Beautiful Torment (17 page)

That’s when I start to hear the faintest of sounds.

At first, I think it’s just the music coming from the auditorium, but it gets louder as I continue the opposite way. I follow the powerful notes, and like some weird
Phantom Of The Opera
moment, they turn hauntingly familiar.

My pace quickens as my heart thrashes in my chest. I’m practically running until I’m opening the door to the same rehearsal room we were in the other day.

He’s sitting at the piano like some hazy dream, dimly lit by a small lamp in the corner, wearing jet-black slacks with his pristinely ironed collared shirt rolled to his elbows, the veins in his thick, muscular arms exposed as he conquers each key.

I lightly shut the door behind me and his back stiffens.

“Hello, Trouble.”

“I thought you weren’t going to see the show?” I croak.

“I’m not,” he stops playing, his fingers frozen over the keys. “I have to talk to you.”

“About what?” His somber tone only increases my heart’s hasty beats. What if he tells me this is it? Because he can see how badly I want us to be more than he can give, thanks to the circumstance we’re in? Or what if he just doesn’t want more, regardless of the situation?

My mind is playing through a million scenarios, none of which are favorable.

“It’s complicated, which is why-”

“How’d you know I’d find you?” I take a few steps closer, immediately changing the subject. I can’t risk his words. I’m not ready.

He exhales loudly, almost sadly.

“You seem to always have a way of finding me.”

I struggle with that truth, not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.

“You consume me.” It’s a bold admission on my end, but at least it’s honest.

He sighs again. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He still hasn’t turned around, and I’m dying to see his face.

“It is when it’s not requited.” It comes out softly, tragically.

“Like hell it isn’t,” he growls angrily, finally turning his head so I can see him. “Not requited?”

He speaks with such distaste, questioning my words. “You have a birthmark on your right arm, on the underside, just above your wrist,” he swallows. “When the year started, you had a small amount of freckles on your face, just above your cheeks on both sides,” he chuckles, remembering. “They have since disappeared, but I suspect when it warms they’ll return.” His eyes smolder. “You also love when I talk dirty. Your pussy contracts with every foul word I say, and every time you’re about to come, you hold onto me for dear life, your fingers grabbing onto my hair mostly. That’s your favorite place. There’s this certain type of squeeze you do. It’s always the same,” he laughs again. “And on your right side, just below your ribs, you have the faintest of scars.”

“From when I had chicken pox as a kid,” I interrupt him, my voice faint, bewildered. “There’s also one-”

“On the side of your upper right thigh.” He finishes my sentence, raising his eyebrow, challenging me. “Like hell
I’m not
consumed
,” he shakes his head, turning back to face the piano again. He begins another song, this one not so loud as he continues to whisper. “I notice every little thing about you.”

I walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest as he leans his body back into me.

“I’m
obsessed
,” he looks up before closing his eyes.

I kiss his neck as I move my hands down to his stomach, caressing, taking every part of him in. His cock is so big right now that it extends down his leg, firm and stiff between his thigh and the fabric of his pants. I rub my palm up and down it, savoring each time he twitches against my touch.

“Pull on it. Hard.” He demands, sliding forward on the piano bench and allowing me to straddle him from behind.

He helps me set him free, feeling heavy in my hands.

I start to jerk him, using both hands, driving down hard and tugging on each up stroke, in an almost polishing motion.

“Oh that’s so good,” he moans. “I fucking love how you pump me.”

His hips thrust to meet my force as a squirt of pre-come spews out. I rub both my thumbs over his straining head, playing with the liquid.

“That’s it, around the tip… like that,” his voice is like silk, his breathing becoming labored as he shoves himself into my hands, begging for me to move over his entire length again.

I keep one hand on his length, picking up speed, as the other moves to his balls, squeezing and rolling them. They suddenly tighten and I know he can’t hold back for much longer.

In this very moment, as I pump him with one hand and fondle his balls with the other, I feel like
I own him
. Like he’s coming apart
just for me
, silently telling me
he’s mine
.

It’s the best feeling in the world.

“You’re about to come for me aren’t you?” I bite down on his ear before giving it a lick.

