Chapter Eighteen
Helene
“Hi,” Kane said as he answered his door. His lips pulled up in a small sheepish smile. Mine did too.
“Hi,” I responded.
He stepped back from the door, and I stepped past him into the living room. The new prefinished hardwoods were partially laid at the end of the room near the fireplace, and I smiled. It was going to be beautiful. He did good work, and while I had no idea where he’d picked up his home-reno skills, I was still impressed.
His eyes followed mine down toward the fireplace, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets as he studied me. “Like it?” he asked.
I looked back at him. “Love it. Walnut?”
“Yeah. I like a darker hardwood with lighter trim.” He bit his lower lip. “So … what are you doing here?”
I was offended for a half a second, but then he smiled.
“I mean, please tell me you haven’t changed your mind? It’s only been two hours, and here you are on my doorstep at ten-thirty on a school night.”
I shrugged.
“Afraid you might find me with yet another woman?”
I stared at him for a moment. “It hurts seeing that.” It was also embarrassing admitting that weakness.
He smiled gently, and he reached for my chin, lifting it to look at my eyes. “That’s because once upon a time it was all about us. Sometimes it’s hard to let go of those … notions…” he said as he glanced away. But then he looked back. “Especially when they’re good notions.”
I nodded.
“It would be no less painful for me to see. I need you to know that.” He focused on my eyes for a moment, but then he took a deep breath. “While I think we drew a line in the sand earlier this evening and then stepped past it, God willing leaving what came before behind, I also need you to know I didn’t have sex with Tia. And I haven’t slept with Lisa recently either.” He rolled his eyes. “The student and the married woman.”
My insides ached, and I looked away from him. “You would have,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
He took a deep breath, but he nodded. “Thank God for Hazleton PD and happy coincidences in restaurants.”
I wasn’t amused, and I couldn’t seem to hide that as I stared at him, failing to react to his sarcasm.
His lips pursed. “You need to understand sex isn’t love to me, nor is it commitment or intimacy.” His expression was nervous, and he gnawed on his lower lip.
Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. I’d wanted to see him. I’d wanted more of the talking, the openness, just more of the decision to move forward. And when I’d jumped in my car after making it home and staring around my living room in a daze, I’d been excited to see him. I was starting to regret it already.
“Do you want to have sex with me?” I asked. It was a loaded question, and given the nervous look on his face, he knew that. If he said he didn’t, he ran the risk of hurting my feelings. If he said he did, he ran the risk of objectifying me as nothing more than a piece of ass—much like the many pieces that had come before me.
He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, and I watched him. When he nodded it was tight, and he was staring at my chin instead of my eyes.
I nodded. “I see,” I said as I looked around for a way to end this and make my escape.
“No you don’t,” he said. “You’re… You’re—”
“Let me guess. Special,” I said with a cruel sarcasm I just couldn’t help.
“Fuck yes you are,” he spat back at me, his face pinched in anger. “Listen,” he continued as he shook his head. “I didn’t ask for a truce so I could fuck you. You asked the question. I answered it honestly. I’m just…” He threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “…attracted to you. I always have been. It doesn’t mean I expect you to have sex with me. But don’t ask me a question unless you want the honest answer, because you’re going to get the truth, however ugly it is, upsetting it is, or shocking it is.”
I stared at his chest, but he lifted my chin again.
“Please look at me.” His fingers squeezed gently against my skin. “I know this has been hard on you. The past few weeks, you’ve been forced to deal with the mess I’ve made of myself. You saw my ugly, and I was defensive, because you’re life looks beautiful to me. And it made me feel pathetic.”
“My life doesn’t feel beautiful,” I said quietly.
He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. But please take that step over the line. I need you too.”
I nodded, and he sighed as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his body. I slid my right hand up under his T-shirt, knowing exactly where I’d find the scar, and I covered it with my palm. His muscles tensed under my touch, but then he relaxed into it, and he inhaled deeply against my hair.
We stood there for too long, and I listened to his heart beat, and I soaked in the warmth of him. This felt good again—being close to him. I needed it to stay that way.
When he walked toward the kitchen, I followed. There was a large garbage can in the center of the kitchen floor. It was the same one that had been in the middle of the living room floor a few weeks prior, but instead of being filled with just wood scraps and pieces of drywall, it was now littered with broken liquor bottles, and it reeked of alcohol.
I stared into the garbage can as Kane pulled a carton of whipped cream out of the fridge and started eating it with a spoon.
“You could have emptied the bottles first you know, rather than smashing them full in the garbage can.” I smirked.
“I know,” he said around the spoon in his mouth. “But they always smash them full in the movies. Sometimes in the sink, which… Why? Right?” he asked jokingly.
