Lasts

by C. L. Matthews

  “Oh, yeah, fagboy? What the fuck does a pussy ass bitch like yourself think you can do about it?”

  By the time he’s finished with his pissing match with words, I’ve closed the gap separating us, placing Ma safely behind me.

  “Brax, honey. Leave well enough alone,” my mother simpers.

  “Don’t,” I practically spit.

  Her weakness disgusts me. Leia always wondered why Ma drove me nuts. It’s because she’s spineless. She allows this excuse of a man to have power over her, over me. She’s allowed him to do things to me… to her… and, even though she isn’t aware, to Leia, too.

  “Listen here, fuckface,” I growl, gripping his shirt, feeling it crumple underneath my unrelenting anger. Ma gasps behind me, and I laugh humorlessly. She’s never heard me swear like this, let alone be cruel. “You’re going to get your shit and fucking leave before I make you.”

  He pulls back, forcing me to lose my grip, and rams into my shoulder. “You think you can force me to leave, pretty boy?” he challenges, squaring up to me.

  “So, you do like boys…” I taunt, bumping his chin.

  We all know he does. He can’t keep his hands to himself.

  When his fists lands on my jaw, I falter. I’m not really surprised he got pissed enough to hit me. I’m only shocked that the impact hurt. Stumbling backward a little, I nearly barrel into Ma. I adjust my stance, gaining my ground, and rush into him.

  I collide my fists into whatever body part I can, and he yelps. When my knuckles connect to his fucking face, I hear a crack. Whether it’s my hand or his face, it doesn’t deter my fierce and angry movements.

  Ma screams in the background, but I tune her out as my hands fight to connect with his body.

  “You’re going to kill him!” she screeches from my side.

  Doesn’t matter. He’s finally fallen to the floor, and now I have the upper hand. Straddling him, I continue to punch him, unable to stop the built-up hatred. My body aches, and it’s wet everywhere. The hot wetness coats my hands, and there’s even some on my face. I wipe at it, smearing it more, and then continue to take my abhorrence for Darryl on his face.

  Ma grips my arms, pulling me away from him. I catch a look at his face, unrecognizable with blood. It covers his face, hair, and even drips down his throat. My stomach turns, barely holding in the retching that’s bound to happen.

  Fuck.

  I did this. I let the bitterness and past work me up. He won, in this moment. All bloody and beat down, he still won.

  A moment later, when the adrenalin leaves my system, I race to the kitchen, vomiting in the sink. What have I done? My gut continues to clench as bile and whatever contents are left in my stomach attempt to escape.

  I shouldn’t have done it. He’s been beating on me and Ma for years. I had to pretend all the bruises and scars were from football and not the man that’d been abusing me since I could walk.

  Instead of cleaning my mess and waiting for the cops, I rush out of the house, running straight for Brady’s. In the last two years, he’s become one of my closest friends. Sadie’s didn’t hinder that friendship, it only solidified our bond. That’s saying something, considering most people avoid Leia and I like we were infected or something.

  His house comes into view. His dad’s car isn’t there. Brady’s mom left when he was young, and his dad surprisingly took to him coming out very well.

  I knock furiously at his door, and he opens it without a shirt. He’s sweaty as hell, looking ragged, like he exercised or just fucked someone. The sight momentarily stops me. My body shivers in reaction to him. It’s something that only happens in the locker rooms on a rare occasion, but this time, it’s darker. Needier.

  I’m not sure why I’m unable to look away from his toned chest, his pecs, and his hips that are literally glistening with exertion, but I’m transfixed on the droplets dripping down his body in the slowest motion. I shake my head, my eyes traveling at a snail’s pace up him, unwilling to miss a single dip, until our gazes connect. He’s gnawing on his bottom lip like he’s holding back, and then, I’m stuck remembering Sadie’s.

  I’m not gay, I repeat over and over again. Labels are the saltiest bitches out there.

  My eyes meet his again, and then he’s waving me in. With everything I’ve got, I try not to stare at him adjusting his dick. Try as I might, I can’t help it.

  Making a man hard isn’t exactly something I’ve ever been able to cope with. It reminds me of things… ones I never want to relive.

