Chaos and Control(39)
“You asked me not to,” he says.
“Do you always follow directions so well?”
He nods his head yes, but says, “No.”
“Kiss me.”
Preston is the kind of man who doesn’t have to be told twice. His lips find mine, and it is a hungry kind of kiss. It is fueled by exhilaration and relief, and that always underlying claim over my body. Our tongues probe and taste each other while his hands slide down my back. Just as I take Preston’s bottom lip between my teeth, his hands slip below my ass and pull me onto his lap. Like we’ve done this a thousand times, my legs instinctually wrap around his waist. Here, in this place, we are our own art exhibit. We are passionate embraces and two bodies twined into one.
His hard chest presses against my soft one with heavy breaths. Every muscle in his body is pulled tight—my very own stone statue of perfection. My hands find his shoulders, and I grip hard, trying to press my fingers into the muscle there. Preston moans into my mouth, his fingers dig into my waist.
He slows the kiss down, ending it with tiny pecks again. I’m assuming an even number. My arms lay on his shoulders, my knees on the bench on each side of his hips. Preston rests his forehead on mine as we each catch our breath.
I lean back so I can see him better. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” I say.
“I want to share everything with you, but I’m not ready.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
I scoot back and get to my feet, feeling the hardness beneath his zipper. Preston adjusts himself and gives me an embarrassed grimace. Feeling bold, I trap his hand beneath mine and slide it over his crotch. Preston’s eyes close, and he groans.
“I can take care of that for you,” I whisper. Surrounded by nothing but the empty space, my words sound sinister.
He opens his eyes and looks around. “Not here. I can’t.”
“Okay,” I say, removing my hand. “Not here.”
Preston looks thankful. He holds up his finger to let me know he needs a minute. I nod and turn to take a look at the other sculptures surrounding us. They are all beautiful and interesting in their own way, and I wonder how it feels to have something so tangible immortalizing you.
When I reach the last piece, Preston approaches, gives me a shy smile, and leads me back toward the entrance.
“Do you want to tell me what was bothering you earlier today?” he asks.
“I said it was nothing.”
“I know what you said.”
I shake my head and walk faster toward his truck. “I’m not ready.”
He recognizes the words he spoke to me just minutes ago and lets it drop. I can’t help but appreciate how attentive and observant Preston is. Every sense is tuned in to me. He sees me, he hears me, he knows every curve of my body. Does he see everyone this closely, or is it just me?
Once we’re in the truck, Preston opens the glove compartment and pulls out a couple of wipes. He cleans his hands, and I follow his example, doing the same. On our way out of the parking lot, he pulls next to a garbage can and tosses the trash inside.
This drive back to town is different. Instead of being pressed against the opposite door, I’m in the middle of the truck, pressed against Preston. One of his arms is stretched across the back of the seat, and I’m so content in this moment that I forget about the troubles awaiting me in Crowley.
Falling
Under her spell
She asks without asking So I pull on my courage and
Bring her to the place
Where a part of me is immortal An adult show-and-tell
Pounding pulse keeps Time with the way her lips
Silently read words
Etched into stone
This is me, I want to shout
Exposed like a volunteer Sawed in half for magic’s sake Look inside, count my rings
Believe my illusion
- Preston
Chapter Thirteen
Daydream Nation
As I lower the arm down and the needle finds its groove, Sonic Youth fills the apartment. A few seconds later, the sound of the phone ringing jars me to the core. I am frozen, staring at the yellow phone from across the room. The shrill ring cuts through the air again, and I race across the room, pick up the receiver, and slam it back down. My hand rests on my chest, trying to calm the furious pace of my heart.
I jump when it rings again. Without thinking, I rip the phone from the wall. The cord is unplugged, and the ringing stops. I set the phone down on the counter and wrap my arms around myself. I hate this feeling, this awful, weak feeling, this fear of a man I thought I’d escaped.
Glancing to the windows, I see that it’s getting dark outside. I check the apartment door to make sure it’s locked and park myself on the sofa, waiting for Bennie. The windows glow when the streetlights kick on. I grab a magazine from the table and pretend to read through it.
It’s odd how our roles have become reversed. Many nights, Bennie sat in this very spot, listening for the sound of me returning home after a night out. So much has changed since those years of drunken debauchery. Even then I knew I wanted out of this town, but I was never sure it would actually happen. Those years away changed me in a way that staying never would have. I like the girl I am now, but I wonder how long she’ll survive in the rural Midwest. How long until the crops just swallow her back up and she disappears into the soil?