Indisputable (20 page)

Taking her mouth in a bruising kiss, I pour every
amount of reverence into her.  Everything about this woman is driving me
to the brink.  Losing control, unable to hold back much longer, I reach a
hand between our flushed bodies, finding the spot to make her lose control with
me.  I circle the sensitive nerves above where our bodies are joined, and
Tatum gives an involuntary jerk.  Slowly, I circle the nerves again
picking up the pace with my hips. 

“Come on, Tatum.  Give it to me again,” I grit
out through clenched teeth.  Trying to wait for her.  Needing to wait
for her.

“Just like that, Jacoby.  More,” she cries as I
increase the pressure on her clit.

She begins to crack, little spasms shoot along my dick
as I pound into her.  With a long wail, her back arches off the bed, and
she shatters once more beneath me.  The sensation of her climax steals my
breath, taking my orgasm along with hers. 

“Oh, God.  Fuck.” I can’t keep the words in my
head as a burst of white explodes beneath my eyelids, and I collapse in a
breathless heap on top of her.

We lie together for a long while in the pitch darkness
of my bedroom.  Our breaths slowly returning to normal, our heart rates
decelerating with each minute that passes.  I bury my face into her long
dark tangle of waves and just breathe.  Inhaling the sweet scent of
apricots and rain and Tatum.  And as the time ticks along and we both
begin to drift, I vow to myself that I will never, ever let her go.

Tatum

When faced with the ultimate decision, you have two
choices.  Embrace the situation or get the fuck out of dodge.  Waking
up in Jacoby’s room, in Jacoby’s bed, wrapped up in Jacoby, one could say my
life was at a turning point.  After everything that happened last night:
from the couch discussion, to the almost-sex, to the discovery of my secrets,
to the actual-sex, none of that would mean anything until what ultimately would
happen this morning.  The dreaded morning after.  We left things on a
high note last night, but decisions hadn’t been solidified or agreed upon. 
It was just wham-bam-thank-you…Okay, so maybe I’m not giving him enough
credit.  If I’m being honest with myself, last night was the most
incredible, fulfilling sex of my life.  So upon waking, I did what any
sane, normal, rational person would do in this position.

I got the fuck out of dodge.

It would appear Jacoby is a heavy sleeper. 
Sometime during the night we had dislodged ourselves from the makeshift
comforter burrito, so being careful not to rustle blankets isn’t an issue.
We’re both lying brilliantly naked in the open air.  Still, being quiet is
imperative to my escape, so I execute a perfect double roll to the end of the
bed and slip silently over the edge into a crouch on the carpet.  Crawling
across the floor, I gather my clothing, thanking God they all ended up near the
same place, and scramble my naked ass out the bedroom door.

I dress quickly in the hall before tearing down the
stairs two at a time.  I don’t even spare a glance back into the bedroom
to see if Jacoby’s awake.  The effort would only waste my time and
possibly force a confrontation I do not want to have. 

A desperation I haven’t felt in a long time is clawing
at me to get out of his house.  There isn’t an explanation for the sudden
anxiety.  But I feel like being in his space is suffocating me. 
Maybe it’s the knowledge of what we did.  Or the fact he wants to talk
about my secret. 

Whatever the reason, I’m not hanging around to figure
it out. 

***

My apartment is blessedly quiet when I arrive back
home.  Unfortunately, the silence can’t quiet the tumble of thoughts in my
head.  I turn off my phone and head straight to the shower, hoping for a
small reprieve.  But when I get there, bare and completely alone with only
the cascade of hot water invading, there’s only one thing I want.  No,
need
.

Reaching around the shower curtain, my fingers fumble
with the drawer of my vanity, jerking it open.  The small blade I seek is
cool against my fingertips, and I cup the tool in my slippery palm, bringing it
inside my quiet sanctuary.

Hot water pounds against my sore muscles as I lower
myself to the cold shower floor.  Everything about this scenario is
familiar: the steady heat of the shower along my back, the sweet smell of my
apricot shampoo, the small rush of adrenaline my body releases as I hold my
blade.  But instead of the usual comfort it brings, for the first time in
my life it feels wrong.

I feel ashamed.

I feel dirty.

Salty tears mix with the wet droplets on my lips, and
I taste them.  I taste my bitter disappointment and my shame.  Over
and over my tongue darts out to absorb the hatefulness trying to escape
me.  Bringing the tears back inside me as if I’m not strong enough to just
let them go.

