Seventeen
“I really think we made progress, Luce,” Piper says, switching from a red dress to a beige dress as she interchanges hangers while looking in the full-length mirror.
I peer up from the middle of the floor where I’ve set up camp, flicking through my journals.
Today went from weird to weirder. After my parents left, Sam and I cleared away anything breakable and made room for the army Piper has invited. This led to Sam asking about certain items and what meaning they have. I told him the porcelain horse was a statue he bought for me when I turned twenty-one. The photo sitting in the wooden frame on the mantel was taken when we visited New York to watch The Knicks. By the end, I had detailed the history of over twenty items, Sam appearing genuinely curious and interested while listening to each story.
It was nice reliving the happy moments between us because there haven’t been many of late. Well, not with Sam, anyway.
“He was on his phone most of the time though. I wonder who he was texting.”
It was me, I silently reply.
Sam and I had transformed our home into a frat house in under three hours and it was fun. We actually chatted while doing it and in a weird way, it was like we were getting to know one another again. He asked questions about himself, about me, and about his future. It was just like the old times. But when I bounced down the hall and into my bedroom, my chiming cell revealed that the old times are dead and gone.
I had about twenty text messages from Saxon, all asking if I was okay and if Sam was causing me problems. His concern was really touching, but it made me feel guilty, like Sam was the bad guy.
I still can’t help but think how long will this last? Or is this change for good? If so, what does that mean for Saxon and me? Will he go? Will we stop being friends? We’ve bonded because of what happened to Sam, and because of it, Saxon promised to take care of me. But what happens if I need to take care of Sam? What happens if things go back to the way they were?
Those questions plague my mind as I sit in the middle of my room, skimming through my diaries, discovering who I once was. I don’t feel like the same Lucy Tucker. I feel like I’ve grown.
“Piper, have I always been so pathetic?”
Piper stops rambling about Saxon, her red dress pressed against her body. “What?”
“Pathetic,” I repeat, waving my diary in front of me. “Have I always been so…needy?”
When Piper appears to be weighing up how to respond, I know the answer is yes.
“Oh my god. Why didn’t you tell me? These diaries make me sound like I was following Sam around like a lost puppy dog. When did I lose my independence? Or the better question is, did I ever have any?”
Piper tosses the dresses onto the bed and sits down beside me. “You were never pathetic. Just in love. You were smitten by Sam, everyone could see that. There’s nothing wrong with that. He loves you more than life itself. You’re his, or were, his world.”
Sighing, I confess, “But I feel like I’ve sacrificed pieces of myself to fit into Samuel’s world.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I never ate red meat, but a year into our relationship, I was chomping on a steak like a famished caveman.”
Piper giggles. “Choosing to eat red meat is hardly sacrificing your independence.”
“I know, but it started out with little things. I only went to the college that I did because Sam went there. I never really explored my options. I would have loved to travel to places like Tibet, Nepal, or Peru and done some soul searching. But instead, I feel like I settled.” I can’t believe I’m saying this aloud, as I didn’t even know I felt this way.
No one’s relationship is perfect and that’s the problem. I thought mine was. Sam was my perfect guy. He was the one guy everyone wanted and he wanted me. I felt privileged to be seen with him. How sad is that?
“For argument’s sake, let’s say that you did settle. Why the sudden epiphany? I know Sam has been a complete asshole to you, but there’s got to be a reason why you’re thinking this way,” she wisely says. But I can’t tell her. If I tell her, then I’ll have to admit to myself that the reason is Saxon.
He’s pushed my buttons from the get go, but in some strange, unexpected way, he’s helped me uncover who I want to be. It makes no sense, but I feel that Samuel and I both woke up after his accident changed people.
Piper is still looking at me, waiting for an answer, but it’s an answer I can’t give. “I’m just being stupid,” I say, dismissing my thoughts. Stretching out, I drag the red dress off the bed. “This is nice, except, where’s the rest of it?”