He scooped up another spoonful of whipped cream, and he handed it to me. I stared at it for a moment, but I took the spoon, popping it into my mouth.
“Who the hell wants to pick glass out of a sink?” he continued. “This is my ode to Hollywood cinematic ridiculousness. I suppose it’s visually powerful though.”
I chuckled quietly, pulling the spoon out of my mouth. “Are you an alcoholic?” I asked him bluntly.
“No.” His answer was simple and came without pause. “No. I do, however, tend to deflect pain by masking it with other things. I just decided I don’t want a bottle of the-easy-way-out sitting nearby when things get messed up in my head again.”
I nodded. He yawned, and the sight of his yawn made me yawn too.
“I should get going,” I said.
“You don’t have to.”
I smiled. “I have an early call with my dissertation director tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll wake you up early.” He bit his lower lip as he waited for me to say something.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure what he was even asking. But as I stood there trying to figure it out, he yawned again and took my hand, pulling me toward the hallway. I followed him, my nerves prickling with something that fell between excitement and absolute terror.
He stripped out of his T-shirt when he walked into the same bedroom he’d always had, and I looked around. It wasn’t a mess, it was just a sad, old rundown room. I reached out to a broken knob on the dresser that I remembered, even now, from childhood. He stepped behind me, pushing his hands up under the back of my T-shirt. He undid my bra, and then he helped me pull the straps down from under the short sleeves of my shirt.
When his hands reached around and fumbled with the waist of my pants, I held my breath. He pushed them down to pool at the ground, leaving my underwear in place, and then I felt him undoing his own pants as he kept his body close to mine. His breath touched the back of my ear, and he leaned down kissing the top of my shoulder.
He took my hand, leading me to the side of the bed, and I crawled in as he followed me. The mattress sat on the floor, and there was nothing plush about it. But the sheets, blanket, and quilt smelled clean like his skin.
The bedside lamp was on behind him, and as I rolled toward him, he watched me. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t frowning. He just watched me, pulling me up close to him, his legs intertwined with mine. He brushed the hair off my forehead, and he trailed his finger down along my jaw.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he said quietly. “Nothing has made sense in my life without you.” His thumb stroked over my chin.
“I missed you too.”
He studied me for a while, not closing his eyes, not saying a word, and it was odd and comfortable at the same time. It gave me a chance to study him too, and I did. He was aging well, and he still looked young and handsome—even if he carried a heavy past.
I reached for his chin, stroking the whiskers.
“What are you thinking?” I asked him.
He looked at my mouth. “That I’ve never kissed you. And that I want to. Very much.”
I bit my lower lip, and he smiled. When I leaned to his mouth, his eyes opened wider for a moment, but then they fluttered. After that, I was too close to see or care what his eyes were doing. I was also entirely too stunned by my own actions to think straight.
My lips met his, and I could feel his whiskers tickling my chin. He moaned this deep low sound from the pit of his chest, and I could feel the vibration of it. He sucked on my lower lip, tugging it gently and then releasing it so he could capture my top one between his. His hand met my cheek, his fingers curling behind my jawline and pulling my mouth harder to his, and the kisses came fast then—one after another.
My top leg was between his thighs, and the smacking sound of our lips left warmth in my groin as I rocked against his thigh.
“Oh, fuck,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re torture. Do you know that?” But he never stopped kissing.
He finally groaned through gritted teeth, forcing his kisses to move off my mouth to my cheek and then down the side of my throat to the crook of my neck that met my shoulder. He stopped kissing, breathing heavily against my skin. I could feel the hardness and the size of his erection against my top thigh that was sandwiched between his legs.
“There is nothing frigid going on between your legs right now, Hell. The heat coming off your pussy is intense,” he said with his lips to my skin.
Yes it was. I sighed as my hips stopped trying to screw his leg like a dog in heat. What the hell was going on inside me right now?
“Go to sleep, baby,” he whispered even as he still breathed heavily. “I don’t think either one of us are ready for this yet.”
I pulled back, trying to figure out if I was offended or not.
He smiled instantly. “Tell that analytical brain of yours to shut up. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
“How did you mean it?” I asked.
He yawned again, but his expression became intense and focused. “This is a complicated thing for us.” He glanced over my shoulder for a moment, but then he looked back at me. “I always kind of assumed it would be me,” he said simply. “Your first. And in some twisted way … I’m still glad I was.” The side of his lip pulled up, but it fell just as quickly.
I understood what he was saying, and I nodded.
“But God it was supposed to be so fucking different,” he said almost angrily, and he shook his head. He finally smiled again. “Go to sleep.” He leaned forward, kissing me in the middle of the forehead. He reached back and turned the lamp off, and I closed my eyes.
* * * *
I woke up when his arms tightened around me, and he hummed warmly against the back of my ear. “Do you want coffee?” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse with sleep.
