Forgive Me (6 page)

“Then you should.”

His wicked smirk barely moves his face, but lights up his eyes. “Have you ever been tied up before?”

“No,” I say, unaffected, and this makes him smile. I amuse him.

“Were you telling the truth when you said you’d never had an orgasm before?”

“Is that something people often lie about?” I ask, and tilt my head to see the stars. There are millions, as far as I can see, and I try to comprehend how I ended up here, in this truck, with this cowboy. According to Pastor Johnson it was planned before I was even born. The sharp pain of guilt stabs me in the stomach. Can someone be forgiven for giving God the big F-U?

“Do you ever lie?” Jason’s voice soothes me and I turn toward him and move across the truck seat. He lifts his arm and wraps it around my shoulders. He smells of cigarettes and dirt and the combination is beginning to appeal to me. I slide my hand between his thighs.

“I’m rarely in a situation where lying is necessary.”

“Didn’t you have a boyfriend at Rutgers?” he asks, and his question is so innocent. It’s as if we’re on a first date.

“No. It all seemed very immediate, and temporary.” I think back over all the conversations I’ve had with guys at college. Noble is probably the most meaningful male relationship I’ve had there. “Violet’s had a boyfriend since freshmen year. She’s the boyfriend type. The rest just have different levels of entertainment.”

“Surely you’ve at least hooked-up with people.”

“A few here and there. Formal dates. Very randomly, but once in a while, someone piques my interest at a party.” Jason kisses the top of my head. His gentleness seems so distant. “Mostly they make fun of my southern accent and my height. Tall blondes aren’t as common in North Jersey as in South Jersey.”

“I wouldn’t call you common in any region,” he says, as he pulls into my parents’ driveway and those are the last words he speaks.

I turn my head toward the morning light and see my belt still hanging from the corner post of my headboard. Without looking I know there is a matching one on the other side. I swallow hard at the memories of last night. My cheeks burn as I remember crying out as I came, blindfolded and bound. This cannot be wrong. God would not have created something in this universe that’s this good and then made it wrong. His words, whispered near my face, again ring in my head, “I’m only going to leave you blindfolded for a while. It’s not the same for me without your green eyes, but I want you to feel it.” I shiver and curl my knees to my chest. I am sore from my ankles to my wrists. Even my lip hurts from when he yanked it with his teeth. He is an animal. I am fucking an animal. The chill moves from my cheeks to my chest and travels down as I roll toward him. He smiles without opening his eyes and seems like the gentlest beast in the jungle. I climb on top of him, straddling him as I kiss every inch of his neck with tiny, sweet kisses. By the time I’m able to see him, he is practically laughing. I squeeze my legs around the enormous width of his waist and kiss him fiercely; more his pace. I stop and look into his gray eyes, now completely void of humor.

“I love you, Jason Leer.” It’s like old habit. How long have I loved him?

“I know.” He sits up, still beneath me. He kisses me and his hard-on jabs into my leg. Without thinking, I rise up and guide him into me.
That’s better
. There’s no need for provocative foreplay with Jason. His very presence renders me ready, up for anything. He raises me up with his hands supporting my bottom. He pulls me down hard and the air is forced from my chest. Even on top, I surrender to him. He is always in control, and it’s so good. I ride Jason until the images of last night enter my mind and I close my eyes and raise my face to the ceiling. He slows his pace.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Last night,” I say, and verbalizing the words sends a chill to both nipples. I open my eyes and look down.
You love it when I watch
. I watch as I again begin to rise and fall on top of the great Jason Leer. I forget to blush, forget to be embarrassed, and forget I am an orphan as I come with Jason Leer in me for the thousandth time.

I wrap my arms around his neck and Oklahoma crashes into my mind. I hold him tighter, willing him to stay with me forever, and he pulls me back to face him.

“I’m right here,” he says, and I start to cry. He lays me down next to him, his hand on my breast, and curls up at my side. He nuzzles his face in my neck and whispers in my ear, “I will always be right here, Annie.”

I
’ll pick you up at seven. Wear your dirty shoes,” he adds and I shake my head slightly in confusion.

