Crushed (19 page)

Mascara-black tears roll down her face as she pulls the blanket back over her lap. “He does. I know he does. He just likes fooling around more.”

Mom’s blond hair clings to the damp spots on her face. How many times have I heard her described as stunning? She’s everything most guys claim to find attractive. And she’s brilliant. She graduated summa cum laude. So why isn’t it enough for Dad? What the fuck is wrong with him? Or is she just crazy? 

Is everyone insane?

“Stop it.” My words come out haltingly. “Stop it. Dad is not screwing around on you. He’s not. Why are you saying this?”

She wobbles when she stands, and I grab onto her, not to steady her, but myself. Mom leans against me, her head on my shoulder.

“Fletch, I know this is hard to hear. But he is. He always has. Since we were kids. But I knew as long as he came back to me, I couldn’t complain, because at the end of the day, what matters is that he comes home to me. To us. Doesn’t make it hurt less though.”

My body trembles. No fucking way. No way. She’s wrong. Dad loves her. I saw them in Hawaii. I’ve seen the way he smiles at her. 

“You’re drunk,” I accuse before shoving her away and stumbling into the hallway. My feet carry me to the kitchen where the microwave flashes, reminding me of my abandoned dinner, but I keep going, out the door and into the gray San Francisco night.

She’s just drunk. That’s all. Mom doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Tomorrow she’ll apologize.

But what if it’s true? And if it is, why does she put up with it? 

Anger tears through me as I sprint down the steep hill to Jackson Street and to Calista’s house. My heart is crushed, like an elephant has tapped danced all over it.

When I press the bell, the front door flies open as if the person on the other side expected me. “Fletch! Come in, Calista’s upstairs.“ 

I storm past Catherine and take the stairs two at a time. 

At the landing, I turn right toward Cal’s room. Her door is open, so I don’t bother to knock. Just step in and close it behind me, turning the lock like I always do. 

She’s stretched out on her bed, stomach side down, working on one of her scrapbooks. 

A jar of sparkly things rolls onto the floor. “Hey,” she says, sitting up. “This is a surprise.”

I don’t want to talk. If I do, I’m not sure what I’ll say. I stride across the room and press her into my heaving chest. Right now, I need a different emotion, something less angry. I lean down and search for her lips. Cal gives a surprised gasp before surrendering and kissing me back. 

My fingers slip just beneath the waistband of her skintight jeans and run over her hipbones. Her warm skin is soft and perfect.

I need to lose myself. Just for a little while.

Calista runs her hands under my shirt and up my back. Every time she touches me, I relax a little more. When I move my lips to her neck, she pushes me down on the bed. She scampers to the other side, and crawls, ass held high, toward me. I watch the way her hips swing, and my heart accelerates. When she reaches me, she shoves her scrapbook supplies to the ground and climbs on me, pinning me beneath her thighs. 

“Hello to you too.” She uses her sexy voice — one that’s deeper and huskier than normal. 

Her breath warms my cheek. Her fingers play with my hair. 

It feels so wrong.

The memory of my parents, running up the hill in Hawaii, flits through my mind. That’s what Cal and I will be like in twenty years. It’s what we’re supposed to be.

I can’t do that to Cal. She deserves better.

I twist out from under her and fall to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” She leans over the edge of the bed to where I lie prone, staring at the tray ceiling.

“Is this what you want?”

She giggles. “What I want is for you to get your ass back up here and do what I know you’re so good at.”

I roll my head back and forth. “And after that? What then?”

Cal rests her cheek on the edge of the mattress. Her fingers play with the bottom of my t-shirt. Every so often, she traces her fingernail over my torso. My eyes flutter shut and warmth spreads from the point of contact to the rest of my body. 

“We go back to school like we always do.”

She slinks down the side of the bed and places my finger in her mouth, nibbling on it and running her tongue over it in a way that suggests something else all together. 

When I don’t protest, Calista climbs onto my lap; her legs wrap around me, her tits are in my face, and she grinds on my lap. 

God help me. 

Instinct takes over, and I run my hands up the back of her thighs. “Take off your clothes,” I order.