My right hand shakily grasps the blade as I lower it
to my left wrist.  Do it!
You’ll feel better soon
, I chant to
myself.  This is how I deal.  The only way I know how. 
Squeezing my eyes tightly shut I press the sharp metal against my flesh.

Then throw it against the shower wall as a ragged
scream blisters my throat. 

I can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

I can’t.

What happens when the one way to deal, the only way to
make yourself feel better, suddenly doesn’t work anymore?

***

I became invisible.

I guess the nature of our “relationship” had one
benefit—Jacoby couldn’t force me to talk with him.  He tried.  Oh did
he ever, but there was simply no way for him to remain inconspicuous and make
me listen when I didn’t want to.  He couldn’t hold me back in class (he
tried) or pin me against a wall (he didn’t try) or yell my name down the hall
as I powerwalked away, which is exactly what I did. 

Several strings of text messages filtered through my
inbox.  Curiosity was killing me.  My hands were itching to open
those messages.  My soul craved to read his words telling me we need to
talk.  Asking me why I left.  Telling me he cares about me.  But
I forced myself to ignore them until I could figure out my
head.   

Without much incident, Tuesday bled into Wednesday.

Wednesday disintegrated into Thursday.

And after a long, quiet night at work, Friday arrived
with a bright sunniness that instantly soured my mood.  I wanted dark
storm clouds and big, fat droplets of rain to mirror the way my insides
felt.  I finally knew what I needed to do.  

Hi, Mr. Stephenson.  Uh, it’s me,
Tatum Krause.  I know I’ve missed a lot of school lately, but I have
something important to do today.  It’s, um, an emergency
appointment.  I’ll come to your office as soon as I return to
school.  Please don’t report me truant I promise to explain. Okay, um,
thanks.  Bye.

T: I need to see you.

J:  Where are you?

T: Meet me at The Evergreen hotel asap.

J: What about school? What’s going on?

T: Call in sick. This is important. Come
to the hotel. 

J: Damnit I can’t just skip class! What’s
going on?

T: I need you. Find a sub.  Please.

J: OK. I’ll be there. Everything okay??

T: Rm 201…thanks.

The hotel room is small and smells musty with an
undertone of bleach.  Like no matter how much cleaning occurs, which
probably isn’t much, the smell is a permanent feature of the room.  A
queen sized bed is pressed up against an old beat up wooden headboard, flanked
on each side by outdated, gold colored touch lamps.  The comforter is thin
and threadbare, the color of a dark beige.  Navy blue carpet riddled with
stains covers the floor.  My guess would be that’s a significant source of
the smell. 

It’s not much, but the room will do considering the
circumstances.  I want to feel on neutral territory.  Inviting him to
my apartment felt too revealing, and there was no way I would have driven back
to his place after bailing so suddenly and not speaking with him for three
days.

I thought I could go on.  Pretend that night
never happened. 

My heart pumped with the desire to stay in his bed,
talk out my problems, unload on someone who seemed to care.  But my mind
screamed at me to escape.  My mind fought with the logic that our
relationship could never work while my heart wielded the power of my need to
stay and feel safe.  In the end, my mind won.

But ultimately, what happened didn’t matter. 
When I got back home, something had changed.  Something I had found my
strength in for so long was broken.  He’d discovered my deepest secret,
and in doing so, the blade was no longer the remedy it once was.  I’d lost
the control I’d craved.  I’d lost the power to utilize pain as an escape.

It’d taken me three days.  Three long, lonely
days spent huddled in my apartment to come to a decision.  That maybe my
vices aren’t what they once were.  That maybe I’ve been wrong all this
time to stay locked inside of myself.  That maybe Jacoby can be the one to
set me free. 

Jacoby lit an inferno inside of me the night we’d made
love in his bed.  I might have kept my heart locked inside a cage, but
even steel has a melting point.

The only question remaining is: do we have the ability
to fuel the flames?  

A loud knock sounds from the door, and I’m on my feet
rushing to the source before I’ve told my mind to do so.  Yanking the door
open, I come face to face with a freshly showered Jacoby, hair damp and curling
along the edges.  He smells woodsy with an underlying hint of sweetness,
and it makes my mouth water. 

