I pretend he tells me he loves me instead. He loves me so goddamn much. It’s what sends me over the edge. My entire body goes still, the orgasm sweeping over me without warning and I’m trembling, crying out with my pleasure. He keeps up the pace, still watching me, his fingers going to my hair, tightening. Pulling. Hard. Making it painful.
Making my orgasm go on a little longer.
“You like it when it hurts,” he whispers as he still fucks me.
“I love it.”
“You liked it when I licked your asshole?”
I nod. “I want to lick yours.”
He grins. Actually grins. “Dirty fucking girl. Seriously?”
“I want to do everything with you,” I admit softly.
Whit lifts his upper body away from mine, gripping my hips as he pounds inside of me. I cup my breasts. Press them together. Pinch my nipples. He watches, fascinated, and I smile. That’s all I do. Just smile.
He comes. Falls over me in a heap, his big body shuddering over mine as he spills and spills. Endless amounts of cum shoot inside me and I hold him close. Stroke his back. Murmur dirty words close to his ear.
How much I love his cock. How good he feels inside of me. How I want to tongue his asshole and jerk him off at the same time. Is that even possible? I’m sure I could make it work, and he likes it because his body jerks forward, a little “ahh” falling from his lips with that one final, weak thrust.
I made him come like that. Me. Watching me. Being inside of me.
And he best never forget it.
Twenty-Three
Summer
It’s almost Halloween. My favorite time of year. The school doesn’t recognize the actual holiday with garish decorations of ghosts and black cats and jack o’ lanterns, but it does decorate the campus with giant pots of colorful mums and bales of hay stacked on either side of the doorways, a variety of pumpkins scattered about. There are scarecrows that one of the dining hall ladies makes every year according to Sylvie, and they’re cute, with friendly faces and straw hair, plucky little hats sitting on their heads. Some of the teachers burn fall scented candles in their classrooms, making me nostalgic every time I smell one.
My mother used to do that when I was younger. Burn all of her fall candles throughout the season, before she switched to Christmas scents. She’d decorate the house with cute Halloween-themed items she picked up over the years, and I’d get excited every October when she pulled the orange and black storage boxes out. I loved dressing up for the holiday the most, becoming someone different every Halloween, even if it was just for one night. I still yearn to dress up. To pretend to be someone I’m not.
I think I’m having an identity crisis at the ripe age of seventeen and three quarters.
Whispers start among the students on campus as the days draw closer and closer to the thirty-first. Of a party planned, out among the ruins Whit took me to, which makes me assume he’s the one who organized the party in the first place. Not that he’s ever mentioned the party to me.
We meet at night, once, twice, sometimes three times a week. We mess around. We fuck. We don’t really speak to each other. He’s keeping his distance from me on purpose, as if he showed me too much vulnerability that one night. When he was visibly upset that he hurt me, marked me, despite his earlier threats that he craved to do exactly that.
We don’t really communicate in class either. We’re wooden. Acknowledging each other in the barest of ways, his eyes flat, his expression impassive. It feels like I’m losing him, and I don’t know why. I don’t even know why it matters. I should be glad. But he still hasn’t returned my journal to me. We don’t mention it.
It’s not even about the journal anymore. I don’t care. He can read every last word of it, and it wouldn’t matter. Not any longer. I wish he’d talk to me. Act like he cared, like he did before. I don’t want him to forget me.
But I think he already has. I’ve become a rote habit for him and nothing more. A girl to fuck. He doesn’t even threaten me anymore.
I’d rather have him be mean toward me than act like I don’t matter to him at all. Ambivalence is the worst feeling you could ever have for someone, and I think that’s what Whit has for me.
It’s awful.
The weekend before Halloween, Sylvie comes to me in the library Friday afternoon, her eyes bright, her face pink with vitality. Life. She’s in high spirits, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so pretty. So alive. “You’re coming shopping with me.”
“Where?” I ask, hating how apprehensive I feel. What does she want from me? Why do I think everyone’s out to get me?
“Thrift shops. One of those temp Halloween costume stores they always have in town.” She bounces up and down, looking terribly pleased with herself. “We need costumes for Halloween night.”
“And what exactly is happening that night?” I need confirmation of this party once and for all. Whit certainly isn’t going to tell me about it.
“Haven’t you heard all the rumors? Whit came up with the best idea, and I’ve been helping him. We’re having a party on campus, among the ruins from the fire that happened a long time ago.” She tilts her head, contemplating me. “Have you ever been out there?”
“No,” I say solemnly, desperate not to give myself away.
“Oh. Wait until you see it. It’s beautiful. Creepy. Perfect Halloween scenario. Whit already asked Father, who gave his approval. It’s going to be so much fun,” Sylvie practically squeals.
I smile, but it’s weak. Being out there will just remind me of what happened between us last time, and it’ll make me sad. It’ll make me miss him, which is so incredibly stupid. Why do I miss a boy who clearly doesn’t give a shit about me?
Maybe Whit was right. My self-esteem is for shit. If I don’t care about myself, then no wonder no one cares about me either. My father. My mother. Daniel, my first supposed love. Yates—ugh. I don’t even feel bad that he’s dead.
He was a terrible person. Awful. Selfish. Demanding. Strange.
The only person I truly miss is Jonas. He cared. He had faith in me when it felt like no one else ever did. And now he’s gone.
It’s my fault too.
I sniff loudly, on the verge of tears when I feel Sylvie’s hand settle lightly on my arm.
“Are you okay?” she murmurs.
I lift my head, shaking my hair back, unable to hide the tears shining in my eyes. “I’m fine.” I swipe at the corners of my eyes, catching the tears that don’t fall. I can’t remember the last time I actually cried. “Homesick, I guess.”
What a bunch of shit, but I need an excuse.
“Aw.” Sylvie squeezes my arm, her touch gentle. “It’s okay. We all feel that way sometimes out here. Well, not me since I go home all the time thanks to my mother, but you know what I mean.”
“Right.” I nod, sniffing again. “Sure.”
Sylvie changes the subject and starts rattling on about Halloween costumes, but I’m not really listening. Though I should. Getting caught up in her excitement would be the perfect distraction I need. I swallow hard and turn to look at her, forcing myself to listen.