Maybe I imagine it, maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I swear I catch a hint of her cherry cola scent and my cock starts to harden, a harsh sound falling from my mouth, muffled by the leather seat. For the first time since she walked away. I lunge for the chance to be with her in some small way, even if it’s just the memory of her in my car, the barest hint of her beloved scent haunting my nose. My brain.
I fumble for my phone and pull up the picture she sent me the first time we spoke on the phone. “Jesus, Gracie,” I breathe, devouring the high globes of her ass, that supple curve of her breast, the flirty little glance she’s giving me over her shoulder. “Goddamn. Look at you, beauty. Look how sweet and hot.”
Panting now, I grind my cock up against the edge of the passenger seat and start to rock, closing my eyes and imagining she’s sitting there with her legs spread open, gasping every time I give her the full length of me, in that way she always does. Her cunt is moist and welcoming and tight as a motherfucker, her graceful fingers buried in my hair, blue eyes leaden with lust. That beautiful ass of hers lifts off the seat to meet my pumps and we start to get frantic. We always do. Can’t help it. I fall on her and it becomes about getting my dick as deep as I can—and that’s what she wants, too. It’s why she’s wailing for her Daddy, her hands yanking on my ass, thighs opening wider. Wider.
But I open my eyes and I shouldn’t have.
I shouldn’t have because she’s not really there.
With a bellow of misery, I pitch forward onto the seat, slamming my forehead into the cushion over and over again, the picture of her on my phone having gone dark. My cock is still stiff and aching, but I don’t deserve to come. I lost her. I lost the right. So after a moment, I gather myself up as much as possible and shove my erection back into my shorts, vowing then and there never to touch myself again. Never to allow myself pleasure in any form. My punishment for failing to be everything she needs. For failing her. I’ll suffer now. I’ll suffer for her if that’s all she’ll allow me.
With blood drying on my face, I drive home numb on the outside, while on the inside, my mind roasts over an open flame in hell.
And somewhere deep down, I know it’s impossible to go on like this.
Grace
I reach down and test the knob of my bedroom door, unsurprised to find it locked. Over the weekend, I was forbidden from leaving this room. Then for the last three days, I was sent upstairs right after school, armed with extra-credit work my father arranged through my teachers.
I’m in hell.
I want to tear off my skin. It’s hot and cloying and doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Not without North to touch and kiss it. Why have it at all?
My father took my phone. I have nothing. Nothing. And what would I even do if I had a way to call North? I can’t. I’d be putting his life in jeopardy.
With a stuttering breath, I pace back and forth in front of my window, the sunset making me think of him. Making me think of holding his hand and walking across rooftops in South Boston. Did that magical night really happen? Did any of them? I want to go back. I would go back and live those nights over and over for the rest of my life, rather than live one more day like this. I’m dying. I’m dying, right?
I find myself kneeling on the floor and I have no idea how I got here.
My arms are wrapped around my middle and I’m rocking, saying words that don’t even make sense. I can’t go on like this. I can’t breathe. Even at school, I can barely make it between classes, my legs weighed down by cement, my heart gasping for air in my chest. I want to curse and rail at my so-called friends for what they’ve done. Can’t they see they’ve murdered my soul? But I can’t locate the energy. All I can do is stare straight ahead and try not to shatter.
Where is North?
What is he doing?
I crave the taste of salt on his skin. I crave his huge body on mine, above, inside and behind me. His growls in my ear. The way he cradles me after I have an orgasm, telling me I’m beautiful and we’ll always be together. What happened? What happened? I feel like someone has taken a chainsaw and cut me straight down the middle. I can’t do this.
Losing power over my muscles, I crash forward and bawl into the rug surrounding my bed, my ribs throbbing from the amount of crying I’ve done since Friday. My eyes are swollen, my chest desolate. If it’s possible to die from a broken heart, I need to be taken to the emergency room. I wouldn’t go, though. I wouldn’t. I’d refuse treatment.
Just let me die.
At first, when I hear a faint rapping on my window, I think it’s raining. Or maybe my bereaved mind is playing tricks on me. But it continues long enough that I realize it’s real. North? Is it North? Is he outside?
A sob saws inside my throat and I crawl over, disoriented, clawing my way up onto the windowsill, searching for his perfect face in the darkness. My love. The man I’ll love until the end of time. Is he here?
My feverish thoughts screech to a halt when I spy Tulip instead.
Down below my window, holding a handful of stones.
Exasperated, she signals at me to open my window.
At first, I’m relieved to see her. She’s a part of North. This is the closest I’ve come to seeing him in five days. Five hellish days. And she is proof he’s real.
But then I start to panic. Oh God, oh God, what if something happened to him? What if my father sent Curtis Tennison after him, even though I complied with his wishes?
“Please no, please no,” I hiccup, throwing open the window. “Tulip…” I manage.
“It’s about time,” she complains, tossing aside her handful of pebbles. “You know how long I’ve been out here, waiting for your father to leave?”
“I…” I’m dizzy. Delirious. Can’t string a thought together. How long since I’ve slept or eaten? “I didn’t even know he was gone,” I say, my voice hollow. “I’m…locked in here.”
A flash of sympathy crosses her young face. “Dang. You’re almost in worse shape than my brother—and that’s saying something.”
That statement cuts through my numbness, setting off alarm bells in my head. “What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with North?”
Tulip looks at me like I’m a moron, which is no less than I deserve for asking such a stupid question. What’s wrong with him? He’s without me. I’m without him. We’re not supposed to be apart. We’re both suffering. That’s a given. “He’s trying to get himself killed,” Tulip says in a pained whisper, tears filling her eyes. “Every night he comes home with more bruises, more blood. You have to come stop him before someone throws the punch that knocks him out forever. He’s not even trying to win, Grace. He’s not North anymore.”
Blistering hot tears roll down my cheeks, dripping off of my chin.
Helplessness pounds its fists against the inside of my skull. “I can’t…I can’t. You don’t understand. Being with him…it’s putting him in danger.”
“He’s in danger now!” Tulip calls back. “He’s getting beat up on purpose and you’re locked in a room. It can’t get any worse.”