Текст книги "Bad Reputation"

Автор книги: K. B. Nelson

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

22

I’m awoken for the second time in as many hours by the screams of sea gulls. I raise my hands to clear my eyes of debris with my knuckles and lodge a grain of sand against my pupil. That shit burns. I blink my eyes in rapid succession, trying to dislodge the miniscule grain.

When I look over at Jensen, I see peace and tranquility. He lies on his back with his arms folded across his chest. It’s not the ideal position to sleep in, and it’s certainly one I could never pull off. Hence waking up with my face planted in the sand.

Every part of his body is strong.

Every part of his soul is fragile.

It’s a dichotomy fit for tragedy.

A sea gull lands beside his foot and starts screeching. I’m not much of an animal lover, but still I hesitate blasting it in the mouth. I want nothing more than to sit here and watch Jensen while he sleeps, like he watched me yesterday evening.

I want him to continue dreaming, while I try to sort shit out in my head. I shoo away the sea gull, forcing him to take flight to the sky, screeching as his wings clip over the ocean. Jensen stirs, kicking his legs out and stretching them.

I press my palm to my eye, trying to ward off the pain of my scratched retina. This is when Jensen chooses to awake and asks me groggily, “Are you crying?”

“Maybe.”

He sits up and stretches his arms over his head. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“Fucking sand in my eye.”

“Oh…” He seems disappointed that I’m not having a breakdown of my own. It’d probably level the playing field in his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Hours past sunrise,” I say, referencing his own response when I asked him the time last night. I have slept, at least, twenty hours out of the last thirty. I should have enough energy to spend the next three days in damage control mode—I’m going to need at least that much time to dig myself out of this mess I’ve created.

“When you say, hours past sunrise, how many hours are you referring to?”

“It has to be noon, at least,” I say. “Shit!”

“Yeah, shit,” he agrees as he jumps to his feet, grabs his towel and charges toward the motel. Checkout was at eight, and I can’t help but feel a little responsible for the extra night that’s about to be tacked onto his bill.

“For real,” I say. “That’s some bullshit.”

“Do you know what she said to me?” He’s hungover and has both hands planted firm against the steering wheel. He takes his eyes off the road and looks over to me with dark shades over his burnt face. “She said, it was in your contract,” he drops his voice an octave, mimicking the motel attendant. “I told her nobody reads those damn things.”

I can’t help but laugh at his imitation. “I’ll pay you back for half the bill.”

“No.’ He shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that.” With his left hand on the wheel, his right travels to meet mine above the shifter. His fingers pool with my fingers, and it’s an unfamiliar but welcome touch—the last time I held a guys hand, I was on my way to senior prom. “I had a great weekend.”

The very idea of holding hands seems juvenile, but I don’t mind it. For however long it lasts, I’m transported back to a time when it was okay to be vulnerable and connected to someone else.

“Me too.”

“Look at that view,” he says quietly, taking in the breathless sight of the mountains beside us. We’re crossing a long bridge that passes over a deep gorge. Trees form an insurmountable collage of beauty pasted along the contours of rolling hills. The car slows down and we pull to the slim shoulder on the side of the bridge.

“You can’t pull over on the middle of a bridge,” I shriek, nervous we could be hit by the busy church-going traffic.

“I can if it’s an emergency.” He peers into the driver side mirror and waits for the perfect opportunity to hop over the door.

“It’s not an emergency.” I glance nervously behind us as a car merges into the passing lane to avoid hitting Jensen as he runs around to the rail of the bridge.

“That’s a relative judgment.” He curls his hand and waves me down. “Come look at this shit.”

I flip my fingers through my hair and push the car door open, slamming it into the railing. “Fuck.”

His attention snaps toward me. “When you graduate, because of me, and get a real job, I’m going to make you pay for that.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say and slide my way through the thin opening between the door and the railing. “Although, I question how you intended for me to get out.”

He points to the door of the convertible and wags his finger in an arch-shaped motion. “Jump out.”

“I am so hungover, there’s a good chance I would have underestimated my jump.” I point to the bottom of the ravine. “And ended up down there.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I would’ve caught you before you hit the bottom.”

“Really?” I question, slightly annoyed.

“Don’t you remember?” He throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “I’m Batman.”

