Jordyn.
Seven rounds. We went seven fucking rounds last night.
That's not even counting the times we made each other come without having sex.
He really did leave me unable to speak a coherent sentence last night and I mean that in the most literal way possible. By the end of our night, I could barely move anything, that included my tongue to form words. The only word I could remember how to utter was his name, not even my own. Ingrained onto my tongue, the two syllables that made up his name were the only form of muscle memory I still had.
We went at it until the early hours of morning, the earliest crack of dawn could be vaguely traced just before I drifted off to sleep beside him. Our legs tangled together, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, his head buried in the crook of my neck. As if he hadn't spent almost the entire night buried inside of me. Until we got to a point where it hurt to think about having another orgasm, that's when we stopped. That's when our greedy asses were sufficed.
It was one hell of a night.
I didn't bother to do anything once I rubbed my eyes awake. I was the first one awake out of the two of us, surprisingly. The silky sheets rustled against my bare body, making me aware of the fact that we're both ass naked under the covers. My body naturally gravitated towards him during the night. When we fell asleep, we were spooning, I believe. But now, I pressed right up against him, with my arms and legs latched to his body in a desperate bear hug. How the hell I managed to do this within only a few hours astounds me.
A sharp pain shoots through my legs the second I try to shift onto my back. Not a good idea. I knew I'd be sore when morning came. Switching positions to try something new in so little time may not have been the best call on my part. We were all over the place; the room is clear evidence of that. The room in daylight is the perfect representation of how my body feels. Pillows discarded all over the floor. The little lamp that was once on our bed is now on the floor as a result of me accidentally pushing it over in an attempt to grab something. The cushioned chair in the coroner of our room is missing a leg. I think the door handle to the balcony might be lying around somewhere...
Yeah, we're definitely gonna need to pay for that.
If this is what our bedroom looks like, I'm actually scared to go out into the living room area. Halfway through our reckless escapades we kissed our way into the living room and he had his way with me on the couch. And the dining table. And the coffee table for that matter. Not a single surface was free of our dirty work and I'm afraid that left more damage than I anticipated.
I suck it up and move my leg off of his hip, wincing in the process. My thigh quivers slightly until I set it down on the bed. Letting out a hefty exhale into the open air, I just know I won't be doing many rigorous activities for today. Or tomorrow in fact, my body needs at the bare minimum three to four business days to recover.
My fingers aimlessly work their way through Beau's hair. I'll take a shower after he wakes up. I do need one to refresh myself, but I don't want to get up so abruptly without saying good morning to my boy first.
I notice his eyelids twitching as he begins to stir. He groans tiredly as his hands come up to rub his eyes. He's so fucking adorable in the morning. When he's at his most natural he appears so sweet. But then his vulgar sarcasm comes tumbling in and that boy who was shaking himself from his slumber is long gone.
His eyes open the slightest bit and his lips take on the cutest lazy grin. My hand soothes over his fluffy mound of hair while I murmur, "Morning, love." My other hand he takes to place on his cheek while I massage his scalp. I have a strong fondness for our soft mornings together, that's part of why I won't leave him alone without saying good morning, every morning. Nothing can get better than this, waking up next to the guy I love, witnessing such an intimate, vulnerable place with him. Now I know why he didn't stay the night with just anyone. It's a very intimate gesture, one that contributed to my love for him now.
My heart flutters by his simple touch on my hip. His fingers brush along my hip bone idly, poking at the protruding there. It's a bit tender still from the last twelve hours. He's spent time figuring out the spots on my body that brought me the most pleasure and that was one of them. His extra attention to that spot made a bruise form under his gentle touch. "Morning, how'd you sleep?" he asks in a heavy voice, still laced with sleep. I could listen to that voice all fucking day.
"Like a baby," I smile, "I knocked out as soon as my head hit the pillow. And you?" I feel a small bump on the back of his head from when he hit himself on the couch's armrest. Someone was moving a little too fast.
