by Portia Moore
And fuck, if danger isn’t my thing.
Lauren
When Cal finally decides to waltz back in, it’s with a bag of groceries. He glances over at me sitting on the couch, the TV on as a distraction. I want to bombard him with questions as soon as he walks through the door but of course that would be the dumbest thing to do and the very thing that will get me no answers. He brought me here for a reason. I know he loves me; he has to. I have to give him time, but how much time?
“Are you going to put some of those cooking lessons to use?” he asks, setting the bag on the table before disappearing into the bedroom. How much does Cal know, what does he see? Does he know everything that happens with Chris? I head to the counter and see that there is a carton of apple juice, eggs, bacon, two steaks, three potatoes and a bag of spinach. If he was Chris, this definitely wouldn’t be enough food.
I start to wonder how long we’re going to be here. For a day? Several? I trust that Caylen is fine with the Scotts but she should be with us…shouldn’t she? When she is with us, how does this work? Is he going to tell her he’s Cal and what will happen if Chris comes back? What happens as she gets older? Does she live with two dads? Do I become the woman with two husbands?
“You’re thinking too much,” his voice interrupts me from my trance. I try to read him. What’s his mood?
He’s a blank canvas.
“I try to keep my thoughts to myself these days. It seems to work out better for everyone,” I say quietly as I move past him to the sink to wash my hands. He leans back so that he can look at my face. His stare sends chills down my spine. He still has the ability to look at me and unnerve my thoughts, to unhinge my anger.
“I’ve been told that can cause serious problems,” he says and I try to stop myself from laughing. I feel him behind me, his chest pressing against my back. I close my eyes and think about how we were before, before all of this. When we were just us. He presses closer against me as his hands move on both sides of me and he washes his hands.
I’ve made up my mind. I won’t give him my body if he won’t give me the truth. He has my heart but I can at least deny him my physical self, no matter how difficult it is.
I move away from him and search through the drawers for the utensils we need. Without missing a beat, he’s pulls out a skillet and bowl. It’s quiet, eerily quiet, despite unspoken words blaring between us. I don’t think we have ever gone this long without talking to the other, unless one of us was pissed off. I don’t think he is. However, I am pissed, but more than anything, I’m hurt and still off-balance from everything that’s happened. Questions upon questions, unsolved mysteries, disconnected theories that want to burst out of me. I don’t voice them, though. I keep them confined in the pit of my stomach but they swirl around as dinner starts.
He does the hard part of the cooking. He makes the steak and the potatoes. I watch as he goes about doing what I now know he learned from Mrs. Scott, that’s one mystery solved. I’ve tended to the spinach, which was easy.
“There’re plates in the cabinet over the sink. You want to put them on the table? I’m almost done, but your spinach is about to overcook.”
Shit.
I turn off the stove and, sure enough, there’s dishes in the cabinets over me. I grab service for two and lay them out on the table. A few moments later, he brings the food. For some reason, he seems more domesticated than he ever was years ago. After he puts the food out and I’ve made my plate, I quickly say a prayer. A habit I’ve picked up from eating dinner with the Scotts. When I open my eyes, I catch him observing me as if he’s absorbing my every move. I expect him to say something but he doesn’t. I look at his plate, which is the half the size of Chris’s, and can’t help but giggle. He eyes me suspiciously.
“What?” he asks, irritated. I shake my head and giggle again.
“What, Lauren?” he demands.
“You and Chris…eat so…differently,” I say, quickly stuffing my mouth with a spoonful of potatoes. It feels different saying his name to Cal. It doesn’t feel like a sore subject but I glance at him to see if I’m wrong. Instead of seeing him frown, a smug grin spreads across his face.
“He ate like a pig because he wasn’t getting any,” he says and I try to hide my shock. He’s watching me, waiting on my reaction. I’m trying to not give him one but what is he talking about? I want to play coy but screw that.
“What do you mean?” He can’t be saying what I think he’s inferring. That’s not possible, is it?
“He and Jenna never…” I trail off.
“Nope,” he says, his eyes directly on mine, unearthing feelings within me that only he has been able to do, with just his stare. I don’t know how to feel. Happy? I’m ecstatic, actually. All this time, I tried to never think about him and Jenna. It hurt too much. It made me sick. But, to know that he never…that means Cal never…and what I did with Chris, he sees as…God this sucks.
“Did that have anything to do with you?” I say quietly.
“What do you think?” he says stoically and I get up from the table. Cal could always be a jerk when he wanted but now he’s like a jerk with PMS. I head to the bedroom and slam the door. Was it a stupid question? How the hell do I know what’s stupid or off-limits since he’s shut himself off from me? The walls are up again and I feel lost because I have no idea what to do about it.
I feel the bed shift as he sits down on it. There’s silence, so much so that it fills the room. A moment later, his hand touches my back, causing a warm sensation to run through me but I shift away from him. That’s just how it starts and that will not start tonight. There are so many other important things that need to be brought to the table and his distracting me with his form of physical comfort won’t work.