  With Brady… it doesn’t make sense, but I enjoy when he’s hot and bothered by me. It makes me stiffen, too, and that freaks me out. I’m not into dicks.

  My chest aches. My anxiety flares inside me, and I realize Brady might've been staring at me because of the blood.

  Fuck.

  All the blood.

  The warm wetness that I’d smeared all over my face.

  I close the door behind me, watching as Brady’s ass moves as he struts inside. I did admit to liking asses of any gender, didn’t I?

  He leads me to his kitchen, and a sinister part of me wishes his towel would come loose. That it’ll give me the answers I’m seeking about myself. Ones that will hopefully help me identify this strange compulsion I have with Brady.

  Brady grabs a rag, wets it, and then brings it to my face in a tender way I’m only used to Leia doing. As he swipes it, my fists clench at the arousal coiling in my groin. Nothing makes sense. Not anymore. Blue is red, and black is gray. Illogical.

  His thumb glides over my chin. Heat gathers in my cheeks, and a spark of need wires through me, making me want to slap his care away. He shakes his head, as if he knows exactly how I’m detaching myself from him.

  “What’d you do?” he eventually asks, placing the rag in the sink. It’s pink with my actions from earlier.

  That simple question has me angry again. I can’t help but to spout off about the fight and beating the fuck out of Darryl.

  “And you just left?” he questions, his eyes full of concern.

  “Yeah, I can’t fucking stand him, and my ma was all like poor Darryl and didn’t say shit about me.”

  It wouldn’t bother me so much if she wasn’t my mom and he wasn’t scum.

  “Brax,” Brady says softly, his face full of concern.

  His eyes widening a bit before he’s resting his hands on my shoulders. I like them there. They’re comforting and welcome. He rubs and massages, attempting to relax me.

  “You’re going to be okay.”

  “I just fucking hate the guy,” I grumble, heat and irritation getting the better of me.

  “I can tell, but you need to calm down,” he consoles, and it takes everything in me not to pull him into me. Stop. Stop. Stop! Darryl’s slurs fill my mind, reminding me why I repeat the words so often.

  I push his hands off my shoulders, getting more worked up, thinking of fuckface and how he hurts my mom, and she just lets it happen. Fuck him, fuck her, fuck everything.

  “Stop being like that,” he urges. His face scrunched, making me feel momentarily guilty.

  “No, I’m sick of everything. People fucking with me, wanting me, then not, then wanting me, then being a fucking tease!” I roar.

  All this rage inside me keeps bubbling to the surface. Everything I’ve repressed has been festered inside, and now it’s a fucking volcano of hatred and resentment.

  “Braxton,” Brady coaxes, stepping closer.

  It’s futile, really. I’m too far gone, fucking maddened with rage. His touch is too soothing. It’s too overwhelming, and I can’t have that again.

  Each step I take backward, he repeats forward. When my back hits the wall and he’s trying to calm me again, I lash out, pushing him away. Then, I pause and let the shame fill me.

  “Just fucking stop!” I yell.

  “No, you need comfort. Stop being a dick and accept it.” His eyes swim with emotion. They show me his truth, and his truth fucking rips me apart. Love.

 
“Leave just like they all fucking do!” I holler, tears stinging my eyes.

  I’m in so much fucking pain, and all I ever do is hold it in. Always for them. Always for all of the people I love.

  Brady closes the space, nudging my chin like he did at Sadie’s. He swipes a tear, tenderness I’m not used to soothing me.

  No. I don’t need this. I shove him away again, but he’s had it. The fight in his eyes tells me to run because he’s not dealing with my bullshit anymore.

  He slams my body against the wall, his massive erection hitting my groin. He’s so fucking hard, and it’s making me ache in ways that I’m not used to, in ways I crave but ignore.

  Bad. Filthy. Dirty. Darryl’s words echo in my heart.

  What the fuck? Having his hardness against mine wakes my dick up. It stiffens and confuses me. Everything about Brady confuses me.

  I want him. I want parts of him I shouldn’t want.

  My groin aches more, my thickness and his rubbing against each other with too much clothing blocking what we desperately need.

