“Oh, about Drew. Yeah, I’ll invite him over. When do you want to? I gave him my number, so I’ll call him.” Felix scratches at my scalp and hums.
“I don’t have practice after school on Monday. So then? He can just follow us home.” I nod my head, closing my eyes and soaking in the feel of his fingertips, the warmth of his thighs, the familiar scent of his laundry soap. At the end of the day, I still have Felix, so I’ll survive.
???
Around six in the afternoon, long after Felix has left and I’ve played a few games on the Xbox; I finally get around to calling Drew—who exchanged numbers with me before I left our last practice. The phone only rings twice before he answers.
“Hello?” Drew sounds a bit startled by my call.
“Hey man, it’s Benjamin. Is now a bad time?” Rustling on the other end.
“No! No, not at all. What’s up?” His voice is eager and breathy, which makes me laugh a little.
“Well, Felix and I wanted to ask if you want to come over after school Monday and swim?” I bite the end of my thumb, suddenly afraid of the rejection. Not that this random guy from my swim team is that important to me. But still.
“Yeah, that sounds like fun. Should we discuss details on the day of?”
“Yeah, that works for us.” There's a moment of silence as I head toward the bedroom door, but before I can say goodbye, he speaks again.
“So, did you have a good Friday?” I’m grasping the handle and pulling it open, on my way downstairs for a drink, as he asks. The absurdity of the question—the timing—pulls from me a very loud, very genuine laugh. As Iwalk out of the room I say,
“Drew, you have no idea. Top secret.” Drew responds to my laugh with his own, but I don’t hear whatever he says next as I stop short. Standing directly in my path is Aaron. His eyes are narrowed, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, black hair curling around his forehead.
Surprisingly, Amber isn’t with him, and he looks like I just kicked his birthday cake and then pissed on it. He tilts his head—a silent question I don’t understand.
“Drew, I’m sorry, something's come up. But plan on being busy Monday afternoon, okay?” I hang up before he responds, sliding my phone into the pocket of my athletic shorts.
We stare at each other in a very uncomfortable silence. Aaron looks me over, top to bottom, his eyes snagging on the large bandage I now have taped over the indentations of his teeth. Where he marked me. My hands twitch and I realize I never marked him. He got to run away without a single scratch, nothing to prove that I touched him at all. He is the king of playing pretend, after all.
“Aaron.” I say—my greeting is bland. His eyes shoot back to meet mine, calculating, analyzing. He clenches his jaw, hand tightening around the apple in his palm. My mind reels, taking me back to the bathroom only so many hours ago.
“Button,when you go downstairs to the kitchen and take a bite of an apple—does it become yours?”
My throat works, swallowing loudly. Is he thinking about it too? He shakes his head ever so slightly, looks away from me and walks past me without a word. As soon as his bedroom door slams shut, I take in a deep breath.
“Tell me how it’s any different—when I tore your virgin body apart and put you back together with my own two fucking hands. When I ran my tongue over every part of you—body and soul. Hm? How is it that now your body is none of my business? I had you first, Button. I think anything you do—anywhere you go until the day you fucking die—is my business.”
My body is so fucking hot—his voice a caress in my ear, reminding me of what he’s capable of, capable of pulling out ofme. I have never orgasmed like that before. I didn’t have a single thought—I was only sensation; I was only the feeling of his fingers in me and the words he spoke as he milked my prostate. I wanted to worship him as my body fragmented apart. I wanted to tell him what he was doing to me, why I was screaming, to beg him to never touch anyone else like this—only me. But I couldn’t even figure out what I should grab onto to keep myself from losing consciousness.
And when I finished shooting come all over myself and I thought I would be free of the unholy sensation, it just kept fucking going. I cried for Aaron, for him to tell me what was happening to my body, to make it stop and to keep fucking going—but I couldn’t talk, couldn’t ask. So instead, he rubbed his fingers in me and looked down on me like he’d never seen something so fascinating, so beautiful in his entire life.
And now, I have to relive that moment—that earth-shattering submission—while he slams his door in my face.Fuck. That.
I turn on my heel and before I can think better of it, I bang my fist on the door.
“Hey! Asshole, open up.” Silence. Not even the shuffling of feet on the other side. Did the motherfucker sneak out the window? “I know you’re in there, Aaron—stop acting like a brat.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m concerned I might miss a movement inside. Frustrated, I go back into Felix’s room, through the bathroom, and into Aaron’s. For someone so smart, he is quite stupid.
Aaron’s sitting on his bed, back to the headboard, legs drawn up. A book balances on his knees, but it's closed, his hands cradled in his lap. His head whips toward me.
“How—”
“Should have locked both doors if you wanted to hide.” I’m glaring, trembling slightly with rage and how every inch of my body remembers him, is reaching for him.
“Or you could take a hint?” He asks, raising a brow. I grab the closest thing to me—a pen on his desk—and throw it straight at his head. Bingo. “Dude!”
“Stop treating me like some dumb sorority girl who won’t leave you alone after a fuck.” I demand. My jaw clenches as I watch him stare at me, placing the murder pen beside himself on the bed.
