Landslide (8 page)

I grab my purse from where he’d put it on the back of a dining chair in the kitchen and setting it on the table, I go in search of my drugs.

Oh my God, you are such an idiot…

I’d left Holden’s house with that box filled with what should’ve just been a collection of inconsequential
things
, but what is really thought of apparently by Cole and me as pieces of him. I drove my grandma home, and then I came straight here without ever going into my house. My grandma had squeezed my hand right before she got out as I put her car in reverse, and she told me to try to remember that Cole might be needing a friend tonight too. I remember feeling so overwhelmed with anger and disappointment over not just Cole being a no-show, but over the whole entire week, too, that I decided I wasn’t going to be that friend, even if he did actually need someone. Then she told me that if he and I got to talking and it got late that I shouldn’t worry about calling or driving home. I guess it just goes to show how well she knows me. Although, sitting in my driveway before I left to come over here, it never even occurred to me that I might be here long enough to need something, let alone that I might be staying the night here, so it would’ve been nice if she’d reminded me or asked if I’d thought to put any Xanax in my purse. I hadn’t.

Walking back towards the living room to ask Cole if he might happen to have anything to help me sleep through the night, my eyes hit an almost full bottle of Fireball and I figure, what the hell, using the excuse that I’ve already finished off a beer basically by myself so I probably shouldn’t be taking prescription drugs tonight anyway. Wrapping my hand around the neck of the Fireball and grabbing an empty shot glass, I pour and then down two spicy-sweet shots, almost immediately feeling my blood send bursts of warmth throughout my whole body, the sensation going all the way through to my fingers and toes before the cinnamon flavored liquor even hits my stomach.

The second I cross the threshold into Cole’s bedroom, I’m hit with an enormous wave of utter exhaustion, the likes of which has my eyes watering uncontrollably with each yawn. Spying Cole’s iPod plugged into some speakers next to his bed, I think to myself that having some music quietly playing might aid the alcohol to help me sleep, so I climb onto his bed and crawl across it to turn the iPod on and the volume down. I don’t even look at what there is in the way of songs to listen to; I just tap shuffle and pull the blanket up before scooting down far enough to bury every inch of my skin under the downy softness of Cole’s comforter. After I’m settled, I simply close my eyes and pray for the ability to pass out.

5

“Skinny Love”

—Erica—

Note to self: Xanax works way better than a little alcohol and half a cigarette as far as sleeping through the night goes. Booze on the other hand, combined with being exhausted and grief stricken, is awesome at adding up to semi-waking in the middle of the night with an addled brain that makes rash and not so great decisions which are based solely on selfish, wanton desires that are only further rationalized by a desperate heart and body, both insisting that if they get what they want right this very minute, the future and all it holds will be okay.

When it was that I woke up crying, I don’t really know. Actually, I’m not even sure I was crying at that point yet, but I
was
holding onto the dream I’ve been plagued with for a week. The dream that always starts with me slowly waking to find Holden’s hands on me. In my dream, they trail over the heated skin of my breasts and his lips drop kiss after kiss along my shoulder and one side of my neck. My chest heaves and my body yearns
so
badly for him to continue touching me, to continue until he finally fulfills his promise to me and we become one at last. It’s a wonderful dream, yes, but not when there’s no chance it’ll ever be reality, not when you always wake up before the promise has a chance to be fulfilled, and certainly not when you’re having it while you’re sleeping next to a guy who is far removed from who your dream lover is. A guy you trust; one you feel safe and comfortable with. Someone you know would do just about anything to take your pain away. Someone who might even go so far as to do something for you that might mean your dream lover would be lost to you afterwards. Something he would never forgive either of you for due to the simple fact that it was that particular someone and you…

“Holden,” I gasp, almost out of breath with my heart rate quickly ramping up even higher, “Please…”