With a grin, Cal pulls her sweater off so that she only reveals one new inch of skin at a time. With a final tug, she yanks it over her head and drops it on me. Her tits are amazing in a red push-up bra. Like two sizes bigger.

I point at her jeans, and as she stands over me and unbuttons them, I wonder how she’ll wiggle out of them without help. But she does, and I admire the barely-there matching panties she wears.

Has a hard time keeping his pants zipped up.
My stomach flops. Over and over again. Puke burns my throat. I can’t shake this shitty feeling – not even with Cal standing half-naked in front of me. 

Don’t think, Fletch. Just do.

Cal wraps her hands in my hair and tugs on it until my face tilts up toward hers. Her lips move over mine, softly, so softly I want to cry and beg for more. Pulses of heat travel under her hand as she runs it down my neck, onto my arm, and finally, across my chest. 

I crush her body to mine. 

“Please Cal, please.”
Please stop me. Tell me no. Stand up for yourself.
 

My shirt and sweater get tossed somewhere. Her trail of kisses covers my stomach and chest. 

Enough of this
. I push her backward and yank off her panties.

I stand and with one hand, unfasten my pants and let them drop around my knees. She moans and her eyes look a little wild. When I sink down, she digs her fingernails into the backs of my thighs and thrusts her hips toward me. I grab hold of her ass as Cal twists her slim legs around me, pulling me closer. 

And then, she sighs. Instead of lust or longing, I see anxiety, hurt, resignation.

“Why do you let me do this?” I ask.

The corners of her mouth turn up. “Because it feels good.”

I shift back. “You know I fuck around with other girls. Why do you put up with it?”

She reaches for me, and I allow myself to be pulled back toward her. She rubs against me, and I ache in all the right places. “Because you like me. You always come back to me.” 

I blink. My mom’s words mingle with Cal’s. I force my eyes shut and flip her over so she can’t see the tears. I can’t cry. Not in front of Cal. 

Fight me, Cal. Tell me ‘no’. Don’t give into me all the time. Don’t accept this.

She arches her back and flashes a smile over her shoulder as she reaches for me. 

When her cold hand touches me, I gasp.

I should stop her. I should tell her no. But I never do.

I’m just like my dad.

26

I don’t go home. I can’t. Instead, I nuzzle Calista’s hair and breathe her in. Her body curves perfectly to mine, like it belongs there.

Regret and elation battle inside me. I’ve missed her. God, how I’ve missed her. I need to make things right between us – not this bullshit we have going on at school. At the same time, I wish I didn’t do what we just did.

How messed up is it that her mom knows I’m here? She knows I’ve just spent the night in Calista’s locked bedroom, and no one — not Tomas or Catherine came by to check on us. Or to ask me to leave. 

The clock glares the time at me: three in the morning. 

Next to me, Cal tucks my arm back around her. “What’s wrong?” she asks groggily. 

“Nothing.” She wiggles a little, getting comfortable again, and falls back to sleep.

Sitting in the dark, with only Cal’s soft breathing keeping me company, my mind whirls. 

If I loved her, really loved her, then I wouldn’t hook-up with all those other girls. I wouldn’t be into Ellie. 

Fuck. Am I into Ellie? I disentangle my arm and roll over. 

Yeah, I like her. More than a friend. That kiss…

Cal locks her bare leg around mine, like she knows I’m lying in bed with her and thinking about Ellie. God. I’m a fucking asshole.

I lie with my arm curled behind my head until the sun peeks through the windows, then slip out of bed, put my clothes back on, give Cal a kiss on the forehead, and leave. 

No one’s awake at my place. That’s not surprising since both Mom and Dad sleep late. Part of me wants to leave for school now. Just dump my bag in the car and go.

Since I’m awake, I shower and change into clean clothes. Part of me wants to storm into Mom and Dad’s room and rip him out of bed and demand answers. How can he do this to her?

But what does it matter? Mom obviously doesn’t give a fuck. Not with the way she keeps taking him back. She’s almost as pathetic as he is. 

I turn on my phone to check the time. I’m supposed to pick Cal up around ten — three hours from now. 

I’m going to go crazy waiting. 

My phone vibrates. A text from Brady. Figures – he’s on East Coast time. “Sitting next to the hottest girl. Going to try for the mile high club.”