I drop my eyes lower taking in the fitted button down
navy striped shirt with cuffs rolled to his elbows, to his hands tucked
casually in the pockets of his faded dark blue jeans.  He looks better
than I remembered, but something feels off. 

Trailing my eyes back up, I notice the tense line of
his shoulders, the subtle tick in his jaw.  His eyes are slightly
narrowed, a light crinkling of lines near the corners that belie the seemingly
casualness of his posture. 

Adrenaline spikes through my gut.  In all the
scenarios I played through my head this morning, I never imagined Jacoby would
be pissed.  Frustrated, sure.  Disappointed, most likely. 

But he’s standing in the doorway looking as if he
steps inside, he’ll snap.  And I’m directly in the firing range.

Swallowing the thick sticky feeling in my throat, I
square my shoulders and take the reins before we’re stuck staring at each other
all day.

“You came,” I state, thankful my voice doesn’t sound
all breathy and relieved, as though I didn’t actually believe he’d come. 
Truthfully, a part of me didn’t.  

Jacoby nods.  “You said you needed me.”  He
doesn’t continue, leaving me to confirm or continue the line of conversation
without his help.  Stepping back, I pull the door further open, and Jacoby
takes the silent hint, entering the room.  As I quietly close the door, I
take a deep breath and remind myself that this is my move.  I need him,
not the other way around, so it’s time to convince him.

“I’m ready to talk.”

“You’re ready to talk,” he replies in a voice vacant
of emotion.  The sound is stiff and rough, with maybe a teensy, tiny
thread of disbelief, but I can’t be sure.  My mind is probably imagining
the modicum of feeling I’m hoping to hear. 

“Yes.  I-I needed a few days to think,” I
stammer.  As much as I hate confrontation, I hate carrying a conversation
even more.  I desperately wish he’d take the lead, yell at me, interrogate
me,
something
, so I don’t have to try to fill the silence on my
own.  Instead he remains silent, his arms crossed tightly over his
muscular chest.  That same chest I had naked and pressed against me three
days ago.  This conversation would be so much easier if he didn’t look
downright delectable.

“I’m scared of you,” I whisper, the sound riding my
exhale.  Jacoby’s body visibly jolts at my words, and his brows snap down
over his deep brown eyes.

“What?”

“You know so much about me.  Hell, everything
about me,” I begin.  My fingers run through my hair, grasping the silky
dark strands at the crown of my head.  “Every day we’re together, you
learn more.  And each time it’s something deeper, something darker and
you…I…”  I was trying to hold eye contact, but I can’t do it
anymore.  The questions and uncertainty in his gaze is too much.  My
feelings for him keep growing stronger, but I don’t know if he reciprocates,
and it’s too much.

My eyes move to focus on my reflection in the mirror
just behind his left shoulder.  My lungs expand and contract with the need
to suck in more oxygen.  “You saw things.  More than once.  You
saw things you were never supposed to see.  And then we were together, and
it was like those things didn’t even matter.  But I know they do! 
How can they not?  How can you even look at me when you
know
that
I’m not okay?”

“Sweetheart—ˮ

I cut him off, lowering my voice in an attempt to hold
my tears inside.  “I’m broken.  You scare me, because I know you see
it, too.  Nobody wants broken.”

One second I’m standing by the door, the next I’m
plastered against Jacoby’s warm, solid chest.  His arms snake tightly
around my waist, securing my body in his hold.  A burning sensation rises
in the back of my eyes, and I blink rapidly to extinguish it.

“Is that why you’ve been hiding? You think I might
find something out and not want you anymore?

“You want me?”

He looks to the ceiling and seconds tick past. 
Just as I’m about to call his name he looks back down to me.

“You have to question that?”

“Well…yeah.  Isn’t that what all this has been
about?  You didn’t want me.  You said it yourself, this is
wrong.   I’ve just been giving you more reasons to believe it.”

His arms around my waist give me a squeeze.  “And
what would those be?”

My hands curl into fists as I struggle against his
hold, but he’s too strong.  His feigning ignorance pisses me off. 
Pushing against his chest, I reply harshly, “You saw me almost get raped. 
You know about my situation with my mom.  You’ve seen these!” I scream at
him, yanking forcefully out of his hold as I jerk the sleeves of my shirt up my
forearms.  The tears I tried so hard to contain spill down my cheeks in a
rapid stream.