“You used to fight a lot before,” she whispered, gently dabbing my cheek. “When you were younger.”
“Yeah.”
“People probably always thought you were this beast or something, but you only fought people who bullied others…at least that’s what I noticed.”
“You noticed my fights?”
“I noticed your everything,” she confessed, and that frozen heart of mine thawed a bit. That happened a lot when she was around.
“Eric told me what you did for him today. That was very brave of you.”
“It was stupid. I could’ve lost my spot in the school play. I could’ve jeopardized graduating.”
“Yeah, it was stupid, but stupid things can still be brave things. Eric doesn’t really talk about it, about his sexuality.”
“Is that why you two broke up?”
She nodded. “I’ve known for a while. Did you know?”
I shrugged. “I kind of assumed but never brought it up. It was none of my business, and it didn’t change the fact that he was one of the most important people in my life. He can love anyone he wants and that isn’t going to change how I feel about the guy.”
“Wow.” She exhaled slowly and sat back on her heels. She stared at me with those eyes again, and my heart? A puddle.
“A penny for your thoughts?” I asked out loud. Mom used to always say that to me when I was a kid.
“I just…you just…” She sighed. “You’re nothing like the person I’ve spent years building you up to be in my head.”
“I think the same about you more and more each day.”
“If you had to choose one word to describe me, what word would you choose?” she asked, and that was the easiest question ever.
“Good.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Good? That’s it?”
“Yes. Good. You’re good to everyone on so many levels, even people who don’t deserve it, like me. You take the time to look deeper into people and see things from different sides. You’re patient, too. That would be my second word for you. You don’t rush people to be what you think they should be. You just let them exist.”
“Wow…” She held her hand to her chest. “That’s the nicest thing an enemy has ever said to me,” she joked.
I snickered.
Not your enemy, Chick. Never your enemy.
“What about me? What’s my word?” I asked.
“Good,” she repeated.
“Copycat.”
“Maybe, but it’s true.”
I rolled my shoulders back. “I’ve been called a lot of things before, but good hasn’t been one of them.” I glanced over to her bookcase, which was filled with her notebooks. “Are all of those used?”
“Yes. They are all my character portfolios I make of people I know. It helps me craft characters for my stories.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are there any about me?”
She blushed. “Maybe a few.”
“Can I read them?”
She laughed. “Definitely not. Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why did we hate each other?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because we were too stupid to face the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?” She inched closer to me, moving her lips gently against mine. Her inhales became mine, and my exhales belonged to her.
My lips parted and I swept them against hers. “The truth is—”
She cut me off by kissing me hard. Her tongue slid into my mouth and I placed my hands beneath her ass and lifted her up into my arms. She wrapped herself around me, and our kiss deepened. I swore I could spend forever against her lips and never get sick of her taste.
Some of my favorite moments in the world were when her lips were pressed against mine. Her kisses often tasted like the lemon candies she was always popping into her mouth, or like Sour Patch Kids, or Skittles.
My God, I loved her sweet kisses. I loved the way her tongue swept against my bottom lip before she parted her mouth so I could get a deeper taste. I loved the way her hands fell to my chest as mine cruised down her lower back. I loved how she moaned ever so lightly against my lips. I loved the way her spine curved in my direction. I loved how I fucked her with my tongue, and she’d fuck me just as hard.
I pulled back and looked at her. I wanted more. I wanted to taste her, explore her. I wanted to feed on her body and her soul.
“Can I…?” I nervously asked like a damn inexperienced fool, but I didn’t even care. If I was going to be a fool, it was going to be for her.
“Yes.” She nodded, moving from my lap to lying on her bed.
I loved undressing her, watching as her eyes dilated from anticipation. I loved how she craved me taking control, but dammit I loved it even more when she ruled me. I loved how she trembled at my touch but her eyes told me to keep going. I loved how my hands trembled against her skin but my heart told me to keep going…
Keep feeling…
I loved when I parted her legs and went down on her and she moaned in pleasure. I loved when I began to rise up to kiss her lips and she told me no, and then I lowered back down to finish my favorite meal course. I loved when she arched her hips up as my tongue fucked her clit. I loved how she’d tell me to go harder and deeper as my tongue lapped repeatedly against her core. I loved her taste. The wetness felt like a reward I received from her being pleased by my job well done.
Then, I became addicted to when her moans grew more and more, making me finger fuck her harder and deeper, my tongue rolling in and out of her, sucking against her clit, teasing every single piece of her as her hands stayed tangled in my hair.
“Oh…my…Land…wait…yes…go…slow…ohmygosh…” she cried out.
I loved when she begged.
“More, more, more….”
I loved that. I loved it so much. I loved…
I…
Loved…
“What’s going on here?” a voice said, breaking us from our dazed trance. I shot my head up to see a grown woman staring my way.
“Mom, hey,” Shay hollered, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around her body. “Oh my gosh, I—you—we—” Her words were jumbled, and I stood up quickly, stunned to see Shay’s mother standing in front of us…in Shay’s room…seconds after my head was between her daughter’s legs.