Piper bursts into laughter. “Hopefully by the end of the night, on Saxon’s bedroom floor.” Her comment makes me feel uneasy, but I smile.
Looking at the lone dress sitting on the bed, I reach for it and finger the soft silk. The dress is actually a beige, sleeveless romper with a pretty floating feather print. The plunging neckline matches the short shorts, but it’s tasteful enough that if I bent over, I wouldn’t be flashing the entire room.
“Can I wear this?”
Piper doesn’t hide her surprise. “I didn’t think it was your style.” Just as I open my mouth, she amends, “Which is exactly why you should wear it. Nothing like kicking off your newfound independence with some cleavage.”
No matter my mood, Piper can always pick me up off the ground. I feel incredibly guilty for not telling her about what happened between Saxon and me. The thought has me wondering if he told her about why he left his bike at the saloon. I haven’t seen him since his return, so I haven’t been able to ask him.
“Did Saxon tell you why he left his bike?” I decide to ask, curious.
She pops her gum. “Just that he went out and had the best night of his life.” I gulp. “He didn’t tell me who he went with. Do you know?”
I pull at an invisible thread on the romper. “Nope, no idea.” The moment the lie leaves my lips, I feel like the world’s worst friend. There is no reason for me to lie, but I did. I’m too gutless to look at the bigger picture.
“Oh well. I’ll just have to make sure tonight is the best night of his life, so all other nights pale in comparison.” When she wiggles her eyebrows up and down, I shake my head, laughing.
“Did you want to get ready first? I really should clean up this mess,” I say, referring to my diaries littering the floor.
“Yes, best to take the temptation away from prying eyes,” she replies with bite. “Still can’t believe he read them. He broke like some vow doing so.” Her harmless comment has me lowering my eyes because I’m the one guilty of that.
* * * * *
“It’s not too much?”
“Yes, it’s way too much, but that’s not a bad thing,” Piper says, smacking my hand away as I try and wipe away the layers of gloss she’s applied to my lips.
I would have never bothered dressing up in the past, seeing as there are more important things in the world, like feeding the hungry, but it does feel kind of liberating shedding the old me and starting with something fresh.
Piper curled my long hair, the honey blonde curls falling down my back, making me feel feminine and pretty. She then went to town on my face, plumping, primping, and painting every surface until I emerged looking like someone other than me.
My green eyes look huge, thanks to the warm bronze eye shadow Piper caked on. She ditched the black eyeliner and used a plum color instead. My long lashes look like they’re on steroids with the layers of mascara coating them. I drew the line at hooker red lipstick and we settled on a clear gloss instead.
Piper looks amazing in a red tunic dress. She’s got a runner’s body with incredible long legs and not an ounce of jiggle on her. She’s wearing black pumps which add about five inches to her small frame. She’s dressed to impress and I know she’s only interested in impressing one man tonight. Her long hair is straightened, not a strand out of place, and her red lips look wickedly inviting. Saxon doesn’t stand a chance.
Thinking of another beauty that may be fighting for his attention tonight, I realize Saxon is going to be one busy boy. I still haven’t spoken to him since this morning, and haven’t replied to his texts either. I don’t know what to say other than Sam has been fine—great, in fact. I feel like I’m rubbing his nose in something that isn’t there.
“C’mon, let’s go. Sam may not remember you, but he sure as shit will after he sees you in that outfit.” I nervously brush my hands down my romper.
We walk towards the door and like predicted, I trip, thanks to the monster heels Piper insisted I wear. I may be on a path of self discovery, but in these shoes, I’ll be tripping every step of the way. I’m certain they leave a dent in the wall as I kick them off. Piper watches in horror as I bend down and slip into my black cowboy boots.
“No.”
“Yes,” I reply, my feet singing in relief.
When she hears Bon Jovi blaring down the hallway, she gives up arguing and claps excitedly. “This is my jam!”
I follow behind her as she practically runs into the living room. There are about a dozen people mingling down the corridor, and I don’t know a single one. When I round the corner however, that dozen is quickly replaced by a dozen more faces I don’t recognize.