Noticing his subtle groan when I graze my fingers past that tender spot, my fingers continue past it, not wanting to hurt him. "I don't even remember falling asleep to be honest. You really put me to work last night, babe," he laughs, diving into my shoulder to hide that bright smile. I grab his face in both of my nimble hands and pull him up so I can fully revel in that gorgeous smile of his. Why he feels the need to hide it, I'll never understand.
Instead of moving myself to get closer to him, I pull him towards me. It's less painful for me that way. As soon as I get him close enough, I place a loving kiss on the corner of his beautiful smile and move up a bit to put another is the ident where his dimple lies. My words, however, contradict my innocent actions, "I remember taking the reins myself at one point," I smirk. Now I'm the one hiding away from him, discreetly blushing into his broad shoulder so he wouldn't tease me about the apples of my cheeks going pink.
He lets me stay right there, only because I'm leaning into him so closely that he can feel my warm exhales bringing goosebumps to his skin. "Yeah, once. Rest of the time it was all me," he chides. Awfully damn proud of his stamina, which admittedly is something for a guy who went as long as he did to brag about, but that doesn't mean I just laid there and did nothing.
"Half of the time you didn't even give me the choice," I refute. It took me a few rounds to finally convince him to take the handcuffs off and that deprivation resulted in me scratching the absolute shit out of his back since I hadn't been able to do it before. But me being bound half the night did not mean I didn't do anything. I took on the valiant effort of riding him after five orgasms had already shattered through me, but I did it nonetheless. And I did let him fuck my mouth a bit so that has to count for something. I deserve mad fucking props.
Let's be real, he can't relent control. So the first time I did ride him, it was the last. Not my fault he wanted to flip me onto my back. I flash my wrists in both of our faces, the raw red marks stretched all around taking us by surprise. Beau did warn me after our first time with them that they would irritate my skin if I kept fighting against them as violently as I was, but a part of me thought he was exaggerating. As I eye the abrasive ring of crimson red and hidden traces of purple, I smile a little to myself. That is kinda hot, not gonna lie. "You okay?" he asks, taking my wrist carefully into his hand and studying it further. Yep, it's all around, my bruises form a bracelet.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I nod, "I think it's hot."
His eyebrows raise. "Yeah?" he smiles smugly.
"Yep," I agree concretely, "reminds me of how I was tied up. You being able to do whatever the hell you wanted to me..." My voice dips low, soft like the sheets that embrace us. Each word caresses my tongue in the most careful way. I'm not itching to go another round right now, my legs would possibly give out if we did, but that doesn't mean I'd be opposed to a little slow sex later on tonight after the we fucked last night away like rabbits.
"You're gonna let me do it to you next time," I tease, dotting my finger on his nose. He playfully bites my finger, making me yelp and jerk my hand backward.
He shakes his head adamantly, "Nope, no fucking way," he bluntly denies. Little does he know his denial is only making me want to use the handcuffs on him more.
I nod, a big ol' smile taking over my face. "If you don't let me, I won't let you fuck me period. I'll finish myself off with that handy little vibrator you got for me. I wonder which one will finish me off quicker, the actual vibrator at my house or the panties you just gave me," I joke, which leads to him pouncing on top of me to shut me up with a fit of giggles. My giggling cuts off abruptly with a pained wince due to the pain that erupts between my legs. It's like the morning after my first time all over again.
Immediately he stops poking at my sides and instead hovers his weight above me. "Sore?" he asks with a cheeky little smile. As if he's not at fault in the first place.
I swat his chest in reprimand. "Don't act like that wasn't your whole goal," I grumble.
He puts a sincere hand over his chest and peers at me, feigning pity. "My deepest condolences to you and your vagina. My dick is just too much for either of you to handle," he gloats. I reach up to smack him again, but this time he catches my movement and blocks it. "Oh, she's not very happy," he shudders mockingly, "I think that's my cue for a shower," he nods off and gets up from our bed, eyeing the rest of the room with pride. He's somehow proud of the mess we made. Sometimes, I just won't understand him.
"Hey!" I call after him. He stops to look at me mid-step. "I wanted to shower too so don't take so long, yeah?"
