10.
Crystal
Ever since the police showed up with their questions last week, Justin’s been like a shadow to me, my personal guardian angel, hovering so close I can feel the warmth of his concern. It’s sweet, it’s suffocating, but right now, it’s what’s keeping me from falling apart. The embarrassment still stings. I keep imagining my mother’s voice on the phone, shrill with worry, when she called the police because I missed one too many calls. She doesn’t get it. Her pressure about school, my mental health, is like a weight on my chest, and I’ve been dodging that conversation like bullets.
“Ready for an adventure?” Justin’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I look up from where I’m sitting on the bed and nod, forcing a smile. I keep that smile firmly in place as we pack his car, throwing our overnight bags in the backseat. This is a first for us, a weekend away, just the two of us, no work or drama. And wine. Lots of wine. I catch a glimpse of his profile, eyes set on the road but a smile on his face. How did I get so lucky? After a minute, it’s not so hard to keep my smile.
The early-morning fog lifts as we approach the Golden Gate Bridge, which stretches out before us like a gateway to another world—a world where mothers don’t call the police on their daughters and where the word school isn’t synonymous with failure. “Wow, look at that,” I murmur, my breath fogging up the window as I lean closer. The bridge looms larger than life, its cables reaching skyward like the strings of some celestial instrument.
Justin chuckles beside me. “Pictures don’t do it justice.”
We share a moment of awe, my troubles momentarily forgotten. San Francisco shrinks behind us, and I look down at the water. I never realized how high up we would be. The boats below look like toys in a bathtub.
“Scared?” he asks, his hand finding mine for a reassuring squeeze.
“Thrilled,” I correct him, and it’s true. With the wind in my hair and Justin by my side, I can do anything. I make a silent promise to myself. I’ll enjoy this weekend. I’ll let go of the guilt, the embarrassment, and the fear. At least for now. Because sometimes, you need to cross a bridge to see the path ahead. And if the timing is right, I’ll even tell Justin about my bipolar diagnosis.
“Look at that,” he murmurs sometime later. The landscape has shifted as he navigates the winding road.
“Everything feels so…organized,” I reply, looking at the rows of grapevines that must cover acres in Napa Valley.
We stop in downtown Yountville around lunchtime and order sandwiches at a small café.
“Are you having fun?” Justin asks.
“Yes.” I nod vigorously. “I wonder what would have happened if you’d never come to me at that Velvet Anomaly show.”
He grins. “You were a siren calling me from across the crowded room.”
“That seems like a long time ago,” I tell him. “Do you regret inviting me out to California?”
He stops mid-bite. “Never. Do you regret coming? Not finishing your degree? Because I’m sure you can transfer to Berkeley.”
I lean back in my seat and look out at the majestic view. “No. I mean, eventually I want to go back to school, but I don’t want to study applied mathematics. It’s a misogynistic field. When I figure out what I want to be when I grow up, I’ll go back.”
After lunch, we drive a little farther and pull up at the quaint house we’ll call home for the night. It’s wrapped in a shawl of ivy, aged wood whispering stories of countless sunsets. We barely have time to admire our room before we’re off again, leaving the car behind to meet the tour that will shepherd us through the afternoon’s wine tastings.
The van is small, intimate. There are just eight of us in the group. Our first stop is a boutique winery, and their merlot is rich velvet against my tongue. I catch Justin watching me with eyes that say he savors my reaction more than the wine.
“Good?” he asks, his smile easy, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak without betraying the flutter in my chest.
Each winery has its own story, its own flavor. We sip cabernet sauvignon that dances bold and spicy on our palates, and zinfandels that blush with the memory of summer berries. Laughter bubbles up around us, and I join in, the freedom intoxicating.
“Never knew wine could be this much fun,” Justin says, and I agree. There’s joy in the simple process of discovery. I can feel it binding us closer than any grapevine could.
As the van carries us back, the day’s warmth lingers on my skin. Justin’s hand settles on my back. “Should we grab some dinner?”
“I’m still full from lunch,” I tell him. But really, I’m just looking forward to a night in, without the usual roommates.
After a short walk, we re-enter our temporary haven, the room now cast in the rosy glow of dusk. Justin’s touch is gentle as he guides me to the bed, a silent question in his eyes that I answer with a nod, surrendering to his care.
He worships me with mouth and fingers. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Every nerve is on fire, and I arch my back, inviting him closer. He obliges without hesitation. His lips claim mine in a kiss that’s as urgent as it is tender, our tongues dancing and exploring. I run my hands through his hair, pulling him closer as I revel in his body pressed against mine.
Desire makes the room spin as he continues to explore every inch of my body. His heart races in sync with mine, and I know this moment will be forever etched in my memory. This man, this beautiful, passionate creature, is worshipping me in a way I never thought possible.