Piper is long gone, swallowed up in the sea of people, leaving me to fend for myself. At a guess, I would say there are roughly one hundred people mingling in my home. When I hear rowdy laughter from outside however, I know that number will multiply, as the night is still young.
Still feeling hung over, I decide to stick to water, which is a shame as alcohol would help make the night go faster. Politely pushing past random strangers, I enter my crowded kitchen but come to a screeching halt. A circle has formed around a young girl who barely looks twenty-one, sucking on a beer bong hose. She’s in denim shorts and a bright pink bikini top, which only adds to the frat party vibe.
I have no idea who these people are, where they’ve come from, and how Piper knows them, but I smile as I duck and weave past them, adamant to have a good time. I grab a bottle of water and decide to sit out on the porch and enjoy the warm night, but when I turn around, I smack straight into Samuel.
“I’m sorry!” we say at the same time, smiling.
He looks incredibly handsome in black jeans and a white V neck t-shirt. His longer hair is styled messily, but it suits him. His jaw line is coated with a light scruff, giving him an edgier, non-Sam look.
He looks down at my drink and shakes his head, mockingly. “You can do better than that.”
“No, no, water is fine,” I reply, still smiling. “My liver needs a night off.” The moment I confess my sins, I zip my lips, kicking myself for the over share. Samuel has no idea what I did last night and I’d like to keep it that way.
“Ah, c’mon. One glass of wine can’t hurt.” When his eyes twinkle and a familiar dimple touches his right cheek, I cave. It’s the same face he pulled whenever he wanted something in the past and then, just like now, it has worked.
“Okay, just one,” I say, holding up my finger.
“Stay right here.” He points to the spot where I stand.
When he pushes past a couple making out against the fridge, he gestures to them and pulls a mock disgusted face. I can’t help but laugh. The wine sits at the end of the counter, and Samuel is having a hard time reaching it as a billion people stand in the way.
His fun, laidback attitude reminds me so much of whom he used to be. It’s almost enough for me to forget the past few weeks—almost. One song ends and then another begins and that song suits the person who has just walked into the room to a tee. “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon fills the space between us as I lock eyes with Saxon Stone.
He stops, not caring that people are trying to get past. The only thing he seems to care about is me. His commanding presence fills the kitchen and, it fills my…heart. I’ve missed him. I don’t know what is happening between Saxon and me, but I can’t deny that something is there.
I wish I could control my emotions around him, but I can’t. My lips hurt as I grin. I’m pretty sure I resemble the Joker. As he adjusts his backwards turned baseball cap, his biceps move in just the right way so I can admire the rest of him. He’s wearing a white Santa Cruz muscle tank which hangs low on his flank, exposing his ripped obliques and scripted tattoo which I can’t read. The wings from his chest piece peer out from under his tank, complementing the colorful artwork running down his arm. His hair is mussed, the dirty blond drawing out the sea green in his eyes. He is beautiful.
I can’t take my eyes off of him, and he’s making no secret of the fact that he can’t take his eyes off of me either. I feel hot all over. As he scans down my body, his gaze heated and hungry, I shamefully press my legs together, turned on.
“Here you go.” The familiar voice jars me from my very inappropriate behavior and I guiltily lower my eyes.
There was a time when I craved to hear that voice, but now I crave to hear another—the one which filled a hole when I needed Sam’s familiarity. But now, I need Saxon’s.
“Th-thanks, Sam,” I stutter, angry at myself for thinking something which I shouldn’t. This newfound independence is turning me into a tramp.
“You look nice tonight,” he says, sipping his Budweiser. I gulp down my wine, wishing I could drown in it.
I don’t know where Saxon is and I’m too nervous to look up and seek him out. He no doubt saw Sam give me a drink without throwing it in my face, and the fact I haven’t replied to his texts highlights that something is askew. But why do I feel guilty? This is what we both wanted, right? For Sam to remember. That’s why he’s here. The butterflies within hint otherwise.