“I don’t have dirty shoes,” I say before I have time to figure out why anyone would have dirty shoes.

“What?” He asks, equally confused.

“If they were dirty I would either clean them or replace them. I don’t have dirty shoes.”

“Don’t you ever walk through the fields around here?”

“Rarely anymore.”

Jason considers my statements. I assume most of the girls he hangs out with have dirty shoes. For some reason, out of all the differences in our lives, this distinction makes me insecure. Not enough to own dirty shoes, but it’s an odd longing.

“I’ll figure something out,” I say, and he walks out the door. I run after him.

“Jason!” He turns to me, halfway to his truck already. “Call me if something comes up.” He’s never called me. How is it possible in the past month he has never called, never texted, not once? Jason walks back, his gray eyes lit; they are almost blue in the morning sunlight.

“Are you concerned I never call you?”
No, I’m concerned you always know what I’m thinking.
“Because there’s no need to call you.”

“What if something happens? Things do happen.”

“Nothing will happen. If I say I’m going to be here, I’ll be here.”
Right
.

I stress about dirty shoes all day. Surely, in the wake of my parents’ tragic death, I could find something else to stress about. Even beyond my own personal strife there’s world hunger, terrorist organizations, and ship hijacking. All kinds of screwed-up stuff, but nooo, it’s dirty shoes that occupy my mind.

I settle on a white eyelet dress. It’s a tank top with a full skirt that hits mid-calf. It will hopefully hide the green Hunter boots I’m sporting beneath it. In the mirror it’s fine. The dress is so pretty it draws the eye up, but my reflection is funny. And I know it. These boots can survive just about anything, though. They can get as dirty as he wants. That idea gets me hot. I finish brushing my teeth as I hear his truck door close. He appears in my bedroom doorway as I’m looking for my denim jacket in my closet. I don’t think I took it to Rutgers.

“Hey,” I say, and hold my breath. I defiantly let it out. These boots are only going to work if I force them to.

“Hey yourself. You ready to go?” he asks.

“Where are we going?”

“A Jackpot. Out by the Harrison farm,” he says, and begins to study the pictures on my dresser. Most of them are from high school. He pauses at a picture of Margo and me from a swim meet. We’re in our swimsuits and caps and hugging each other as if the end of time is near. “How come you didn’t swim in college?” I stop searching, but don’t turn to him. “You’re picture was always in the paper for winning.”

“Did you like those? Was it the sexy suit or the goggles?” I ask, blushing from his memories.

“You didn’t answer me.”
I hate you sometimes
.

“Can we talk about something else?” Jason moves from my dresser to stand directly in front of me. He’s close and I reach out to him from habit. The habit of wanting.

“There’s nothing you can’t say to me,” he says, and I feel the truth of his words in my bones. He grabs my wrists and I wince at the cutting pain. He freezes and examines each one as he rubs his thumbs over them. They are red and bruised and my right one has a small blister on it. Jason’s face is stricken.

“It’s not about not telling you. I’m pretty clear on your complete lack of boundaries.” He brings each wrist to his lips and kisses them, running his lips back and forth over them. I watch in awe as the chill runs through me.

“Never again,” he says.

“It was the opposite of hurting me.” I see my denim jacket hanging out of the corner of the blanket chest at the end of my bed. I pass Jason, expecting him to stop me and force a response from me regarding the swim team, but he lets me go. I grab the jacket and walk out of my room.

Jason follows me to his truck and passes me right before I reach the passenger door. He opens it and takes out a pair of cowboy boots. They’re light tan with turquoise and red throughout.

“They were my mom’s,” he says, with an unspoken question.

“I would be honored,” I answer, and relief spreads across his face. I take off my Hunters and throw them back into the garage and put on his mother’s boots.

Jason backs out of my driveway and onto the road without stopping for the nonexistent traffic. He puts the truck in drive and reaches out to me. He pulls me to him by the wrist and I yelp in pain.

“We need to take better care of you,” he says, without a hint of guilt.