I’m not in the mood for his testosterone-fueled antics and shove the phone into my pocket without replying.

Even though I have no appetite, I stomp downstairs to the kitchen, not caring if I wake up my parents. My dinner from last night is still in the microwave. How awesome.

From the pantry, I grab a box of bran flakes. Not my normal choice, but I doubt anything will taste good right now. Not with the sour-acid taste that’s been in my mouth since Mom went crazy. 

And I’m right. Even with Mom’s favorite organic, glass-jar milk, the mealy flakes tastes like cardboard. And vomit.

Screw this. I drop the full bowl into the sink, not bothering to rinse it out. That’s what we have staff for.

I have to get out of here. I punch in Cal’s number and pace the perimeter of the kitchen while it rings.

“Hey,” she says. From the way her voices fades, I can tell I woke her up.

“Can we leave now?”

Pause.

“Cal? Can I pick you up in twenty minutes?”

“I haven’t showered. My stuff’s all over the place. Plus, I think my parents are still asleep.”

I tap my foot impatiently. “I’ll come help you pack, okay?”

She sighs. “Fine. I’ll get in the shower now.”

“Cool, see you in a few.” I hang up.

As I sling my duffle bag over my shoulder, I realize she did it again. She gave in to me and did what I wanted.

***

Even though it’s a rainy Sunday morning, traffic crawls over the Golden Gate bridge. Once we clear the tunnel, traffic clears, but the rain forces me to drive slower than usual. Next to me, Calista mans the music, singing along loudly — something that would normally crack me up, but today makes me jittery. It doesn’t help that angsty, emo music blasts through the SUV’s speakers.

“Can we listen to something else?”

Cal fiddles with her iPhone. “What do you want? Rock? Rap? Vintage 80’s?”

“Loud.”

She puts on my favorite indie rock band and settles back into her seat. As the car speeds along Highway 101 past Santa Rosa, we barely speak. At the exit for the Russian River, Cal reaches over and touches my hand. I clench my fingers tight.

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

I guide my car along the two-lane road as it snakes beneath the redwood trees. 

“I like you.” I do. I like her. But I’m not sure what that means anymore.

The one stop light in Guerneville switches to red, and I slow down. Cal twists in her seat so that her back presses against the door. 

Her shoulders rise and fall. “You used to love me.”

“You pushed me away.”

Calista bangs her head softly against the window. Her breath comes heavy now, like she’s forcing herself to not cry. When the light turns green, I punch the gas and take off, driving faster than I should through the tiny town. 

“Only because my mom told me to.” Her voice shakes. “She said I was giving away the milk and that I needed to make you want me.”

“So what was last night? You certainly didn’t seem to be following that advice.” Misplaced anger seeps into my words. I’m not mad at her. I’m not. It’s me. I’m the asshole.

“You were upset. You needed me.”

“So you thought, ‘Maybe I should fuck Fletch. That will fix everything?’ Well guess what? It solved nothing, because I’m more confused now.” My body trembles, anger pulsing through me. “And for the record, your mom didn’t seem to mind I stayed all night in your room. She obviously doesn’t care too much about the milk.”

My hands tremble, and I can’t drive like this, so I pull over at the first scenic overlook I see. Below us, the river, swollen from winter rain, rages.

Calista chews on her lip. 

“What? I can tell you want to say something,” I accuse.

Tears well in her eyes. “My mom’s not joking when she says she wants us to get married. She’s the reason I put up with your shit.”

My mind whirls, chopping up her words, trying to make sense of them. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and give into my anger, hurt, and confusion.

“So you don’t like me? You only hang out with me because Catherine makes you?”

She twists her fingers into knots. “I’m not allowed to like anyone but you.”

I punch the dashboard, because, right now, in this very moment, I don’t know what else to do.

“Fuuuuuckkkk,” I scream. Not from pain, at least not physical pain. 

I jump out of the car. A sound, deep and guttural, builds in my chest, pushes its way forward, and explodes from my mouth. I stagger under its force. My feet kick at the tires of the SUV. Stupid, fucking thing. 

 I remember the odd way Catherine acted at Alumni Luncheon. The way she watched Cal and me. Her excessive excitement over any attention I gave Cal.