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Chapter Thirteen

Kelsey

I am standing on Clawsen’s Bridge dressed for work in my khakis and blue polo shirt. David is late, which isn’t like him at all. Despite his rough edges, he’s always both punctual and orderly. Which is perfect, because I’m the exact same way. I suspect he’s late because he got stuck in the line of traffic going to Beth Lanko’s funeral. I think the whole town is there. Well, everyone except for us, that is. I knew Beth, but not well, so we aren’t going to her funeral. Instead, I am on this bridge waiting for David.

David and I met when my family hired him and his dad to rebuild the kitchen in our restaurant. I waitress there and hope that, when he’s ready to retire, my dad will let me take over the business. It’s just a little bistro, but I grew up with it and can’t see myself doing anything else. Plus, when David and I get married and have kids, it means we’ll be able to stay close to my parents.

Thankfully, my mom and dad both think David is a decent guy. They recognize how disciplined he is. They appreciate that he always picks me up on time and brings me back home well before my curfew. He is always courteous and polite, and despite his father’s alcoholism, David seems to have a good grip on where he wants his life to go. David is a methodical, planned thinker, and even though he doesn’t go to church or college, my folks consider him to be a part of our family. But most of all, my mom and dad recognize how important I am to David’s future. They know I am saving him. They know that
our family
is saving him. They see their acceptance of him as part of the Lord’s work.

What they don’t know, though, are all the details of David’s messed-up past. It explains a lot about him. About his need for discipline. About his need to be in command of his life now that he is an adult. His childhood was completely contradictory to mine. But I can’t tell my mom and dad about it because David made me promise not to.

The important thing is that I know he wants to be with me, and I love him. I’ve told him so many times, but for some reason, I don’t think he believes me. And he never says it back, which my sister says is just a guy thing. But I actually don’t think he’s going to say it at all until I agree to have sex with him.

When he found out that I am saving myself for my wedding night, he told me that he didn’t understand why. That was eight months ago, and we haven’t talked about it since. He never pushes me about it, but sometimes I think that our lack of sex is stopping him from expressing his love for me. And yet here we are, still together—
not
having sex.

A part of me can’t help but think that we would be closer if we were. The same part of me thinks that maybe we should just do it and get it over with. What if I end up never having it? Never knowing what it’s like. What if something happens to me before I get married? I mean, look at Beth Lanko. There she was, a twenty-five-year-old woman, healthy as can be, and whammo, she dies of a brain aneurysm just like that. You never know when your time is up, and by not having sex, I can’t help but feel that maybe I am missing out on something. But I have so much time.
We
have so much time. We’re only nineteen years old, for Pete’s sake.

I have even talked to my youth minister about all this, and he says that God’s will is for young people to wait for marriage. He says that premarital sex is a sin, and though I can ask for forgiveness, doing “it” takes the sanctity out of marriage. You can’t get your virginity back, he said. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. So I am pretty sure that I am keeping mine, until I give it to David on our wedding night.

My mind is reeling about why he asked me to come here. He brought me here once before, a few weeks after we met, to show me where some girl from his from high school committed suicide. I went to the Christian Academy, but I remember hearing about her jumping off this bridge the winter of my senior year. The whole town was shattered about it, even though it seemed that no one really even knew her. I guess she didn’t live here that long and had a hard time fitting in. David said he had a biology class with her or something, but that he didn’t know her very well.

My guess is that Beth’s death has triggered something for David, and he wants me to help him reconcile with his past. With his mother’s illness. With his dad’s alcoholism. With all the parts of his life that have gone wrong. David can be very deep sometimes, and when he called to ask me to meet him here, I could hear the edge in his voice.

He is here now, at last, parking his truck against the guard rail at the entrance to the bridge. I can see the seriousness on his face as he walks toward me. He’s got his backpack on, and he’s busy apologizing about the funeral traffic holding him up. We kiss and hold hands and walk together to the middle of the bridge. I can see that he has something on his mind that is distracting him, making him look past me.

