2. Something Ugly
2
Something Ugly
By the time lunch rolled around, I was already done with this day. For the most part, no one was outwardly antagonistic, but ignoring the stares was exhausting.
Ben was waiting for me at the doors to the lunchroom, and I heaved a sigh of relief the moment he took my hand in his. “Okay?” he asked, giving my fingers a squeeze.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
We shared a tray, and Ben added his choice of food. I grabbed an off-brand lemon-lime soda in hopes of calming the subtle nausea bubbling in my gut but nothing else. Like he was determined to feed me, Ben grabbed a packet of my favorite chips and extra french fries.
My shortage of appetite concerned him in the same way his lack of sleep worried me. But it was simply another thing we didn’t talk about. Like the slew of untruths decaying between us, like our lack of intimacy, like the fact we hadn’t kissed in a week.
Shaking away the heavy thoughts, I curled into Ben’s side as we walked across the lunchroom, the weight of curious, judgmental stares settling on our shoulders as our shoes squeaked against the linoleum.
Our usual lunch table was quiet as Ben and I approached and sat down. Kim smiled at me when I glanced her way, dark eyes only half-filled with pity. Caroline focused hard on the salad she was eating, blinking rapidly, like she was trying not to cry. Jordan and Ronnie exchanged a look, and Harris ping-ponged his gaze around the table, looking at everyone except us.
Everyone attempted to keep a dialogue flowing, striving for normalcy. The conversation stumbled along awkwardly as everyone attempted to ignore the gigantic, pink elephant doing eye-high Rockette-kicks in the center of the room. But Kim and Ronnie persevered, fighting valiantly to cover the lulls between topics.
Painfully uncomfortable, I watched them struggle with grateful, but reserved, silence.
Halfway through the lunch period, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and my head shot up. Unable to stop myself, I glanced over my shoulder, knowing what I’d find.
Dark, soulless eyes bored into mine, and Eric Boyt smirked.
He sat back in his chair, balancing on two chair legs. His arms were crossed over his impressive chest, and though I knew it was all in my head, he somehow looked more intimidating than the last time I’d seen him.
His hair was longer than he normally wore it, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days, leaving a scruffy smattering of hair on his square jaw. That smirk grew into a smug grin, and he jerked his chin up an inch in a subtle nod of acknowledgment.
Then he had the fucking audacity to wink at me.
The pretzel in my hold crunched to dust as my hand involuntarily fisted. Every muscle locked. My limbs vibrated with impotent rage and disgust.
A gentle hand cupped my chin, fingers framing my jaw firmly. I let Ben direct my head back around, capturing my gaze with his. His eyes were cool but controlled. I glared at him as he shook his head minutely.
For a moment, my eyes burned, but I blinked it away. I nodded, just once. Ben released me, and we both faced the table again.
I felt Boyt’s stare on the back of my head for the rest of the lunch period, but it didn’t scare me. Not really. What else could he possibly do to me, anyway? Fuck me? Was that really any worse than what had already been done? He had violated every part of my life. What more was there?
Ben’s arm shifted, pressing to mine, and when he tentatively hooked my pinkie with his, I curled our fingers tighter. As much as I hated him for forcing my hand in that conference room, I loved him still. So I clung to his pinkie, hoping it was enough.
When school finished for the day, Ben walked me to Kim’s vehicle, pecked my forehead chastely, then jogged back to the gym entrance. If he had any hope of placing at their end-of-season conference, he needed to return to practice.
“In the mood for blue moon shakes?” Kim asked, her hand coming to rest on my back between my shoulders.
“Maybe another time,” I said as I watched Ben disappear through the school doors.
“Silas—” she started, but a familiar SUV honked to our left, cutting her off.
I saw Dad in the front seat and offered Kim a half-hearted smile. “My dad’s here. I gotta go.”
She grimaced but nodded. “Okay.”
“Thanks, Kim,” I said, tracing the intricate design of the baby hairs she’d smoothed down against her temple. Her dark lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond as I turned away and headed to Dad’s car.
“How was it?” Dad asked the second I buckled in. The three words somehow encompassed everything he wanted to know, all the questions he needed to ask without voicing them.