I hear soft, sleepy muttering next to me and feel his body roll further towards mine, making blood sing through my veins, my body delighted with the real warmth it for once gains from his. Taking his hand, I place it on the already enlivened skin of my hip…hungrily guiding it over and down the curve of my bare butt and further, encouraging him to continue on his own by using my body; by lifting one of my legs over his hip as I move against him. When I removed my panties I haven’t the faintest clue, but I moan when he moves his hand out from under mine, using it to caress me and sweep it over me so very painstakingly slow, first down and around my thighs and then between them. His hand lingers only a bare moment, like it’s toying with me, driving me mad with need and expectation. It climbs its way back up to gently cup my breast, weighing the fullness of it. With his fingers having seduced my nipple until it’s fully alert and puckered to his satisfaction, his hand then leaves me panting, and travels down again, stopping at my waist this time where he holds me still, pressing his body full to mine before he goes to kiss me.

“Holden,” I breathe across his lips just before they part.

Then he stills.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Erica, I didn’t know what I was do—I was asleep.” He sounds groggy, yet startled and apologetic. I know he isn’t Holden not only by his voice, but from so many other things that are different from my dream and memories.

I don’t care.

When I continue to pull him to me, begging him to touch me and calling him by the wrong name, he sighs into my neck and rests his forehead on my cheek. “Erica, sweetheart, stop. You’re dreaming. I’m not Holden,” he whispers, “C’mon, beautiful…stop. Wake up, sugar, you’re dreaming.”

My eyes beginning to fill with tears, I open them to stare into his. I think it’s a look of understanding and a willingness to help that infuses his expression, but a searing pain in my chest rips through me when he and his hand begin moving away. I become frantic, clutching at him and bawling, as if my life depends on him continuing to take part in the nightmare that my dream really is.

“But he promised! He promised! Please…it hurts
so
much. I need you to make it go away. I
need
you. I’m so empty.
Please
.”

Then I kiss him.

His lips seem confused under mine, as if they either aren’t sure what to do or don’t know if they
should
do what they actually know how to do perfectly well. As my hips begin rocking against his in a rhythm only my ears can hear, his firm lips become more pliant. They finally begin to move over mine, his tongue testing the waters by touching mine tentatively at first, but becoming more sure of itself as he kisses me back, even if he is still reluctant about doing so.

When he abruptly stops again, I become practically inconsolable. I’m so close to having this despised longing and hated feeling of being abandoned—of not being wanted or worthy—finally slain like the demons they are and deserve to be. I force his hand to touch me again, although he refuses to move a muscle or even breathe. So with his hand barely resting in the triangle of dampened curls at the apex of my thighs, I move against it and against him, simply willing him with my fevered body to, of his own free will, slake the tempest that
I’ve
built inside of me, like I’m giving him a choice. I only look at his face once to see his eyes squeezed tightly shut before I go back to kissing what I can reach of his chest with my lips, using my tongue to lick at the few beads of perspiration my mouth comes across while exploring his neck, and reaching underneath a waistband of elastic to wrap my hand around the velvet smooth skin of his length, stroking his erection until he’s shaking and hard as granite.

“
Please
, Erica…don’t make me do this.” In the dim light being cast through the window by the streetlamp, I look into his eyes and can see the plea in them that matches his words.
 

I know I should relent; that what I’m putting him through isn’t fair, but I am so consumed, so completely overtaken by a desire that I’ve somehow allowed to become wholly twisted and then cemented it atop a foundation of what feels like insatiable, gnawing emptiness. So when I feel his fingers minutely twitch, just barely curling into the wetness between my thighs, I cling to him, crying, and whimper, “Please. Do this for me.
Please
.”

He closes his eyes once more and hangs his head for what is in reality, a fleeting moment. For me though, it might as well be an eternity. But, sighing and removing my hand from him, he shifts to situate his body over mine again and rolls me so that I’m flat on my back underneath him. Even in my state of heartbreak brought on by Holden’s death and all the loss that goes with it, my heart swells, knowing it will finally be getting what it thinks it needs.

That is, until he doesn’t settle on top of me like I expect him to.