He tells me that he sees Beth’s death as a sign—I was right! A sign that life is too short to be anything less than happy. I tell him that I couldn’t agree more. I tell him, again, how much I love him, and for a second, I think that maybe he’s going to say it back. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says that he’s getting tired of hearing me say those words. He says that instead of telling him how much I love him, I need to
show
him. I don’t understand why he can’t see how much I love him already. Does he think that we need to have sex in order for me to prove my love? Can I not prove it some other way? I ask David what I can do to show him how much I care for him. I’m expecting him to threaten to leave me unless I agree to make love to him right now. I don’t want to lose him over this. There has to be some other way to show him how much I care.

But he doesn’t say sex. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. Not out loud, anyway. But I can see it in his face. I can see that he is going to leave me if I don’t fix this.

I tell him I am desperate to show him how much I love him, but I don’t know how. What will make you happy? I ask. How can I show you we belong to each other, without having sex?

He scoffs quietly at me, narrows his eyes, and shakes his head in disbelief. Then he tells me that this isn’t about sex. It’s never been about sex, he says calmly. He turns away from me and starts to walk away. My desperation is growing. My heart is screaming at my body to make him stop. To keep him from leaving. He can’t leave me. He can’t. I won’t let him leave me because if he does, it means I failed at saving him. Without me, David will never have the opportunity to become the man I know he can be. He needs me, and I must make him see that. I step forward and catch his arm before he’s out of my reach. What is it, David? I say. What can I do? There has to be something. Anything. I’ll do it. I don’t want you to leave me, David. I want to make you happy. I love you. Let me show you how much.

He takes his backpack off and puts it on the ground. I can see that it’s heavy because of the way he moves. I want you to jump for me, he says. Jump off this bridge and let me save you. Then I will believe that you love me, and I will love you back. If you let me save
you
, it will save
me
, he says. And it will make me happier than I’ve ever been. Everything will be all right.

What??? Jump off a bridge? Let you save me?
That
will make you love me back? But then I see it. I see it very clearly. I see why he is asking me for this. For all the parts of his life that have gone wrong,
this
can go right.
This
he can reconcile.
This
he can control.

I understand now. I’ll do this, and he can “save” me, and we can move on. I will let David resolve all the bad in his life through my decision to do this. I love him, and I want to make everything better. Fine, I say quietly. I’ll do it.

David opens his backpack and removes a length of cord. He ties my hands together behind my back. Then he takes a pair of sandbags out of the backpack and ties them to my feet. I am confused until I realize that he wants to save me
completely
. He wants to do it without me having any ability to save myself.

I am suddenly struck with the bitter realization that
that
is the surrender he has asked for. He has asked me to surrender complete control of my life to him. He has asked me to surrender the choice of my own life or death to him. And I have agreed to it. Whether or not he chooses to save me doesn’t matter to him. It is only my surrender that matters. That is what will make him happy. That is how I will show him how much I love him.

This is not right. His want of
complete
control of whether I live or die is not right. I am afraid now. Afraid that he will make the wrong choice. That he will let me die. I tell him that I changed my mind. That I want him to untie me. I try to step away, but the bags are so heavy. I am yelling at him, telling him let me out of this stupid rope. David, I shout, please, please, untie me. This is so messed up. I don’t want this. I don’t want to do this. Please, untie me. Please. We can find another way.

Because I don’t know what else to do, I drop to my knees and tell him again to let me go. As I kneel at the edge of the bridge, I look up and see that he is smiling. It is the first time I have ever seen him smile. And it is a genuine, face-splitting smile. He is beautiful, and I am sure now that he is not going to save me because he is already happy. He is happy knowing that this moment—this choice—is his.

David moves behind me, and pushes me off the bridge. My feet are the last thing to leave, and as I am tumbling toward the water, I begin to pray. I ask God to forgive me for making my parents suffer. I ask Him to watch over my sister and to help Beth’s parents through this difficult time. I ask Him to forgive David. Please, God. Please, forgive him for this. Amen.

Chapter Fourteen

Emma—Present Day

It’s a few minutes before six, and I am nearly crawling out of my skin. The day has gone achingly slow. Matt has been a fucking drag, talking incessantly about a trip to Mexico he is taking with some friends in a few months. I’ve tried all day to disconnect from him, but apparently social cues are not his thing. I did manage to escape to the ladies room more often than usual just to break away from the banter. And, despite his invitation to eat lunch together, I ate my meal in the peaceful company of a few other male coworkers. At first I worried about hurting Matt’s feelings by lunching with them, but then I decided I needed to preserve my sanity. His prattle is exhausting.