In response, he carelessly waves a hand in the air. "I never take longer than twenty minutes," he lies. I stay more at his place than I do my own so I've had plenty of time to figure out how long this man takes to take a shower, and it is certainly not a fifteen-minute ordeal. He'll be in the shower doing god knows what for forty five minutes and he uses boiling hot water so that's another fifteen minutes gone waiting for all the thick humidity to clear out.
To be honest, I probably take as long as him, but I have a reason. I have way more hair on my head than he does and I have to shave periodically so my forty five minutes are justified. "We both know that's a lie, so just be ready for me to come storming in there when you pass the thirty minute mark," I warn. Grabbing my phone to occupy myself while he showers, I sit up with my back against the headboard and connect my AirPods to listen to something. I also make note to tuck the sheets under my arms to cover myself. Beau, on the other hand, is careless about walking around naked in our hotel room. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice him stalking back over to me.
When he finally pulls my attention, he opens his mouth to speak. "I mean you could always hop in the shower with me," he smiles, dotting a few kisses on the right side of my face as a means of persuasion. Before he finishes his request, I'm already shaking my head. "Aw, come on, we'll be saving water. That's good for the environment." When has he ever given two shits about the environment? Only when it gets me into the shower with him, that's when.
"My legs feel like they're going to fall off," I whine, "another round with you and they just might," I laugh light-heartedly, but I know there's nothing funny about that statement. I'm being playful about it right now, but I know as soon as he buries himself in me once more, I will crumble to the ground beneath us.
He wraps his arms around my waist and begins to cling to me, unrelenting as I try to squirm away. "We don't have to fuck, I just wanna be around you," he murmurs into my neck. No laughter leaves his lips, meaning he said that in the uttermost sincerity.
Fuck, how could I say no to that? "Fine, I'll shower with you. But if I fall, you're catching me," I forewarn him, pointing at him so he understands what he's getting himself into with me and my sore thighs.
"Always," he whispers, kissing my cheek.
I return the favor of the tender cheek kiss before forcing myself up and waddling over to our overnight bag. Like he anticipated, we didn't end up using our pajamas last night, so I toss those out to get to our outfits we're going to be wearing today. His light blue and dark blue combo made me laugh a little to myself. He should've packed his own shit. I toss that to him with a new pair of boxers and amuse myself with the repulsed scowl on his face as he throws it back down on the bed. I for one will not be walking around naked after our shower so I take my loose denim pants and blank tank top to set on the bathroom counter. I'm extra thankful that I brought an extra pair of underwear because there is no way in hell I'm wearing those red panties today, or any time this week, so help me god. Beau was high off of the power and there's no fucking way I'll be torturing myself another day. The bra I planned on wearing is still on his bed at his house after he stole it from me when we were still at each other's throats so if my shirt shows too much I'll just opt for the Beau's t-shirt I brought to sleep in.
"I can't believe we still have half the pack left," I hear Beau retort from directly behind me. I look to where his eyes fall on the bedside table to the pack of condoms I could have sworn we got damn close to finishing off last night. We run through those packs like crazy, but I thought for sure last night would have left us with nothing.
He throws one at me, similarly to how he did when we went to the convenience store the day we went on that art walk. Only back then I teased him for selecting the biggest size off the rack. Now...now I know better. "You need to get on birth control. Like now," he declares, making the condoms hit the surface of the bedside table with a thud.
It might be a little too late for that. My impending truth comes to the surface of my mind. I need to tell him. I had one night of bliss. One night where I could just forget about the thing that's been on my mind, gnawing at me every chance it gets. That night is over now. It's time to grow a fucking pair and let it out. I think I'm pregnant. Easy as that, right? Except we're teenagers. We have years ahead of us. Education we still have to complete, growing we still have to do. There's no room for a baby. We can dream all we want. We can fool ourselves into thinking we can handle that responsibility together. Reality, though, will always override our dreams. And the reality is we aren't in a place to have a baby, our relationship is too unstable and to bring a child into that would be a whole other world of cruel.
