by McLean, Jay
He leads me to the bed and places me down. His lips never leaving my skin. He starts to remove my top and I sit up to help him pull it off. I’m not wearing a bra and my nipples are so hard they could cut glass. I’m so fucking turned on. He continues to kiss my neck while one hand cups my breasts gently and passionately. I scream quietly into the air. He position himself between my legs and I let out a cry as we start to move together. His lips get lower and lower on my neck until they reach my chest. He starts to kiss my breasts, one after the other, then licks in the dip between. I’m about to lose control, then his tongue is on my nipple and his mouth covers it, sucking gently, then moving to the other and doing the same, licking, and sucking and nipping each one. My hands are gripping the comforter under us and my head is thrashing side to side on the pillow. I’m struggling to keep from crying out loud, the pleasure is That. Fucking. Amazing. Then his mouth goes lower, and lower, his tongue dipping into my naval and I know where this is going and I want it So. Fucking. Bad. I want to cry in anticipation. His hands go to the band of my pants as he slowly starts to pull them down. My hands go to his hair, as I not so subtly push him further down, begging, pleading for a release, the alcohol making me braver.
“What do you want, Kayla?” he asks.
“What?” My brain is too fuzzy from the heat between my legs.
“What do you want?”
I stop to think about what he’s asking. “I still don’t know, Jake.”
He sits up, and my body already misses him.
“I can’t be what you want,” he says, slowly coming to a stand. I whimper internally for him to come back. “I need to be more than this,” he says, pointing his finger between him and me and our state of lust, “you need to pick. It’s all or nothing.”
I can’t. I can’t pick. I sit up and pull my pants up, then throw my top over my head to cover myself. I start sobbing uncontrollably. I can’t lose him but I can’t give him everything yet, and he deserves everything.
“I can’t, Jake.”
“What do you mean you can’t? You can’t choose? Or you can’t be with me?”
“Yes.”
“To which one?”
“It’s been six fucking months, Jake. Six months since my life turned to shit.”
He flinches at my words and I know he’s taken it the wrong way. It’s not about him, not at all.
“Jake, that’s no-"
“It can be six months, or six fucking years, Mikayla. Your boyfriend will still be an asshole, your best friend will still be whore, and your family will still be dead!” he spits.
My eyes snap to his and I see the regret instantly.
“Kayla, baby, I’m sorry, I’m a dick. I shouldn’t have sa-"
“Go to hell, Jake.”
“Kayla, please.” He’s crying now, voice breaking.
“Get the fuck out, Jake!” I scream at him.
He flinches but walks out the door, closing it quietly behind him.
I don’t see him for the rest of the night.
Chapter 46
*Jake*
I left Kayla alone in the hotel.
I ended up crashing at Cam and Dylan's dorm.
They asked what happened. I told them to fuck off. They left me alone.
I’m at the school gym lifting weights to try to get rid of this angry energy I have.
I’m pissed off. I’m pissed off that I fucked up. That we fucked up, both of us. Because it’s not just me. It’s her too.
We both said shit that we can’t take back, and I think this is it. This is the point where it’s over. I’m so fucking angry because it never began and she won’t give me the chance to try.
I’m being a dick and not concentrating on what I’m doing and I think I end up putting the wrong weights on the bar because when I go to press them, I can’t, and I’m fucking struggling to get the bar off my chest.
“Woah.” I hear, as someone comes to spot me and get the bar back on the rack.
James. Of course it is.
“You all right, man?” he asks.
“I’m fine, asshole,” I spit out.
He’s taken aback for a second, before he removes his earphones and starts winding them around his iPod, like he’s ready to have a long conversation.
Great, just what I fucking need.
“I uhhh..” he clears his throat. This kid’s awkward as hell. “I heard you went to Emily’s grave on her birthday.”
I look at him sideways.
“Micky told me,” he states.
I don’t care.
He takes a deep breath in and then sighs out loud.
I don’t say anything. Just sit on the bench and wait or him to fuck off.
“You know I asked Micky to marry me, right?”
Oh god, I cannot have this conversation with him, not now.
I stay silent.
He continues, “I asked Kevin, her dad, I asked his permission before I did it.”
“So?” I bite out, because I don’t know where this conversation is going but I hate that we’re having it. “She said no, right?”
“Yeah, she did. That’s not the point I’m trying to make so quit being a jerk and let me finish.”
So I do.
“Kevin, he was a really good guy. He loved his girls more than anything. My dad, he’s kind of a prick, he’s one of those dads you’re always trying to impress, you know? Like nothing you do is ever good enough.”
I remember his dad from the funeral. I get it.
“Anyway, Kevin, he was different, always accepted you. His girls could have been or done anything and he would always love and encourage them.”
I wait for him to go on.