“How could I forget?”

“Don’t worry about the car.”

Nature is a funny thing. It grows, expands and evolves without permission from us mere humans. It has it’s own ecosystem, one that is more than capable of surviving on its own. It’s beautiful without even trying—maybe we could learn something from that.

“I’m a webcam model.” It comes out like the worst kind of vomit—unexpected

His eyes peel over mine. “Why am I not surprised?” he asks with a shake of his head before he twists on his foot and heads back to the car. “Are you coming?”

Just a second. I take one last glance at the beauty that surrounds us before turning back to the car and climbing clumsily back into my seat.

“We got ourselves a regular Catwoman here.” His voice lowers and he imitates that one guy who seems to narrate every fucking movie trailer I’ve ever seen. “Apple Malloy, as flexible and athletic as a cat.”

“I’m going to punch you in the dick.” I slide into my seat and pull my belt over my shoulder. “Drive.”

He does as told, pulling out into traffic without so much as a look into the mirror. “Oops,” slips from his lips as a car swerves into the lane beside us to avoid rear-ending his precious convertible.

“I only show my feet on camera,” I say, trying to clear the word-vomit I had blown all over the bridge.

“Really?” his brow furrows inquisitively. “That’s a shame, because you could make a lot of cash with those beautiful tits.”

“Shut up.”

“Showing a little pussy might help pay for the damage you’ve done to my car.”

“Please stop talking.”

Clouds shift across the sky as we merge onto familiar freeways. Every mile we drive is another mile closer to home. I dread the moment we pull onto my street, because that’s the moment this may all cease to exist.

Choices are to be made, and the consequences of any individual outcome leaves someone heartbroken in its wake. Our tires spin across wet pavement, and I let out a sigh of relief that the rain seems to have already passed through. The last thing I need today is the gloom and doom of spring showers.

We pull onto my street, and my heart drops. I want to turn to him and tell him to hit the gas, to drive right on past my house. We can go anywhere. We can go back to the beach. Anything that delays the inevitable pain that comes with returning home.

“Here we are,” he says as we come to a rolling stop behind my parked Honda Civic.

“It still looks the same.” My eyes pass over the two-story house.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” I push my car door open, step out and reach for my things.

“Let me get that for you.” He jumps over his door and springs to grab my bag from the backseat.

“Such a chivalrous gentleman.”

“I try sometimes.” He shrugs and drops my bag to the ground. There goes the chivalry. Before I can object to him throwing my shit on the street like garbage, he has me pressed against the car. “I want to kiss you.”

“Someone could see us,” I object and pull away from his touch, leaving him standing at the car by himself.

His tongue swipes nervously across his lips. “I want you to be everything that’s you, deep at the center of your being.”

“That’s beautiful and oddly familiar.”

“It’s a quote by Confucius. I open every semester with that quote. You might have been there that day.”

“Maybe,” I ponder. “What does it mean?”

“It means…” He itches the stubble on his chin. “It means I accept you for who you are, just like you accept me.”

“Jensen…”

“Let me finish.” He steps to me, but keeps appropriate teacher-student distance. “It’s not easy to find someone who understands, and I mean truly understands. People walk this Earth with no idea of the suffering around them. When I look into your eyes, I know you suffer from the weight of the world. We both have pasts, and I’ve been honest about mine. But I want you to know, I accept you for who you are with no explanation needed about where you come from.”

“Can we go back to lighter conversation?” I scratch my nose as I sniffle. He is not at all who I pegged him to be. “Please?”

“We have all the time in the world to be light, but right now there’s something I have to get off my chest.”

Please don’t say it.

“I know it doesn’t make sense, and maybe it doesn’t have to—“

Please stop talking.

“It sounds stupid just thinking about saying it out loud—“

I feel it too.

“But when I’m with you, I feel something I thought I couldn’t feel again—“

That’s how it goes. Always coming when you least expect it.

“Apple.” He shakes his head. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Jensen—“

“Let me finish.” His voice is stern, and heavy, full of all the dips and grooves that make up the sounds of truth. “I’m in love with you.”

“We barely know each other.”