I sat up, looking over Kane’s shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. It was six-thirty. “I better not,” I said as I stretched.
His hand slipped under the back of my shirt, and his palm ran over my skin, gently rubbing as it traveled up to the middle of my back. I sighed as I stretched my neck.
“When Dr. Briggs says she’s calling first thing in the morning, she means first thing in the morning. The woman once called me at seven-fifteen to review my grades. Talk about a rude awakening.” I chuckled as his hand continued to move and graze across my back. I glanced over my shoulder at him. I studied his face, and my cheeks flushed as goosebumps popped over my entire body. His eyebrows shot up as he felt it under his palm.
“What on earth are you thinking about?” he asked with a sly smile.
I didn’t say anything for a moment. “What would it be like if we decided to have a sexual relationship?”
His hand moved some more. “Emotionally or physically?”
My cheeks flushed again. “Physically.”
“I suppose…” he spoke slowly. “My mouth would likely be where my hand is right now. And if you wanted to ride my fucking thigh like you did last night, you wouldn’t feel the need to stop until you’d come all over my leg.” He sat up, still running his hand over my back. He rested his chin on my shoulder and I turned to face forward. “And I guess that kiss would have turned into full on fucking.”
The flush turned into warmth that radiated out through my limbs and then pulled back into my core to settle in my groin. “Emotionally?”
He kissed my shoulder again. “That’s more difficult,” he said.
I turned to look at him. His face was close to mine.
“In what way?” I asked.
He inhaled deeply. “It’s easy to make the physical things happen the way you want them to.”
“Sex, fighting, alcohol,” I said.
He nodded. “Good insight. Yeah. Those things have a very tangible feel to them. There’s a cause and effect. If you do this, you get that. It’s simple. It’s uncomplicated.”
“You’re saying the emotional side of all this is more complicated?”
“Do you see it any other way?” he asked.
I turned my body toward him then, and his hand slipped from underneath my shirt. “No, I don’t,” I said as I shook my head. My eyes drifted away as I contemplated that.
“Hey.” He pulled my face to look at him. When he opened his mouth to speak, he quickly closed it and sighed. But then he opened it again. “Complicated is okay.”
His eyes shifted down to my mouth. He looked vulnerable as though he were afraid of what I was thinking. Odd thing was I felt the same of him. He finally looked back at my eyes.
“If you want to know what it looks like… it’s open, it’s honest, we talk, we listen, we spend time together. The thing is, I told you I want to be close to you. That’s an emotional thing for us whether there’s sex involved or not.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
He reached for my mouth, cupping my chin and running his thumb over my lower lip. “Don’t kiss me again…” he said quietly.
I gasped, and my eyes dropped to his chest.
“…unless that’s the direction we’re going.”
My pulse spiked, and I had to force myself to make eye contact. I was holding my breath when I did.
“Because I liked it too much. I need to know you’re not going to take that away from me if it happens again.”
My breath left me in a rush, but I nodded. He smiled gently, even seductively, but it was reassuring nonetheless.
I glanced at the clock again. “I really have to go. I’m sorry.”
He stood and pulled me up to my feet, and then he snatched my jeans from the floor. Once I’d put them on quickly, he stuffed my bra into the pocket, smirking down at me. He walked me to the door, and I ran out to my car as he watched from the porch.
I was home within ten minutes—just in time to answer my ringing phone as I ran through the front door. It was finally fall, and I was shivering by the time I got inside.
“Helene, dear, so good to talk with you,” came Dr. Briggs voice.
“Hi, Dr. Briggs. I’m happy to be talking to you too.”
I’d sent her a significant amount of new material after pulling an audible and venturing down the justice in politics road. I had no idea why I’d chosen politics, except that I simply couldn’t seem to choose anything else.
“Well, I’m not going to waste your time, Helene.” She always said that, and it always made me wonder if perhaps she didn’t think I was wasting her time. “Why politics? I’m not going to lie, it doesn’t really ring true to the Helene I know.”
“Well…” I paused. “I don’t know. It seemed relevant. I’m not terribly political minded.” When Dr. Briggs didn’t interrupt me, I continued. “Of course I have opinions, yes. But they seem to fall all over the place. I really just thought justice in the political arena was a valid topic in today’s culture. You can go—”
“Let me stop you right there,” she finally interrupted. “The topic is only valid if it’s valid to you. This is your dissertation, and you’re acting as if it’s a survey of pop culture. If it doesn’t matter to you, I promise you’ll never convince a strict philosophy dissertation committee of the validity of it. What is valid to you? What means something to you?”
“I … I…” I was stuttering.
