I laugh out loud.
That’s definitely not the case here. I do a once-over of her body again, perfect pert breasts, the body of a Victoria’s Secret model, and the face of an angel who wears—or at least wore—clothes made by the devil. A virgin—yeah right!
“Is something funny to you?” she asks, and the sass is right back in her voice.
“We’re having some technical difficulties, but I have the fix for that,” I tell her, and her face flushes red now.
“Are you saying that something is wrong with me?” she spits at me angrily. Her eyes are full of fire and…something else…I would say embarrassment, but that can’t be it. What girl would be embarrassed of a tight pussy?
“No, I’m saying that you’re tight as fuck, and I need to warm you up.” She pulls back with a scowl on her face.
“No, you’re having technical difficulties!” she growls angrily, pushing me away from her and standing up. At first I think it’s a joke, but her anger is real and slaps me in the face.
“Are you serious?”
What the fuck just happened?
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She’s now grabbing the t-shirt and jeans she took off earlier. I laugh, throwing my head back, and point to my erect dick.
“No I’m pretty sure this is working,” I reply, visibly annoyed. She crashed into my cousin’s car, kicked me in the nuts, led me on a high-speed chase with the police, was late as fuck for our date, and after having me get her off, she tries to insinuate my dick is broken when I was about to give her the best fucking head of her life.
“I’ve got to go anyway,” she mutters, storming off towards the car. I push myself off the sand and try to throw on my jeans as best as I can with a hard-on.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I ask, grabbing my things
“I don’t have the problem, you have the problem! Just fucking a girl like she asked you to, and now your other problem is finding a ride home!” she yells, walking towards her car.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout at her as she gets in her car. She then smiles wide and shrugs.
“Everything. I’m completely batshit crazy,” she says, then speeds off, leaving me frustrated in more ways than one.
Chapter 3
Megan
There were times when I was terrified, where my heart was strangled with fear of the dark. Not of a fictional monster under my bed, but of the real monsters who slept outside the door of the rundown homes I lived in. When my chest was so tight I felt as if it would crush my ribs, that holding a breath too long would suffocate me. It was those nights where I would close my eyes and imagine my mother’s face, being held in my father’s arms, and create a world where I was safe and loved. I never thought in all of my reality that I’d feel safe with anyone, let alone a man, but Kam’s made the impossible reality.
Since our first kiss I’ve felt off kilter, afraid that at any moment I’d wake up and this would all be a figment of my imagination. I wake up every day expecting him to be a cruel trick of my mind. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve him. He’s been patient and is kind to me and more than understanding. It’s been thirty-four days. I’ve been counting, because sometimes it feels like a countdown until something goes wrong, when the universe realizes it’s made a mistake and I don’t get to have a guy like him, that I don’t deserve this type of happiness. But each day it gets a little easier.
You always get the easy, you don’t deal with the hard.
My eyes are following the couple on the screen. It’s a horror movie—not the terrifying kind, but the teen slasher one—that’s more comical and unrealistic than scary. The movie theater’s half full and me and Kam have great seats in the center. They’re plush and luxurious, not like the stiff crappy ones I sat in the few times I went as a kid. I snuggle into Kam’s shoulder and watch as he looks intently at the movie. He loves movies of all kinds and since we’ve started dating he’s exposed me to so many. I’ve never been a movie person, I never had a chance to be exposed to them. Books were free and that was the best form of entertainment I could have until I started making my own money. He glances over at me and smiles, giving me a squeeze. I tell myself to enjoy it, to relish it, it’s okay to be happy, that life doesn’t always have to be on the edge of detriment.
I sink into him and move my eyes back to the screen. He squeezes my hand and I realize that I’m falling for him. When this thought comes there’s a wave of relief that spreads through my entire body and I feel light. I’ve only smoked pot once but it wasn’t like that, this is almost like a peace, but there’s a tugging within me, one that always follows it that causes me to tense up. I hate it and try to fight it, frustration and anxiousness feeling like they’re about to burst out of me. I steady my breathing and try to stay present but my focus is moving past this moment, trying to pull me from this.
I focus on the screen and the heroine of the movie has a gun pointed towards another character. My throat starts to constrict, and my breathing is becoming erratic. I fight the anxiety coursing through me. I feel like I’m about to throw up. I let go of Kam’s hand and grip the chair.
Green.
Purple.
My heart is fighting to get out of my chest and I’m trembling, and I don’t know what’s wrong. I silently fight the tears that have come inexplicably to my eyes and are now trickling down my face. And when the character on the screen pulls the trigger and shoots at the main character’s mother, I scream. I’m screaming.
I’m out of my seat, everyone in the theater staring at me. Some confused, some annoyed, others unsure if it’s a joke that’s part of the movie experience. I can’t look at Kam. I’m out of my seat and running from the theater. When I make it outside I fight for air. I’m full on crying now and I don’t know why, but I feel like a lunatic.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
I won’t look at him but his tone is dripping with confusion and worry. I cover my face in embarrassment. His strong arms pull me into him.
“It’s okay,” he assures me, his voice solid but warm while he gently rubs my back.
“It’s not, I’m so sorry,” I tell him in between sobs, trying to pull it together as much as I can but I’m falling apart.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about, I promise you.” His voice is so gentle and calming and I can’t help feeling whatever turmoil that was brewing inside of me begin to dissipate, only leaving behind complete humiliation.
This is what I was afraid of—ruining something that was special and nice with whatever it is that’s wrong with me. It was inevitable and I guess it’s better to end it now, to let go whatever hope I had in this. I’m afraid to look at him but I might as well face it, prepare myself to see what so many who were supposed to love and take care of me saw when they realized I wasn’t right, that I wasn’t normal. But when I do, his face isn’t full of contempt or irritation, but of understanding and kindness. I’m confused and almost afraid of it.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks softly, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. The compassion in his voice and touch makes me melt.