  It’s not the first time he’s done this to me, but it feels just as explosive as the first time if not more since I’m on the verge of breaking.

  I shouldn’t be aroused and needy for a man. I shouldn’t want to touch, kiss, and lick every bead of sweat off his naked body. I shouldn’t want to experience him like I’ve only ever wanted to experience Leia, but I do. I fucking do, and it confuses me.

  I’ve never debated my virginity. It’s always been Leia’s, but right now, with Brady so close to me… I could give it up to him. Just to know. Just to have answers.

  When Brady closes me in, boxing my face with his strong arms, I’m fucking weak. My balls and cock throb, and something inside me fractures.

  I stare at his lips too long, at the sweat on his brow, at the strain in his throat, and then I lean forward and kiss him. I’m not sure what I’m doing, what the fuck my lips are doing. All I know is that at this moment it feels right, and I’m desperate for attention.

  Leia isn’t in this room. She isn’t even in the same state to be upset with me, and I wouldn’t care. I’m done being everyone’s second choice, and as Brady’s lips mash with mine, I know I’m not his.

  His tongue fights with mine. He’s pushing and I’m shoving back. It’s so hot and frustrating not having control over this moment. I shove him, turning him around until he has his back against the wall, and I’m the one dominating. He whimpers. Brady actually fucking whimpers.

  My cock has a mind of its own, making me grind into him, rubbing myself against his taut body. I bite his lip, kissing, unsure of what the hell I’m doing. I just know it’s right for now.

  I pepper kisses on his throat, making a path until I hit his bare pec. I’m biting while he writhes beneath my touch.

  “B-Brax, I-I don’t t-think this is…” he trails off with a groan as my teeth close around his nipple.

  I lick the tight little bud, wanting to feel this man weak beneath me.

  “Brax, fuck,” he growls, fisting as much of my hair as the shortness allows. “I need you,” he nearly begs moments later. “I want you.”

  I need you… I want you. That’s when it hits me. I’m doing exactly what Leia does to me. I can’t fucking do this. I can’t be that person. Stopping my ministrations, I gulp. Nausea builds within me. I’m not gay, I repeat in my mind once more. Right? Clutching my face, I drag my palm down it. Fuck, what have I done?

  My worried gaze meets his, and there’s so much sadness there. I’m such a prick. I knew at Sadie’s—just like I know now—how he feels, and I used that. I used him.

  “I’m s-sorry,” I stutter before turning and running back toward my house.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  “I’m not gay. I’m not gay. I’m not gay,” I chant over and over again, but even I don’t believe it anymore.

  We can’t keep this up.

  We’re going to crash and burn.

  It’s not even the fact that he’s old. He’s my stepdad, and for some reason, that never crosses my mind until after we’ve messed around together. Mamá doesn’t deserve this. No matter how much we fight, she’ll always be my mom. And Sy’s her husband.

  And then there’s Brax. He’s just another reason as to why we can’t do this anymore.

  How did we get here? I came to PR to forget Sy, to move on, and look at me now. His fingers are between my legs, his cock thrusting inside of me while I moan into his mouth. He quiets me with each flick of his tongue. As his hips hit mine, and he curves into me, hitting this delicious part inside of me, I cry his name, and he swallows it every time, consuming the neediest parts of me.

  What in the world am I doing? I would never purposefully hurt her or him. Now, I’m willingly fucking her husband and screwing up with Brax like it’s nothing? I need to get back home, back to reality, back to where he’s not allowed to touch me.

  Back home, there are boundaries. In Cape Hill, it’s easier to keep to myself.

  It’s easier to remember that he’s my stepdad and we’re not in love.

  Out here, in the beauty of Puerto Rico, where love is around each corner, within the trees and flowers, it’s impossible.

  I need my best friend. Brax. I need Brax. I’m a selfish bitch for letting Sy distract me from him and our vacation together. It was supposed to be about us, about growing together and finding out whatever is between us. Then, he left the party for whatever reason, and I got drunk. I shouldn’t have downed that bottle of tequila, but when you’re drowning in emotions, alcohol seems like the right idea at the time.