“Do you want to dance?” Sam asks, again snapping me from somewhere other than here.
I crinkle my nose. “I’m not a very good dancer.”
“It’s okay, neither am I. I don’t think?” he adds, smirking.
“You’re right. You’re a terrible dancer,” I tease.
“Well, let’s be terrible dancers together then.” Before I have time to protest, he grabs my forearm and pulls me through the crowd.
The room spins as faces I don’t know whizz past me and laughter fills the air. Everyone seems to be having a good time and so does Sam. He begins a ridiculous jig to some alternative rock song, making fun of his nonexistent dancing skills. Not that I can talk, as I’m not any better. I move to the upbeat tempo, trying my best to stay in time, but give up soon after.
Thankfully, the song ends, but when “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5 takes its place, I wish we were dancing to anything but this. Sam looks at me while I chew the inside of my cheek. I feel silly standing in the middle of the room, motionless, seeing as we have prime real estate in the middle of the “dance floor.”
When Sam offers me his hand, I gingerly take it. Looking up at him from under my lashes, I suck in a breath when he pulls me into his arms. I stand rigid, my heart racing and my feet feeling like lead. Everything about him is so familiar, but my reaction to him is not. He begins to sway slowly, and I hesitantly follow his lead. As Adam Levine sings about being loved, I can’t help but see the irony of this particular song and my situation.
Weeks ago, I would have given anything to be loved by Samuel, but now, the love that once was shared between us isn’t there. Warranted, Sam doesn’t remember that love, but I do. And I don’t remember it feeling this forced. I made peace with the fact that Sam and I may never go back to the way things were. But his change of attitude has just thrown a monkey wrench in the works.
I need to talk to Sophia. She’s the only person who can explain to me what’s going on.
Thoughts of her have me looking over Sam’s shoulder, searching the room for Saxon. When I find him, I wish I had just kept my eyes glued to the floor. He’s standing with his back pressed against the wall, watching me—watching us. Piper is talking to him, but he isn’t listening to a word she says.
I loosen my grip around Sam’s shoulders, feeling guilty—always guilt. Why am I riddled with this constant shame? But it’s too late. Saxon’s hard jaw, folded arms, and cold eyes reveal that he’s seen it all. Seen my fiancé get me a drink and ask me to dance. Why is that so bad?
I know why. I’ve known all along—I was just too afraid to admit it.
I’m torn between my past love and…Saxon. It doesn’t make any sense. But none of it does. Sam being in the wrong place at the wrong time doesn’t make sense. Nor does him waking from a coma and not remembering who I am. What does that say about our relationship? What does that say about me?
I suddenly feel like the walls begin closing in on me. Struggling to breathe, I push Sam away. He looks at me, confused. “Sorry, Sam, I just…need some fresh air.”
“I’ll come with you,” he offers, but I shake my head, making it clear I want to be alone. He doesn’t argue as I run from the safety of my home and out the back door.
The night air feels wonderful against my skin and I take three much needed deep breaths. Tilting my head to look into the clear, star-filled sky, I curse the universe. Such beauty can also be so cruel.
I’ve somehow found myself in a predicament I cannot explain. I’m changing, I can feel it. Every breath I take brings me closer to where I think I’m supposed to be. I just don’t know where that is yet.
“Lucy?” I hate myself for feeling this way. I hate that I crave him near me.
Closing my eyes, I continue blindly looking into the universe. The blades of grass sound under his boots as he walks towards me. His heavy stride hints at purpose behind his steps. The hair on my arms stands on end when his unique fragrance catches on the breeze.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, Saxon, everything is surprisingly fine.”
“Then why do you look so sad?”
Sighing, I open my eyes and look at him. “I don’t know what that means.” But I do. Sadly, I do.
Approaching me with caution, he slips his hands into his pockets, appearing just as lost as me. “You’re standing in a room full of people, but you’re still alone.”
I lower my eyes, embarrassed by his accuracy.
He keeps walking closer and closer and instead of backing away, I stand my ground, titillated to discover what happens when he reaches me.