“As good as can be expected, I suppose.” I shoved my backpack between my knees as Dad navigated through the traffic-filled lot. “What time are we meeting the lawyers?”
Dad’s lips pursed, his brow creasing with stress. “We’ll be going to Henry and June’s for dinner, then meeting with Carl after, around six.”
“Okay.”
We drove the rest of the way home in silence.
Since I was behind in my classes after missing a whole week of school, I worked on homework the rest of the afternoon, dreading the inevitable meeting with the lawyers. Every time we gathered for a legal pow-wow, I walked away disappointed and raw.
I was sick of rehashing the details; I didn’t want to revisit the memories that kept me up at night. More than anything, I just wanted this to be over.
Ben was in the shower when we arrived at his house that evening. After the obligatory hugs and kisses from Aunt June, I took refuge in the basement to wait for my boyfriend. I lounged on his bed and played Angry Birds as I listened to the water run.
Before this shitstorm, I might have joined him under the warm spray. But things were different now. A gulf existed between us, and I was at a loss for how to reach him. The only bridge spanning the chasm was rickety and untrustworthy. I wasn’t sure an attempt at crossing was worth the risk of falling.
But this was Ben, and I loved him. I hated him too, yes, but I loved him more.
Unfortunately, my deliberation took too long, and the water shut off before I could gather the courage to get off the bed. Ben emerged a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his hips, his curls damp. A cloud of Irish Spring-scented steam followed him, permeating the room, and it calmed my nerves.
The moment Ben caught sight of me, he startled, a hand going to his bare chest. “Jesus, one of these days you’re really gonna give me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” I said absently, attention caught on the water dripping from his hair and carving tracks down his torso. He was super naked, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that.
We hadn’t had sex since that first weekend for obvious reasons. Those stolen moments between us had been tainted, and the violation made it hard to want again. But here he was, bare skin flushed from the heat of the shower, shoulders pebbled with water. And that blush, erupting under the skin of cheeks and traveling down his neck.
“Si?” he asked, voice deeper than normal.
I tore my gaze away from his happy tail disappearing into the towel. “Huh?”
He arched an eyebrow, and my face warmed. I studied my fingers to give my eyes a safe place to look.
“I can wait upstairs if you want,” I offered.
Ben snorted. “Why? You’ve seen me naked before.”
Surprised at his candor, I lifted my gaze. The moment our eyes met, he smirked a little smugly and unfastened his towel. He used it to dry his hair, and I swallowed heavily, throat clicking. He was just so wonderfully naked, and it was very nice.
His biceps flexed as he scrubbed the towel over his curls, then he dropped it to the floor with a heavy thwump . Leaning over the edge of the bed, his fists sank into the mattress on either side of my calves. Like a deer caught in headlights, I froze, eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Doing okay there?” he asked with another self-satisfied curl of his lips. His dimple carved into his cheek, and my fingers itched to reach out and touch and take.
“You’re really naked,” I said stupidly, and he laughed.
For a moment, the stress lines on his forehead smoothed out, and his eyes brightened.
“I am.” One of his hands curled around my ankle, then slid up my leg under my sweatpants. “And you’re wearing those gray sweatpants.”
A half-manic laugh punched from my chest. “Oops.”
With a yank on my ankle, he ordered me closer without speaking, and I found myself obeying. I scooted to the edge of the mattress until his hands framed my hips. We were almost nose-to-nose, and I could feel the heat of his shower still radiating off his skin.
“Ben,” I whispered, voice shaking.
“Silas,” he said.
My fingers dug into his forearms as he dragged the tip of his nose across my cheek, blazing a trail of kisses along my jaw. He captured one of the metal balls of my tragus surface piercing between his teeth and tugged. A pathetic whimper scraped my throat.
His breath was hot and wet on my ear as he said, “Tell me you love me.”
“Ben, I… you know I do.” I nuzzled his throat, fingernails leaving crescent shapes in his forearms.
“Tell me,” he said, and my God, he was begging.
“I love you,” I said, hating how much it tasted like a lie.
Like he could taste it too, his breath hitched. Then his hands were framing my face and tipping my head back so he could cover my cry of surprise with his mouth. The kiss was hard, tinged with anger and sorrow.
