Ache for You (Trapped in Three Hill Book 1) (17 page)

              I fucked Mal’s hand. I fucked a stranger’s hand, who the hell does that? Oh right, this chick. This fucked up and demented chick.

              This is one of the many moments where I wish that I was still a virgin because I know that if I were a virgin, what I expect to happen now wouldn’t be expected. Maybe if this was my first time with a man I’d have hope that it would happen again, but I know enough to know that that’s bullshit. He’s going to leave me like this, I know it. I’m not innocent or naive. I’m not an idiot.

              I look up at Mal and wait for him to remove his hand. His thumb still brushing my trembling flesh. Surely he must want to wash and sanitize it. His hand that is.

              I try not to close my eyes against all of the things that he just said. He called me a little bitch, a whore. He pleaded with me to tell him that our fading connection was only in his head, my heart squeezed at the realization that he also felt it. I sucked in a breath before letting my thoughts scatter again.

              He doesn’t want this to be more than it is. He wants to work us out of each others' subconscious. It shouldn’t upset me but it does, and he did.

              “Are you okay Cadence?” My new friend asks. He’s looking at me with such a strange tint to his evilness. His hand is still buried in my sex. He teases me with his finger prints.

              I wish for the smirk on his face to be ever present. I love the Cheshire Cat, smug look to him, as if I’m Alice and we just stumbled into Wonderland, lost and delirious. Is that what this is?

              But he just stares. And I stare back.

              What just happened
? I need to ask; I need space away from him. I long for a second loss of contact. The heat his body gives is too much. I’m burning up with it. “Why did you do that?” my voice is breathless.
Why did you touch me like you just did? Push me towards the brink of existence while I begged for it.
I know before I even ask my question, the answer that he’s about to spit back. He doesn’t sound breathless.

              “Because you asked for it?”

              Did I?

              “I didn’t.” I tell him.

              Just like that his smirk is back, I blush. My sudden embarrassment warming up my face and neck, his cockiness spurs butterflies in my stomach.

              I’m humiliated. I hate this. I need distance. I crave it.

              I’m still dressed but I feel exposed and naked. He finally removes his hand. I feel hot, uncomfortable. I ache for him to touch me again.

              I suddenly hate myself for forgetting to put on underpants. I wasn’t wearing any when I showed up in that stupid dress; I’m such a slut I can’t stand it. I did come over for this. my subconscious needed it. Fuck, I hate thinking that because when my face drops, I know that Mal notices. My brain empties for fear that he can read it. He’s so God damn good with his hands; I wouldn’t be surprised if he were a magician.

              I did not just think that.

              But I did.

              “Something wrong, Cadence?” he removes himself from my tiny little bubble of a sad existence and struts back, running his hands through his messy black tresses. Fuck I want to do that.

              “Yeah, I need to change. I need to head home. I shouldn’t have done that. It was…” what it was, was awesome. Beyond my greatest expectation of a sexual experience.

              “It was odd,” I conclude and silently wait for Mal’s smug face to drop, but it doesn’t. He’s so bloody handsome that I fucking hate it. It makes me nervous and not able to look at him.

              I’m not shy. Not in the slightest. Considering I just rode his hand like a queen I should strut out of this place as if it was a mansion, but I can’t even find my tongue. My palms have started to sweat, and I feel so awkward standing here in his clothes. I feel self-conscious. When the fuck did that happen?

              Mal laughs a good old belly laugh while he opens his fridge only to scowl at its emptiness before closing it. He stops at his sink to wash his hands, smirking at me when he switches on the faucet.

              “It wasn’t odd Cadence, and you know it. It was way beyond that, but I’m not going to argue with you about it, at least not right now. I’m not going to fight with you, because I don’t have time for that.” He finishes washing his hands, and I still find myself unable to move away from him. I look down at the pants he easily slid his touch in. I do a squat to rearrange them so that I can cover up my lady business. I don’t need Mal seeing any more of it.

              “I have to finish cleaning and then I’ve got to head to the store, grab some stuff. Groceries and whatnot. You can come if you want.”

              I already
came
you eggnog. All over your stupid hand. “I want to come with.”

              “Good, get cleaned up.”

              Oh, I’ll get cleaned up, you moron
. He finishes washing his hands for a good twenty minutes before he shakes the excess water off, spraying me with it as he reaches for a tea towel to dry his skin.

              I just watch him, just like a total drugged up love sick puppy dog/ moron. Oh yeah, that totally happened.

              No, regrets. Ha. Do you get it? God, that movie was brilliant.

              I snap the elastic on my borrowed shorts/pants (because for some reason I want to call them pants) and head upstairs to retrieve my dress. I barely get up the stairs before I’ve pulled Mal’s shirt over my head and tossed it onto his mattress.

              I hung my dress on the door to his closet because I didn’t want to wrinkle it. I unhang it, pulling it in front of my dress and glancing into the mirror at it. I love this dress, and I hate it. I hate that wearing it earns me male attention. I know that I deserve it, all of Three Hill knows my sordid past. I made sure of that when I went out to the bar on every available occasion. When I’m drunk, I like to talk about Alex, I can’t help it. It just happens.

              I decide not to pull on my dress, and instead, decide to delve further into Mal’s closet—looking for the skeletons I know he has. I push it open; it is built with the kind of doors that bend. They’re nice and wooden. I smooth my knuckles over the wood and breathe in. All I can see is shirt sleeves and darkness. I take a step in and totally know how bad this is, how mad I’m sure Mal will be at me if I get busted. This doesn’t stop me, though. I keep right on snooping. The first item I grab is a blue dress shirt with lots of creases that desperately need to be ironed out of it.

