Friday, March 31st #2
I shift us again, laying Miranda back to work my magic.
Funny thing is, I still remember exactly how she likes it; I get her to climax in no time at all.
She moans quietly, breathing labored, her hips pushing up as she comes apart with my hand between her thighs.
When she regains control, she retrieves a condom from I don’t know where, tears the packet open, then puts the latex barrier on me, her hands soft, gentle on my sensitive skin.
My eyes shut when she pulls my body down and I thrust into her.
But even as I do, I feel like I’m standing outside myself, watching it all from somewhere far away.
Miranda doesn’t feel like Cat—of course she doesn’t.
Doesn’t sound, smell, or taste like her, and for a moment my heart squeezes so tightly in my chest, the pain of it threatens to pull me back into reality.
But I’m good at compensating, skilled at pushing those feelings down.
So, I focus on the raw feeling of sex—just like I used to when I had one-night stands before I met Cat.
It’s just a casual fuck, two bodies colliding, creating friction, and soon my world begins to shrink down to the sensation of a beautiful girl’s soft, warm body underneath me.
I drive us on, thrust into Miranda again and again, my muscles wound tightly as her legs snake around my waist to pull me deeper, urging me to go faster, harder.
Her breath brushes my ear—but for half a second it’s Cat’s voice I hear, soft and sweet, whispering my name in the dark.
I blink, and it’s gone. My hips move at a relentless pace, desperately chasing the apex, seeking to snuff out all thought, all doubt, all guilt tearing at the edges of my conscience at the knowledge that it’s Miranda’s body I’m allowing mine to meld with rather than Cat’s.
There’s a nagging conviction that what I’m doing is wrong, is a deep, unforgivable betrayal of my love for Cat, who is still in sole possession of my unworthy heart, even though she’s probably moved on by now.
After all, she went to some bar with that Levi guy and, from what I’ve heard, she even went home with him…
My insides contract with the mental image. Focus, Ran!
Sweat beads at the nape of my neck, but I don’t let up. I slip my left hand between us, circling my thumb over Miranda’s clit. Her shallow breath stutters to a momentary halt, her body stilling for the fraction of the second she teeters on the edge, and then she falls into pleasure.
“Fuck, Rony,” she moans without restraint as her orgasm tears through her. She rides the high for a long moment while I continue to piston. But I’m losing steam, the thin cloud of sex dissipating and forcing my surroundings back into focus.
My steady rhythm breaks, stumbling with the knowledge that I won’t reach the high, won’t get anywhere near it.
For the first time in my life, I’m unable to numb myself this way, to replace pain with pleasure.
Not with Miranda, who is beautiful and kind, and who I know so damn well.
I will never again experience pleasure, bliss, undiluted happiness.
Not with anyone who isn’t Cat. I know that now. I’ve always known it.
Miranda blinks her eyes open at me. “Are you okay?”
I stop moving altogether, then shake my head. “No. I… Randi, I don’t think I—”
“You’re not gonna get there, huh?”
I meet her gaze, my shoulders sagging when I shake my head again. “No. I’m sorry.”
She nods, but her smile falters just for a second. A tiny fracture. It’s gone quickly, covered by her usual confidence, but I catch it. I catch the glint of something that might have been hope.
I push myself off her, get up, and discard the used condom in the trash. I’m back in my boxers and jeans in seconds.
I’m ashamed in a million different ways and would pay good money to turn the clock back twenty or thirty minutes.
If it wasn’t such a shitty thing to do, I’d bolt out of Miranda’s cabin and pretend I didn’t just try to use her to numb myself like I’ve done so many times in the past, like I’ve done to so many other girls before I met the damn love of my life.
God, the love of my stupid, lonely, worthless, fucked-up life.
Miranda stands from the couch, still naked, her skin heated and damp from the physical exertion, though she doesn’t rush to get dressed. “Rony,” she says, taking a tentative step toward me.
“I’m sorry, Randi. You deserve better than this.”
Her warm smile and soft eyes disarm me. “Maybe. But trust me, I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.”
She stoops to pick up her jeans, slipping into them without bothering with her underwear first. “Thank you for that, Rony. I forgot how incredible you feel. Fuck, you really are good at this,” she sighs contently, pulling her shirt back over her torso.
