Chapter 18 – Vale #2
My phone chimes again and I jump. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. He calls me impatient. I check the text.
Oliver: Where are my pictures?
I smile at the message, then skip to the second one.
Oliver: I know you’re there. I see the light on in your bedroom. So why aren't you replying?
Vale: You call me impatient?
I go back to my photos and, just to be silly, I send him the one of him by the Jeep. Then the one for Kat. I make my way down through the photographs until I get to the one of us about to collide.
Vale: Not what I expected.
I add the picture to the message and press Send, then I strip my clothes off and grab a sleep shirt and a couple of towels. In the bathroom, I turn the shower on. I’m burning up inside, so I make the water cool. Before I get in, I run back to text him.
Vale: I need a cold shower after that picture. ;)
I sit my phone down and jump into the shower. I’m lost as the water washes over me, chilling my skin. When I try to wash my body, my skin is so sensitive I can’t use the loofah and end up having to rub the floral shower gel into my skin.
I finish quickly, throwing my hair up in a special hair towel to dry it, though it’ll be a mess in the morning, then I wrap a towel around my body.
I look in the mirror.
Do I look different? I feel different. I feel like every time he touches me, I change just a little bit. It’s not obvious what changes, but I know it’s there. I see the pink in my cheeks and my skin looks a little brighter, healthier.
In bed, amongst my pink sheets, I’m a bit embarrassed. I can’t believe Oliver has seen this room. I look around me and cringe. It looks like a little girl’s room, complete with a few creepy porcelain dolls on a shelf over my desk.
I laugh. Admittedly, they weren’t mine. They were actually my grandmother’s dolls, but I kept them after she died. Then there’s the dirty laundry strewn over half the flat surfaces, even though Gramps got me a clothes hamper.
There are stacks of books and band posters taped up haphazardly.
Plastic bead jewelry hangs on the dresser mirror from when Kat and I made them when we were preteens.
A huge purple teddy bear sits on a trunk at the foot of my bed, while a stuffed monkey named Armstrong with Velcro hands and a NASA shirt hangs from my iron headboard.
Armstrong’s a cute little guy; I won him from a claw machine when I was ten.
I have a toy rocket ship, pictures of Kat and I hanging on the walls, and a cartoon character light switch cover that’s so old, you can’t make out the pink princess anymore.
I don’t know why I installed it up here.
It occurs to me that I do look like a kid to Oliver. No wonder he’s scared to touch me.
But this room is a reflection of summers spent with Gramps. It’s a reflection of all the things I can’t take with me when I go home to my parents. I don’t get rid of anything, with the exception of clothing that doesn’t fit, so it all accumulates, a natural progression over time.
Each thing I’ve kept means something though. They’re memories I wouldn’t have unless I was here. Memories of the good times, and the silly times too. They’re precious.
My phone rings, and I jerk out of my reverie.
“Hello,” I answer, but lose my footing. I squeak like a mouse as I drop my phone. I fall to the floor giggling. “Hold on,” I say aloud, hoping he hears me. Because I know it’s Oliver. No one else would be calling me so late.
I hold on to the side table and pull myself up, wincing. Once I’m back on the bed, I grab the phone and hold it up to my ear.
“Hey,” I say. “Sorry about that. I’m back.”
“Are you alright?” he asks. “You didn’t check your messages. I got worried.”
I laugh again. “I told you, I needed a cold shower.”
Oliver’s silent for a moment, as if he doesn’t know what to say. “If I were you, and you’ve achieved some sort of calm, I wouldn’t check those texts tonight then. In fact, don’t look at them. Just delete them, okay?”
“Why?”
“Just do what I tell you,” he demands, then hangs up.
What’s wrong with him? He must have sent me something bad if he doesn’t want me to look at it. So, of course, that’s the first thing I do. He’s sent pictures, but I scroll up to the last message I sent him about the cold shower.
Oliver: All the glacial water in Norway wouldn’t help put out the fire you started.
I smile at the text. Does he burn for me? I certainly hope so. I hope it hurts as bad for him as it does for me. It’s only fair. He’s unlocked something inside me that has a mind of its own.
Oliver: That picture is boner inducing.