“Shit, what I’m trying to say is that, when I asked him for permission, he kind of just looked at me strange for a few seconds, I swear I thought he was going to say no. Then he clapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘James, she’s 18, I can’t stop you. I think it’s a little young, but I was 18 when I met Denise, so I can’t talk. I’m sure you will both make the right decision and she’ll learn to love you as a husband.’”
He clears his throat.
“I was so fucking happy he was okay with it, I didn’t even think about what he said until later. That she would ‘learn’ to love me as a husband.” He pauses for a bit, thinking about his next words.
“I get it now, Jake, what he meant. She shouldn’t have to learn to love me like that, she just should. And somehow, Kevin knew that she didn’t. And now I see… I see it, the way she is with you, the way she looks at you, that’s how it should have been. Like you’re the only one. You’re it, Jake. You’re all of it. Her forever.”
Chapter 47
*Mikayla*
I call Lucy to pick me up from the hotel and take me home. I didn’t hear from Jake. No phone calls. I even made sure it was fully charged. Nothing.
I think we’re done.
When we pull into my driveway, Logan's car is there, and he’s leaning against it.
“Asshole,” Lucy greets with a head nod.
“Kinky Hornbag,” he replies, but she’s already reversing out the driveway.
“Where were you?” he asks me.
“Long story, how is he?”
“Who?”
“Jake.”
“What? I don’t know.”
“Oh.” I thought for sure Jake would be with him.
“What about Jake?” he asks, eyeing me curiously.
“Um, nothing. What’s up? What are you doing here?”
I’m not looking at him, but I can feel him watching me.
It’s awkward and uncomfortable, so after a few seconds I look up at him.
He’s still watching.
So, we stand there.
For seconds, minutes, hours… who knows.
Watching each other.
Waiting for one of us to talk first.
Then finally, he breaks.
“My friends mom is selling her car, it’s in your budget. I thought I
’d take you to look at it.” He says this like a question.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
I bring mine and Jake's overnight bags into the house and drop them just inside the front door before turning and getting into Logan's car.
***
“So I’ll pick you up on wednesday and take you there to get it, yeah?” Logan asks.
“Thanks.” I’m still quiet. I haven’t said much.
He hasn’t asked again.
It’s awkward.
Awkwardly silent.
Then a tear falls down my cheek and I wipe it away quickly.
I turn to look at him.
“I love him, Logan,” I say. Because if I can’t tell Jake, then somebody needs to know.
He looks at me before turning back to the road.
“No shit,” he deadpans.
“I think we’re done.”
He shakes his head, still looking straight ahead. “You guys will never be done.”
“He’s it for me, Jake, I mean, he was it. He was my happily ever after.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I can’t give myself to him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t be who I want to be with him. I can’t give him everything. I’m still broken and I need to pick up the pieces of myself and put them back together. If I give myself to him, I have to be complete. I can’t be half the person I want to be.”
He pulls over on the side of the road and turns the car off.
Then he looks at me.
For what seems like a lifetime.
“I’m sorry, Micky,” he says. I look down, because I am too. I’m so fucking sorry.
“I’m sorry, but I think you’re wrong,” he continues.
My eyes dart to his.
“Jake, he saw you at your worst. He was there when your life changed and your heart shattered. He was there to help you piece some of it back together. He’s seen it all, Micky. He’s seen you at your worst and he still fell in love with you. Like, truly, the forever kind of love with you. And I’m sorry, because I think your wrong. Maybe you don’t need to be a complete person, or maybe you do. But maybe, he’s it. Maybe he’s the other half of you.”
Chapter 48
*Mikayla*
When we get back to the house, Jake's truck is in the driveway.
I’m fumbling to open the door and get out before the car’s come to a complete stop. I rush to open the front door because I really, really need to see him. I need to tell him that I love him and that I need to be with him. Like, be with him.
“Jake!” I call out.
“In here!”
“Where?” I’ve stopped just inside the front door, trying to listen for where he’s calling from.
“Here!”
I walk down the hall way and look in the study, he’s not there, then I look into my room.
And he’s there.
And the world around me goes black.
People talk about heartbreak like it’s a figure of speech. But the truth is, it is physically possible. Because I feel it. I feel every single excruciating bit of pain that comes with it. And I feel like I’ve died.
But I haven’t. I’m still breathing.
In what could have been seconds of me standing in the doorway to my room, literally felt like a fucking lifetime.
But I’m not dead. I just haven’t opened my eyes. Because when I do, I’ll see the one thing I never ever wanted to see.
I take two deep breaths in and out and count to ten in my head.
When I open my eyes, I see my room.
The bed has been stripped, my comforter and baby blanket are gone. Cardboard boxes splayed throughout the room, some empty, some filled with my belongings.