As his lips trail down my stomach, and he looks up at me. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to come,” I pant.
His tongue dances along the inside of my thigh, tracing an invisible path to the center of my desire. I gasp, my hips arching as a wave of need crashes over me.
He presses his mouth against me, his tongue delving inside as he coaxes my climax closer. I grab his head, guiding him as my breath hitches and deepens. The first quiver of pleasure spreads through me like wildfire.
“Oh…yes…” I cry, every nerve ending singing with his touch. He sucks and licks, coaxing me closer to that elusive edge. And then, with a final jolt of ecstasy, I shatter into pieces, my release tearing through me like a freight train.
When I finally open my eyes, I find him looking up at me, a satisfied smile on his face. He kisses me gently, his lips still damp from my desire.
“You’re so good at that,” I whisper. “It should be illegal.” I reach for his hardness. “How can I make you happy?”
He chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “How about a little lick?”
I crawl down his body, licking, kissing, and exploring his hard planes. His cock is weeping, and his breath catches as I lick the tip. His taste is sweet, and the scent of him fills my nostrils. I run my tongue around the ridge of his cock, teasing him gently before moving down, tracing the line of his shaft with my mouth. He shudders beneath me, his hands gripping the sheets.
I take him into my mouth, closing my lips around the head and sucking lightly as his muted moans fill the room. I slide my mouth farther down, my tongue probing the crevices as my hands hold him steady.
He gasps, his hips bucking slightly as he tries to push deeper into my mouth. I pull away, kissing the tip of his shaft before starting again, my rhythm steady and sure.
His breaths come faster, his body arching off the bed as he grows harder, reaching for that elusive release. “Oh, God,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re going to make me come.”
“I want you to come inside me,” I tell him.
He nods. “I want that too.”
Positioning himself between my legs, he pushes in deep. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes through the room. I moan, my hands gripping his hips as he pounds into me. Each thrust drives me closer to the precipice. The surge builds inside me, a wave of ecstasy gathering as he continues to thrust.
“Oh fuck,” he groans, his arms shaking. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”
“Neither am I,” I pant, my body trembling with the force of my impending release.
His hips move faster, harder, and my climax builds, the pleasure coursing through me. I scream his name, my body arching up to meet his as I’m swept away by pleasure.
My muscles clench around him as I ride the waves. He groans, his eyes rolling back in his head, as he nears the peak of his release.
“I’m gonna come,” he growls, his voice hoarse.
His cock pulses inside me, releasing his seed. The sensation is overwhelming, and I scream his name again as the last shudders of my orgasm wash over me.
We collapse onto the bed, our bodies slick with sweat. “This is so much better here than at the apartment,” he marvels.
I snuggle in closely. “I agree. I wish we could afford to move into our own place.”
“Once we get this battery figured out, we’re going to get a great place together.”
Justin’s arms are a fortress around me. I bury my face in the warmth of his neck, breathing the scent of earth and wine that clings to his skin. I’m safe here, secure in his embrace, the anxieties that so often crowd my mind banished to the shadows for now.
I should tell him about the tempests in my head, about the disorder that colors my world in shades of mania and depression. But the words stick in my throat, clinging to a fear of tarnishing this perfect moment, of burdening our weekend with my reality.
“Everything okay?” he murmurs. He must sense my tension.
“Perfect,” I whisper because it is. For these fleeting hours, everything is just as it should be. The confession can wait. Tonight, I choose to savor the serenity of being simply, unequivocally with Justin.
We slept in this morning and wandered around the quaint little town before we began our drive back to San Francisco this afternoon. The sun casts a golden glow over the vineyards as we leave the enchantment of Napa behind, and soon our car is humming along the roads that cut through the East Bay into Vallejo. The landscape changes, urban edges creeping in.
“Look, there’s Berkeley,” Justin says, pointing toward clusters of buildings crowning the hills ahead.
Something stirs in my chest, a mix of nostalgia and a yearning I can’t quite name. “Let’s stop,” I suggest.
We park near the university and step out to stretch our legs. We wander aimlessly, our footsteps echoing on the campus paths. Justin’s hand finds mine, his fingers a comforting pressure.
“You know, if you ever want to get back into school, I’m behind you,” he says, his gaze fixed on the iconic Campanile bell tower cutting into the sky.
A lump forms in my throat, heavy with things unsaid. I squeeze his hand, grateful for his support but weighed down by the reality of what that would entail. Starting again seems like stepping backward, and I’m not ready to face that yet.
“Thanks, Justin. That means a lot,” I manage.
What I don’t tell him is how deeply I’m falling for him or how his faith in me both uplifts and terrifies me.
We return to the car, the cityscape of San Francisco welcoming us back as we cross the Bay Bridge. The skyline is jagged against the horizon, familiar and foreboding all at once. Soon, we’ll be back at EnergiFusion again.