              I’ve never had the urge before but suddenly I am possessed by it. Oh crap, I have to bite my lip to stop from fulfilling that death wish. Silently wondering why my vagina is being so overactive.

              I’ve never before wanted to act like such a typical and stereotypical house wife/1950’s model citizen (woman).

              Blag. Gross. Get it out of my head!

              The next item I find is a suit, a black one, with a nice blue tie hanging loosely around it. It’s nice, but something about it fills my entire body with dread. I feel sick, and not just because of what Mal and I just did.

              I touch the sleeve of the suit jacket. It’s the kind of suit one buys from some expensive tailor and only wears it once. For a wedding or a graduation…a funeral even. I try to swallow as I think this. My brain fighting not to process it. I try to blink it all away the moment that I remember it, the service. Not Alex’s. Someone else’s. A service Mal showed up to in this suit. I don’t know how I picture it but the memories come like puzzle pieces. It was awful from beginning to end. A crap load of tears and sad music. I think that they even played some sad
Disney™
music
during it. Elton John’s voice is banging on my head.

              I drop the suit jacket from my grasp and try to step back, shaking my now throbbing head. What happened?

              Whose casket was that?

              I know damn well none of it belonged to Alex, so why am I remembering moments from a time I wasn’t present? I do not just remember all of it, I’m feeling it.

              “Cadence?” I hear his voice before his careful steps, I know that if I look over my shoulder I’ll find him, but I can’t do that.

              I close my eyes and turn away from him. “Yeah, I’ll be right down. Just need to pull on my dress. It’s a tight fit.”

              Why on earth did I say that? As if Mal needed to be reminded that I’m fat.

              “So don’t wear it,” he simply says, stepping towards me. His eyes are on his open closet. He reaches into it without questioning why I opened it.

              “Here. Take this.” Mal says, handing me a large white t-shirt long enough for me to wear as a dress. I grin. I can’t help it, quick to rearrange my face before Mal can notice.

              He just grunts in confusion. I kind of like that about him.

              “Change into a pair of my sweats, they won’t cling to you as much and I don’t want any other dudes seeing your ass while we’re out in public.” He pulls them off of my skin and snaps them back; I do a little “that kind of hurt, but I liked it” dance.

              Again, he just grunts in confusion. I smile like an idiot.

              I am beyond okay with Mal saying he doesn’t want anyone being able to see my ass while I’m with him. I should be beyond offended. My assets should equal
only
my business. He should have no say in how I dress.

              So why does he all of a sudden?

              “Hey! Wait a minute.” I pull his shirt over my head. “Why did you say that? Why do you care who looks at my ass?” My words are somewhat muffled by the fabric, but I think Mal got the most of it.

              He shrugs and even that look on him is delicious, as much as I hate to say it.

              “What?” I demand,

              He grunts again and heads downstairs. I growl and follow behind him after changing into a pair of black sweats I found on his bed.

              Somehow they fit.

              I have to step over meaningless items to keep from tripping and ending up on my head; his staircase is just as bad. Mal doesn’t seem to act like he notices, even if he does, he’s gotten good at descending through the chaos. I’m careful and super slow at it, holding on to the railing like I want to baby it, and rub it, which I am at the moment.

              This gets more sexual the more I think about it. I look at the back of Mal’s head and pretend that I want to kick it. He’s got such a nice head, and beautiful shoulders to match. I love hi–

              Fuck. No. I did not just think that. That did not just happen. I shake my head and attempt to sabotage any and all remnants of it. That horrible almost sentence. Yuck. Nope. I want no part in it, any of it.

              I don’t do feelings or false expectations. Romance and I are not friends. Soulmates? Fate? Fuck all of that. I don’t believe in any of it. If it’s true, I demand evidence. I just can’t see the goodness in being meant for only one person.

              What if that person ends up dead? Or you end up dead? Are you just going to claw your way out of heaven to get to them? How would you even do that? My body floods with a strange sadness but I ignore it.

              I have once again reached Mal’s kitchen.

              He stops in the middle of it to pick up his wallet. I follow him once again, like a total love sick puppy.

              He seems to accept this.

              “Where are we going?”

              “Probably just to
Walmands
. That’s like the only place open after six on a weekend. You know how this town is.”

              I did.

              He opened the door located in his kitchen and stepped out of it, nodding his head for me to follow his exit.

              I did.

              He reached behind me to lock up and somehow ended up slapping my ass, again. I knew enough just to roll with it. The sun was still at work trying to burn any and all humans trying to stay alive beneath it, the heat slipping into my skin and under it. I really shouldn’t have worn a black bra with this outfit, you can totally see it through the thin white fabric of my shirt.                           

              Everyone’s looking. Women and men. I feel like Julia Roberts in the hooker movie. I’m both being objectified and looked down on and getting no enjoyment whatsoever out of it. This feels like a pretty awkward and shitty situation, maybe this is happening because I’m strutting behind Mal like a tramp and the parking lot in front of his townhouse is flooded with neighbours and fellow students.

              Mal unlocks his Chevy™ when we get up close to it. I shiver in the sun and look over the roof at him. He’s perfect. Moody and gorgeous, mean and cruel. Hot-headed.