“Why didn’t you text me back? I was worried about you.”
“Everything was fine,” I reply, still staring at the ground.
“I made a promise to take care of you. And I meant it.” My heart begins pounding as he stops a hair’s breadth away.
“Sam was great today. He actually wanted to speak to me, which is a nice change. Then he got me a drink and asked me to dance,” I reveal on a rushed breath. Why am I telling him all this?
“So why are you crying?” he asks, his voice soft, concerned.
Angrily wiping at my tears, I laugh a maniacal cackle. “Because I don’t want him to be nice to me. How messed up is that? I’ve become so used to him being the cold, heartless jerk that he’s become, I don’t know how to take this new attitude.”
“But this is what the old Sam was like, right?”
Saxon isn’t stupid. He knows what’s going on. “Yes, Saxon, he was. But things have changed.”
“Why, Lucy? What’s changed?” He takes a step closer. The heat from his body warms mine.
“Never mind. Forget I said anything,” I jumpily say, finally meeting his eyes.
I see confusion, sadness, anxiety, and fear swirling in his depths—it’s apprehension which I put there. Saxon feels what I feel. We both appear to be standing in a room full of people, feeling utterly alone…until we find one another.
“I can’t do this.” I turn, needing to run away before I do something so terribly wrong because I won’t regret it.
But he doesn’t let me flee. He latches onto my forearm, spinning me around. “Do what?” His chest is rising and falling so quickly, his rough breaths fan the hair from my cheeks.
“This,” I clarify, motioning with an unsteady finger between us. “I don’t know what “this” is, but I just can’t. Please let me go.”
But he doesn’t. My words only inspire him to pull me closer and closer until not a breath of air can pass between us. “I can’t let you go, Lucy. I’m afraid you’ll run away if I do.”
“Saxon…no.” My protest is weak, contradictory to my request. And my actions betray me as Saxon swallows before lowering his lips to mine.
I’m lost in the epitome of this heartfelt moment, looking into the soul of the man who somehow has opened my eyes when I wasn’t even aware they were closed. But that man is my fiancé’s brother and another wave of guilt crashes over me, dragging me under.
“No, I can’t.” I press against his chest before we take yet another step towards our undoing.
“Lucy…” he cries. But I pull out of his hold and walk back towards the house, not turning back.
The party is in full swing, while I’m ready to call it a night as I push my way past the crowd. Piper bounces over to me, shaking her head. I instantly think she saw my almost exchange with Saxon, but let out a breath of relief when she says, “Why is Sam’s doctor here?”
“Oh, shit, sorry, Piper, I forgot to tell you. I sort of invited her.”
“Why would you do that? You’re totally cock, well, cooch blocking me. Lucky for you, Saxon promised me a dance. Or two,” she adds with an over-exaggerated wink. She’s obviously very drunk.
“When?” I blurt out.
She cocks an eyebrow. “Just now. He came in looking awfully huffy, so I decided to take advantage of his testosterone.”
Great.
“I need a drink.”
“Everything okay?” she asks, concerned.
No, everything is not okay, but I nod.
Making a beeline for the kitchen, something catches my eye and I have to look twice to ensure I’m not seeing things. Sam is pressed against the wall, talking to the one and only Alicia Bell. She looks exactly how she did in high school—a gigantic slut. And she’s acting just how she did in high school—a gigantic home wrecker.
Her long, brunette hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, highlighting her heavy handed black eye shadow and pink glossy lips. She’s wearing a blue dress, which I’m unsure if it’s a man’s oversized shirt or indeed a dress. Either way, the silver glitter pumps she’s wearing all add to the stripper vibe.
I can’t believe Samuel is talking to her. A thought suddenly punches me in the guts. Does he remember her? If so, that’s not saying an awful lot for me. Deciding to find out, I pull back my shoulders and walk over with my head held high. When she sees me, her face twists in disgust, just how it did when we were kids.
“Hi, Alicia.” Her name feels like acid sliding down my throat.