I moaned, grasping onto his wrists as I kissed him back. It was all tongues and teeth, and spearmint danced along my taste buds. I was surrounded by spring soap and chlorine, and Ben groaned into my mouth when he reached between us and molded his palm to the front of my sweats.
Tearing my mouth free, I barked a curse as I gasped for air. Ben dropped to his knees between my spread legs and yanked at the waistband of my sweats.
“They’re waiting for us,” I said breathlessly.
Turbulent, hurricane eyes looked up at me. “Let them wait.”
Then he lowered his mouth, and my eyes rolled back into my head. I fell back on the mattress, one hand tangling in his hair.
“Fuck,” I cried out, panting up at the ceiling as he worked my sweats lower, giving him complete access. “Oh my God. Your mouth is—shit.”
I babbled incoherently, fingers twisted in his curls tight enough to hurt. He moaned around me, and I felt it all the way to my toes.
“I’ve missed you,” he said hoarsely when he came up for air. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I tried to tell him that I’d missed him too. Because I did. I missed the spearmint on his tongue and the sound of his shy laugh every time I kissed the inside of his thigh. I missed the feel of him under my hands and the weight of him blanketing my back.
But there was a terrible part of me that didn’t miss him at all. A dark, evil place in my gut that blamed him for this mess. It wasn’t fair; I shouldn’t have felt it. But I did all the same.
The helplessness and frustration built in my chest as I stared at the ceiling, fingers pulling on his hair, urging him not to stop. He didn’t stop. Not when I wrenched his curls too hard. Not when I held him down, pushing too roughly into his throat. Not even when I fucked his mouth with a shameful coldness.
No, not even then.
And when the pleasure faded, a crushing weight settled on my chest, bringing tears to my eyes. I threw an arm over my face to hide the burning moisture as Ben slowly climbed to his feet.
He said, “I’m gonna brush my teeth,” and his voice was hoarse from the brutal way I’d treated him.
I sat up, an apology on my lips, but he was already shutting the bathroom door behind him. With quivering fingers, I tucked myself back into my boxers and straightened my sweats, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. What I’d just done.
You raged-fucked his mouth, you pathetic asshole! my brain screamed at me.
Pressing a hand to my mouth, I swallowed a dry sob as guilt strangled me. How could I have done that to him? How could I have used him like that? Like he was nothing.
When the bathroom door opened, Ben waltzed out into the bedroom wearing a pair of underwear and nothing else. I jumped to my feet and opened my mouth to beg his forgiveness, but I didn’t get the chance.
With a plastic grin, he gripped my face somewhat roughly and kissed me. “Minty fresh,” he said against my lips with a chuckle.
I gaped at him as he set about getting dressed, whistling quietly under his breath. Like the fucked up exchange hadn’t happened at all. Like it was entirely acceptable for me to fuck his throat raw. Like he deserved to be treated like that by the boyfriend who professed to love him.
Guilt strangled me as I stood silently by, watching him slip a long-sleeved shirt over his head and button his jeans. He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged socks onto his feet. And I just stood there.
“We should probably get up there,” he said conversationally. “We’ve kept them waiting long enough, haven’t we?”
He winked and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I felt sick.
“What about you?” I said, and he stood with a frown.
“What do you mean?”
I gestured vaguely toward the front of his jeans. “You didn’t come.”
With an embarrassed chuckle, he leaned in and pecked my mouth again. “Yes, I did.”
And that was a bold-faced lie.
Instead of calling him on it, I said, “Oh.”
“You okay?” he asked, even though I should have been asking him that. “Your brain still foggy? I guess my skills are getting better.”
Taking my hand, he led me to the door, and I stumbled along behind him. This was so fucked up.
“Ben,” I said, and he paused on the threshold.
He cocked his head, expression so placid it bordered on vacant, like he’d checked out. “What?”
I searched for something to say, anything that could make this better. But I didn’t think anything could. Something ugly had sprouted between us, digging its roots in deep.
So I said, “I love you so much.” Except it sounded like an apology, like a plea, like a twisted justification.
“I love you too,” he said with heartbreaking conviction.
And though he smiled so tenderly at me, it still didn’t reach his eyes.