Broken and Screwed
Page 3
“My god. I f**king loved that guy.”
A hand reached inside and squeezed my heart. More tears streamed from my eyes. I was helpless to stop them, but I choked out, “I know.”
“Drive me home?”
My eyes closed again and I wrapped my arms around myself. There it was. That was the request I knew was coming. My heart thundered while I tried to think clearly. And then I said, “Yes.”
The corners of his lips curved up, just slightly.
We didn’t speak after that. We didn’t need to. I went to the driver’s side. He went to the passenger side and neither of us said a word as I drove past his black Ferrari or even when we pulled up to the mansion his father had built when Jesse’s mother had been dying. As we walked through the hallways, up the stairs, and to his back bedroom my heart was calm. I was calm. And that made me not calm.
I shouldn’t have been calm.
Jesse went to his bar and poured vodka into a glass. He slid it across the counter to me. I picked it up and waited until he poured one for himself.
It was the third time we’d done this. Ethan’s funeral. Ethan’s birthday. And now the anniversary of the day Ethan’s car wrapped itself around a tree. He died a year ago and nothing was the same.
CHAPTER TWO
When I woke up, I rolled over. I wasn’t surprised to see Jesse beside me. Images of the night flashed in my head as I relived the erotic moments. There was a bittersweet taste in my mouth. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at his back. He was turned away from me with his arms bunched around the pillow under his head. He was on his stomach and I could see the sculpture he had created over the last year. He’d been ripped before, but he was defined, molded, and a piece of art now.
I sighed and wet my lips. The night had been one big blur of blind primal need. A carnal lust took over when I was near him and that was the problem. Jesse hated me. He needed me on the nights when neither of us could escape Ethan’s ghost, but the next morning would be another story.
As he stirred, I hurried out of the bed and dressed. When I couldn’t find my shirt, I spied a sweatshirt on the chair and grabbed it.
“What the f**k are you doing?”
I froze from the savagery in his voice. Then I turned around as I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and gulped. He sat on the edge of the bed with clear hate in his eyes. “What?”
The small hope I’d had for morning pleasantries, maybe more, died inside. I looked away as I felt tears coming. I shoved them down, deep down, and hardened inside as I looked back.
He still glared at me, but the loathing had been blanketed. Slightly. He gestured to the sweatshirt. “That’s mine. You can’t have it.”
“Are you serious? I don’t know where my shirt is. I need a shirt.”
He rolled his eyes and pushed up from the bed. His stomach muscles contracted from the movement and his arms bulged for a moment before it went back to his lean build. Then he disappeared into his closet. He came out a second later with a different sweatshirt in hand and threw it at me. “You can keep this one.”
It was white with a green four leaf clover on the front. “How generous.”
He flashed a smirk and rolled his shoulders back. “Whatever. Go in your bra for all I care.” He stuffed the other sweatshirt in a ball and tossed it across the room. When it landed on the bed, I gasped as I saw the front for the first time. I launched for it.
He caught my wrists in his.
“That’s my brother’s! I want it.”
My body was pressed against his as I strained for the shirt behind him, but he held my hands above my head and nudged me backwards with his hips.
“No!”
He kept going with his head down. I tensed as I felt his lips skim my shoulder and then I realized I was against a wall. Body aligned with mine, he leaned closer. His hips pressed against mine, his chest was against mine. Slowly my hands separated and he slid them down against the wall. They curved underneath me with him still holding onto them.
I breathed deeply. I was trying to calm down; my chest jerked up and down from the effort it took.
His lips softly touched my shoulder again. His hand curved over my waist, skimmed up my arm, and cupped the side of my face. He tilted my face back to meet his gaze and then sighed. His pain was evident. It shimmered on the surface, but he shook his head. He rasped out, “He died in that. I’m keeping it.”
My eyes clasped shut.
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
I felt his coldness before he stepped back. He had already retreated behind a wall. I looked up, but wasn’t surprised when there was no emotion on his face. And I swallowed over a painful knot. The moments when he allowed me in were fleeting. I wondered when he would stop altogether.
“Do you need a ride to your car?” My voice was hoarse.
“I’ll call a buddy.”
I jerked my head in a nod. We were done. Our needs had been scratched for the night. As I left, an empty feeling filled me once more. I knew it wouldn’t be filled until Ethan’s birthday, when Jesse would let me in once again.
When I walked through the mansion, everything was dark. There were paintings on the walls, all of them in dark colors. A few sculptures had been placed in corners and none of them were happy. All of them seemed sad and depressed. It wasn’t until I was almost to the front door that I realized none of the windows were open. All of the curtains were pulled shut. It was like the sunlight wasn’t allowed inside.
When I left the front door and saw my car in the open garage, I suppressed a shiver. Jesse’s home was big, cold, and empty. I now understood why he lived with us most of the time since seventh grade until last year. His mother had died when he was in eighth grade, but I never considered what his home had been like. The few times I heard him mention his father, he never referred to him as Dad, just ‘the dick.’ When I drew close to my car and opened the door, I saw the cars lined up beside it. A Lamborghini, a Porsche, another Ferrari. Jesse only drove his black Ferrari so these must’ve been his father’s. My dad drove a Sable. Something told me our fathers were very different.
And then I sighed. My phone beeped; I knew it was my alarm. I had to be at work within the hour. As I got home and rushed inside, my mom was in the kitchen. The aroma of coffee filled the air and I heard the coffee maker still brewing. Before I slipped upstairs, I peeked around the corner. My mom still had her robe on and she stood at the sink with a cup of coffee in her hand. I knew without seeing that there was a blank stare in her eyes. It had been there for a year.
