Marital Bitch (10 page)

(Colleen)

He’s serious about my safety. He always is
.

“DARLA—,” I SAY,
I say. My eyes are filled with tears. She smiles at little—just enough to look sincere. This is the same smile she gave me when she told me that she was in love with my brother and that she was going to marry him. There wasn’t a hint of humor at that moment. Back then, she didn’t know how much James loved her. She didn’t know that he would bother me with constant questions about her. She didn’t know that James’s world begins and ends with her—even then it did—and he was a goner from the first moment that he spoke to her. I used to wonder how she could be so blind…

“
Colleen,” she says gently, “I wouldn’t lie about this. You’re my sister and I want the best for you—and if you can get your hoity-toity head out of your Ivy League butt, then maybe you could see that Brad is what’s best for you.” I gulp loudly. I don’t know what to say. What can I say?

“How…” I trail off. I want to ask her how she knows; or wh
at makes her think all of this.

“No man puts up with as much shit as he does from you unless he’s in love. Besides, we’ve all known it for a long time. You’re just a little slow,” sh
e shakes her head in disbelief.

“What about all those other women?” I ask, thinking about the parade of women that have come and gone from
Brad’s bed. Darla scoffs as though my question is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.

“Again—you’re thinking like a woman. You need to grow a pair and think like you’ve got a penis. As a woman, if you’re in love with a man, you’d rather remain celibate than to go out sleeping around; so of course it doesn’t make any sense to you. But as a man? Honey, if your cookie jar is off limits… what do you expect? The man’s got an appetite. So either you show him that you’re ready to bake or leave him alone when he fills up
elsewhere.”

“I have left him alone,” I muse, realizing that if, perhaps, I had put forth some effort back when we were teenagers that things might have turned out different.
But do I really want for things to have turned out different? Darla
‘hmphs’
and rolls her eyes.

“No, you have not!” she says. I’m confused. Again. “Every single time that man gets a new girlfriend you buddy up to her and push your way in-between them. Next thing he knows he’s the third-wheel in his own relationship.” I’ve always made friends with
Brad’s girlfriends, but I never had any ulterior motives; at least I didn’t think that I did.

“Have I really?” I ask her, pleading for the truth. She nods her head at me like I’m her child. I’d be insulted if I didn’t feel so stupid right now. “Maybe that’s what I need to do with
Vicky,” I mumble. Darla’s eyebrows shoot up.

“
Vicky?” she asks. I sigh. Apparently James didn’t talk to her yet.

“Yeah. You know, I told
Brad he could date, so it’s not like he’s really cheating, but he was pawing all over her down at the station. You know her, beautiful, strawberry blonde, with knockers that could poke your eyes out?” Darla nods.

“Uh,
Colleen,” she draws her words out like I’m short bus special. “How much do you know about Vicky?” I tell her the very little bit that I know, which is, essentially, just what I saw.

“So, you don’t really know anything about her, then?”
Darla questions, a little too curiously. I shake my head. I wish I knew a little bit about her, that way I could size her up and tell Brad if she’s a good fit for him or not. Maybe she wants to do lunch…

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Darla
is right. I always find a way to wedge myself into Brad’s relationships. “How long have I been interfering in his relationships, Darla?” I ask, defeated.

“According to your mother—since you two were in diapers. You even got jealous when he would play with his sisters. She says you’d push the twins away from him; and if Charlotte tried to play, you’d bite her.”
Darla laughs, telling me all of this. I put my head in my hands and feel like my head is about to explode.

The baby starts to fuss and
Darla stands up. Our visiting time is over and I’m no longer in the mood to play with the baby. I stand up, too, and ignore her protests, asking me to stay. I don’t want to talk much anymore—afraid of what else I’ll find out about myself that I didn’t even know.

“
Colleen,” Darla says, turning around from her position at the stairs. I look to her and wait to hear her parting words. She takes a deep breath. “I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. You are so in love with that man, but so afraid of getting hurt that you can’t even move. It’s time you go get your husband and tell him how you feel.” I smile; all watery eyes and shallow breaths. There’s really nothing I can say, so I don’t even try.

I’m going to go get my husband.

I walk out of the house toward Brad’s. His truck is in the drive. I’m a mix of confidence and nervousness. I don’t know how much I care about Brad just yet—calling it love seems a bit presumptuous at this point—but I know that I do indeed care. A lifetime of caring for someone doesn’t equate to love. No, there’s more to love than that. There has to be.

