25. Jules #2
He eats me like a starving man, like he’s desperate for my pleasure. His tongue flicking my clit, fingers pushing inside me.
“Come for me, Juliet. Come for me and mark me as yours.”
“Fuck, Drew!”
I come with a sharp cry, my pussy pulsing from my orgasm. I lay star-fished in bed, the sound of my harsh breathing filling the quiet room. I open my eyes, finding myself alone in the room, and I’m flushed with embarrassment.
I can’t believe I just did that. It’s one thing to masturbate in the middle of the night and another thing to think of Drew while I do it.
I groan, turning over in bed and hiding my face in the pillow. I’m never going to be able to look him in the face now.
I wake up the next morning determined to avoid Drew, but fate has other plans. As I turn on the tap in the kitchen sink to rinse out my coffee cup, it sprays water all over me. I yelp, quickly turning it off, but the damage is done.
I look down at my wet t-shirt, clinging to my body and perfectly displaying my lace bra.
“What happ--” Drew enters through the backyard, breaking off as he looks at me.
It’s bad enough that I’ve seen what he’s into sexually and that the sight of him shirtless renders me stupid. I don’t need him to look at me in a wet t-shirt and have intimate knowledge of my bras.
“Did you forget to dry off after your shower?” Drew asks.
I point an accusing finger at the faucet. “I was attacked by your faulty faucet.”
Drew walks over to test the faucet, opening it just a smidge. Water starts to spray out and he turns it off immediately.
“I’ll fix it. You should go and change.”
He doesn’t even give me a second glance as he walks into the garage to get his toolbox.
Should I be offended that he doesn’t want to look? I have very nice breasts. Isn’t seeing a woman in a wet t-shirt a fantasy for men? Why am I even wondering? This is Drew, and he’s made it perfectly clear that I do nothing for him. I doubt his opinion has changed.
A lump forms in my throat as I trudge upstairs. What is it about me that I can only attract creeps? It’s times like this when my mother’s voice is loud inside my head.
When I’m eleven years old again and standing in a changeroom because I developed early. When my mother tells me it’s a good thing I’ll have assets to attract men because men only want one thing. If I can offer a man sex, I’ll make sure he stays.
I still remember sitting in my room, listening to Gemma and my mother fighting because I told my aunt what my mother said.
I went to live with Gemma after that, only seeing my parents occasionally.
They never stopped me from leaving but each time I saw my mother, she made sure to remind me to smile, to never cut my hair because men like long hair, and men are simple creatures so if I want one to stay, I know what I need to do.
I enter my room and remove my t-shirt, throw it into the laundry hamper. I might as well do another load of laundry since the wet t-shirt is going to stink up the room if it dries in the basket.
I change into a new bra and top, this one looser. For so long, I hated my body because I thought the changes meant I was somehow losing control over it. Having breasts meant more men looked at me. Getting my period meant I was ready to have sex.
When I look in the mirror now, I see Gemma’s reflection behind me. I hear her telling me that my body doesn’t belong to anyone but myself. Maturing and growing up just means I know what’s good for me now. I don’t have to listen to anyone else.
I learned to love myself under her care. I finger the necklace I always wear, half a heart because the other half got buried with her.
There are days when missing her is like an ache that never goes away. She should still be here. I still need her guidance. I want to tell her so many things.
A knock at my door has me wiping away my tears and I quickly walk out of my bathroom to open the door. Drew stands on the other side.
“I need to get supplies and I wanted to--” He breaks off, his eyes roaming over my face. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
His question startles me. “I’m not crying.”
“Jules, don’t lie. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
His concern floors me each time. I realize, as horrible as it may seem, I want Drew. I want his concern, I want his care, I want him to hold me when I’m sad, and laugh with me when I’m happy.
I realize that Drew deserves someone better than me. Someone who isn’t going to bring a lifetime of trauma into a relationship and expect him to heal it.
“I had something in my eye,” I lie. “I promise, I’m fine.”
He looks like he doesn’t believe me, and he’s not sure why I’m lying.
“I was actually looking at a couple of houses that are on the market. I was thinking of dropping in for the open house today.”
Drew glances at his watch. “Sure, we can do that.”
“You don’t have to come,” I say. I need to get away from him.
His jaw flexes as he looks at me flatly. “I don’t have other plans. I’ll come with.”
“Great!” I smile, but it seems brittle at best.
Drew looks at me, so many unasked questions reflected in his eyes, but he doesn’t voice any of them. With a nod, he turns and walks away.