“So hard,” he answers, shaking in my arms.

He starts to spasms as his hips buck, shoving forward, a steady stream of come gushing onto the piano.

“Shit, Luci, I can’t stop!” He continues to rock into my hands, groaning, his chest moving rapidly, the liquid still flooding out of him.

“That’s it,” I whisper in his ear. “Get it all out.”

I continue to massage him lightly, willing the come out of him. His chest rises and falls as he grabs my legs and twists me around so I’m straddling him, face to face. I’m so wet and turned on that I can’t help grinding myself into his still throbbing cock, his leftover come staining the crotch of my leggings.

He leans back and I hear tissues being pulled out of a box.

“Turn around,” he commands.

I comply, and he spreads his legs so I fall between them as he wraps his arms around me. He’s everywhere, enveloping me. I rest myself against him, watching as he wipes down the piano keys before starting to play again, the flap of his pants still wide open with his penis resting against my back.

“Undo your blouse,” he directs.

I get halfway down my stomach, unbuttoning, when he tells me to stop.

“That’s perfect. Now put your hands around my neck.”

I reach up and behind me, tugging lighting on his nape as he rests his chin on my shoulder. He finishes his song and his hands move from the piano to my knees, spreading them wider.

“There you go, nice and open for me,” his hands travel up my thighs at an agonizing leisurely pace until his palms are dangerously close to where I’m burning for him. It’s a slow torment that only makes me want him that much more.

He doesn’t stop where I want him to, continuing his trail to my stomach and into my shirt, pushing my bra aside until he’s cupping my breasts. His touch is soft at first, until he’s kneading them, all the way out to my erect nipple. He chuckles, giving them a light pinch, causing me to moan.

“You’ve gotten me hard again,” his voice is raspy and deep in my ear.

“Good,” I breathe as his pulls me closer, his hands moving back over my stomach before finally dipping into my leggings.

“What are you wearing under here?”

“Thong.”

“Shit.” He plunges one finger in me before pulling out, admiring the wetness, gliding it across my lips before sinking into my mouth. I suck, grazing my tongue over the pad. It tastes poignant and tangy, not at all sweet like him.

“You taste better,” I admit, and he chuckles.

“Oh, baby,” he’s still laughing. “Nothing tastes as good as you.”

He dips both hands back into my pants, the right settling on my upper thigh while his left finds me, one finger and then another - the fullness sending unbelievable tremors throughout my body.

“Mmm,” he pulls his fingers out again, this time placing them in
his
mouth, licking every last bit of my juices off, his other hand moving to take over.

He pinches my nipple before sinking back into my pants. His one hand still plunging into me slowly, in and out, while this one now plays with my clit.

“Oh god,” my cheek falls against his.

“There you go,” he coos.

“Faster, please,” I plead, building rapidly.

“I love how you beg me,” his voice vibrates his chest as he gives me the speed I want. “You ask with such need, as if I’d ever deny you.”

I’m lost, groaning and shaking.

“God the way you throb,” he whispers, his hands slowing, leisurely stroking me as I come down from my high. “Get on me.” He backs the piano bench away, giving me room to stand and wiggle out of my now drenched leggings.

“Fuck,” his voice is low as I start to remove my underwear too. I turn, watching as he squeezes himself while staring at my ass. “Leave those on,” he stops me from removing my thong, pulling me towards him using the string of my panties, playing with the fabric against my skin.

I close my eyes, his touch so firm yet so soft.

Always turning me on.

I start to sit on him, but he stops me. “No, face me,” his eyes bore into mine. “I want to see you.”

He takes a condom out of his pocket and eases it on, the bottom of my thong already moved to the side from when he fingered me.

I straddle him on the bench before sinking down, closing my eyes as he penetrates me, my pussy grasping around him, still so sensitive.

“Eyes open,” he smiles, his hands against my lower back, still playing with the barely-there silky fabric.

We’re staring, unmoving, his erection deep inside.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers.

Our mouths crash together simultaneously.