“We don’t have to.” He places a warm palm on each of my cheeks. “If love was something tangible you could touch, or make reason of, it wouldn’t be something we all spend out entire lives in search of. We’d just go out and find it.” When I bow my head to divert my eyes, he meets me at my level and rests his head against mine. “It doesn’t work that way. I used to think it did. I used to think I could avoid it at any costs if I stuck with my fuck-and-run strategy.” His finger lifts me at my chin and I have no choice but to follow his eyes as they scan over me. “I was wrong. I know that now.” A sad, but full smile forms across his lips, exposing his white teeth. “Reason tells me I can’t love you, because I’ve only known you for a week. My heart knows otherwise. Tell me that you feel it too.”

“It’s complicated,” I say as quiet as a whisper.

“Then make it uncomplicated.”

“This isn’t easy for me.” I pull away from him and run the back of my palm against my pounding forehead. I’m trying to take everything in, but my brain is on the verge of exploding, to say nothing of my heart.

“Nothing worth fighting for is easy.”

“I love you,” I say it with conviction, with barren honesty. “There, I said it.”

“See? I guess some things are easy.” His accomplished smile is short-lived as he notices me wiping away an elusive stream of tears. “Why are you crying?”

“Allergies.” I laugh, but it’s empty. I force my eyes shut and feel his fingers wiping at my cheek.

“That’s funny. Are you allergic to love?”

“That’s to be determined.”

His deep, blue eyes are focused on me, and a blistering block of silence follows. We’re out of things to say, and I’m once again reminded he was right; silence is fucking beautiful.

But not as beautiful as his lips that are soon pressed to mine. Out here. In the middle of the street, where neither of us care any longer if someone sees us. He tastes like paradise, sun-kissed with the after burn of day-old whiskey.

When he kisses me, I forget about the rest of the world and all the complications. I forget about Brick and Cece. I forget this is just another game. He touches me all over, his hands sliding up the skin of my back.

It’s passionate, and I cherish this wrinkle in time. I’m breathless and fighting to breathe against his lips, but it’s the best kind of suffocating. With his tongue, he reaches deep into me and pulls everything to the surface.

I can love.

I do love.

It’ll never be enough.

Game.

Set.

Match.

All the pieces are in place. He’s fallen in love with me and all that’s left to do is break his heart.

All that’s left is a choice.

23

After he pulled away, I slung my bag over my shoulder and high-tailed my ass into the house. I’ve never thrown the door open and slammed it shut so fast. Safe from the view of the voyeuristic world, I break completely. Tears that are born from rage race down my cheeks. My chest heaves as I fight to breathe with the weight of the world’s cruelties sitting on my shoulders.

The house is dark, with no lights on and the curtains to the patio drawn shut. It’s the perfect opportunity to take off the mask I’ve been wearing, if only for a little while.

“What the fuck are you crying about?” Brick asks before I even realize he’s there. He’s perched in my throne, his arms carefully draped over the arms of the chair.

“The real question is what the fuck are you doing in my house?” I run both hands over my face in an attempt to cover up the evidence I was crying, knowing full well he saw me with his own eyes.

“You’re in love with him,” he accuses in a grave tone, built of contempt and control. “Talk about fucking pathetic.”

“I’m not,” I say through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t believe me, and continues to taunt me. “He takes you away for a weekend, and you can’t scramble over your own feet fast enough to suck his dick and promise him your eternal love.”

“You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” I push my feet hard against the wood floors, searching for the strength to do battle with Brick when all I want is to curl up in bed and cry.

“Let me school you on something, Apple.” He crosses one leg over the other. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know you were crying, and I’m guessing it wasn’t because momma hasn’t called lately.”

This behavior isn’t new to me. He shows his true colors under two circumstances. The first is when I grow close to a man—and that’s not often. I can count them all on one hand: Mason, Brick, the quarterback and now, Jensen. The second is when he’s terrified he’s going to lose a bet, and there have been plenty of bets, even if he’s never actually been close to losing. This would be the first. I’m too eager to forget the devil that hides underneath his charisma, and like the best colognes, he wears his charisma in spades.

“Do you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?” I ask and approach him from the front. “It must get old drowning in the same shit.”

“Honey, I’m fine with my station in life.” He throws his arms to the sides, creating a visual of the world in his hands. “I have everything I could ever want.”

“Everything but me. It kills you that you can’t have me.”

