Chapter Four
My world went black. There weren’t any words that could have punched me harder, even though a part of me had known that something was off, known that something was wrong. It was the fear I woke up with every day—that my baby brother would once again attempt to end his life.
I sank down in a move that was more fall than sit. My ass hit the ground and I tilted my head against the back cabinets of the bar, not caring that I was in a skirt or that the floor was sticky from spilled liquor. Wrapping more of my hand around the phone cord, as if that would give me support, I managed to choke out the question that mattered most—the one that meant everything. “Is he…?”
“Alive,” Norma finished with me. “Yes, he’s alive,” she said.
Now the tears came. Not many—I’d been long ago schooled by my father on how to keep them back. Crying usually only led to more swipes with the belt. But every once in a while, the tears would surprise me, pricking behind my lids, a stray sliding down the side of my nose.
I swallowed past the huge ball in my throat, forced myself to find out more. “And he’s okay?” I was fully aware okay was relative and that even if his prognosis was good physically, that his emotional state was likely nowhere near that. I hoped Norma knew what I was asking, because I didn’t have the power to rephrase.
“He’s going to be okay.” She said it definitively, as if she were the person who had the power to make it so. I wasn’t so sure, but it felt better hearing her say it. “He took pills this time. A bottle of Vicodin, but as soon as he’d swallowed them all, he changed his mind. He called 911 himself. They pumped his stomach. He’s in ICU now, but they’re pretty sure he’s going to be okay. They’re watching his liver. That’s the main concern right now.”
I nodded as she spoke, even though she couldn’t see me.
“He changed his mind, Gwen. He wants to live.” There was more than hope in her statement. There was blind faith. She believed it like she’d once believed in God. She preached it to me like it was her religion.
“He does. He does want to.” I wished I had her conviction. Maybe I did before—when he’d done it the first time—but now that it was a second time, I wasn’t as confident.
Confident or not, I wasn’t giving up on Ben. I needed to be there for him. “So when are we flying out?” Norma was the queen of organized. She would have had a flight arranged before she picked up the phone to inform me, which was only bothersome if I didn’t remind myself that that was who she was.
“Hudson’s letting me use his private jet. I’m flying out soon.”
I’d never been so grateful for my sister’s boss or that her longtime crush on him had made them close enough that she’d be afforded such favors. “I’ll come straight home. If I take a cab, I can be there in twenty.”
“I, uh…” She paused and I sensed she was gathering strength to say something else unpleasant that I didn’t want to hear. “I’m going alone, Gwen.”
Damn, Norma and her penchant for martyrdom. “That’s crazy. I’m coming too. Let me just get off the phone—”
I started to push myself off the floor, but Norma’s next words stopped me. Froze me. “He doesn’t want us there. He said it this time. He doesn’t want to see us. He was very clear.”
“Oh.” Whatever strength I had left, deserted me. There were only two people I cared about in the world. Two people that I let care about me. And I needed both of them. Needed them healthy and whole and in equal need of me.
Hearing that Ben didn’t want to see us, didn’t want to see me—it was almost as painful as hearing he’d tried to commit suicide. “Oh,” I said again, the single syllable heavy on my tongue.
Norma attempted to comfort me. “I’m only going because I’m the emergency contact person. His social worker said I wouldn’t get to see him. They want me there in case…in case…”
She couldn’t finish. Norma, the strong one, the one who carried us through everything—she couldn’t finish a simple statement.
“You’ll need me there. To lean on.” Maybe it was true, maybe I could be helpful, even if it felt like it was really me who needed her to lean on. “So I’ll come and stay in the hotel. He never has to know that I’m there.”
“Gwen, I’m going alone. I need to do this by myself.”
I’d flown out the last time. We both had. When he’d cut his wrists with two long jagged marks. The wrong direction, thank God, which bought him time. His boyfriend of the moment had managed to get him to the hospital before taking off, never to be seen again. I’d only been at the club for a year and had just been promoted to full time. Matt understood. Gave me two weeks off.
So I’d flown out with Norma. We’d spent every day with Ben, who’d seemed brighter for our presence. We’d found an outpatient psychiatrist for him. We’d got him help and he’d been better by the time we left.
But four years had passed, and he talked to us now less than he had then. I’d hoped that meant he was building a life besides us. I’d been wrong. Which made it even more important that I be there with him now. To make sure he got better. To make sure that this time he came home with us.
“Norma, I’ll buy a ticket and meet you there. You don’t need to do this alone. We’ll bring him back together—”
She cut me off. “That’s exactly why I don’t want you there, Gwen. He doesn’t want to come home. And I don’t trust that you won’t force it. He doesn’t need that conflict right now.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but she had more to say. “Besides, I don’t think it’s good for you to see him.”