He cradles my face and our hips start moving, an unhurried, yet frenzied motion all the same. It’s like the time he was going slowly on purpose, acting so absurd after the first time we had sex. Except, while the pace is the same, everything else is different. This time, there’s more conviction than purpose, and it’s a thousand times more consuming. It’s uninhibited, and something about the way his eyes never leave mine makes me feel vulnerable. It’s as if he’s plucking my heart right out of my chest, for keeps, never to be returned ever again.

It doesn’t take long before an orgasm rips through the both of us, and I smile, noticing how I grab onto him, just like he says I do.

Our sluggish tempo doesn’t let up.

“I can feel you,” he embraces me. “Throbbing around me.”

“Yeah,” I nod, my voice airy, feeling it too. We’re still shaking as he continues to shove into me, only, instead of decreasing his speed he’s using even more force.

“Oh!” I whimper again, my fingers brushing his cheeks and under his eyes. The way he’s still thrusting, while he twitches and jerks, has me flying.

“Again?” He smirks and his hand moves between us, finding my most satisfying spot.

“No, I can’t,” I shake my head, spent.

“Oh, but you can,” his voice hypnotic. “All I have to do is this… right… here.” The way his tongue brushes against mine in between each word, coupled with his skillful touch, has me loosing it for a third time. He lets out a moan that matches mine.

“Luci, I’m coming again,” he grunts. “Yes!”

His eyes cut into mine as he holds me down, shoving his dick up hard. Once, twice, three times, drowning along with me.

Our eyes remain locked, his hands now massaging my back in a soothing pattern. It’s joy and perfection all tied up with unspoken fears and hopes. He lays his forehead against mine, the heat of his breath, the smoothness of his lips teasing me as he speaks.

“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

“Anna Karenina,” I whisper.

He kisses me again and we hold on to each other, with him in me, for God knows how long.

We start to hear noise in the hallway, and I look at the clock above the door. The show must have ended. I exhale loudly, as he helps me off of him; an overwhelming hollowness as he pulls out.

I think tonight is the first time I actually admitted to myself
exactly how much
he means to me.

How the hold he has on my heart has forever changed who I am.

How I will never be the same again.

How he’ll always be both my strength and weakness.

I hold back the unwelcomed tears as we say goodbye - from the pain, from the pleasure, because in this moment, I finally accept that
I love him
.

PROM

I lock myself in my room the moment I get home, crying until the wee hours of the morning.

How could
I
let this happen? How could
he
?

Then I remember
he
didn’t. It was me! This is my mistake. Like when I asked for a date over Valentine’s Day weekend. He’s always known we were nothing. This is solely my illusion.

I spend break going back and forth, debating what to do. The year’s almost over, but what difference does that make for him, since from the very beginning he’s basically made it clear that we have no future?

Future.

I have no future.

There’s a note on the fridge from Mom, saying she heard from Chloe’s Mom that she already got accepted into three schools. Mom’s excited for the mail today, to see if there’s anything for me, because it’s strange that I haven’t gotten anything yet. She says I should call her as soon as I get home, after I check the mail of course.

Only, I know there won’t be anything in there for me, because I lied to her. I won’t get accepted anywhere, because I didn’t apply anywhere. Not to a single school. I’ve been so absorbed in
him
that I’ve neglected everything else, including myself.

It’s not his fault, the way I’m unnaturally drawn to him, possessed. Like I was put on this earth
just for him
. That’s how I know we have to stop. But that’s not what makes it so hard. What makes it so difficult is that
I
know, without a single doubt, what I want my future to hold. The problem is, my future doesn’t want me. 

I’m anxious and tense as I walk into school post break. We enter at exactly the same time - ridiculously early.

“I don’t know if I want to sit you down and simply talk, or push you against the wall and rip your close off,” he speaks lowly, happily.

Need engulfs me, searing in my bones as it travels through my veins. I will myself to stay strong, compelling myself to think about how we’ll never go out on a real date, or have sex in an actual bed. How, aside from running into him on
another
date in the beginning of the year, I’ve
never
even seen him on a Saturday, or outside of these school walls.

To him, we are fucking. To me, we’re so much more.

He’s still going on and on, and I close my eyes, not meeting his.

“I’m going to go with the later first, then the former second,” he has it all planned out. “And then the later again.”