The front door is unlocked and I walk straight in.
Brad is hunched over in his leather Lazy Boy recliner in the living room, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looks at me, expressionless and just stares. He hasn’t given me this look since that fateful night so many years ago when he walked in on me and Heather.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. He shakes his head and stares at the glass in his hand, swishes the liquor around and downs it. I need to make this right, and fast. He’s shutting down. But before I can say or do anything else, he turns his head, looking at me from the corner of his eyes. For a brief moment, they soften. He smirks, but it’s not the playful smirk he always wears. He looks mean. Not angry, just… mean. I try to smile, but it’s forced.

In a moment so brief I barely register what happens, he throws the glass across the room. It shatters on the wall. I step back; my body flush against the front door.

“What? You’re scared of me now?!?” he’s screaming; and yeah, I am sort of scared of him right now. I’ve never seen
Brad so angry before in my life.

“How much have you had to drink?” I ask quietly. I
want to know, because this is a side of him that I’m not sure I can deal with.

“Answer my question. You’re scared of me now?” He stands from his seat in the chair and takes three tentative steps towards me. His face now wavering between apologetic and
angry is trained on mine. Something happened, and it’s hurting him. I can’t imagine that I could have done this much damage.

“I’m not scared of you,
Bradley,” I say, keeping my voice low. He takes two more steps forward. I relax a little, my nails no longer digging into the wall. Brad would never hurt me, I know this. I give him a sad smile. He closes the distance between us. I lean against his chest and his arms wrap around me.

“Are you okay?” I ask him. He says nothing for several minutes. We just stand there and I breathe him in. This being in his arms feels really nice, homey even. Part of me thinks that I’m letting everything
Darla said get to me. The other part of me thinks that maybe I’m finally opening my eyes to what’s been before me my entire life.

“I don’t want you going out at night, okay?” His voice is gruff, like he’s fighting his vocal chords just to speak. I want to ask him why, but I know better. My dad’s a cop and so is my brother; this isn’t the first time they’ve asked me to do something for my safety. The three of them—they’re always looking out for me. I wonder if that’s so
mething I’ve taken for granted.

“
Colleen?” Brad says, taking my face between his hands and forcing me to look him in the eyes. “Don’t go out at night, okay? Not without me. Please.” I nod, looking into his eyes. He’s serious about my safety—he always is. Why haven’t I noticed this before?

He looks different up close. He doesn’t look slobbish or crude. He’s handsome. Well, he’s always been handsome in that Irish brute sort of way; but now, he
looks different. He looks… sexy?

Without another thought, I act on instinct, grabbing his neck and pulling him down toward me. I don’t seem to have any control over my actions. I kiss him. At first I’m gentle, but when he doesn’t respond immediately, I attack him.

(Brad)

“Brad,” she says all serious, “We’re having sex.”

THE DAY HAD
gone to complete shit. First of all, I hate waking up to a murder. Second, Colleen’s little stunt at the station had been haunting me all day. By the time I left work it seemed everyone in South Boston knew about it. They’re all nosey as is, and this whole thing was really starting to piss me off.

The pro down on East Broadway turned out to be a college girl—from Harv
ard. I don’t know what she was doing down there, but if I was to guess, she was trying to score some Adderall. Once college kids figured out ADHD medication would make pulling an all-nighter easy as pie, we started picking them up after trying to score in some pretty rough parts of town. Stupid children. Whatever happened to doing things right, even if they aren’t easy?

I remember
Colleen trying that once when she was at Harvard. She was a year from graduating and her grades were in the toilet. I don’t think she would have graduated that next spring without the little extra help she was getting from Adderall. As it is, she skated through her final year with high C’s. Once I found out she was doing that, I put an end to it, and we haven’t talked about it since. She’s reckless—always has been—and she doesn’t think things through.

By the time
Colleen stormed out of the station, the stench of indignation hot on her backside; I had gone from angry to amused. My pretty girl can’t stand anybody coming before her in my life. This plan with Vicky was perfect. Although, I knew by the time this was over and done with, I’d owe Vic big time. Maybe this was a bad idea? Colleen can be pretty cruel and I’m purposefully putting one of my closest friends in the line of fire… eh. Whatever. Vic’s tough and she’s got her glock if Colleen gets crazy. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.

So anyway, I come home and it’s
dark out already. Colleen isn’t home, but her car is. After what I dealt with today, irrational fear welled up inside of me and I began to pace. She wasn’t with James or my mom or sisters. She wasn’t with the Chief or my dad. Lindsay and Adam hadn’t seen her. And I started to drink. And I continued to drink; and then my stupid ass thought to call Darla—after I was already pretty damn drunk. Like I said, I’m stupid. So I call Darla and she tells me that Colleen was with her—and she’s on her way home. And get this—that I should be nice to her. What the hell?

Okay, I know my
head is pretty foggy right now, but Darla had to be joking when she told me to be nice to her. Did Colleen not tell her how she royally embarrassed me at the station? She probably did tell her and they’re just man haters.