I giggle. Why did he want me to delete these? They’re great. He’s supposed to be this older, sophisticated person, yet here he is, his words devolving. I love it. I have to read the rest of them.
Oliver: I keep seeing this image of you in my head. You’re in your bed, staring at that picture of us and it makes you come.
The first picture pops up, and it’s of him in a bed. Where is he? That’s not the bed I saw in the window. It had a navy-blue duvet on it. I remember because the woman’s dress was the same color.
He’s not undressed in the picture, but his shirt is unbuttoned and his sculpted chest is partially on display.
Oliver works out. He’s got a strong, muscled chest. Oh boy, that he does.
I wish there was more in the picture, but it only leads to where his abs start below his sternum.
I wonder if he has that cut V, you know, the one that points like an arrow towards his cock. My thighs clench together.
His eyes are dark, and he looks like he’s turned on. In the pictures we took, you can’t always make out the green. I don’t think it’s because it was dark outside. I think it's because they change somehow.
I move on to the next message.
Oliver: I don’t like it when you don’t answer me. It’s torture. Are you trying to play hard to get?
Hard to get? Is he serious? I might have been nervous last night, but I wasn’t tonight. I flung myself at him. How on earth could he think I’m playing hard to get? I need to make it clear that I want him.
The next picture is only of his face. His eyes are closed, head tilted back, while he bites his bottom lip with those perfectly straight teeth. Is he doing what I think he’s doing. I don’t study that picture because I need answers.
Oliver: Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me the way I want you.
There’s another picture and it makes my heart race. He’s looking into the camera, his fingers in his mouth. The fingers that had touched me. The ones I’d watched him lick. The look in his eyes is bewitching. Those eyes may be the definition of bedroom eyes, the definition of smoldering.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper.
So much for the shower I had. My legs tremble and I feel the wetness leak out of me. It spreads between my clenched thighs. I’m shaking when I move on to the next text message.
Oliver: I’m sorry I’m like this. Your innocence is like some sort of sweet nectar on my tongue. I want to drown in it.
So maybe he’s not devolving, maybe he’s more than he’s ever been. He just needs some space to let it go, to let those thoughts fly. The separation in these text messages is safe because he’s afraid of losing control with me. We’re free to tell the truth in these messages. He’s showing me his truth.
Those desires slide around my head, and it feels like a powder keg ready to blow sky-high. If this is all we have, then maybe I can give it to him. I think of what I’ll say as I open the next text.
Oliver: Don’t hide from me.
Oliver: I’m so hard, I’m aching, Vale. I’m dying here. Answer me. Tell me everything. Give me your secrets.
The next picture shows more of him. His arm covers his chest somewhat, and his hand must be between his legs.
His head is tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted, and his cheeks are flushed.
Is he about to come? He looks like he’s about to explode.
I certainly am. He wields his beauty like a weapon, and I’m over here dying to be his victim.
I lie back in bed, my pussy throbbing and definitely not calm. I reach down, spreading the towel. When I touch my slit, I’m so wet and sensitive my entire body jerks with one touch. The towel falls off my hair as I lift my head up and open the camera app on my phone.
I probably look like a disheveled mess right now, but I mimic what he’s doing. The towel is open, showing the space between my breasts. I’m not on display exactly, my nipples are covered by the towel.
I don’t think about it as my eyes close, and I strum my finger over my clit. I press the button to take the picture. I want him to see what he does to me. I open my eyes and immediately set up the picture to send. I add a message:
Vale: You know my secrets. I want you. You’re all I want.
I rub my fingers against my clit while I eye the pictures he’s sent me. When it rings, I jerk and drop it. It hits my sternum, and I rush to catch it. I answer rudely, “What?”
“You’re magnificent,” he replies, his voice deep and seductive.
“Where are you?” I ask. “You left.”
“I drove a few miles, then turned back. I’m at home,” he says and something in his tone has changed. He doesn’t seem so on edge.
“I thought you may have went to be with Shae since I left you all hot and bothered.” I regret it the moment I say it. I’m lying. I wasn’t worried about him going to her tonight. I doubt he’d be sending me pictures of himself from her bed, or calling me.
“Jealous?” he taunts, and I can hear the playfulness in that single word.
