I am being seriously generous with my compliments right now, but my father looks mortally offended. He takes a step back in the hallway, folding his arms across his chest, frowning over the tops of his horn-rimmed hipster wannabe glasses at the subject of my concern. A small, black, furry creature stares balefully back up at him, baring its teeth, letting out a low, hostile growl.
“He’s just confused is all,” Dad says defensively. “He was locked up in a cage for months.”
“Exactly. Which begs the question…don’t you think he should be a little happier now that he’s been liberated? He looks like he’s gonna chew your eyes out. Don’t—god, don’t move. I think he’s gonna lunge.”
Dad gives me amused side-eye. “And here I was, thinking I’d raised a fearless, strong daughter who wasn’t afraid of anything. He weighs fourteen pounds, Sil. I think I can take him.”
I screw my nose up, partly to block the smell emanating from the small animal guarding the entrance to the kitchen like his very life depends on it, but also because I’m not all that sure my father could take him. “He’s wiry, Dad. Like, muscular. He could probably jump from there and rip your throat out.”
Dad tuts, shaking his head at me in a disappointed manner. “I’m seconds away from disowning you. That dog is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest little soul I’ve ever laid—shit! Holyfuckingshit! Did you see that? He fucking lunged! He fucking did!”
For one brief, brilliant moment, my father holds his hands to his throat like he really did think the dog was going to clamp its jaws around his neck and bite down. He drops his hands to his side as soon as he catches me smirking at him. “Listen. This is not my fault. You didn’t see him at the pound. He was all sweet and doe-eyed, lying on his back, staring up at me from inside his prison,” Dad stresses for effect. “I thought I was doing him a favor bringing him home with me. He didn’t start displaying any of these murderous tendencies until I got him inside, out of the wind, and the front door was closed. Then it was like a switch flipped and he turned into this raging little psychopath. I can’t get into my office, Silver. I’m gonna have to take him back to the pound first thing in the morning.”
“Whatever you think’s best,” I reply, my voice light, my tone going up at the end.
“Cold, Silver. Real cold. The hell is wrong with you? There’s no way he can go back to the pound. They kill dogs when people return them. Problem dogs. D’you want them to kill Nipper?”
“Nipper? You called him Nipper?”
“He’s six years old. Someone else named him Nipper a long time ago. He’s used to it now. I can’t go around changing a dog’s name just because it makes him sound…”
“Bitey?” I offer.
“Yeah, well. He hasn’t actually bitten anyone. Yet. Not that I know of, anyway. They have to tell you that kind of stuff when you adopt a dog, right?”
I crouch down, rummaging in the bag of dog treats Dad bought for the savage little fucker, taking out a little bone-shaped morsel and gingerly holding it out to the dog. “What is he anyway? He looks like a miniature hippo with fur. A lot of fur.”
“They didn’t know,” Dad admits. “They said they thought he was some sort of terrier. Maybe.”
Nipper’s quick, dark eyes dart to me, and he growls, exposing his teeth again. I toss the treat toward him and it lands at his feet. He skitters back, legs splaying in every direction as he scrambles to gain purchase against the hardwood, ears flat against his head as he turns tail and bolts, whimpering, into the kitchen. I groan, standing up straight again, dusting my hands off against my jeans. “I mean…are you sure it’s even a dog? And why bother? We both know this is some weird attempt to lash out at Mom.”
Dad rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly very focused on the light fitting above his head. “Jesus, I had no idea how dusty that thing had gotten. I think we’re gonna need to get a cleaner soon, kiddo.”
“Dad. I’m embarrassed for you. Your avoidance tactics need serious work. Just admit it. You got a dog because Mom’s allergic to them and you want to make it as unpleasant here for her as possible.”
“Your mother moved out well over a month ago, Silver. I never had a dog before because I couldn’t have one. Now I can have one. I don’t see anything wrong with that. I’m not trying to make it uncomfortable for her here. I’m not even thinking about her now. This isn’t her home anymore. She has her own house. She can not have a dog there.”
Fuck. I should have thought about it a little harder before bringing up Mom. After I sat down and told my parents about what happened to me at Leon’s Spring Fling party, things got bad. Really, really bad. Mom was hysterical, and Dad… I’ve never seen him so furious before. He hasn’t stopped being furious, either, since I still haven’t told him the names of the boys who attacked and raped me in that bathroom. I wasn’t ready to part with that specific piece of information then, and I’m still not ready to part with it. I just couldn’t bear the thought of my father heading out into the night to find the monsters responsible for hurting me and hurting them back, because I saw that he wanted to. I saw the murderous look in his eyes, and I knew I needed to give him time to calm down before I handed over their identities.
Mom waited all of a week to sit down with Dad and confess that she’d been cheating on him with her boss for the past six fucking months. Later, after Dad had smashed the glass coffee table in the living room and mown down the neighbor’s mailbox as he’d fled the house, she’d told me sadly that secrets had eaten our family alive and there was nothing left to do anymore but be honest with one another and see what could be repaired once all the smoke and the debris had cleared. She’d moved out that night and taken Max with her.
It was strange. She didn’t even ask if I would go with her, as if she’d already known there wouldn’t be any point in even posing the question. I was always going to stay with Dad, because Dad was my person and I was his. I don’t know when my father and I formed our quirky little coalition, but now that Mom’s gone and Max is only here on the weekends, I realize that it’s kind of been Dad and me against the world for some time now. It’s terrible to admit this, and I would never say it out loud, but...it doesn’t really feel like all that much has changed.