S
o, somehow we got from my drunk-ass worried about my stupid, stupid, pretty girl to her mauling me with her lips. I’m too stunned to respond. Wasn’t I just mad at her? Hadn’t I just scared her? Does she like drunken assholes? I don’t get it. So I don’t kiss back at first. I just stand there… being attacked. Seriously, if I was a chick and some dude was all up on me like this; it wouldn’t be cute or funny, it’d be scary. But I’m not a chick, I’m a man. I have a penis; so I do what men do. I act.

I start to move my lips against hers and she
bites me. She bites my lower lip and instinctively, I open my mouth to her. Her tongue slides against mine and I’m a goner. This is better than every other time we’ve kissed. This is even better than the other morning… on my bed.

As the kiss heats up,
Colleen’s hands start to wander. They move cautiously from my neck down to my chest. She pinches my left nipple and holy hell, I thought that would be weird but it’s not—it’s a turn-on. Plus, this means I can pinch her nipple now, right?

My
lower half is throbbing with need. If we don’t move things along soon, it might be too late. I reach around to her curves and knead, pressing her body against my penis. She feels so good pressed against me. This only spurs her on further. Like a woman gone mad, she starts trying to climb up me. I move my hands from her butt to the backs of her thighs and I pick her up. She wraps her legs around my waist and begins to gyrate against me. I shouldn’t be thinking and should just go with it, but all I can think is: where has this Colleen been all my life? Not that I don’t like the other one, but Mac is partial to this one.

“
Brad,” she pants, nearly breathless. Her nails rake up my arms and she grabs my neck roughly. At this rate, she’d break a lesser man; as it is, I’m barely hanging on. She grinds against me. “Take me to bed already.” I swear I can hear Mac cheering in the background. I want to throw her down on the couch and rip her clothes off. But this is the first time for us in years—as adults—and considering I’ve been in love with this maniac my entire life, it just sounds tacky.

“Say please,” I say, moving to her neck. I didn’t have time to shave this morning, so I’m as gentle as I can be, trying not to mark her up too bad. Her hands latch onto my hair, urging me on.
Nip. Suck. Lick
. I’m covering all the bases here.

“Wha
t?” she mumbles through a moan.

“I want,” bite “you” nuzzle “to” lick “say” suck “please.” She pulls her head back and raises an eyebrow at me.

“Are you serious right now, pretty boy?” she asks, her thick Boston accent pouring out of every word. I grin at her incredulous look and buck into her core. She moans softly, trying to control her body’s response. If she just says “please” then we can get on with the show.

“Just say please and I’ll
take you to bed. I promise, pretty girl,” I kiss her lips gently but her hand comes up, lightly smacking me in the face.

“I’m not going to beg, dumb ass.”
Damn. Impasse. Now is not the ideal time to be at an impasse.

“Please just say please,
Colleen,” I whine.

“Why?” she asks. I almost tell her it’s because I’ve envisioned her begging me to
make love to her for years and with that one little word, one of my many, many fantasies can come true. But she’s being difficult. I guess this means she won’t dress up as Princess Leia, either.

“Please,” I beg. She smirks. What
just happened here? She kisses me, holding on for dear life. I lose myself in the kiss, forgetting what we were talking about or why.

“What was that, pretty boy?” she whisper
s, her teeth nipping at my ear.

“Please,” I whisper roughly, my hot breath ghosting on her neck. This woman is driving me insane.

“Okay, pretty boy,” she giggles, “Take me to bed.” She pinches my nipple again sending a shock down to Mac. I’m so hard it’s nearly painful. I’m distracted and not completely listening to her, but I think she just made me beg her. She’s sneaky, always has been.

I shake the confusion away and hold her tightly against me as I rush us through the living room and up the stairs. By the time we get to the top of the stairs, I’m panting, but it’s not because
of how much I want her. I don’t care how skinny a woman is, she’s still heavy after a flight of stairs. I walk us into my room—I guess it’s our room now. Eyeing the phone, I decide that blasted thing is not going to ruin this for us again. Reaching around behind Colleen, I fumble, pulling the chord out of the wall. I hear plaster cracking. Crap. I’ll have to fix that later.

We tumble onto the bed in a frenzied mess. We push and pull at each other’s clothes, unable to contain ourselves. Before I know it, I have her in nothing but her bra and panties. Both are white, plain, and so perfectly
Colleen. My shirt is off, thrown somewhere across the room. My pants are unbuckled and Colleen’s right hand is so very close to Mac. She just needs to move her hand a little to the left.

And as though God has opened heaven’s gate, rays of light shine through the clouds and her fingers gently stroke Mac. I think I hear angels singing. Her gentle stroke with the back of her fingers only lasts a moment. Just as Mac and I are trying to control ourselves so we don’t embarrass ourselves before we can even get in the holy land;
Colleen wraps her hand around Mac and gives him a gentle squeeze through my boxers.