He unlocks his office door and ushers me inside. His hands cradle my face almost immediately, but I pull back before anything happens, before my strength waivers, because once his lips meet mine, there’s no way I can stop it.

“What’s wrong?” The brush of his fingers on my cheek is my undoing. Tears begin to stream down my face as I watch his expression transform into the most heartbreaking and anguished look I’ve ever seen.

Torture.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” I whisper, looking every way but his.

My sobs only increase when he doesn’t protest, and I nod at his silence, seeing only a blur through my waterlogged eyes.

“If… if that’s what you want,” his voice shakes when he finally speaks.

“It’s not.” I bite my lip to stop the quivering. “But this is too hard,” I pause.

“You were right and I lied when I said I don’t expect us to be more than we are. I mean, I know it’s not like you’re going to take me to prom or anything, but… I dunno… I guess I did turn into that delusional girl who wants to find any way we can to possibly make this work for real.”

I love you
.

I don’t say it.

“Luci,” his voice is soft and suffering.

“Shit, Josh,” I heave. “You know, I didn’t even apply to college?”

He starts to speak, but nothing comes out, just unintelligible sounds. He reaches out to wipe away my tears, but I back away before he can.

“I didn’t apply anywhere because I
want
to stay
here
,
with you
,” I confess. “I don’t want to ever let go.”

I swallow hard, spitting out my harsh honesty.

“I’ve been picturing how I was going to tell you that - that I want to stay here and be with you, and I could never see it. In my mind it went without saying, and that’s when I realized I was too far gone. Because, stupid me, there was no reason for me to say it, because I never thought we were going to end. We were a given.”

“Luc-”

“I know how ridiculous that sounds,” I whisper. “I thought we were so in tune to one another too,” I shake my head. “I don’t understand how I could’ve gotten this so wrong.”

He’s about to speak, but I can’t stop my rant, my mouth just vomiting the words.

“I know
I’m
the one who kept pushing us,” I point to myself. “
I’m
the one who wanted to go out for Valentine’s Day,” I finally meet his eyes. “You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want to see me over breaks, or weekends, or outside of these walls.
You
told me how this was going to be, and I was only kidding myself when I didn’t listen,” I sigh. “You should know I don’t blame you.”

This was just about the sex to him.

The thought pops into my head, but it suddenly makes sense.

The sex.

Of course it was the sex! That’s what 99% of our conversations ended in. None of his sweet words were meant to be anything more than words; they were just to increase the sex, the idea. Don’t get me wrong, I totally get the attraction, how the sex was inevitable. It was
phenomenal
sex, but that’s all it was to him. Just sex.

He
says
I’m
the one who’s trouble, but it’s
him
. He’s trouble!

He’s
ruined
me.

I’m forever broken.

“I don’t know what to say,” he mumbles, and his words, or lack thereof, shatter me. “There’s so much.”

“No,” I plead, stopping him before he can go on. “If it’s not that you feel the same way I do, I’d rather you not say anything at all.”

“Luci, please, I need to say some things and
I need
you to listen,” he pulls out a chair.

“Don’t,” I squeak. “Let’s just leave it like this. There’s nothing more needed, because let’s face it, we were never
really actually together
.”

The strange thing is, while I didn’t leave school early today, he did.

He returned the following day with a miserable expression that matched mine. Every time I saw him in the hallway I wanted to run to him, and multiple times, I almost do.

I try to tell myself there’s only a month and a half until school is over. Then I never have to see him again, but that’s just the thing: I always want to see him.

That’s when I knew it was probably best that I finally switch classes.

I stop in the main office on my way to chemistry, grabbing the form. I don’t think as I place it on his desk on the way to my seat. This has been one of the worst weeks of my life, and I can’t do it anymore. I can only hope this solution will take away some of the misery. It’s going to be a long next year of not seeing him, and an even longer future. Better get used to it now, while I still have time to pass by his classroom when he’s not looking - to slowly be weaned off him like the addict I am.

I finally look up, and he’s already staring my way, holding the paper out in front of him, like some disease.

His eyes remain on mine as he rips it - a swift motion, tearing the paper into two before crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash.