Jake has my dresser drawer open and he’s packing one of the boxes with my clothes.
It’s over.
He wants me out.
Gone.
From his house and his life.
And were done.
My legs start to give out, so I take all the energy I have left and I sit on the edge of the bed.
I don’t look at him. I can’t see him.
I sit there and I cry. Silent tears. My head bent. Hands gripping the side of the mattress. Shoulders slouched.
I can’t face him.
I hear him pack more of my things, of my life. Everything I have left in this world, packed up in a few boxes.
And I cry.
He shuffles in and out of the room. Taking boxes and bags with him.
And I cry.
Because it’s all I can do. When your heart breaks and you lose absolutely everything you have left in your life. The only thing you can do is cry.
I don’t wail.
I don’t sob.
I just sit in silence and let the tears fall.
Because in my mind, playing like a fucking movie, is all the regrets I’ve ever had.
Every moment where I should have told him. That he was it. He was my Prince Charming. My White Knight. My Happily Ever After. My every fucking thing.
Then I feel him, his presence in front of me, and I’m too shit scared to open my eyes.
His hands are soft as they reach for mine, lifting them to place them behind his neck.
And I know what this is, this sad fucking goodbye that I can’t take. So I do nothing.
But then his hands are behind my thighs and he’s lifting me in the air and my grip around his neck tightens as my legs automatically go around his waist.
He’s moving us, walking, one hand behind my back and the other behind my head, like I’m a fucking baby. Because I am. I’m a fucking baby and I need my Mommy and Daddy so fricken much.
I hold on to him so tightly, like I want to climb him and never ever want to let go, because I don’t. Want to let go, I mean.
All of a sudden I’m laying on something soft and something warm is covering me and it feels so familiar but I can’t comprehend what it is and I still don’t want to open my eyes and face reality.
The next second I’m laying on my side, and he’s in front of me. His arms wrapped around me so tight, it’s hard to breath. But I breath through it, because I want to feel alive in this moment. The last few moments we have together, I want to remember every single piece of him. So I open my eyes and he’s there.
We’re in his bed.
Under my comforter.
Surrounded by boxes of my things.
He kisses away the tears that have fallen all over my wet face. Then he looks at me, really looks at me.
And then his lips are on mine, and my eyes close because the sensation is so overpowering. At first they don’t move, like we’re just connected there, waiting for the sparks of the touch to sizzle away. But after a few moments, he opens them slightly and our lips start moving together. Like a perfect fucking symphony. His arms are around me and my hands are gripping his shirt and then his tongue brushes against my lips and I moan in pleasure.
When our tongues touch for the first time, I see white behind my eyes. And I know it. I get it. That my mom was so fricken right about this moment.
We’re holding on to each other and we’re kissing, with lips and tongues and so much fricken passion that I don’t know if either of us is actually breathing.
Jake Andrews was wrong. He was so wrong. He didn’t need to do this to make me his. I was his the moment he asked me to move here with him. And the moment he held my hand at the funeral. The moment he took me into his home when I had nowhere else to go. I was his the moment he held me, while I cried in the back of that ambulance. When he was my strength when I had none. I was his the moment he cleared his throat, and I looked up at him with tears in my eyes, in that tiny little hallway just outside the restrooms at that restaurant.
And I knew it, I knew it when we were at Walmart and I was fixing his tie, that was the exact second I knew, that instant, intense feeling I had, meant that I was standing in front of my forever.
***
We kiss for so long our lips begin to ache. When we finally pull away, we look into each other eyes.
Talking, without speaking.
But something needs to be said, because I never want to go another day without him knowing.
“Jake, I am so much more than a lot in love with you.”
And then he kisses me again, but this time, it’s different. This time it’s less intimate and more passionate.
He dips his tongue in further as he positions himself on top of me. His weight held up by his forearms.
He kisses with so much passion I almost forget that this is our first time. His lower body pressed against mine and his hardness grinding into me.
His kisses move from my mouth and work there way to my jaw, then down my neck to my chest.
I’m trying to take his shirt off because I need to feel him, all of him. He sits up to remove his shirt and does the same with mine.
“I want you so bad, Kayla,” he whispers into my neck.
“I’m all yours,” I tell him. Because I am.
And then he reciprocates.
Three times in a fucking row, he reciprocates, and it feels so fricken good, I don’t know if I’m dreaming it. After the second time, I beg him to stop but he just keeps fucking going, with his mouth and his tongue and his fingers, and I know that everything before must have been done so goddamn wrong, because Jake Andrews knows. He knows how to do things so goddamn right.
Once he's inside me, I work it out, why I never felt like this before. Because if I compare my feelings for Jake to anyone else, then I know. I know I’ve never loved anyone before. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.