“Helene, why did you even choose this field of study? Philosophy? The thing is, you double majored in psychology and philosophy in your undergraduate studies, but then you chose to pursue your doctorate in philosophy rather than psychology. There’s a reason for that.”
“Because, I like…” I scratched my head as I let myself drop back into the sofa cushions, and then I sighed. “I like that nothing is black and white. I like that I can let my mind go and explore even the most basic of concepts as though my thoughts and feelings are as important as… as… Schopenhauer and Hume. I don’t have to accept that there’s a right and wrong answer. I can believe and feel that there are so many more shades of truth.” It was an oddly passionate speech for seven-fifteen.
“And why is that important to you?” Dr. Briggs asked quietly, and for the first time in perhaps forever, I felt as though I had her undivided attention.
I thought about it, refusing to be rushed—even by Dr. Briggs. “Because it makes me feel … valid … normal … okay with my place in this existence.”
Dr. Briggs was silent for an uncomfortably long time, and I gnawed on my nail.
And then she finally responded. “There is a world inside your head, Helene. I have no doubt it is teeming with ideas, thoughts, questions, concerns, and even nightmares. Use what’s in there to figure this out. And stop using what you think the rest of the world perceives as important or appropriate.”
I sat there stunned. “O… Okay.” I was disappointed. I was also flattered in some way. And I was also screwed as all fuck. “So… back to square one.” It wasn’t really a question.
“You’re doing fine. This is the gateway to the rest of your life. Do it right.”
“Thank you, Dr.—”
“I must go, dear. We’ll talk soon.” Click.
“Fuck,” I said to my living room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
* * * *
By three-thirty that afternoon, I’d been timed off LexisNexis about twenty times, I had books strewn across my living room and into my bedroom, I’d drank about a pot and a half of coffee, and I’d ignored a call from my mother, just to turn around and answer it when she immediately called me back—consequently getting roped into a rather invasive inquisition about my personal life that was no doubt sparked by a Hilde-Mom gossip session. Oh yeah, and I hadn’t come even close to settling on a dissertation topic.
I started typing an email to Dr. Briggs, throwing out a few ideas, but just before I hit the send button, I cringed and deleted the email.
I kept hearing sounds outside. Branches rustling, dropping, and even something being dragged on the ground. But I was too deep in my search databases to actually stand up and see what the hell it was. That was until I realized I’d been so enthralled in my research I’d not taken a pee break since that morning. I was, at this point, sitting on my foot, rocking back and forth like a five year old. Odd the things you could miss when you weren’t paying attention.
I scurried to the bathroom and then scurried back out toward the living room, but as I was sliding across my wood floors, my eyes caught on movement outside in my front yard. My sock covered feet came skidding to a stop. I peeked out through the front window, and I grinned.
When I opened the front door, Kane peered up from the pile of branches he’d stacked by the driveway. He smiled. I loved that smile. It was casual, and it reminded me so much of an easier life we’d shared long ago.
He walked toward me and up the steps, and he leaned down and pecked the top of my head. “I was wondering when you’d notice I was here.” He pulled me into the house, shutting the door behind him.
“I’ve been busy—”
“Decorating with books?” he added sarcastically as he looked around the living room.
“My call didn’t go well,” I said.
He walked to the sofa and sank down to sit. I sat too and pulled my leg up so we were facing each other, and he rested his arm easily on the sofa back. “Why not?”
I shrugged as I pursed my lips. “She thinks I can do better. Narrow it down to a concept that is valid to me, personal to me.” I shrugged again. “I’m at a loss right now.”
He tugged on a strand of my hair that was brushing his hand, and I looked at him. “You’ll figure it out.” He studied me. “She’s right, though. This is your life. This is everything you’ve worked for. It should mean something important to you.”
I nodded.
“These things get published sometimes, right? I mean, that should tell you something.”
“I know,” I said, still nodding my head.
“You love this field for a reason, Hell, so there’s something in there that means a lot to you. Why justice?” He reached over to my neck, letting his thumb run down the side of it.
“I’ve always liked the concepts surrounding justice. I always have.”
“Tell me why.”
I glanced away, my brow furrowing. “It’s one of those topics that … at first blush it seems so simple, straight forward, black and white.”
I caught myself talking with my hands, and as his eyes glanced to my gesticulations, he smiled.
“And yet,” I continued. “You delve into it, and the whole thing unravels on you. That’s justice,” I said with a nod.
“It’s a matter of finding the right angle,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said on an exasperated smile.
He looked around the living room, eyeing the carnage, and when his eyes settled on the coffee table, he smirked. “Seeing as you literally brought the entire coffee pot into the living room with you, I’m going to guess you didn’t take a lunch break.”
I shook my head.
“I’ll be back with lunch. You keep obsessing, smarty-pants.” He tugged on my hair one last time, and then he walked out.