The following Monday, Nick finds me before chemistry, right in between lab and class. I didn’t even think he knew what class I was in before public speaking. Hell, I didn’t even think he’d want to talk to me, given how little we’ve said to each other these past few months.

He peers his head into the classroom, waving me out into the hall. I’m happy for the distraction. Anything is better than sitting in this room with
him
, the one I can’t stop dreaming about and wanting so hopelessly.

I hate how I feel
his
eyes on me as I walked out the door, and I keep thinking about this eyes and how we sat on that piano bench.

“Um, I was wondering if you had a date to prom yet?” Nick asks, and I’m suddenly no longer so thrilled with the diversion. My body tenses, knowing that if I looked over my shoulder, my teacher would be there in the doorway, hovering.

“Luci, the bell is about ring,” his firm voice makes me jump. It’s the first time in almost two weeks since I’ve heard him say my name.

It doesn’t sound like him, it’s too sad.

“But it hasn’t yet,” Nick argues. I don’t look
his
way to see if he’s still there as I answer.

“I’m not going.”

“Luci!” Nick protests, his voice rising about a million octaves. “You have to go to your prom!”

“Well, I’m not,” I shrug. “It was nice of you to ask, though, so thank you.” I think back to when Chloe and I walked through the mall shopping for clothes back in August. We were already eyeing prom dresses, feeling the brightly colored fabrics and admiring their shiny details, eagerly awaiting this rite of passage. We guessed who the king and queen will be, and of course our dates, laughing over our crazy scenarios.

I watch as Nick retreats down the hall, meeting
his
eyes as I head back into the classroom. I can’t help but think back to what Gracie said to me all those months ago. How I was too far gone, and that was even before things got physical.

Some people fall in love at eighteen, and I guess I’m just one of them. Sometimes it lasts forever, and sometimes it ruins you. But that’s what love does, right? It makes you
wish
and
hope
for
impossible things
.

It’s getting warmer outside, and with today’s random hot temperature; I wear a cute, blue, sporty dress with sneakers. It’s a little on the summery side, with short sleeves and an unusually short cut, even for me. Even though it hugs my body, it’s nowhere near slutty or too tight.

I bought it a while ago, because the color reminded me of
his
eyes. I loved how the zipper runs all the way from the top to bottom, laughing in the middle of the store, already thinking about what he’d do. He always said he couldn’t wait for the warmer weather and skimpier clothes.

How stupid.

My car doesn’t start right away, and Dad has to jump it, causing Gracie and I miss first period, signing in a few minutes into second.

I pass the gym, where I’m supposed to be, and I find myself at his door. I know he’s in the middle of class, but I stand there, listening to his voice. The urge to talk to him, to physically be with him again, conquering me.

I act completely on adrenaline and impulse as I run to my locker and scour the bottom for anything I can find - this pin will do. I then grab a sheet of paper and head to the bathroom.

Five minutes later, I’m back at his door. I take a deep breath, my heart shattering as I hear his voice telling me to come in. Everyone’s eyes briefly focus on me before returning to their daily quizzes. I watch as he swallows hard, his eyes widening as they move up and down my body, slowly taking me all in.

There’s agony, stress, and the blue in them isn’t as bright as it used to be.

“Sorry,” I clear my throat. “I just need something from you quickly.”

I approach his desk, my back to the class as I start to slowly unzip the top of my dress. He looks back and forth, from the class, to my zipper, watching me, as I move it lower and lower. His eyes look like he’s seeing paradise, and I remind myself that this is not what it’s about. I can give myself this as long as I don’t think.

He swallows hard again, as his gaze lands on my cleavage. I continue tugging the zipper down until I reveal my note.

Your office. Two minutes.

I don’t know if he’ll come, but the desire and longing in his eyes as I quietly zip back up gives me the confidence I need to stroll out and to his office and wait.

I watch as his classroom door opens at two minutes on the dot. He saunters towards me like he has one thing on his mind - to eat me alive - the gleam in his eyes returning, slightly overshadowing the suffering. He unlocks his office door and I step inside, facing him.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He says, and I’m in his arms quickly.

“I just wanted to talk,” I protest between his kisses, but who am I kidding? I need this more than my next breath.