I haven’t heard from David all day, which means that either he is fuming about my shoe stunt or embarrassed about passing out on my floor. Or, I hope, maybe he’s just busy with his own work. Whatever the reason, I am surprised at how much I missed hearing from him. In part, I think the day passed so slowly because I missed the diversion. As I gather my purse and satchel, I briefly wonder if he’s all right and what kind of shape he was in this morning when he woke up. I can’t imagine David wears a hangover badly, but he must have had a lot of alcohol in him to smell that fierce.

As I push the elevator call button, my phone pings. I pull it out of my purse and slide it open.

Hi.

I wonder immediately if he forgot that he offered to pick me up. Maybe he didn’t see my note.

Hi back.

R u coming? I’m waiting outside.

Yes. On my way now. B down in a sec.

U had better b wearing those shoes...

Why?

Because I had to fuck a certain someone up to get the left one back.

WHAT????

He wouldn’t give it to me voluntarily.

Jesus, David. U should have let him have it.

I did.

I meant the shoe.

No way in hell.

R u ok?

Did I look ok this morning?

Yes. Sort of.

That’s because I won.

The elevator arrives, and I shuffle inside. Matt is there, too, along with three other guys. I am engulfed in David’s text and don’t even look up. One of them pushes the lobby button, and we head down. I want to ask David if Brad is all right, but then I decide that’s a very bad idea. Clearly David knows his friends well, and I’m beginning to think that jacking off to a box of tampons is, in fact, not above any of them. Why did I think my little game would end differently? Still, knowing that David kicked the crap out of one of his friends just to get my damn shoe back is kind of arousing. It makes me wonder what else he would do for me. The elevator door opens, and I walk absently through the lobby as I type my reply.

Should I come out of the building ass up for your victory parade?

I walk out the front door of the building with Matt and the other three guys flanking me. One of them holds the door open for me, but I don’t see who it is because my face is still aimed at the phone.

No.

Shit. He
is
pissed about me giving my shoe to Brad. Then, why show up here at all? Why not make me take the bus home? Why not just let Brad have the shoe...and me, for that matter?

“Bye, Emma,” says Matt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you then,” I say, looking up at Matt who is now standing in front of me. I am flustered about David’s text, and I can feel my skin heating.

“Are you okay?” asks Matt.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I say quietly. “I, um, I just got a confusing text, that’s all.” And then I see David. He is walking straight toward us. No, he’s not walking exactly. He’s striding. Like a real bad-ass. Like some movie guy about to take over the world. I can’t look anywhere else. I want to smile at him or something, but my face is frozen because I don’t know what the hell is happening. His eyes are locked on mine and when he gets to us, he reaches for my waist, pulls me against him roughly, and kisses me hard. My hands are dangling at my sides, but I kiss him back like a sailor. Our teeth click together, and I push my hips into him. It is a long kiss. The kind that makes me want to sink to my knees. When David pulls away, he is still holding on to my waist and looking right at me. Fucking hell.

“We should go,” David says, and I watch his face turn toward Matt who, for some unknown reason, is still standing next to me.

“Okay,” I say as David lets me go. I give Matt a sideways smile and a nod. As David and I walk side by side away from the building, he snakes his hand across my back and around to my other hip. His fingers squeeze into me as he pulls me close to his side. It is the same sign of possession he displayed to Michael. And now he is doing it to Matt. I can see Matt in my peripheral vision, standing there with his mouth open, watching us walk away.

David and I walk down Wood Street and into a parking garage. He keeps his arm around my waist the entire time but doesn’t say a word. I can hear him breathing as we walk, and an image of a fire-breathing dragon pops into my head. I can tell he is angry. I can tell because of his silence. Because of the way he is breathing. Because of the rigidity in the arm that is wrapped around me. But he can’t be that angry, right? Otherwise he wouldn’t be here. It’s bullshit.

“Tell me what you’re so mad about.” I say as we walk down the rows of cars.