I push myself up on my elbows, intending to protest or beg again, when he moves further down my body. Taking hold of the back of one of my knees, though, he bends and positions my leg over his shoulder. With the other hand, he gently pushes against the flat of my stomach, more or less forcing me to lay back once again. My mind is racing, not knowing how I feel because this isn’t what I want from him. Though once his lips find purchase on the inside of my thigh, my mind slows. However, when his mouth moves so that I can feel his hot breath on the sensitive nub under the hood of my vagina before he lightly nips it with his teeth, my mind goes all but blank. My focus is solely centered on him…on how he’s using his lips and tongue, and whole mouth to bring me alive in a way I never have been before. His fingers parting my swollen, throbbing lips and slowly penetrating me intensifies the sensation of rebirth he’s bringing to me. But with that new life, an ache of proportions previously unimaginable to me is being born as well.

Spearing my fingers into his hair, my body bucks and fights against it, desperately trying to tamp down the inferno building within me; and why it thinks it can win the fight, I will never know. I claw and pull at him until he resurfaces, burying his face in my neck but leaving his fingers to continue intensely working within me, insistent on pushing me further and faster towards something I am not yet prepared for.

“I want you inside me…all of you,” I beg without breath, “I need to feel you. I need you to take everything…all of me.”

“Shhh…I think you’re almost there.” His words come in a whisper while his tongue lightly plots the course for his lips as they cruise behind my ear, and down a path along the underside of my neck, his teeth nibbling here and there before they all traverse their way back to my earlobe. “Just be happy with this.”

He’s right. I am almost there, and when ecstasy finally takes me away, I close my eyes against him, the world, and all thought bar one.

“I love you, Hol—” I gasp, his mouth crashing down on mine before Holden’s name can fully escape from it.

Exhilaration unsurpassed goes winging through me, and although it’s short-lived, I relish the quaking and shuddering of our bodies. I hold onto every last sensation, savoring the throbbing and trembling between my legs, the quickened pace of our lungs as our tongues entwine and meld with every frenetic breath, and the synchronized pounding beat of our hearts. Each and every tingle and spark is a priceless gift and I allow myself to joyously bask in them. A desperate need of making what I feel last for as long as I can has welled up, born of knowing deep down that after the resurrecting fire inside my body simmers and dies, the cinders and ash remaining will be all I have left to keep me warm and feeling alive the rest of my life.

6

“Carry On My Wayward Son”

—Cole—

What in the name of fuck did you do, Cole?

I’ll tell you what I did. Nothing. Nada. I didn’t do shit.

Yeah, good luck convincing myself of that, right? If I didn’t do anything then being able to say I slept like a baby and soundly throughout the whole damned night would be a true statement. And it’s not. Because actually, I’m
pretty
certain I used my fingers, lips, tongue, and even my goddamned teeth to give Erica the first orgasm of her life last night. And just so that there’s no confusion later on, I should probably get something straight here; it was the eighteen-year-old, still living girlfriend of my barely a week-dead best friend that I believe I had writhing and panting before I finally got her to cum. I mean you wouldn’t think so, but I’m pretty positive it was me who did all that.

Let’s think back, though. You know, just to be sure. Yep, I sure did; that was me.

And Karma’s gonna ream the absolute shit out of me for it, no doubt.

All told, that makes the previous statement of supposed truth, a gargantuan lie.

I’m so fucked…

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

Politely asking Karma to hold off a while before landing the flying bitch slap I’m positive it’s winding up to lay on me, I tell myself to shut the fuck up for maybe five minutes so I can have a few moments to grapple with everything in peace. I try to arch my stiff back a little and sit up a bit more, but just then, my iPod goes from jamming out with Kansas and “Carry On My Wayward Son” to playing A Great Big World’s “Say Something” with Christina Aguilera singing her two cents in the song as well. Exasperated and not wanting to give any of it a chance to sink in, I roll my eyes and try turning my iPod off by swatting at it, muttering to myself, “So I guess I’ll take that as a no from Karma.”

I still and hold my breath for a moment though when I think I feel her stir. Slowly letting go of the oxygen my lungs are holding, my chin drops to my chest and I tilt my head to look at Erica’s lying in the crook of my shoulder and chest. I crane my head a little further to make sure her eyes are still closed and that I haven’t accidentally woken her up before she's ready.