  How could I be so incredibly selfish?

  Brax wouldn’t have stepped out on me. He wouldn’t have gone and fucked someone else, kissed them, loved them. Would he? He’s too loyal. He’s faithful and too goddamn perfect.

  Plus, I’m the only girl I’ve ever seen him interested in, but girls aren’t my only competition when it comes to him. He’s into guys, too. I’ve seen how Brady gazes at him when Brax isn’t looking, or how Brax can hang out with Brady and be so lively and happy even when I’m not involved. I’ve seen this, and it hurts. Maybe that’s why I’m hesitant to commit?

  Don’t lie to yourself.

  It’s just Sy. He’s always been the anomaly in my life plan, the one I could never account for. I could add up all the misgivings in my life—the times Darryl would sneak in Brax’s spare bedroom, the times my mamá got wasted and I had to undress her and help her in the shower, how I’d have to stay up all night and make sure she didn’t suffocate from her own vomit. Or even all the times my dad got locked up or arrested and every single time I questioned Brax’s sexuality. They made sense. They are all things I saw coming, but Sy? He was the random super volcano no one knew existed until they were adults, and it’s erupting, and they’re too late.

  Sy’s an enigma, and I’m not surprised I fell under his spell so quickly. I can’t fault myself for loving a man for filling all the holes my parents left in me. He protected me. He rebuilt me.

  He cared when no one did. He sacrificed his time to make sure I went to school, did my homework, and had a good life. The only thing he didn’t do was give me his loyalty and dedication, his love and his dark-as-ash heart.

  If I’m absolutely honest with myself, I knew he’d never hand it over, but that didn’t stop me from ripping mine out, stitch by frayed stitch for him to use and abuse, to stab like his own personal voodoo doll.

  And Brax, since we started fooling around, I haven’t been honest with him. I’ve stripped us of our friendship and replaced it with an awkward teen fling that makes no sense at all. We’ve always had an open honesty with one another. I’ve never hidden anything from him unless Sy’s involved.

  Those secrets we have now are breaking us.

  They’ve taken my best friend away from me.

  Secrets alienate people. They tarnish everything right in a relationship, creating a rift full of cancerous bitterness that shreds away the safety of our minds. L
ies thrive on the failure of trust between people. Hiding things is deadly, and our tainted love is proof of that. I’ve tarnished it all in the name of Silas Esparza, the man I’m learning is never going to end up with me, the man who took a beautiful soul and turned it into a destructive cyclone.

  Sy’s damaged, I’m helpless, and together, we’re fucked.

  This was never going to end well, and the sooner I realize it, the easier and happier Brax and I will be.

  I need to go home, to ask Brax to forgive me, to pretend Puerto Rico didn’t happen. We can move on from this, be something together.

  The sun shines down on my naked body. I twist, trying to find my dress that Sy removed. It’s nowhere near, and Sy’s eyes are closed. He must’ve passed out in post-orgasm bliss.

  The sun is at high noon. The heat is stifling, and I’m caked with sweat from our bodies and the warm, spring air. When I reach for my clothing, I see a figure nearby. My eyes widen. My palms clammier than they’ve ever been, and my heart hammers in my chest. Bile rises, choking me, burning my esophagus. I hurry and place my dress in front of me, covering everything I possibly can.

  “Que carajo estás haciendo aquí y porque estás desnuda?”

  I stare, mouth clamped shut with anxiety. I’m sure he asked me what I’m doing here and why I’m naked, but I’m not entirely certain if that’s what he said.

  My eyebrows raise, and my heartbeat picks up. My dad glares at me like he’s about to murder someone.

  I’m barely covered by my dress, but he doesn’t look away from my eyes that match my mother’s—the love of his life.

  “What are you doing here?” he roars, his face no longer soft, no longer kind. It’s deadly, like my mamá always described when he was conducting business. He’s livid, visibly shaking from head to toe.

  I somehow stop myself from peering over my shoulder, hoping Sy’s conveniently managed to disappear. We were barely hidden by trees, so there’s no way he got away, right?

  “I-I’m…” I stutter, stumbling over lies that won’t form correctly.