He rolls his eyes, but we both know he’s doing nothing but denying the truth. “Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Why don’t we talk about Tyra?” I stampede toward him and cower over his body as I rest my hands on the arms of the chair. His face tightens and contorts, his lips pressing tight together. “What’s wrong? Is it a sore subject?”

“The only thing that’s going to be sore is her virgin pussy.” He meets me halfway, pressing his face against mine while wearing a devious and crooked smile.

“Keep dreaming.” I push him backward into the chair. “The closest you’ll ever get to her is the thought of her naked as you jerk yourself raw in the shower. That’s where all this bitterness is coming from, right? It’s occurred to you that you’re actually going to lose.”

“I’d rather beat myself raw in the shower than face your current predicament.”

“And what is that?”

“I told you.” He raises his hand to my cheek and caresses it lovingly. “You’re in love.”

“Even if that were true, it wouldn’t change a thing.”

“It changes everything. It changes how I see you.” He pushes me away and rises to his feet, like a king stepping off his throne. “You’re not as strong as I believed you to be. In fact, you’re so weak that I don’t know if I can continue this charade with you. You’re in no better shape than when I found you. A fucking pity when I consider all the hard work I put into you.”

“Thank you, Brick.” It comes out lower than a whisper, and I’d be surprised if he could hear me.

“For saving you? For talking you from the ledge?” He passes me and swipes his car keys off the coffee table. “Come on, what are you thanking me for?”

“I believed I didn’t have a choice until I walked in that door. I wanted to beat you so bad that I was willing to do whatever it took.” I grab him at the crook of his elbow and glare into his emerald eyes. “I’m going to tell him everything.”

“You’ll lose him, but I imagine he won’t give you the time of day and his heart will end up broken anyway.” He takes glee in the way the words roll off his tongue. “You’ll lose, but you might still win yet.” He begins a slow clap with his hands. “Bravo, Apple. You’re a fucking star.”

“You’re graduating in a few months. I think it’s time to grow up,” I bark at him and tug him toward the front door.

“I grew up a long time ago, Apple. I think the word you’re looking for is change.” His palm flirts with the knob of the door before swinging it open. “Unfortunately for you, I have no interest in change.”

“I’m tired, Brick.” I’m sincere in my tone and shake my head while chewing into my lip. I love Brick in some fucked up way I couldn’t explain. But I love him as a vice and nothing more. He’s an addiction I have to break. I dig into my pocket and retrieve the SD card he gave me in the motel during his impromptu visit. “This piece of plastic…”

“What are you doing?’ His eyes bulge as he stares me down with confusion and intent.

“I’m putting an end to all of this.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” He reaches for the card, but I pull away from him, far enough so I’m out of reach if he should try again.

I bend the card between my fingers and snap it in half. The force sends painful waves through the tip of my fingers, but it’s pain that’s more than worth it. I throw the pieces at him. “Now, get the hell out of my house.”

He’s pissed, and unable to hide it. He shakes his head defiantly, but manages to get in one last jab before turning to leave. “I’ll call you later, when you’re off your period.”

24

I’ve had one too many drinks. Not enough to be drunk, but also not enough for the bravery to take hold. I fiddle with a new bottle of moscato in the kitchen, trying to pull the cork from the top. I’m too nervous, and too jittery to accomplish the job. Frustrated, I throw the wine opener against the metal sink.

I have to remind myself to keep breathing. It’s not intuitive at this point. I reach for the two empty wine glasses and hold them under the faucet, opting to fill them with water instead. I chug one of the glasses and fill it back up before grabbing the other and heading into the living room.

“Sorry it took so long,” I say to Jensen, who sits on the couch with his arm thrown coolly over the back. I hand him a glass as I take a seat beside him. “The wine bottle was being a jackass, so I brought water instead.”

“I was wondering what the clinging was in the kitchen.”

“That was the sound of the wine opener being murdered.”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he wraps his arm around my neck, and my stomach sinks. “Do you have violent tendencies?”

“Only when it comes to kitchen utensils.” Although with everything bubbling up inside of me, I could stand to punch a few holes in a wall. “Did I miss anything?” I turn my attention to the film playing on the television; the nineties classic I Know What You Did Last Summer.

“Buffy just got whacked.”