“Lucy,” she replies, just as impressed as I am. “Samuel and I were just reminiscing about the good old days. Weren’t we, Sammy?”
I grit my teeth, knowing using her old pet name for him will get a rise out of me.
Sam nods with a grin. “Yeah, we were. We got up to some crazy shit.”
His comment cements my worst fears. “So you remember her, but you don’t remember me?” My voice is raised, but I don’t care. I’m sure everyone is talking about it behind my back anyway.
Alicia raises a hand to her gaping mouth, muting a giggle. “You don’t remember her?” I close my eyes for a second, cursing my temper.
Sam scratches the back of his neck, pulling an uncomfortable face. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.”
He appears genuinely repentant, but it’s too late.
Alicia purses her collagen pumped lips cruelly. “Oh, how sad. I guess you didn’t make enough of an impression to be remembered.”
Tears prick my eyes because no matter how spiteful her words are, they’re the truth. Sam dated Alicia for mere seconds compared to our relationship, but he seems to remember those trivial seconds quite clearly. But with me, with us, I may as well be a stranger, just how this room full of people are strangers to me.
“Excuse me,” I choke out, not giving Alicia the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Sam calls out to me, but he doesn’t follow. His actions confirm that he doesn’t care for me at all.
I shove past the partygoers, desperate to get to my room and forget this disaster of a night ever happened. But when I round the corner and see Saxon pushing a giggling Piper into his room, I know forgetting this night will be impossible. That image is forever charred into my brain. The door slams shut behind him, reflecting how my heart feels.
I amble down the hallway, feeling numb. When I enter the bedroom, I don’t even bother turning on the light. I walk blindly to my bed and collapse on top of it, face first. I sniff back my tears, as crying won’t change anything. It won’t change the fact that Samuel remembers his high school girlfriend, but not me. And it doesn’t change the fact that right this second, Saxon is probably having sex with my best friend.
Images of him taking off her beautiful red dress and laying her gently on the bed assaults my masochistic brain and I groan into the pillow. Then another image flashes behind my locked eyes of Saxon throwing her against the wall and devouring her whole. I don’t know why, but this image hurts the most. If Saxon were in love with Piper or even the slightest bit interested in her, then I wouldn’t care. But it feels like he’s doing this to get back at me. To hurt me.
But I scold myself for such thoughts. Saxon can have sex with whomever he wishes. He owes me nothing. After he’s done with Piper, he could rightfully seek out Sophia and go for round two. The thought makes me sick.
The bedroom door squeaking open puts an end to these god awful thoughts and I spring up, brushing the hair from my cheeks. Straining my eyes to see in the near dark, I’m hoping the figure illuminated by the hallway light is Saxon, but it’s not.
“Lucy?”
“Go away, Sam,” I groan, falling back onto the mattress. He’s the last person I want to see.
The door closes but his footsteps sounding off the hardwood floors tell me he’s not going anywhere. “No, I won’t. I really am sorry. I don’t know why I remember Alicia and not you, it’s not like I have a choice. From your diary entries, I know I should remember you, but I don’t. I’ve been so angry since I woke up, and I’ve blamed you for what happened to me because it’s always easier to blame a stranger than someone you—”
“Love?” I fill in the blanks when he pauses. It makes sense.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. I want to remember, I really do.”
“It’s fine, Sam. I know it’s not your fault. You can’t force love.” I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling, tears spilling from the corner of my eyes.
In a way, I’m glad Sam has explained his behavior. He woke, stuck in a universe where I don’t exist. I tried pushing my memories onto him, desperate for him to remember, but in turn, I ended up pushing him away. And by doing that, I pushed myself closer to Saxon.
I don’t realize what’s happening until Samuel is crawling onto me from the foot of the bed. I freeze, forgetting to breathe when I feel his weight settle on my body.
“Maybe we could make new memories?” he offers, his breath bathing my flesh. He lowers his lips to my neck and kisses over my frantic pulse.
