She knew I wasn't paying attention when she whispered, “Hey… Hunter?”
Addi was right. I wasn't paying attention. Her hard nipples rubbing up against my chest only dug up a buried memory involving Layla. Her nipples were pierced horizontally instead of the typical vertical. My memories of her had a life of their own, because now I could feel the metal jewelry against my shirt.
Memories of her tore through me like bouts of PTSD—not a memory, but an evil much worse, too lifelike.
The only thing that pulled me back was Addi laying down kisses along my jaw and her vocals placed between each kiss.
I saw myself in the mirror behind her when I snapped back to reality. My hair was falling out of the low bun, and there were bags under my eyes. There was an uneasy look stamped on my face.
I was a fucking disaster. Not that my average was much more cleaned up, but my resemblance to Hollywood’s most praised was long gone. I was no longer frail and unkempt, and the danger in my eyes wasn’t as easily detectable anymore. I grew some muscles, and parts of my hair had gotten darker once I moved to New England for college from my hometown of the Sunshine State. My unkempt state had become slightly more polished—polished in a way that even more women noticed.
I couldn't complain. I looked like I made money, and I quickly learned that flaunting it opened doors, instead of hiding it, like I used to.
Addi’s hand suddenly dropped lower, cupping what she could of me, before laying her palm flat and teasing under my zipper.
“What's wrong?” she asked me with concern, but didn't stop rubbing, making her objective clear.
“Nothing. Get on your knees.”
She didn't put up a fight, which meant she was desperate. Normally when I barked that command, she would bite back. She normally gave me some speech about women’s rights, men pushing the female race down, and how she'd never kneel for anyone.
Addi demanded equality. She was getting off too, or no one was.
I kept my eyes adjusted upwards, staring at the ceiling and trying to guess where we were in the sky as she unzipped my jeans. She didn't bother pulling them down or making her life easier when her hand crawled into my boxers to pull my semi-hard length out.
I didn't have to look to know she was deflated with my half-mast, but my mind was trapped somewhere between PTSD and the possibilities of being summoned to my boss.
The warmth of Addi’s mouth left my mouth slack out of nowhere, like an inhale with no exhale. The mixture of warmth and wet made focusing on this a lot easier now.
The small sink vibrated against her phone, and I only noticed after it threw what little attention I did have. Looking down at the illuminated screen I saw the name first: “Mister”. No last name or emojis hinting to who he was.
I knew all too well already. He was a married man with two kids, living in Boston on the weekends as a family man. Monday through Friday, he was a professor at Amherst College, living on campus and fucking the talent he was supposed to be nurturing.
Trying not to be jealous or possessive was a hard thing for me to do. I was used to fighting for every inch of rope I got, which meant being possessive and protective of what was mine.
Addi wasn't technically mine, but she was someone I was also fucking and supposed to be nurturing.
“Your boyfriend is texting.”
Her mouth dropped away from my length that was already losing its stiffness that she had worked so hard to gain.
“He's not my boyfriend… stop.”
Yeah, he was someone’s husband; he couldn't be shit to you.
Mister wasn’t her boyfriend, but she swiped the phone out of my hand like she had something to hide. It was too quick and too calm, like she forced both in order to keep Mister out of our world.
Addi
We were seven miles up in the sky flying towards California—
the place I dreamed to be after I graduated. I was feeling so fucking high right now. All the good agents, all the movie sets, all the intoxicating sunshine to give my fake tan a run for its money.
I was actually happy, in all aspects, and I wasn't comparing anything of mine to anyone else’s—not even to Liz, my sister, who I was trained to feel second best to.
She was the gold standard in my family, and I was the shadow all the things that didn't live up to her lived in. I used to be bitter about it when I was younger, when I kept trying to live up to something that wasn't me. It wasn’t until the summer before freshman year that I convinced my mother the features I was born with were holding me back. She was too quick to agree.
My mother is a beautiful Cuban woman, complete with a natural complexion that resembled my fake tan, who matched Liz perfectly with her emerald eyes and full lips. She seldom spoke Spanish, but when she did, it sounded like singing.
I resemble my dad, or I did, before the filler, rhinoplasty, boob job, fake tan, and the platinum hair that was far from my original color. He has dark features that sat on a paler skin tone, and looks painfully average. Now I don't look like I'm even part of the same family… which was my point. I wanted to be what I chose for once.
Not my parents.
Not my sister.
I wasn't on my knees anymore. I snatched the phone from Hunter when he said that the word Mister popped up on the screen at an inconvenient time.
Hunter liked to tease me that he was my boyfriend, when all I condemned him to was a good fuck and a pain in my ass. I wasn't some hopeless girl, hoping a bad situation turned into some great love story. He was married, and I was his student. There was no misinterpretation here.
I slid open my texts to read: I miss you. Come by my place. We'll keep each other warm.
My eyes rolled on their own.
I had been pushing more space and time between fucks, but it was awkward when Monday through Friday he was giving me comments on my ability to connect with the empty seats in rehearsal.
Hunter was still in the small bathroom with me. His arms crossed, and I knew it was just a matter of seconds before he stormed out. Mister was a sore spot for him, after seeing the fall out on campus when word got around I was the one sleeping with a teacher. My best kept secret was still who he was.
Secrets didn't stop the entire student body from going silent when I walked into rooms and making sure I felt like a shadow of my former self.
“Classy, Addi. Thought that shit was done.”
He didn't even wait for me to explain. Thank god, because I was running out of excuses and lame attempts to tell him it wasn't that easy.
Even though it was. I was just too chicken shit to actually cut him off. For good reason, he seemed vindictive and petty as a high schooler.
There were already too many eyes on me at school, and nothing was letting up. That was half the reason Hunter let me come with on his business trip: pity.
“Hunter…” was all I could force out of my mouth as he left the bathroom with a door slam. I couldn't lie to him. We were villains of our life stories, and he didn't deserve more lying.
Twisting around I saw myself in the mirror. All the fake layers I had built up as armor… and none of it stopped me from hurting everyone else. Fuck me. It wasn't even protecting me from feeling hurt every time I saw Hunter’s eyes get dark at the mere mention of a life outside of him.
I maintained eye contact with the reflection, forcing myself to take in all the ugly I convinced myself was pretty. It wasn't until college I realized looks mattered, but not more than what's inside. It took me longer than most to see. It was a harder lesson to learn, when every advantage you get is because you look like a fantasy come to life.