I didn’t bother to hide that she’d hurt me. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’re not quite as strong as you think you are.” In the background, the apartment buzzer sounded. “That’s my ride. I’ll call you later, Gwenyth. As soon as I find out anything. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
She clicked off before I had a chance to say more, before I could beg her to change her mind or ask her to explain herself. Before I could even say goodbye.
I sat on the floor for several minutes until my butt tingled from having fallen asleep and the straight dial tone of the phone turned into the buzz, buzz of being off the hook. I was numb. Everywhere. My body, my skin. My lips. My chest. Inside my chest. I was void. I was space. I was a vast universe of nothing, nothing, nothing.
I didn’t remember finally standing or hanging up the receiver. Or if I even did. Next thing I was consciously aware of was being in the kitchen. The place was empty, the cook staff having gone home long ago since we stopped serving food by two in the morning. No one would bother me here. No one would stop me from whatever it was I meant to do. I still wasn’t sure what that was.
I scoured the place looking for something, not knowing quite what. My numb mind wouldn’t let me hold on to any thought, but several floated through my consciousness, trying to find root. He tried again. He doesn’t want to see me. I want to feel like he does. I don’t want him to feel the darkness alone. I wish that it were only me who ever met the back of Dad’s hand. I need to feel as bad as Ben does.
I need to feel.
Then I remembered there were knives in the kitchen. That’s what I needed. A sharp blade. I could slice across the surface of my skin. Not to maim, not to end my life. But to feel.
I found the drawer we kept the cutlery in and pulled. It was locked. Of course. And my keys were back in the office. I couldn’t go get them without running into Matt, and besides, the journey seemed painfully long. I needed this now. Needed it instantly. Needed to calm the noise in my head. Needed to wake up to the pain.
Alarms rang in the back of my head. I was nearing the edge of a cliff I’d managed to stay steady on for years. I was one of the ones who had it together. I was not this person.
But the compulsion toward harm was stronger than the alert.
I tugged at the drawer again. Harder. As if I could somehow pull it open if I put in enough effort. Even using both hands, it didn’t budge.
I let out a frustrated groan. So I was feeling something after all. Irritation. Anger. Blazing hot rage. They struck through the void like lightening in a dark sky. I still wanted those knives. I wanted to hurt something. I wanted to hurt me.
“Gwen? Are you okay?”
I was firm in my nothingness, but I heard the voice dimly in the background, as though the speaker had a scarf wrapped around his face. I turned toward the sound and found JC at the threshold of the door I’d entered through a moment before.
I’d forgotten he was there, but he didn’t surprise me. The sight of him was…a relief? No, not that. But he was a substitute for the knives. He could be another option in my attempt to find sensation.
“I called your name out there and when you didn’t respond, I followed you in here.” His brow creased as he studied my face. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t say anything, didn’t even think. I just started toward him.
He tried again as I crossed the long kitchen. “Did something happen? Can I—”
Then I reached him. Instead of explaining or leaning into his arms, which were open and welcoming—instead of doing anything rational, I grabbed his jacket with both hands and pulled him to me. And I kissed him.
I pressed my mouth to his, slipping my tongue in between his lips as he parted them in surprise. I wasn’t soft or tentative. I was determined and unyielding, pushing farther into his mouth with each plunge of my tongue. Sucking and nipping on his lower lip.
JC didn’t pull away. He didn’t pull me closer either. He stood there, letting me kiss him, not touching me anywhere except where our lips were joined. When I broke to breathe, he attempted to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance to get any words out before I’d tugged him back to me, attacking him even more aggressively.
I’m not sure when he started kissing me back, but when he did, things changed. Though he’d let me set the mood, he took over, and soon it was his tongue licking across my teeth and his teeth nipping at my lips. He tasted like coffee and the butter mints we had in small dishes on the bar. He tasted new and different and dangerous.
I wanted more of him.
It was another way to cut myself. Another way to hurt. Another way to access that pain I was so eager to rip into and feel.
I pressed my whole body against him, hoping he’d get the signal. Hoping he’d agree, if he did. I practically sighed in relief when he wrapped his hands around my waist and pulled my hips into his. His hands fondled my ass through my skirt, but it was the stiffening bulge at my belly that interested me most. I wanted to touch it. To stroke it. To have it inside me. In my mouth, in my cunt—I didn’t care as long as it defiled me in some way.