The touch feels nice, but it doesn’t send a tingle to my toes. It doesn’t have me pawing at Sam, needing to feel him against every inch of my body.
“I know what you like. I read it in your diary,” he thickly says against my throat. “I read how you loved me touching you.” As if on cue, he runs his hand down between the valley of my breasts, slipping his fingers inside my plunging neckline. “I read how I was the only man who made you come.” I gasp, his fingertip circling my left nipple.
I’m struggling to breathe and I don’t know if I’m robbed of air because I’m turned on, or because I’m desperate to flee.
Sam flicks the front clasp on my bra, it peels away, uncovering my breasts. He doesn’t waste a second and replaces the cup with his palm. His hand is hot against my skin, his fondling feeling desperate and rushed.
“Sam,” I protest, attempting to push his hand away, but my plea dies in my throat when he sucks over my carotid pulse in a long, wet pull. I arch my head back, exposing more of my neck as this is one of my most favorite places to be kissed. I have no doubt Sam knows this because he read about it in my diary.
I should feel betrayed that he read so much of my personal thoughts, but as he continues cupping and kneading my breast, sucking on my neck as he slips a hand between my thighs, all I can think about is how long it’s been since he touched me like this.
I feel him growing hard against my stomach as he heats up the contact, circling over my core with two skillful fingers. My starved body is responsive to his touch and I whimper, needing more. Sam reads my desperation and quickens the speed of his fingers.
I need to stop this before it gets out of hand, but Sam’s hands all over me reveal that it’s too late. A niggling thought scratching at the surface seals my fate. Saxon is down the hall doing the exact thing to Piper. Why do I need to stop? Having sex with my fiancé may just be what I’ve needed to find my way through the storm and make things right again.
“Make love to me, Sam,” I frantically whisper, my fingers fumbling over his belt buckle. Those words seem to be the key to unlocking the hostility we’ve found ourselves in.
Our impassioned moans fill the air as I yank open his jeans, dragging them down his thighs as he almost rips the belt off my waist. Just as I grab a hold of his red hot erection, he roughly flips me onto my stomach and tears the romper from my body. The material is stretchy, with no buttons or zips, so he maneuvers it off with ease. He doesn’t bother taking it all off, satisfied when my back and ass is exposed.
He scoops a hand under my belly, positioning me on all fours. I feel incredibly exposed displayed this way, especially since it showcases my scars. Just as I attempt to turn over, Sam wraps a hand around my waist and positions his blunt head at my entrance. I’m not ready yet. He hasn’t even dipped in his toe to test the waters. But it appears he doesn’t care and is happy to dive straight into the deep end.
“Sam, wait!” I cry when he presses against me.
“Oh, shit, sorry,” he says, easing up the pressure.
He’s still pushed against, but thankfully, he runs a hand over my behind and then dips low. The moment he inserts a finger into me, I gasp, as the intrusion isn’t exactly gentle. I’m not even halfway there, as he didn’t prep me, or ensure I was ready to go.
He continues trying to warm me up, but I’m not with him. My muscles aren’t receptive of his efforts, and I don’t know why. I was into the heavy petting, but when the pants came off, it’s like my body shut up shop.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, sensing my complete lack of excitement.
I’m angry at myself for not meeting him in the middle, as he’s trying. For the first time since this nightmare began, he’s actually trying. With that thought in mind, I shake my head, determined to make this happen. “No, but maybe I could turn around?” I don’t like this detachment. I never have.
He instantly withdraws his fingers and lets me go. I flip around onto my back and timidly take off my clothes so I’m now completely nude. It’s thankfully dark and the only light source is steaming in from the curtains as the moonlight peeks out from under a cloud.
Sam slips off his t-shirt. The jeans follow soon after. We’re now both completely nude and I have never felt more awkward. He lies on top of me, shifting to get the position right. I don’t remember him being this heavy and a winded breath escapes from my lungs. I also move, trying to place my arms and legs at a comfortable angle, but all I manage to do is get us tangled into a limb pretzel.