Nothing about this situation looked good at all.
“What are you doing here?” Shay nervously asked, holding the blanket tightly around her waist.
Holy shit, Shay’s mother just walked in on me eating her daughter out.
I wanted to die a slow, painful death, and the redness in Shay’s face told me she felt pretty much the same way.
Her mom raised a sharp eyebrow. “Came home from work for lunch. What are you doing here? You should be in school!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Gable. This is my fault and I—” I tried to explain, but she gestured toward the front door.
“Leave.”
I did as she said. What other choice did I have? Try to explain to her why my head was placed nicely between her daughter’s thighs during the middle of a school day?
I headed home, and I texted Shay when I got back to my place.
Me: You good?
No response. I texted her a dozen more times that night with no responses coming my way. The next day at school, she walked up to me, holding the straps of her backpack, and she smiled.
“Grounded?” I asked.
“Grounded,” she replied.
“Cell taken away?”
“Yup, and internet access.”
That made sense.
“No regrets?” I asked, lowering my brows.
Her lips turned into a bigger smile and her adorable cheeks were rosy. “No regrets.”
Eric texted me late one afternoon, telling me he was sorry for what went down with Reggie. He said he was ashamed, too, which I thought was sad. He hadn’t had shit to be ashamed of.
Eric: I’m not gay or anythi
ng, you know…I mean, I’m just trying my best to figure everything out.
Me: Whatever you are is good enough for me.
Eric: Thanks, Land.
Me: I’ll kick anyone’s ass for you, E. Just say the word, and I’ll trample them.
I missed my afternoon dates with Shay, though I supposed it made sense that she was only allowed to go to and from school each day. If I had been her parents, I would have banned her from any human interaction for the next thirty years. I was lucky enough I even got to see her during the school day and at rehearsal.
That Tuesday, there was a knock at my front door, and I hurried to answer it, stupidly hoping it was Shay. To my disappointment, there stood Monica. She was the last person I wanted to see, but like a bad habit, Monica had a way of popping up at the worst times.
“What do you want?” I asked her, opening my front door.
“To get high with you,” she muttered, already stoned out of her mind.
“I don’t have time for this, Monica,” I sternly stated, going to shut the door.
She placed her foot in the doorway, stopping it.
“Monica, really. I’m busy.”
“With that bitch?” she hissed.
My jaw tightened. “Don’t call her that.”
“Oh, I see. Now you’re protecting her instead of me?”
I rolled my eyes and shut the door. She wasn’t in the right state of mind for a conversation of any kind. What had happened to KJ not dealing to her anymore?
“Has she seen them?!” Monica shouted on my front porch. “Have you gotten so close that you’ve shown her your ugly fucking scars?! Has she seen what you’ve done to yourself?!”
Her words vibrated against my skin as I flung the front door open again. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside, slamming the door shut behind her. “What the fuck, Monica?!” I hissed, my heart pounding faster and faster against my chest.
“Let me go,” she whined, yanking her arm out of my grip.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Who do you think you are coming over here shouting like a madwoman?”
“I wouldn’t be shouting like a madwoman if you didn’t make me so mad!” she cried, her body trembling.
She was shivering like a damn fool, and it was clear she was very high. I arched an eyebrow. “What are you on?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she slurred, her words coated with depression.
Dammit, Monica.
I hated this girl. I hated her addiction, and I hated how much of myself I saw in her broken eyes.
“Tell me, Mon,” I ordered.
“I did tell you. I’m on nothing. What? You think you’re the only asshole who can get clean?”
“Did you get something from KJ?” The last time I’d seen him, I’d asked him to stop dealing to Monica. I had begged the guy to let her be, told him how she slipped deeper and deeper each and every time. He’d sworn he’d stop but promises from a drug dealer are like promises from Santa Claus—fiction.
My anger toward Monica for barging in on me, on my life, on the life I was trying to heal had shifted. The anger became true concern, genuine worry. I was worried about the thorn in my ass.
I crossed my arms. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Shut up, Land.”
“Answer me.”
She shrugged. “Don’t know.”
I sighed, pointed toward the dining room. “Sit.”
“Oh, so now you want me to stay? Screw you, Landon. I can open my phone and find a shit ton of men who will want me to stay, who will want me to touch them, to want them, to spread my legs for—”
“Sit the hell down, Monica!” I barked. My patience was being tested, and every time she talked about what other men did to her, it pissed me off—not because I wanted her, but because I knew they didn’t. They used her, abused her, then tossed her to the side.
Just like Reggie would end up doing.
She gave me a sly smirk, curtseyed, and then sat down at the dining room table.
I went into the kitchen and slapped together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, grabbed a glass of milk, and set it down in front of her.
I sat across from her at the table, as far away as possible.
“Eat,” I said.
She rolled her eyes and flipped me off. Then, she picked up the sandwich and took a bite.
With each bite she took, a part of me sighed with relief.
There’d been many nights I had sat there with her, eating PB&Js, drunk, high, and wasted out of my mind. I didn’t miss those nights.