By the time I threw a leg around him, he was just as lost as I was. He gathered my skirt at my waist and pulled my other leg up. He hoisted me around his middle, pressing my pelvis tighter against his so I could feel the throb of his erection where I wanted it now. Against my crotch. The pulse of his desire heightened my madness. I squirmed against him, stroking the ache between my legs with his cock.
Our lips never parted as he carried me the short distance to the stainless steel tabletop. As soon as my ass hit the surface, I pulled away long enough to shimmy my panties down to my ankles and then kick them to the floor.
This was my official invitation. If he didn’t know what I wanted from him before, JC could have no doubt now. I wasn’t looking for a make-out session or even, really, to be touched. I wanted a hard, quick fuck. That was all. I spread my legs, exposing myself to him.
He didn’t hesitate, undoing his jeans and removing his cock in record time. I didn’t ask about a condom. I didn’t care. I was on birth control, and STDs? Hell, I didn’t give a shit. It was Russian roulette. It was dangerous and unsafe, and I welcomed the rush of the risk.
When he was ready, I scooted forward and tugged him closer to me until his head was lined up at my entrance. “Please,” I said. It was the only begging I was going to do, so I made it count. “Please, fuck me.”
I watched him decide. His eyes flickered between not sure and hell yes. Then, when he decided, he left all his doubts behind, shoving into me with one blunt thrust.
I was wet, but not quite ready for him, so it hurt when he entered me. It was exactly what I wanted—the ache, the bite, the burn. It was piercing agony as he pulled back out and drove in again.
Then my body adjusted to him, my walls relaxing and clenching at him in a different way. It felt good now. The slide of his cock out and then in, touching every part of my insides, awakening every nerve ending with each measured thrust. It felt really good.
And good wasn’t what I was looking for. I needed rougher. More painful. “Harder,” I urged him. “Fuck me harder.”
His eyes glinted with desire as he let go of me to pull first one arm and then the other out of his jacket. He threw it to the floor. Then he grabbed my hips and dragged me into him. His momentum quickened, his thrusts becoming jabs as he pushed into me, pushed so deep that he hit my womb.
This was better. Rough, wild. I bucked against him, spurring him on with my body and the words I kept repeating. Over and over. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” I didn’t want to come. I fought against the curl of tension gathering low inside me. I bit JC’s lip and willed the pleasant hum in my limbs to go away.
He was getting close; I could tell. His breathing became more ragged and his tempo uneven. He was close and then it would be done and I would have done something stupid and unpleasant and I’d embrace how shitty it made me feel.
But the success of my plan depended on my complete lack of enjoyment. And even as JC plunged aggressively and without mercy, I couldn’t say there wasn’t any pleasure. Then he moved his hand from my hip and buried it in between us, finding my clit with ease. I nearly exploded from the first firm graze of his thumb.
Shit. No. That’s not what I wanted. No pleasure. Not for me.
I wriggled my hips back, trying to get away from the increasing pressure of his massage while still remaining joined by his cock, but his other arm gathered around my waist and pulled me closer. So I tried to push him away with my hand.
JC halted, mid-thrust, his expression saying that pausing was difficult for him, but he held still just the same. “I’m not doing this alone.” His voice was gritty and tight and while I didn’t want it to, it turned me on to see how affected he was. “So if you want me to keep going, you’re going to have to come with me.”
I’d wanted to feel pain. I’d wanted to feel dirty. I’d wanted to feel bad.
And JC refused to let me.
It scared me. Because the only thing worse than feeling nothing was feeling good. I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve pleasure while my baby brother was hurting so bad.
JC must have seen the fear in my expression. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, echoing the words Norma had said to me earlier. “I’m going to make you feel good, and it’s going to be okay.”
Call it the magic power of the cock, but I actually believed him. I set my hands down on the counter next to me, curling my fingers around the edge.
JC recognized my act of surrender. “Good.” His praise was a balm. Confidently, without any trepidation, he resumed rubbing my clit. Expertly. With perfect pressure.
My belly tightened and I felt my orgasm begin to rise inside.
JC picked up his thrusting then, pounding into me with sharp jabs that were less frenzied than before but were deeper, more intense.
“I want to make you feel amazing, Gwen.” His thumb continued its play with my nub, and I edged closer and closer to the brink. “I want you to feel so good. Let yourself go, Gwen. Come with me. We’ll go together.”
I did then. I don’t know if I intended to or if I simply got caught up in the poetry of his words. But I let myself go.
The minute I did, my orgasm took over, crashing through me with violence. My whole body shook with tremors that shot down my spine, down my limbs. Tears slipped out of the corners of my eyes. I cried out so loud, I had to muffle myself in JC’s shoulder.