It has for Dad, I’m sure. He woke up one morning, knowing his high school sweetheart loved him and the home they shared was a happy one. That evening, he found out his daughter had been hiding something monumentally horrible from him for months. And then, just to top it all off, his wife pulled him aside and told him she’d been fucking another guy behind his back.
That has to do something to a guy. My suffering, pain and hurt has made him feel weak and riddled with guilt, like he failed to protect and take care of me. Mom’s betrayal has made him feel like half a man. He’s doing a stellar fucking job of hiding it, but I know this is the lowest point in his life. If he wants to rescue a dog, even a dog as ornery and potentially rabid as Nipper, then who the hell am I to stand in his way?
I don’t apologize for bringing up the subject of his cheating wife. I’ve learned over the past month that, when something bad happens to a community, to a person you love, it’s all too easy to tiptoe through your days, cringing and apologizing as you trip over accidental references and difficult topics, and the act of constantly saying you’re sorry becomes both exhausting to you and infuriating to the other person. Dad and I have driven each other to the point of madness with our apologies.
Instead, I thump him in the arm, nodding my head in the direction of the kitchen. “You think we could trap him in there if we form a pincer movement? You close the living room door, and I get the hallway?”
The color’s already fading from Dad’s face. “Why? Are we quarantining him in there and writing the kitchen off as a no-go zone? ’Cause I need to rescue the coffee maker if that’s the case. I can survive without a lot of things but caffeine isn’t one of them.”
“I was actually thinking we could go to Harry’s and order some tacos.”
He scowls. “It’s not Tuesday.”
“You can eat tacos on other days of the week, Dad.”
“Heresy.”
“Don’t be so miserable. It’s time you had a shave. Time you left the house, too.” I stand behind him, placing my hands against his shoulder blades, urging him toward the stairs.
“Nice try, kiddo. You’ll recall that I was growing this beard before the apocalypse. I am not shaving.”
“Damn.”
He reluctantly climbs the bottom step of the stairs. “I’m not really feeling Harry’s, Sil.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun. My treat.”
“You do realize that I have more money than you. A lot more money. I can pay for my own two-dollar tacos.”
“Which makes my offer to pay even more generous. God, will you stop resisting me!” I slap his shoulder, growling. “I need to get out of this house. It’s starting to feel like a tomb. And, Dad, I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but you’re starting to smell real bad. If you insist on keeping the beard, then you’ve at least got to take a shower.”
“I was considering becoming a hippy and wallowing in my own natural odor full time.”
“Nice. That shouldn’t damage your future dating prospects one little bit.” My left hand is still on his back, so I feel the muscles in his shoulder tense. We haven’t talked about what he wants to do next—if he’s planning on giving things another shot with Mom, or if that’s it, they’re done, and he’ll be filing for divorce. I honestly haven’t been able to think about it. Sure, selfishly, things still feel pretty normal for me right now, but if my parents get a divorce, I don’t know how that will color my view of the world moving forward. I don’t really know who I would be in a world where my parents weren’t the notorious Cameron and Celeste anymore.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter what I think. This is their thing. Their issue. Their life together. I’m old enough and mature enough to understand and accept that. Max, on the other hand…god, I have no idea how he’s taking any of this. He must be so fucking confused. For an eleven-year-old, this whole mess must be frankly terrifying.
It’s Max’s twelfth birthday soon. It’s always been our family tradition to take him to the aquarium over in Bellingham, but god knows what’s going to happen now. Mom’s definitely going to want to spend the day with him, and so is Dad. Are they going to end up fighting over him like he’s some kind of pawn, to be used to hurt the other person? I really hope not. I couldn’t bear
to stand by and watch that happen.
If Mom and Dad do get a divorce, then at some point one of them is going to start dating again. Eventually, new people will be introduced into Max’s life, people that just shouldn’t be there, and he’s going to have to grow up in this strange, alien childhood that I never had to endure. We are going to turn out very different people because of it, and that, to me, is the saddest thing in the world.
These thoughts all occur to me in one harrowing split second. Dad places a hand on the banister railing, turning around to face me, and when I see the look on his face, I get the feeling that the same thoughts all just occurred to him, too. If I could, I would ease the heavy burden he’s carrying on his shoulders. I’d remove the frown that creases his brow every waking moment of his day. If someone could wave a magic wand and give me one shot at time travel, offering me the opportunity to go back and change just one thing, I wouldn’t change what happened to me in Leon Wickman’s bathroom. I would go back and find my mother the day before she first allowed herself to fall prey to her desires and sleep with her boss, and I would tell her about all of the hurt and pain she would cause if she didn’t remember that she was a married woman.
“I don’t think we need to worry about my future dating prospects,” Dad says wearily. “Raleigh’s a small town. I went to high school with most of the women here. I wouldn’t date any of them even if they were single. None of them have changed since we were seniors, and they weren’t particularly nice people back then. I don’t suppose any of us were.”
“Dad—”
“Screw it,” he says loudly, slapping his hand against the banister railing. “This conversation just got really dark and depressing, didn’t it? I do need to get out of the house. Maybe those tacos aren’t such a bad idea after all. Give me twenty minutes and we’ll head out.” He turns and charges up the stairs before I can say anything else. Not that I wanted to continue the conversation, of course. It really did get dark and fucking depressing.