“I’m in awe of the care I’m receiving.” I rub my wrists. “Perhaps something softer than a belt would help.”

Jason pulls off the road onto a dirt lane just east of the Harrison Farm. We drive a half mile before I can see anything but pastures, fence, and fields. As we hit the peak of a hill there are lights in the distance. It looks like a football field lit up for Friday night about five acres away. Jason pulls next to a line of trucks and hops out.

“What is a jackpot?” I ask, remembering for the first time since Jason arrived at my house where we’re supposed to be going.

“This one is like a one-event rodeo, in someone’s backyard. They’re not all the same.” Jason grabs the cooler between us and jumps out of the truck. “Let’s go take these cowboys’ money.” I follow him and try to take in the sights. There’s one field surrounded by fence and lit by huge, mobile lighting rigs. It has a chute at one end and people lining the fence on all sides. Jason greets Possum, who smiles warmly at me.

“Hey, Charlotte.”

“Hi, Possum. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. You thinking of switching from swimming to bulldogging?”

“Bulldogging?” I say, hoping this arena has nothing to do with dogs.

“Steer wrestling,” Possum says. “Who’s hazing for you tonight?” He turns his questions to Jason.

“Ollie is supposed to be out here.”

“He just pulled in about fifteen minutes ago. Good luck,” Possum says, and I see Jason hand him fifty dollars.

Jason deposits me halfway along the fence and takes out a beer. He opens it and hands it to me. The air is still and the night is warm. I left my jacket in the truck and I’m glad I did. The crude benches of the Cowtown Rodeo seem like a VMA production compared to this jackpot. It is literally in someone’s backyard. He opens a beer for himself and practically downs it.

“Should you be drinking before…” I pause. Before what? What the hell is he doing? “Before wrestling steer?”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Weren’t you offered a football scholarship at Oklahoma? What’s wrong with football?” I ask, a little hysterical at the thought of him again wrestling a steer.

“Football’s not physical enough. I like it rough.” My breath turns shallow; I’m almost panting. Jason notes the change and leans in. “Now steer wrestling, that’s physical.”

We see the other cowboys lining up and Jason leaves me alone on the fence.

Ollie and Jason have known each other their entire lives. Who hasn’t around here? They stand to the side talking and I can hear their laughter but not their words. Eventually, they walk farther from me and I can’t see their faces anymore. The people lining the fence are in groups of two or three and all seem completely unaffected by the approaching competition. I, on the other hand, can barely keep it together. Why does he have to wrestle steer? I try to calm myself. This is what he does. It’s who he is. Take it or leave it. I remember my mother saying this was a horrible life and I’m beginning to understand why.
God, I wish she was here.

The first competitor comes out of the chute and dives off his horse. It happens so fast. I can barely keep up with my vision. On the horse. Off the horse. On the steer. On the ground. Done. I hear a guy a few feet down say he clocked him at 7.5. Apparently this Jackpot is void of the high-tech announcements and timing devices associated with the rodeo.

“Leer’s here.” I hear them say, but I never take my eyes off the arena, too afraid to miss him.

“Oh, well this thing is tied up. What’s he doing home this summer anyway? I would have figured he’d be on the road,” the guy farthest from me says.

“I heard Old Man Martin practically begged him to come home. He needed help with the ranch since his stroke. Lord knows he could be winning a lot more money on the road.”

Another steer is released and two men on horses chase him. The cowboy dives off his horse and lands behind the steer, who continues to run right out the opposite gate in the fence. The cowboy’s slow to get up and my dread at Jason’s run quadruples. The other cowboy who rode with him gets off his horse and lends a hand to pull him up. He waves to the fence and a collective sigh is let out. I take another beer out of the cooler and drink it too fast.

I put the empty can back in the cooler as I see Jason on a horse in the gate. He’s saying something to Ollie and then he’s set. He nods and the gate opens and the steer runs. Jason follows from behind, catches him, dives and wrestles him to the ground.

“Holy! What time was that?” I hear, and release my breath.

“I got it at 4.8. That boy is quick.” I’m smiling, but my stomach is still knotted.