“So,”
Colleen says, “you’re on deck, Patrick.” She is absolutely beautiful, lying on my bed, face flushed, chest heaving; and the best part is that she’s here for me. I laugh because she’s talking baseball and she knows what that does to me. The one thing in our entire lives that we have never argued about is the Red Sox. We both love our baseball—and thank God, too. That’s a deal breaker for me.

“Does that mean I get a practice swing?” I chuckle while kissing her neck. “You know, just in case I foul it off the first time?”
Her body shakes with laughter.

“I’ll give you three strikes to get it right. You think you can handle that?” I reach beneath her, undoing her bra and tossing it
over my head. I’ve seen her breasts before but this is different. In the past it was either on a dare or by “accident” or she was drunk and, well, I’m no saint—and then that one prom night. But this, here and now, is more than I’ve dreamed for. It is one thing to imagine pretty girl and it’s quite another to have her here. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, just to have her.

My hands each claim a
breast, holding them gently. I take a moment to get a feel for the softness of her skin before I begin to massage her nipples. Her eyes are trained on mine, never wavering. Her breaths are coming in short pants, her lower half writhing on the bed in response to my efforts; but her eyes—they never leave mine. This doesn’t feel like anything else before. I guess this is making love?

I lean down, holding myself up on my elbows, and kiss her. I want to tell her that I love her. I want to tell her that she means the world to me. I want to tell her how long I’ve waited for this. But as long as I
don’t know how she feels, I’m going to keep that to myself.

Our kiss turns from gentle and slow to rough and frantic. Her body shudders with every touch, she’s so very ready and I haven’t even gotten down to her
aching core yet. I reach down to her panties and tug at the side. She lifts her butt up and helps me shimmy them down over her hips. I reach down, my fingers caressing her folds. She is wet, swollen. My thumb makes circles over her clit as I slip a finger inside of her.

“Oh,
shit!” she shouts, so loudly in my ears that I swear they’re ringing. Goose bumps appear on her damp flesh. I slip another finger inside as I pump in and out of her.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” I whisper against her lips as she clamps around my fingers. I readjust my hand and curl my fingers inside of her as she shakes beneath me. I feel smug. Like a god who just created
a new planet. I feel powerful.

And then, as her body is still shaking from her orgasm; she grips Mac again, and I’m putty in her hands. With frantic need she pushes my boxer briefs down and with them, my pants fall
to the ground. She pulls my erection closer to her entrance.

“We really gonn
a do this, pretty girl?” I ask.

“Please,” she whimpers. I smirk down at her as I slowly slide inside of her. Deep in the back of my mind I’m chanting “I’m in, I’m in!” like
a fucking virgin on prom night. Coincidentally, that was the first and last time since I’ve been here; but this time she’s not yelling at me to hold still and I’m not so nervous that I think we’re going to get caught. Though, like the last time, I’m still afraid of losing myself and coming way too soon.

With her eyes fixed on mine, we don’t break contact. Her lips are parted, pert little mouth forming an “O” shape. Again, I feel smug, empowered. I pull out slowly. Her chest starts to shake. I’m thinking she’s close to
coming again. I’m thinking I’m that good; but then it happens. She starts to laugh. Not a giggle. Not a small chuckle. She bursts out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. You have got to be kidding me.

“Are you laughing at me?” I ask, annoyed. I slam back into her, causing her laughter to break and a moan to escape. It only lasts a moment before her laughter turns to a giggle.

“Brad,” she says all serious, “We’re having sex.” And for some reason, that is funny; and I start laughing, too. This is probably the worst attempt at having sex in the history of mankind, but it’s fitting, it’s us. If ever there was a way to mess up sex, we would be the ones to figure it out.

My rhythm falters as I try to maintain some semblance of sexiness; but I’m pretty sure that went out the window when I nearly fell on top of her. Eventually our laughter dies down, giving way to panting and moaning. Our bodies are slick with sweat. We will need to shower after t
his; I just hope it’s together.

I switch between the gentle thrusts and hammering into her. Her body is responding and I know it won’t be long until she’s on the brink
again. Her hips raise to meet mine, the sound of wet skin slapping against skin is sending me over the edge.

“Come
for me, pretty girl,” I say in between ragged breaths. She directs my hand down to her clit and I massage it gently. Her back arches off the bed and all I can think to myself is… it actually worked. In those crap romance books that Lindsay reads, all I should have to do is to tell Colleen to cum and she’ll see fireworks. Romance books for the win.

“Not yet,” she whispers. What? Okay? I rub her clit a little harder, making her moan so loudly I
think the neighbors might hear.