A hand reached inside and squeezed my heart. More tears streamed from my eyes. I was helpless to stop them, but I choked out, “I know.”
“Drive me home?”
My eyes closed again and I wrapped my arms around myself. There it was. That was the request I knew was coming. My heart thundered while I tried to think clearly. And then I said, “Yes.”
The corners of his lips curved up, just slightly.
We didn’t speak after that. We didn’t need to. I went to the driver’s side. He went to the passenger side and neither of us said a word as I drove past his black Ferrari or even when we pulled up to the mansion his father had built when Jesse’s mother had been dying. As we walked through the hallways, up the stairs, and to his back bedroom my heart was calm. I was calm. And that made me not calm.
I shouldn’t have been calm.
Jesse went to his bar and poured vodka into a glass. He slid it across the counter to me. I picked it up and waited until he poured one for himself.
It was the third time we’d done this. Ethan’s funeral. Ethan’s birthday. And now the anniversary of the day Ethan’s car wrapped itself around a tree. He died a year ago and nothing was the same.
CHAPTER TWO
When I woke up, I rolled over. I wasn’t surprised to see Jesse beside me. Images of the night flashed in my head as I relived the erotic moments. There was a bittersweet taste in my mouth. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at his back. He was turned away from me with his arms bunched around the pillow under his head. He was on his stomach and I could see the sculpture he had created over the last year. He’d been ripped before, but he was defined, molded, and a piece of art now.
I sighed and wet my lips. The night had been one big blur of blind primal need. A carnal lust took over when I was near him and that was the problem. Jesse hated me. He needed me on the nights when neither of us could escape Ethan’s ghost, but the next morning would be another story.
As he stirred, I hurried out of the bed and dressed. When I couldn’t find my shirt, I spied a sweatshirt on the chair and grabbed it.
“What the f**k are you doing?”
I froze from the savagery in his voice. Then I turned around as I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and gulped. He sat on the edge of the bed with clear hate in his eyes. “What?”
The small hope I’d had for morning pleasantries, maybe more, died inside. I looked away as I felt tears coming. I shoved them down, deep down, and hardened inside as I looked back.
He still glared at me, but the loathing had been blanketed. Slightly. He gestured to the sweatshirt. “That’s mine. You can’t have it.”
“Are you serious? I don’t know where my shirt is. I need a shirt.”
He rolled his eyes and pushed up from the bed. His stomach muscles contracted from the movement and his arms bulged for a moment before it went back to his lean build. Then he disappeared into his closet. He came out a second later with a different sweatshirt in hand and threw it at me. “You can keep this one.”
It was white with a green four leaf clover on the front. “How generous.”
He flashed a smirk and rolled his shoulders back. “Whatever. Go in your bra for all I care.” He stuffed the other sweatshirt in a ball and tossed it across the room. When it landed on the bed, I gasped as I saw the front for the first time. I launched for it.
He caught my wrists in his.
“That’s my brother’s! I want it.”
My body was pressed against his as I strained for the shirt behind him, but he held my hands above my head and nudged me backwards with his hips.
“No!”
He kept going with his head down. I tensed as I felt his lips skim my shoulder and then I realized I was against a wall. Body aligned with mine, he leaned closer. His hips pressed against mine, his chest was against mine. Slowly my hands separated and he slid them down against the wall. They curved underneath me with him still holding onto them.
I breathed deeply. I was trying to calm down; my chest jerked up and down from the effort it took.
His lips softly touched my shoulder again. His hand curved over my waist, skimmed up my arm, and cupped the side of my face. He tilted my face back to meet his gaze and then sighed. His pain was evident. It shimmered on the surface, but he shook his head. He rasped out, “He died in that. I’m keeping it.”
My eyes clasped shut.
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
I felt his coldness before he stepped back. He had already retreated behind a wall. I looked up, but wasn’t surprised when there was no emotion on his face. And I swallowed over a painful knot. The moments when he allowed me in were fleeting. I wondered when he would stop altogether.
“Do you need a ride to your car?” My voice was hoarse.
“I’ll call a buddy.”
I jerked my head in a nod. We were done. Our needs had been scratched for the night. As I left, an empty feeling filled me once more. I knew it wouldn’t be filled until Ethan’s birthday, when Jesse would let me in once again.
When I walked through the mansion, everything was dark. There were paintings on the walls, all of them in dark colors. A few sculptures had been placed in corners and none of them were happy. All of them seemed sad and depressed. It wasn’t until I was almost to the front door that I realized none of the windows were open. All of the curtains were pulled shut. It was like the sunlight wasn’t allowed inside.
When I left the front door and saw my car in the open garage, I suppressed a shiver. Jesse’s home was big, cold, and empty. I now understood why he lived with us most of the time since seventh grade until last year. His mother had died when he was in eighth grade, but I never considered what his home had been like. The few times I heard him mention his father, he never referred to him as Dad, just ‘the dick.’ When I drew close to my car and opened the door, I saw the cars lined up beside it. A Lamborghini, a Porsche, another Ferrari. Jesse only drove his black Ferrari so these must’ve been his father’s. My dad drove a Sable. Something told me our fathers were very different.
And then I sighed. My phone beeped; I knew it was my alarm. I had to be at work within the hour. As I got home and rushed inside, my mom was in the kitchen. The aroma of coffee filled the air and I heard the coffee maker still brewing. Before I slipped upstairs, I peeked around the corner. My mom still had her robe on and she stood at the sink with a cup of coffee in her hand. I knew without seeing that there was a blank stare in her eyes. It had been there for a year.