What comes out of her mouth next takes me by surprise.
“Now, make sure you patch things up with your feline when she gets here.”
I shift beside her, my eyes flitting between hers with dipped eyebrows.
She chuckles quietly. “I love you, Rony. I really hoped things would be different with us this time around, but I finally understand that I can’t have you.
You’re hers. You’ve been hers. She owns your heart.
And you know what? I’m completely okay with that.
But what I’m not okay with is the way you’re hurting when you don’t need to be, at least when it comes to your relationship with Cat.
Get out of your head already. You’re more than enough, Rony. You are extraordinary.”
Then she kisses me softly on the lips and disappears in the small bathroom.
I finish getting dressed, then fall back on the couch. What a shitshow my life is, and this time I have only myself to blame.
The moment she returns, I apologize again.
She takes a seat next to me, her head on my shoulder, her right arm draped across my chest. “This was completely mutual, Rony. No need to feel bad in any way. I promise I didn’t have grand dreams of becoming your wife,” she says, then hesitates.
“I’m glad I got to feel you like that one more time, though.
It really was proof to me that you and I can’t work—that you belong to Cat,” she says with a smile.
I raise a doubtful eyebrow. “You can tell that from having sex with me?”
“Yeah. You weren’t with me. Not really. Like, your body was, for a while, but not your head.
And then even your body decided you didn’t really want this.
” She moves to face me, her expression stern.
“You do have control, you know? You worry so much about… everything. But you do have control. I know you’ve been hurting, but trust me when I tell you that you don’t need to be.
Allow her to love you, allow yourself to feel it and to love her back.
It’s really the only worthwhile thing in this world.
Love. Things will turn out alright in the end, Rony. You’ll see. You’ll be okay.”
Her voice has weight, but there’s a letting-go in it, too. Something honest. Something final.
***
I end up staying with Miranda until well past three in the morning, sitting on the couch silently, watching reruns of some black-and-white TV show Miranda has always loved because it’s mindless and makes her giggle.
Eventually, she falls asleep. After tugging the ornate Native American blanket over her, I leave her cabin to drive back to the main house.
The lights are on in the kitchen, shining through the downstairs windows like a lighthouse, guiding me home in the darkness. Nights out here are thick, all-enveloping, like they swallow life.
I didn’t expect the majority of the Soult crew to be awake, but when I walk into the house, three adult heads turn in my direction. There stand my dad and grandparents. My grandma and dad each hold a baby, giving them bottles, while my grandpa pours some coffee into two mugs.
Judging by the surprised looks on their faces, they likewise didn’t expect me to be walking in through the front door at this time of day… night… whatever. And more, I get the distinct impression they were talking about me.
My grandma cocks her head to the side. “Where are you coming from?”
Suddenly, I’m fourteen again rather than two months shy of nineteen, my heart prancing as though I just got caught doing something I shouldn’t. Probably because I actually did.
“Randi’s,” I say simply. For all intents and purposes it’s an innocent fucking answer, but by the way my dad shifts his weight, my grandpa’s eyebrows flatten, and my grandmother’s lips press together, I can tell they suspect Miranda and I didn’t play a round of Monopoly.
“And what? You got lost on your way back after dropping her off at her cabin”—my dad checks his watch—“almost eight hours ago?”
Awkward silence settles so completely, the entire house seemingly holds its breath.
“You look tired,” I say to my dad.
He huffs a laugh at my piss-poor attempt at a diversion.
My grandma steps toward me, those familiar brown eyes of hers warm, soft.
Without warning, she transfers the baby she was holding into my arms. A quick glance into his sleeping face and I know it’s Kellan I’m holding.
He looks virtually identical to his brother, but their little faces are already full of expression.
Where Kellan generally looks content, his features relaxed, Dean always looks a little bit like he’s plotting world domination.
I also know—from sitting on the plane with my dad, Penny, and my brothers for eight hours today—that the babies’ cries are different.
Kellan whines when he’s tired or sleepy.
Dean sounds like someone is attempting to amputate a limb without proper anesthesia.
“I look forward to seeing Cat tomorrow,” my grandma chirps. My eyes snap to hers, which are conveniently locked on Kellan, a small smile on her face.