“Mad?” he questions, an eerie calm in his voice. He stops in the middle of the lane, disconnects from my waist, and looks at me quizzically. “You think I’m mad?”

“Yes, I do,” Does this mean that he isn’t mad? If this isn’t anger I’m sensing, what is it? “Look, if it’s because of the shoe thing, I’m sorry. I didn’t know my joke was going to end in warfare. I thought he would do what he promised he would. I thought he would give you the shoe and my message and be done with it. You can’t be pissed off at me because your friend decided to be a dick.”

“My friend didn’t
decide
to be a dick, Emma. He’s always a dick. They all are. I told you that already. And I’m not fucking mad about the shoe. I enjoyed wiping the floor with Brad. It was a long time coming. Whatever message you gave him never made it to me. He called a bet with your shoe, dropped it on the poker table, and told me you were one hell of a screw. I though he stole it from your place the other day. What was I supposed to do?” He really isn’t angry about it. In fact, he’s quite relaxed.

I, on the other hand, am anything but relaxed. “That fucking asshole,” I say bitterly. “I am going to run him over with his own goddamned lawnmower the next time I see him.” Now I am the dragon, and if I knew where Brad lived, I would burn his fucking house down right now. I can feel the swell of rage boil up under my skin. It makes me wish I had someone to hit.

“Ah, so that’s how you met him,” David says. “Now I get it.”

“You might not be pissed off about this, but I sure as shit am,” I sneer. “I was feeling guilty as hell about the guy getting beat up, but now, now I want to punch his teeth out myself.” I think David is a little startled at the extent of my anger. He takes a small step backwards and puts on a tiny, sideways grin. I forgot how much he enjoys seeing me angry.

Then something else strikes me. “Wait,” I add, “if he didn’t give you my message about needing the shoe back this morning, then why the hell were you sleeping on my floor last night?”

“Look, I had just beat the living shit out of one of my best friends because of you. I was shit-faced, Emma, and I needed to see you.”

“And?” I ask, the pounding in my veins waning.

“And you were doing the whole rock-sleeping thing, and I knew you had to work today, and I didn’t want you to be pissed off at me for waking you up. So I just lay down on your floor, and that is that.”

“Oh,” I say awkwardly.

“But then, I spend the whole day today feeling like an ass for passing out on your floor and wanting to text you but feeling like I can’t because you are at work. And when I finally get to see you, you come out of the fucking building wearing those heels and looking like
that
—but you are surrounded by four other men.” So this is what his silence and rigidity were about. “I wanted my victory parade, Emma. But instead, I got to see you with the men you spend nine hours a day with, and maybe I am a little mad. Well, not mad really, more jealous. But I hate jealousy. I don’t
do
jealousy. Ever. Look, I know I gave you that whole goddamned speech about it the other day, but I don’t think I can help it. I guess I’m angry at myself for feeling that way.” He’s saying the words with great conviction, yet his voice isn’t hurried or heated. It’s as if he has thought them out and practiced them very carefully.

“Jesus, David.” I want to smile at him, but I don’t want him to think that I am laughing at his words. It’s just that the thought of someone like him having those feelings because of me seems ridiculous. And unbelievable.

“I’ll try to keep it in check, Emma. Really I will.”

But that’s not what I want.

“I don’t want you to keep it in check,” I say, holding his face and lining up our noses. “I like it. No one has ever wanted to protect me before. No one. And I am happy as shit about it.”

“Oh,” he says, looking very confused. I kiss him, and he weaves his fingers through my hair to the back of my neck. He holds me there, against his mouth, for a long time. My tongue laps against his in a slippery, seductive dance. He pulls his hands out of my hair and picks me up by the ass. I wrap my legs around his waist and press myself against him. He walks with me swathed around him, our lips still together and my bags hanging from my shoulder, until he gets to what must be his car. He sits me up on the trunk and stands between my legs. My skirt has lifted to my hips and I feel exposed, but his body is blocking the view. Our lips eventually separate, but he’s still touching me, touching the tops of my thighs. Rubbing them. Making my body fill with need. I want him to fuck me in this parking garage on top of this car. But when I tell him those words, he steps back with a smirk and tells me to get in the goddamn car. And so I do.