But the best part was the release. Not the physical part but the emotional part. The spiritual part. I felt like I was soaring. Or skydiving. Or, rather, I felt like what I imagined skydiving would feel like—thrilling and wonderful and free.
He joined me while I was still quivering. His fingers clawed into my waist as he shoved hard and long with a restrained groan.
Then we were still except for the rise and fall of our chests and his cock still twitching in me.
It took a few seconds for the rush to subside and the “after” to hit full force. Only I didn’t quite know what to do with this after. I’d had sex just for sex’s sake before, but not ever with a stranger. Also, never initiated by me and certainly never anywhere on the premises of my work. I didn’t know how to behave.
I also didn’t know how to feel. The soaring sensation had settled and now I felt much more like I was falling. And I wasn’t sure if it was a comforting falling, like the way you fall asleep, or a horrific falling, like the kind in nightmares. I’d wanted to feel but not like this. So even though I felt good, I felt shitty about feeling that way, which almost had me where I’d wanted to be originally, but not quite.
Also, now that the kissing and fucking were over, I had a feeling that JC would want to talk.
Well, not if I could help it.
I was the first to push away. I nudged him, and not even gently, until he got the hint and stepped back. I’d jumped off the counter and had retrieved my panties before he said, “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“It wasn’t planned.” I stepped into my underwear and pulled them up, not caring that I was sticky, just wanting to get the “after” over with. Then I walked over to the small mirror above the sink and tried to do something to fix my hair. God, I hadn’t even realized he’d had his hands tangled in it. When had that happened?
“Gwen,” JC called behind me, but I didn’t turn. I didn’t meet his eyes in the reflection. “Hey, Gwen. Stop.”
His tone was insistent, and I wasn’t so much of a bitch that I could ignore him longer. I turned my head toward him.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Jesus, I hated that question. I looked back at the mirror and returned an errant lock of hair to the correct side of my part and then turned around to find JC staring at me intently. Obviously my answer hadn’t been enough for him. But I didn’t have more, so I asked, “Are you okay?”
It came out harsher than I’d wanted it to. I didn’t apologize.
JC, as always, ignored my bitchiness and smiled. “I’m great. Fantastic, actually.” Then he frowned. “But I’m worried about you.”
“I said I’m fine.” I brushed past him to grab his jacket off the floor. I didn’t know why I did—there was plenty of room to go around him. I didn’t even need to get it for him. But it gave me something to do besides look in his eyes, and it gave me an excuse to touch him again, even if it was just in a rough pass-by.
I turned back and handed the jacket out to him. He was still looking at me, his gaze intense, his expression concerned. I had to give him something.
“I’m sorry.” It even sounded like I meant it. Which I did. A little.
He gestured between us. “About this? Don’t be.” He took the jacket from me and then gently grabbed me with his other hand. He traced a soft circle on the skin inside my wrist. “Please don’t be sorry, Gwen. This was nice. Don’t ruin it for yourself in the aftermath.”
I felt myself caving. I didn’t even know what I was caving to, but the walls I’d built years ago seemed to tremble and sway. I thought I might cry. Or laugh. Or maybe kiss JC again but not like before. Sweet this time. Slow.
Or maybe I wanted to slap him. Or slap myself. Or maybe I just didn’t know what I wanted, and for that brief moment, if JC was willing to tell me what it was, I was willing to let him be right.
I opened my mouth to say whatever I needed to say to make that happen when I heard my name being called from outside the kitchen.
JC stiffened, mirroring the tension I suddenly felt.
“Stay there,” I whispered. I crossed to the door, and after making sure JC wasn’t in the sight line, opened it slightly. “Yeah, Matt. I’m in here. Do you need me?”
He was behind the bar filling up his sports bottle with Coca-Cola. “Wanted to tell you everything’s done.” As he waited for his drink to fill, he ran a hand over his bald head, something he did often. “I got everything locked up. The staff’s all gone. Just need your signatures on the paperwork and we can take off.”
Even though he probably wouldn’t fire me for getting it on in the kitchen with a customer, it didn’t seem like something Matt should know. And if he knew I was with JC, I was sure he’d know we were getting it on.
I had to divert his attention. Forcing a smile, I said, “Okay. I’ll be right up to the office. I’m sweeping up some ice I dropped.” I shut the door and turned to JC, who was still peering at me with apprehension. “If you go out the front, the alarm will sound. The back door is there, on the other side of the kitchen.”
“Gwen—”
I didn’t let him say more. “Please, turn off the lights back there on your way out. I gotta go.”
I left without waiting for his answer, wondering if Norma really was right about me not being as strong as I thought I was. If I were stronger, after all, I wouldn’t have run out like that. If I were stronger, I would have stayed.