I didn’t miss that cold feeling of despair, that emptiness.
Even when we ate the sandwiches together, I always felt alone whenever I was with Monica. Maybe her loneliness made me drown even more.
“Was it over me?” she questioned.
“Was what over you?”
“The fight with Reggie. Did you fight him because of me?”
The question was so heavy, and the desperation in her eyes was clear as day. She wanted us to fight over her. She wanted to be the reason men lost their minds. I’d never met a woman who craved being wanted so much. It was sad to see. I didn’t answer for two reasons. One, it would’ve hurt her already damaged heart if I told her the truthful no, and two, I knew my silence would be enough of an answer.
Her eyes watered over for a split second before she returned to her sinister stare. Every now and then, you could see flashes of the hurt girl Monica was. You could see it in her eyes, but she never showed it long enough for most people to notice.
“So, did you?” she asked.
“Did I what?”
“Show her your scars.”
“We’re not talking about that.”
She snickered, shaking her head. “It’s because she’ll never accept you. She’ll never accept all your scars. She’ll never love you for who you really are, Landon. She’ll never love—”
“Stop,” I whispered, pounding my hand against the table.
She pounded her hands against the table as well. “No. No. No. No!”
“Monica!”
“Landon!”
“You need to—”
“Why her?!” she screamed, tossing her hands up in the air in frustration.
“What?”
“Why…” Her voice cracked. “Her?” Her eyes watered and her body shook, and I knew it wasn’t from whatever drug was invading her body. Her emotions were taking over, overwhelming her to the point that they had no other escape but to leak from her tear ducts. “Why not me? Why couldn’t you fall in love with me?”
“Monica, don’t do this. You know why that’s never going to be a thing. You and I are toxic.”
“Yeah, like Romeo and Juliet. Don’t you see? I want to be your Juliet. I’m meant to be your Juliet, not her. She doesn’t deserve you.”
Lies.
I didn’t deserve Shay. I didn’t deserve her, and yet I couldn’t stop craving her.
I didn’t reply to Monica, because she was high and emotional. It was a pointless conversation. I just wished she would finish her sandwich and head home. I was tired of this ride Monica had been taking me on for the past few years. It was giving me motion sickness.
“So that’s it, huh? You’re just going to give me the silent treatment?” she hissed. “You’re just going to ignore me? Well, screw you, Harrison!” She picked up the plate and threw it across the room, making it shatter against the wall.
There she was, angry Monica. Shocking.
“Okay,” I muttered, standing up from my chair. “It’s time for you to go now.” I moved over to lift her from her chair, and she swatted my hand away.
“I don’t need your help,” she seethed, standing—and stumbling—on her own. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
She started walking toward the front door, and I followed, though not too closely.
As she stepped out on the porch, she turned to look at me. “Just to be clear, Landon, I wasn’t your toxicity. I wasn’t you
r poison. You were born sick like your fucked-up uncle, and anyone who comes near you gets infected with your disease. So, fuck you for judging me when you’re the one who made me this way!” she cried.
I didn’t say a word. She was too far gone for common sense.
She shoved my chest. “Eventually, you’re going to snap. You’re going to show your true colors. You’re going to rage, and I hope your stupid Juliet witnesses it all—your lowest lows, the ones you put me through nonstop, you asshole. Your time is almost up. Tick tock, jerk.”
She shoved me again, and I allowed it. She was hurting and angry and lost, and I understood all of those things. If I was forced to be her punching bag, I’d take her hits.
“Fight back,” she demanded as she kept hitting me, kept pushing me, kept begging me. She was asking me to snap, to fall back into the darkness with her, to paint her shadows with my companionship, but I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t dance our old dance, couldn’t be who she wanted me to be anymore. I was changing, because Shay believed in my growth. She believed in me.
And I was starting to do the same.
“Fight, Landon!”
“No.” My voice was controlled and solid.
She hit me a few more times, but I didn’t crumble. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t break with her.
“Fine!” She finally stepped away and started down the steps. “Have fun with your stupid play and your stupid Juliet and your stupid make-believe fairy tale. But, spoiler alert, Romeo!” she shouted, her hands still gesturing all over dramatically. “You both fucking die in the end!”
She stomped away, back to her house, still cursing me and still up in flames.
I waited on the porch for her to get safely inside.
Later that night, when Monica’s mom pulled the car into the driveway, I walked over to speak with her. Mrs. Cole wasn’t the biggest fan of me, and to be fair, I wasn’t a fan of hers either. She was a nasty woman who I’d witness belittle Monica’s looks on the regular. Every crash diet Monica ever had, was due to her mother’s orders. It must’ve been easy for Mrs. Cole to judge other people’s bodies, seeing how hers was nearly all made at a plastic surgery clinic in Mexico.
“Mrs. Cole. Can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked.
She looked at me, seemingly already bothered by the fact I was speaking her way. Her eyes moved up and down as she studied me. Her gaze flicked upward. “What is it, boy?”
Landon & Shay - Part One: (The L&S Duet Book 1) Page 21
