I came, and let myself fall into it, a tear sliding down my cheek and my body freeing itself of my control, writhing against Jason as he unleashed inside me, whispering my name over and over again in a chant of release.
We held each other, letting school and away games and everything vanish for a while as we drowsed together. My last thought, though, before I fell asleep with Jason’s heartbeat in my ear, was of Nell, and how to help her.
ELEVEN: Calm Before the Storm
Jason
April
I scribbled the last few paragraphs of my essay test into the booklet, closed it, checked for my name at the top, and then gathered my backpack over my shoulder. I dropped the test on the professor’s desk, returning her nod as I left. That was my last final for the spring semester, and I knew I’d killed it. Of course, Becca had been instrumental in helping me study for it, as she was instrumental in every aspect of my life. She was still taking hers, I knew, since she was the kind of test taker who would finish first but would go over every answer one by one before she turned it in. I never had that kind of patience. I’d answer the last question and turn that bitch in, while Becca would usually be the last person in the classroom. I stopped by my dorm room to drop off my backpack, grabbed the duffel bag I’d already packed, and hopped in my truck. I sat in the parking lot closest to Becca’s last final exam location, my iPhone plugged into the aftermarket stereo Becca had given me for Christmas. “Ten Cent Pistol” by The Black Keys came on, and I jammed out to it, followed by one of Becca’s songs, “The Blower’s Daughter” by Damien Rice. I didn’t like a lot of Becca’s acoustic, folksy, artsy-fartsy music, but there were a few songs I liked, and most of Damien Rice’s music met my approval, this song in particular, especially when Becca sang it. She tended to get lost in it, eyes closing and the words sounding so sweet in her lovely voice. She claimed she wasn’t very good at singing, and she’d never sing for me intentionally, but I’d turn on songs I knew she liked and listen to her surreptitiously.
I saw her then, an old hoodie of mine with a “V” cut into the neckline showing a sliver of dark skin, her hair bound loosely at the nape of her neck, tight black yoga pants making me horny just by the way she walked and the sight of the tiny keyhole gap between the swell of her thighs. She wasn’t looking yet, her attention on the phone in her hands, making plans with Nell, most likely. I snatched my camera out of the bag, flicked it on, and zoomed in on her, catching her in a perfect candid moment. My breath caught when I saw the picture I’d taken of her: Her face was framed by a loose lock of springy black hair, a tiny smile on her face as she laughed at some secret thought. The sun was behind her to the left, rays slicing past her and bathing her in late afternoon gold. My hoodie was loose around her, but her br**sts still pressed against the gray fabric, and the curve of one hip was popped out as she took a swaying step. The lighting of the photograph lent it a washed-out look, and I could already see what filters I’d apply in Photoshop to make it look even more vintage.
I put the camera away as she approached, since I knew she hated pictures of herself, for some stupid reason. I knew it, and I generally respected her dislike of photos of herself, but every so often I snapped some in secret, just because I couldn’t help myself. I actually had an entire album in my closet dedicated to stolen pictures of her. No one but me had ever seen them, and I planned to keep it that way. Especially the one I’d snapped of her getting out of the shower. That was probably my favorite photograph ever. She had a white towel pressed against her chest, draping down to barely cover her front. The generous swell of her ass was in profile as she leaned back, her chest pushed out, her free hand slicking her hair back. She had her weight on one leg, the other slightly bent in a classic pose. Her throat was bared, her spine arched, and her eyes shut, and I don’t think she’d ever looked so beautiful as in that single moment.
She hopped into my truck and leaned over to kiss me before even saying hello.
“How’d your exam go, babe?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Good, I guess. It was for my anatomy class, which I’ve already taken, but the credits didn’t transfer. Glad to be done. You?”
“Aced it, thanks to you.”
She shoved her backpack on the floor at her feet and buckled up. “Nah, I just helped you study. You already knew your shit.”
I backed out of the parking spot and navigated out of the campus into Ann Arbor, stopping at her dorm so she could grab her duffel bag and bungee it in the bed of the truck next to mine. “Why do we always take my truck when your car is so much nicer than this old piece of shit?” I asked, apropos of nothing.
Becca just shrugged. “Habit, I guess? I love your truck. I have so many memories in this thing that I’ll probably actually cry when you finally replace it.”
“I’m with you on that. The first glimpse of your body I got was in this truck.”
She snorted. “Is that all you ever think of?”
“You know you’re just as bad, Beck, and don’t even try to deny it.” I twined our fingers together and squeezed her hand. “What memories were you thinking of, then?”
She didn’t answer right away. “You’re right, damn it.” She smirked at me. “I was thinking of making out with you by the tree. All the conversations we had in this truck? We made all the biggest decisions of our lives in this thing.”
She glanced sideways at me, and I knew something dirty was coming.
“What else?” I prompted.
Her eyes flicked down to my zipper and back up. “I was thinking of Winter Formal, sophomore year? How we were messing around and you ended up coming into a T-shirt?”
I leaned back in the seat and laughed, remembering. “You looked so hot in that dress, Becca. I literally had a hard-on the entire night.”
“What’d you end up doing with that shirt?”
I grinned sheepishly. “I actually stopped at a McDonalds and threw it away.”
She giggled. “I wondered about that, since I never saw that shirt again.”
We chatted aimlessly until we were pulling off the freeway and onto the highway that led to our hometown. “Do we have plans?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Nell is being difficult again. I want to get together with her, but she’s…she’s just not cooperating. We’re having lunch with Ben and Kate tomorrow.”
“Kate?”