“That poor girl.” I flip my hair and lay my head onto his lap. “First, she has her hair chopped in her sleep, and now she got hooked by the same makeshift pair of scissors.”

He laughs and runs his fingers through my hair. He’s an expert at making a piece-of-shit like myself feel wanted. “What would you do if I cut your hair in your sleep?”

“I’d kick your ass.”

His fingers come to a stop in the tangled mess of my hair. “I’d probably like that.”

“Can I ask you something without getting upset?”

“I’m an open book.”

I flip my body so I’m facing upward and toward him. His face is shaven and smooth, and his eyes alternate between the movie on the screen and me. “How can you be so happy all the time?” That steals his attention, and now his gaze is squared directly on me. “It’s like you’re glowing every time I see you.”

“I don’t understand the question.”

I exhale and push my body to a sitting position. “You’ve been through so much, and you told me everything. But as soon as that happened, you just went back to being happy.”

He’s visually taken aback, averting his eyes to the side of his head. “How is that a bad thing?”

It’s not that it’s a bad thing, but it’s hard for me to wrap my head around. How can one person face so much grief and go on to live a successful existence?

“I carry that pain with me everyday, but it doesn’t mean I’m incapable of being happy,” he continues, as if he were capable of reading my mind. Maybe that’s his secret, the reason he’s able to understand me and say all the right things.

I wish I were as strong as him. I wish a lot of things, but most of all, I wish I didn’t have to have this conversation. But here I go. “You asked me if something bad had ever happened to me, and I was noncommittal to the question before.” I place a firm hand on his jean-clad thigh, and hope he understands this is one of those times where we have to be serious. “I’m ready now, if you’ll listen.”

“Yeah, I mean as long as you’re finished with your story before the finale.” He smiles the same smile he always smiles, but instead of melting my heart, I want to slap him. I reach for the remote and hit the pause button. He finally gets it and clears his throat. “Sorry.”

I exhale sharply and rub my sweaty palms across my jeans. “There was this guy in high school. His name was Mason and I was head over heels in love with him. After prom, he took me to a hotel room and we had sex. When I got out of the shower, he was gone but he had left a note.” Swollen with nerves, my mouth dries up and I’m forced to take a long sip of water. “He meant the world to me and all I was to him, was a bet.”

“That’s terrible.” He grabs my shaking hand and squeeze gently. “Teenagers can be so cruel.”

Cruelty isn’t reserved for teenagers. I should know. It’s a trait that follows many into adulthood, and some even adopt it. “It shaped me into the woman I am today. I often think back to that moment and wonder how my life would be different if it never happened.”

“I reckon it made you stronger.”

“That’s the problem.” I’m no longer able to stay seated and jump to my feet. He reaches out to me, but I take a measured step back. “There’s so much I need to tell you, but I can’t find the words.”

“It’s okay,” he assures me, “we have the rest of forever.”

“These are words that can’t wait until forever.”

He rises from the couch to meet me in the center of the room. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“I’m not who—“

And we’re back to square fucking one where he’s kissing me, and I’m forced into silence. Maybe it’s fate’s way of making sure I don’t put my foot in my mouth before I have a chance to see what exactly this is between us.

He pulls away and with exasperated breaths, he says to me, “Whatever it is, it can wait. Right now, I just want to touch you.”

“Are you saying you want to fuck?” I ask with a furrowed brow. That’d be the easy way out of this conversation, a welcome distraction from this destructive act of self-sabotage.

“No…”

Damn.

“I want to make love.”

Oh. “Who are you, and what have you done with Jensen?”

His lips form into a curious grin. “What have you done to Jensen?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Then I’ll answer it for you.” He takes a step, forcing me to take a step back. Then another until I’m lined up with the glass of the patio door. “You’re changing me, Apple.” His hand travel to my waist. “I’m terrified.” His mouth nuzzles against my neck, planting short kisses up to my chin. “I’m ecstatic.” He sinks his teeth into my earlobe, then drags his tongue along my sensitive skin. “I’m happy.” His tongue slips past my lips. His teeth graze my lips. His lips caress my lips. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and you are mine.” He kisses my forehead with the softest kiss on this side of childhood, and it electrifies more than the touch of any man before him. “There’s nothing left to talk about,” he whispers and I agree.

Silence is good.