It is a red BMW, but not a fancy-ass new one. An old, reconditioned one. It must be twenty or thirty years old, but it looks and feels awesome. The leather seats are soft, the paint is fresh, and the engine hums far better than I expected. I’m willing to bet my right shoe that David fixed it up himself.

We drive out of the parking garage and head out of the city. The sun is starting to drop in the sky, and I wonder where he is going, but I don’t ask. Neither of us says a word. He is headed toward home, and he is driving at the speed of sound. The radio is off, and the only noise I can hear is the tires whirring against the asphalt. He said he wanted to show me something. I thought we were going somewhere. But we aren’t, and before I know it, we pull up to our apartment building. It has taken precisely twenty-nine minutes of silence for us to get here. Way faster than the bus. He pulls into the lot behind the building and parks in one of the back spaces. He puts the car in park, sets the brake and cuts the engine.

“Come on,” he says, as he opens his door and gets out of the car. I follow suit, grabbing my purse and bag from the floor behind me. We walk around to the front of the building together, and he opens the door. He starts up the steps, and for a second, I think he is going to stop at my apartment door, but he doesn’t. He keeps on going. I stop at my door, though, thinking maybe I am not supposed to follow him. Maybe he really was just giving me a ride home. Maybe he doesn’t want to show me something anymore. He must hear that I have stopped because he turns around on the landing and starts walking back down toward me. He grabs my hand and walks back up the steps, pulling me along behind him. When we get to his door, he opens it. It’s unlocked.

The moment we step into the door his hands are on me. First, they touch my neck, then they move down to my shoulders, pushing my bags to the floor. They travel down my sides and around to the small of my back. His touch isn’t soft. It isn’t a caress. It is too needful for that. This man fucking
wants
me, and the mere idea of it is more arousing than any pornographic material known to man. Sweet Jesus. He kisses me across the top of my shoulder and up the front of my neck to my mouth. He begins to undress me. When he completes most of his task, he stops kissing me just long enough to take off his own shirt. I run my hands across his chest and down his arms and wrap my fingers into his. He begins to walk backwards toward his bedroom, still holding my hands at his sides and looking lustful as hell.

When we reach his bedroom, I unbutton his jeans. As I am sweeping them down over his hips, he touches my breasts, rubbing them coarsely between his thumb and forefinger. My blood rushes and my nerves jump to attention. A rough sigh claws its way out of my throat. As David’s eyes move to mine, a deep longing furrows his brow. My body responds with want of its own, pushing all semblance of self-possession out of my brain and replacing it with absolute desire. The chair we fucked on the other night is right next to us, and in one swift motion, David swings it around and folds me over the back. I rest my hands on the seat. I am ass up. And still wearing my heels.

He stands behind me, kissing my back and sliding my last article of clothing down over my hips. He kicks aside my panties and parts my legs while his hands move smoothly across my skin. Being like this should make me feel exposed, vulnerable, but it doesn’t. I want him to do whatever he wants. I want this to be his victory parade. His fingers skim down the outside of my leg and slowly back up the inside of my thigh. My eyes close, and the sweet pleasure of expectation rolls over me. When he reaches the top, his fingers rub me in small, tight circles. My body loosens instinctively, and I push my rear upwards, silently begging for more. Two of his fingers are inside me now, moving in and out and around in a delectable, rhythmic pattern. I am swimming in a river of bliss. I want to grind backwards against his fingers, but I don’t. Because I don’t want to come yet. I don’t want to be too eager. I want to make him wait.

But I think he knows that I am holding back because he pulls out, drops to his knees, and puts his mouth on me. Jesus. If he is good at this, it is over for me. His mouth is hot and slick, and his tongue sweeps at me in quick, supple strokes. I am lost. I want to touch him, to hold his head and control him. I want to make him move a certain way, but I can’t because I am holding on to this chair. I am at his mercy, and even though just a few minutes ago I wanted to make him wait, I don’t want to wait anymore. But now... now, he is taunting me, bringing me close and then pulling back. And then, as his tongue circles me, I feel his fingers glide inside, and it is heaven. He pushes deeply into me only a few times before I lose it. My blood is rushing, and I am singing inside. Singing like a goddamned bird. One of David’s birds.