No more distractions.
“I want to talk,” I say, rolling over to face him. He looks me in the eyes, I expect a look of scorn or disdain but I don’t find that at all. He looks away from me briefly and I slowly glide my hand across the bed and touch his. “Please,” I say, as sincerely as I can. Silence passes between us.
“I don’t remember a lot of my childhood. I know I had brothers and sisters. Or I remember playing with a lot of other kids, at least,” he continues. He doesn’t look at me but ahead of him. I wanted to talk but I definitely didn't expect this answer.
“ My mom’s name was Isabella. My…biological dad’s name is Clay. She died when I was five. I’ve been trying to find Clay since before I met you.”
I sit up in bed and move near him. He turns to look at me and his expression nearly stoic.
“When I ask you how much do you want to know? Are you really ready to know? People think they want to know things but it can be ugly. It can change things.”
“There’s nothing that can change the way I feel about you,” I promise him. He nods his head.
“I know that you want things to be normal for Caylen. I don’t want her to be screwed up by me. I know why things have to be different now,” he says, looking me in the eyes.
“They have to,” I admit.
“What do you want to know?” he asks casually, his posture adjust tone as if he’s just said the simplest thing in the world.
“Are you really going to tell me?” I ask him.
“I’ll tell you whatever I can,” he says, his eyes on mine. I sit up, taken off guard by his openness.
“If you want to?” I ask, still cautious of the turn this has taken.
“If I think it pertains to you,” he says simply. There’s always a catch. I let out a deep breath.
“Why do you hate your dad?”
“William?” he scoffs.
I nod.
“Because he’s an asshole,” he answers simply.
I can’t exactly argue with that. “But there has to be more to it than that.”
“Next question,” he says gruffly.
Instead of arguing I go on to the next question “When Chris comes out, what happens to you?”
His eyebrow r
aises and he looks directly ahead, his hardened expression softens. “I’m still there. I’m always there, it just…sometimes I can choose not to be,” he says quietly.
“So you don’t go in this dark prison or something,” I ask, the question sounding silly and immature but it’s honest.
A small smirk spreads across his face. “It’s not really like that. It’s more like a dream. Sometimes I choose to sleep instead, if that makes sense. When he met Jenna, I was asleep if that’s what you want to call it. I didn’t want to be around. I’d just left you. Gwen was dying. It was his turn to deal with the shitty side of life,” he says quietly.
“So you can choose whenever you come back?” I ask him with bated breath. My stomach coils. If he says he can, I don’t know if I can handle that information because knowing that he could have come back at any time and didn’t, will hurt more than anything he’s said to me.
“No. If it worked liked that, Chris would have been gone. Like I said, it’s like dreaming almost. Sometimes you can control what happens and other times you’re just stuck watching. It used to be easier to keep him from taking control, now it’s harder” he stands up and walks across the room.
“Where is he now? Why does he not remember things but you do?” I ask him.
“Can that be enough for now? Just for tonight?” he asks me, looking into my eyes and I nod. I don’t know exactly why we’re here, or the fact that a simple piece of information pacifies me but I feel like what he’s just told me isn’t so simple. The reason why we’re here isn’t just a coincidence.
“One more question?” I ask him and he lets out an exasperated huff but nods. “Do you really not trust me anymore?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer but it’s something that I need to hear. Is loving the other side of him disloyal? I always wanted him to be able to count on me, to let me in, to be there for him. If he doesn’t trust me, if what happened between Chris and me makes that impossible, how can we ever move forward?
“I trust you more than I trust myself,” he says before lying down next to me. The space between us feels foreign. I don’t cross it but slowly he does, pulling me closer to him, skin to skin. His touches start slow and my body melts, tension everywhere but disappears as his caresses become firmer, deeper.
His hands move everywhere and find places that haven’t been touched like this in so long. It’s so different from last night when I could feel his passion, anger and frustration course through me. This time he doesn’t claim me but shows me in every way that I’m his. That he knows my body like no one else. I want to give in and break my rule, I’m so close to it…
“I’m so sorry babe. I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing what was right,” He whispers in my ear and he holds me close and long, I breathe him in and imprint his touch on my memory. I close my eyes, sleep catching up with me.
“I’ll never hurt you again. Even if I have to give you up.”
Chapter 6
April 31, 2008
It was close, too close. I tried so fucking hard to not want her. I almost had her, right there, devoured her. She wouldn’t have even known what was coming. I can’t get her lips out of my mind, how she moaned in my ear, how everywhere I touched her caused her to react, I can’t imagine what she’d be like to fu…
No I can’t. She’s not the type that would get over it. I can’t see her moving forward with no strings attached.
Sex won’t be just sex.
When I saw that prick’s name on her cellphone, I wanted to go break his fucking neck. Me, jealous? One date and I’m jealous? No, jealous isn’t the word, he isn’t even competition. I feel possessive. I don’t want him anywhere near her.