After ten minutes, Jason emerges from the other side of the fence. There are still wrestlers competing, but most of the crowd are already congratulating him. He stops to speak to a few. I’ve never seen anyone more comfortable with their surroundings. He runs this place. By the time he gets to me I’m three beers in the hole. His proximity calms me and the knots release.

“I have so many questions.”

“About bulldogging or something else?” Jason opens the cooler and pauses at the sight of the empty cans. He opens a beer and replaces the lid.

“Steer wrestling, although I would love to know what bulldogging is. I don’t understand what’s happening. It goes too fast.”

“Bulldogging is steer wrestling.”

“Helps. What’s the point of Ollie?” Jason laughs at this.

“He’s my hazer. He rides to direct the steer. He makes it possible for me to be close enough to catch him. My hazer at school’s a guy named Harlan. He’s the best I’ve ever ridden with, but he’s traveling this summer,” Jason says, and I wonder how little he wanted to come home and help Mr. Martin. He stands behind me and points over my shoulder to the gate. “Watch this ride. The steer’s released first. He gets a head start.” Jason’s lips near my neck make it difficult to concentrate.

The steer shoots out of the gate followed by the two cowboys.
The bulldogger and the hazer.
The bulldogger dives off his horse onto the steer and twists its neck until it falls to the ground.

“That was a good run,” Jason says, and leans back to listen to the people next to us.

“I got him at 5.8,” the guy says, and Jason seems pleased.

“Do you always win?” I ask as I watch the next run.

“No one always wins, Annie. It’s like life.” My mouth dries as the memories of death creep up on my happiness. Jason watches me, knowing loss himself. I take a long sip of my beer and smile at my beautiful friend. He went through all this first.
I love you
.

He turns me around and kisses me, willing me to forget, at least for now. I hear the men next to us talking about the last run. I let go of our loss and remember where we are, and the fact that he is awesome on a horse.

“You seem like you’re better than everyone else.”

“I’m good, but there are a lot of things happening at the same time. It’s not like being able to swim a race fast, in a lane, without other things going on in the environment. There’s weather: it’s a rain-or-shine sport. There’s the fact I’m wrestling a live animal which hasn’t shook my hand and agreed to certain rules prior to the run. There’s also my horse, or in this case Ollie’s horse, that I was riding, to deal with. There are a thousand things that can happen. Every run is different from the last.” My stomach knots again. I knew it wasn’t like other sports. “That’s the fun of it.”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“I’m not surprised,” he says, and takes a second beer out of the cooler. “A six pack might have been underestimating a bit. There is no bathroom.”

“I’m not surprised. How about that tree line?” Jason motions for me to lead the way. We pass a few trucks until we’re about fifty yards from the fence and all the spectators. I walk just into the woods and search for a spot. His mother’s boots catch my eye. I take them off and lean them against a tree. I move three feet into the woods and squat to pee. I lean over and see Jason laughing.

“What is so funny?”

“You don’t have dirty shoes, but you have no problem peeing in the woods?” he says, and I don’t get the distinction.

“You shouldn’t judge a girl by her shoes,” I say as I finish.

I turn to Jason and walk toward the boots. He meets me at the tree and pins me between it and the wall that is his chest. With his arms at his sides, he kisses me and the chill travels through me like an infection. It invades every inch of me, debilitating my brain first. I run my hands up his forearms. They are superhuman. I stretch my fingers around the outsides. My hands betray me and jump to his zipper. They’re rewarded with a bulge waiting to be released. I stop kissing Jason and look down as I slide my hand between his legs and slowly bring it toward the front again. My eyes rise to meet Jason’s and he looks sad. Even this doesn’t move me. I can’t be considerate of his thoughts or emotions. I have to have him. I unbuckle his giant buckle and unbutton his pants. The look on his face doesn’t change. I unzip his jeans and slide my hand in. My eyes close and I feel him throughout my body as I hold my hand still, gripping him. The chill pulls my chin to my chest as it rises up through my breasts. I have never known anything like Jason Leer. I open my eyes and they beg him to touch me.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Annie.”