Every Other Weekend(107)

Guy opened it after the second knock. “What happened to your friend?”

“He was the one who had to go, not me.”

“You sure about that?”

I nodded. “Can I come in?” And then I added, “Please.” I’d been saying that word a lot to Guy lately.

Slowly, so slowly, he moved to let me in. I jumped when the door clicked shut. “I don’t think your boyfriend liked me very much.”

“I told you he’s not—and he didn’t get to know you.”

“So you think he’d like me?” Guy moved behind me, and I could feel his body heat as he stood too close. “Would he like me like you like me?”

I turned to face him and put a little distance between us. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Guy answered with a flick of his eyebrows before taking a swig from his beer. It was a different brand from my dad’s. Guy noticed me looking. “You want one?”

“I’m sixteen.”

“I know how old you are, Jolene.”

I moved farther into Guy’s apartment, heading as I inevitably always did toward his movie collection. I trailed my fingers over the glossy cases. “You want to watch something?”

“Is that what you want?”

I frowned at him.

“It seems like we always do what you want.” He dropped onto the couch and crossed his feet on the coffee table. Adam’s empty Coke can was still on the corner.

“That’s not true.”

“No? So we can do what I want? Is that what you’re saying?”

I felt a chill chase across my skin. My back was to him as I looked over his shelves. “You can pick the movie.” He didn’t answer me for the longest time, and I felt brittle and naked in front of him. He knew so much about me, my situation. And I was telling him more than I meant to every time I came back and said that same word. “Please.”

He rattled off a title and I reached for it gratefully. It wasn’t one I’d ever heard of, but for once I didn’t care. I started the movie and settled into the far corner of the couch.

“Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

“Hmm?” I tried pretending that I was engrossed in the opening credits, but I was forced to look at him when he snatched the remote and paused the movie.

“I said, ‘why are you sitting all the way over there?’”

“I like the corner.”

“Really? Then why don’t you put your feet up?”

“Sure.” I curled my legs up sideways, but Guy grasped my ankles and pulled them across his lap.

“There, isn’t that better? You can stretch out now.”

“Yeah, that’s better. Thanks.” I reached for the remote in his hand, and he let me take it. As the movie started up again, I relaxed. It was a drama, but with one character who never failed to make me laugh in his scenes. Guy laughed at him, too, and at once it was easy between us again, just like I needed. It would have been better if Adam had been there, too, but at least I wasn’t alone.

I didn’t even mind when Guy started to rub my feet. I looked at him, and he didn’t seem to be aware that he was doing it. I jerked when he touched a ticklish spot. He apologized, but then he did it again.

“Stop.” I laughed. “I can’t pay attention to the movie.”

Guy held up his hands, and I turned back to the movie. The second I relaxed my guard, he grabbed my foot and started tickling me. I squealed and tried to twist away, but he yanked me down the couch as he moved his hands up to my waist, my shirt bunching up as he attacked my bare stomach. I was laughing to the point of pain by that time, but the laughter fogged my brain, clouding out the alarms that were screaming inside my head that this wasn’t okay, the same ones that had been hovering around the edges of my thoughts since I entered Guy’s apartment. A lot longer than that, if I was being honest with myself.

The fog started to thin when I realized that Guy had me flat on my back and he was on top of me, his weight pressing me down into the cushions. He was so much bigger than I was, so much heavier. Hot flickers of panic started to whip through me, and the laughter that he kept wringing out of me was touched with half-formed words that didn’t sound like the protests I needed them to be. Suddenly he stopped tickling me. His hands were still touching me, but he wasn’t laughing and he didn’t want laughter from me either, if he ever had. He smashed his mouth down on mine and his tongue thrust inside. His hands were grabbing and squeezing and everywhere. I couldn’t catch my breath.

If I screamed, he swallowed it.

If I kicked out, his thigh pinned my leg down.

If I bucked, he pressed me harder into the couch.

Fear froze me colder than the blizzard raging outside.

And then his hand moved to the button of my jeans. I jerked my head free and gasped the word that had been trapped inside. “Stop!” And I kicked and bucked and twisted. Nothing. He moved only because he wanted to, and this time he dragged his mouth down my neck. He licked me.

“No. Stop. Guy, I’ll scream.” My threat sounded pathetic in my ears. It was weak, and my throat felt raspy from laughing. I wanted to cry until I realized I already was. But the walls were thin. Guy knew that, but I repeated it out loud. Someone would hear me. I’d scream until they did.