He hurt her but what the hell am I going to do? Why couldn’t she be easy like the rest? But if she was, I wouldn’t be interested in her. She’s different and that’s why I like her, why I want her. I haven’t liked a girl in a long time. I’ve tolerated them, been comfortable around them, but I like this girl. The way she smiles, the way she talks, and how she listens. The way she looks at me, like she sees something that I don’t see, that’s what bugs me. She sees something that isn’t real, that will never be, that’s not who I am.
I should quit while I’m ahead. She’s one of the good ones. She’ll make someone a good wife one day. Maybe one day she’ll meet a normal guy with normal expectations, who’s not fucked-up. She’s the type that wants that life so why waste time? If only she just wanted fun. I could give her fun. I could give her amazing. I could make her forget about anyone that she thought made her feel anything. I’d do things to her…that I’m never going to do because it’ll make things worse!
She puts on a tough act, and she’s feisty, but I can see beyond it. She hasn’t been broken yet and I don’t want to be the one to do it.
“Never on time, are we?”
It’s Helen.
I thought I’d beat her here. I’m never on time anyway.
“I’d hate to surprise you,” I say with a wink before flopping on the leather couch in her office. She rolls her eyes. She’d better not be in a pissed off mood today.
Helen Lyce-Crestfield.
Smart, beautiful, and manipulative. The woman who was able to land one of the richest men in the country. I guess it makes perfect sense that she’d be my doctor. Her looks held my attention but her intellect caught me off guard. She liked to manipulate and I liked to play. We were a patient-doctor match made in heaven. Somewhere along the way she became one of the few people I don’t just tolerate but like being around.
“So anything you want to talk about? Problems with the medication? Anything new I should be informed off?” she asks off handily.
“Nope same-o, same-o,” I say with a shrug.
“Then that’ll make this easy,” she says, finally sitting behind her desk. “Did you fill out the med card I gave you?”
“Do I ever?” I ask, playing with the stress ball I picked up from her desk.
“Of course,” she says, irritated.
“If I start having hallucinations, vomiting or some shit, I will be sure to call you right then and there,” I tell her sarcastically.
“So. How was your date?”
I sigh. Dexter and his big fucking mouth. “It wasn’t exactly like a date,” I tell her dryly.
“Then what was it like?” I swear she and Dex are a match made in heaven.
“I met a girl. She’s hot. We went bungee-jumping, had something to eat, and that was that,” I say, bored. “Can we cut this a little short today? I have something to do,” I say, standing.
“Cal, let’s not do this. You need me to sign off for the okay to meet with the Luxe brothers. There can be a lot of money in a deal like that for you,” I sigh and fall back onto the sofa.
“Come on, Helen. It’s nothing,” I tell her but I can already see those wheels spinning in her head.
“You have never been shy about sharing your liaisons with women before, which makes this all the more interesting,” she says.
I roll my eyes. When I first met Helen I wasn’t sure what to think of her so I did to her what I did to most beautiful woman. I tried to seduce her. In one of my ploys, I gave her every detail of my nights with whomever I took home. When that didn’t work, I thought it’d scared her off. In my defense, that was before I decided I liked Helen. She’s one of the only women I haven’t been able to screw.
“I haven’t done that in a long time,” I say, laughing, remembering how young and dumb I was.
“You made me sit through that for hours at a time. Not that Dexter didn’t thank you for it,” she teases and I make a vomiting expression. Now I can’t see Helen as anything but a sister and thinking of her and Dex having sex is disgusting, especially if I had any part in helping them get going.
“All jokes aside, Cal, a new person entering your life is significant and can impact things. Let’s chat.”
I stare at her blankly and look at my watch. We can do this for the next thirty minutes.
“Okay.
I’ll start,” she says cheerfully and pulls out a file from her desk.
“Lauren Brooks, age 21, an English major, minoring in Art History at Chicago University, works as a waitress at The Vault,” she rattles off and I want to laugh.
“Dex had her checked out?” I scoff.
“This surprises you?” she asks sarcastically.
“Well then, you guys know she’s harmless,” I say, getting up to leave.
“I think you like her from the way you avoid discussing her. If you do like her, I bet you’re trying to think of another date and if you are, I’d say an art student would love to attend the AIC gala Saturday.”
That could a better date than sky diving. But I don’t even know if I should go on another date or call her again. It’d be doing her more of a favor not to. Damn. I glance back at Helen who gestures to the chair across from her.
Helen’s a woman and she’s my doctor. I guess I might as well make use of what have been useless sessions so far. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says excitedly.
I take a seat and plop my feet on her desk which erases the smug grin off her face.
“You said make yourself comfortable,” I retort as she pushes my feet off her desk.
“So tell me about her,” she says.
“I think you know all there is to know,” I say sarcastically.
“I mean, what makes her different than the others? I recall you telling me”—she shuffles through her notebook—“The only thing that interests you in a woman is her bra size and how good she is with her mouth.”
I think I did say something like that. Who knew she really was taking notes.
“That was only partly true,” I say in my defense.
“So what makes Lauren different?”