“What if I am? Would it matter? You can be with her, but you can’t be with me.”
“That’s not fair,” he says, and it’s true. “You know why we can’t be together.”
Unfortunately, I’m the one who said he couldn’t touch me, that it wouldn’t be fair to me. That might be why he said what he did, but I can’t possibly fathom the reason he has for not wanting to fuck me. I can’t.
“Actually, I don’t know why. I’m of legal age. I’m not in a relationship. I’ve told you I want you, so there’s consent. You’ve already touched me, Oliver. So no, I don’t understand why you can’t fuck me. Why you can’t give me one night like you did with that woman.”
I hear his deep inhale, but I stop him before he says anything else. “I’m not asking you for forever. I understand you’re not interested in a relationship. I’m asking you for one night, no strings attached. I know you can’t promise me anything. You don’t have to. I can accept that.”
“That’s not what you want,” he says and there’s anger in his voice.
It surprises me. “I think you want everything, Vale. I think you want long nights of passion. You want an ecstasy that only exists between lovers who know each other completely. You want loving, whispered words of ownership. You want us to fall in love.”
My breath stutters and I know he hears it. That’s pretty specific. I contemplate denying it, but I don’t.
“Do I paint a pretty picture, sweetheart? You have to know that’s not who I am.
You say stuff about that woman, but you don’t get it.
You don’t understand that I used her. I fucked her and felt nothing.
I didn’t know her name. It wasn’t worth the brain capacity it took to remember.
But I know you. I know myself. I have no illusions about what I want to do to you.
I couldn’t do it all in one night. I couldn’t do it in a hundred nights.
“You’re so innocent and sweet. You deserve more than a quick fuck and a man who ignores you after. I wouldn’t want that for you. So when I tell you no, it’s because I want to protect you. I don’t want to be the asshole who breaks your heart, Vale, but that’s exactly what I’ll do. That’s who I am.”
I take in a deep breath trying to calm myself. At least he admits it. I knew he’d break my heart. I should be happy he’s admitted what he is, what he’d do if we slept together, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want him.
“Don’t you think I know we can’t be together? I knew it from the beginning, but it doesn’t matter. I still want you. I knew someone like you would never be with me. You’re too good for me, but for some reason you keep showing up.”
He growls and it makes me shiver. “I’m not better than you, and you shouldn’t accept that. You should fight, rage, and demand what you want. You need to find the words to fight, even if you lose. You have to, Vale. Don’t give your power to a man like me. I don’t deserve it.”
He says don’t do it, but it’s too late. It’s way too late. I don’t say it, but I think we both know it. He’s the only one in denial here. I don’t know why we’re going around in circles with each other. It doesn’t make sense.
“Alright,” I say, giving in. “I won’t give you my power. I thought this would go a lot differently when I sent my picture. I can’t believe I did that. I shouldn’t expect anything from you, you’re right. Good night, Oliver.”
“Stop, Vale. Just hear me out. I like you. I don’t want things to be bad between us.
I want to know you. I want to be your friend.
The experiences we’ve shared don’t look like friendship necessarily, but I don’t want to lose you either.
Can we try to be friends? I’ll stop flirting with you.
I’ll try to be good. I’m sorry I’ve sent mixed signals. ”
His words hurt, but I won’t admit it. They’re not what I want to hear. They aren’t the sexy words I’d hoped for when I answered the phone. I caused this. I did this when I asked about Shae. I pushed him away.
“I wish we could go back to the beginning of this call and start over.”
“Then let’s start over. We can wipe the slate clean. I can do that, for you.” I know it’s a genuine offer but wiping the slate clean means I’ll have to forget about his kisses and his touch. I can’t forget because they’ll be burned into my brain until the end of time.
I sniffle. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to lose him. Why is this so hard? Why does it feel like he’s already ripping my heart out? I feel the panic rising. I can’t breathe.
“I gotta go.”
“Vale, wait!”
“I gotta go,” I say, the words stuttering out of my mouth, then I hang up. I can’t continue doing this with him. It already hurts.
I’ll never forget his lips. I’ll never forget his touch. I can’t wipe the slate clean because I’ll never forget any of it. I’ll never forget because without him I’ll never feel that way again.