He glances down at me, appearing to be waiting for permission. I don’t blame him, considering the last time he instigated anything I froze up like the North Pole. I take charge and wrap my arms around his neck, drawing his face towards mine. It dawns on me that we haven’t even kissed. We’re completely naked and haven’t even shared a simple kiss.
I seal my mouth over his and we come together as two strangers in the night. We’re both reacquainting ourselves with one another, testing what the other likes. I have the upper hand and kiss Sam the way he used to like to be kissed. I start out slow, but Sam takes charge and sticks his tongue so far down my throat, I almost gag. He doesn’t read my aversion and continues digging around in my mouth as if he’s panning for gold.
The kiss is sloppy, messy, and clumsy, nothing like our first kiss. And nothing like my first kiss with Saxon. I really should not be thinking about that, but it’s hard not to when I have what’s currently going on in my mouth to compare it to.
Saxon’s mouth melded perfectly to mine, his tongue stroking not prodding and his lips were warm, soft. Thinking about that kiss has me losing myself in the memories and taking control. Thankfully, Sam follows my lead and we kiss like adults, not teenagers making out for the first time.
His looming bulge is hinting that he wants in and as I shift my leg to the side, he nudges against my entrance eagerly. The kiss has made me a little more receptive, and Sam can feel it. “I don’t have any protection,” he says regretfully.
“It’s okay, I’m on birth control.” I can sense his relief.
My admission has him breaking the kiss and nibbling down my throat. This is Sam’s move, a move he obviously read about in my diary. But I focus on his lips and what he’s doing down below. He’s nudging himself into me, and when I eventually let my guard down, he slips inside.
I gasp, my unaccustomed muscles adjusting to the intrusion as Sam moves within me. We’ve been connected timeless times before but this somehow feels different. Our bodies move out of time, both dancing to a different song. Sam is listening to heavy metal, while I’m dancing to the beat of my own drum.
His length stabs at me as he increases his strokes, grunting and bucking wildly, while I’m wondering where I put my hands. This is hardly romantic or even any good.
“You’re so wet, babe,” he moans happily while I cringe, feeling like a B-grade actress in a bad porno.
This awkwardness continues on for what seems like hours and when Sam looks into my eyes, I turn away, burying my face into the pillow. I can’t look at him, afraid he’ll see my lack of excitement. I resemble a starfish, lying there, waiting for him to finish. This isn’t like riding a bike because now that I’ve fallen off, I don’t think I ever want to get back on.
This act was once filled with love, but now, it’s filled with nothing but boredom and regret. Whether he can read my detachment or not, I’ll never know because it doesn’t seem to bother him either way. He pumps into me, his forceful strokes moving me up the bed. I bang my head on the wooden headboard, yelping on impact. Samuel misinterprets my pain for passion.
“That’s it, babe. Work with me.”
I try and get involved, to make this a team sport, but I can’t. He resembles a bunny, sprinting towards the finished line, while I never began the race. When he groans and finally collapses on top of me, I’m actually thankful it’s over. I keep my face turned, unable to look at him because he’ll see I’m about to cry. When he pulls out, his seed spills down my leg. He doesn’t bother to clean up after himself as he rises and closes the bathroom door behind him.
Rolling onto my side, I hug my pillow into me, never feeling more alone. An act which should unite two people has driven us further apart. I feel dirty, coated in shame. I thought sex could save our relationship but instead, I think I’ve just made things worse.
* * * * *
22nd May 2005
Dear diary,
This entry is probably going to be the shortest one yet because there are simply no words to describe how I feel. Tonight was prom. And it was the night I lost my virginity to Sam.
I don’t regret a single moment because it was perfect.
He was gentle, caring, attentive, and patient—all the things a girl could ever ask for. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. It was better. It hurt, but the pain…it felt good after a while.
I still can’t believe it happened.
Once I come down from cloud nine, I will detail every second, but for now, I just want to appreciate the reality that I’ll be connected to Samuel forever.
Sex really does change everything.