It's not that simple. I can't overwhelm him with this but I also can't keep the truth from him. It's a double-edged sword that I brought unto myself because I couldn't keep another promise.
I was the one that initiated having sex without a condom. I promised him I would take the pill the next day. I hid my suspicions from the very moment I saw his orgasm seeping out of me. I didn't say a word and he trusted me. He was so compliant with me. He was so sweet about it, leaving it up to me to decide if that was a risk I wanted to take. He asked me if I was one hundred percent sure and I said yes without a moment's hesitation. I took advantage of his kindness. Maybe I'm the villain here. The reason for all of our fights. Because it seems to me that ever since we fell in love, I've been the one screwing shit up. With my drinking and my lying, the most he's ever done is annoy me when he shuts me out, which is what he's about to do when he realizes I kept this big of a secret to myself and talked to Sophie about it first. And I can't blame him for it, not at all.
Have I always been this terrible of a person?
"Jo," Beau nudges me. I hardly noticed I spaced out for a moment.
I blink hard, tearing my eyes away from the painting behind his head to his worried gaze. "Yeah?" my soft voice mutters. I have to do this now, otherwise I don't know when the urge will arise again.
His hand comes up to my shoulder. My first instinct is to curl away. He shouldn't have to put up with my lies or my problems. But he still does and slowly I find myself getting to a point where I expect him to. He'll come running when I need him the most. It can't be this way. We can't be this way. There's only so many times I can fuck up until he realizes I'm not all the effort he puts into me. I lie too much. I drink too much. I numb myself too much. I've only dug a deeper hole these past few months by being with him.
"You spaced out. Tell me what's wrong." He reads me like an open book. Dammit.
"There is something I want to tell you," I admit, seeing no point in keeping my doubts from him any longer. I plop down on the bed, wrapping the sheets around myself so I'm not so exposed. Beau gets the clue and takes out the track pants that were meant for last night to put them on over himself.
He remains standing with a wary look on his face. Now I really feel like a dog with its tail between its legs. "You're scaring me, baby," he sighs, shifting his weight side to side.
I intake a deep breath, buying myself time to find the words. I think I'm pregnant. I missed my period. I forgot to take the pill. I think there's a fetus inside of my uterus as we speak. Nothing comes out. Not a word or a sound. Just a deep sigh. I'm fucked.
"What did you do?" he asks, his voice raising just an octave.
I might have said that last part aloud, I'm not too sure. Judging by his newly cross stance, I probably did. 'I'm fucked,' aren't the words one particularly wants to hear right before the truth comes out. Beau knows that's exactly how I feel, but it's not the first thing I should have said to kick off this conversation. "Beau, please, I want you to listen before you go fucking ballistic on me alright?" I ask of him, hoping that I could at least get him to sit down beside me so we could talk.
It doesn't though. If anything my calm voice causes him to flare up even more. "How the fuck do you expect me to listen to you if you won't get to the point? What are you hiding from me, Jo?" he fumes. I can see his gears turning with the worst possible scenarios. All of them have one singular thing in common. That it was hidden all of last night. I had sex with him while I knew damn well the secret I was keeping. I betrayed his trust and I fucked him while doing it.
"Right, right, I'm sorry," I panic, "Would you please sit down?"
With a huff, he sits down beside me. "There. Now tell me," he spits out harshly.
There is no good way to say this. "Beau, I haven't had a period," I blurt out all in one breath.
But he understands me. He understands me loud and clear. "What do you mean?" he asks, dumbfoundedly. I would be too if I were in his place. I was at one point as well when the day came and there was no blood.
My fingers fidget with a loose thread on the bed sheets covering my upper half. Avoiding his gaze out of shame, I watch as I rip the thread from the rest. In a few shaky breaths, I explain, "I haven't gotten my period since the night we...we messed around without a condom. It was supposed to come about eight days ago, but well...it didn't, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't know how you'd react." Finally I look up with the intention of meeting his gaze, but the only thing I come face to face with is his eyes far away in thought staring blankly at the wall in front of us.
"Say something?" I practically beg. He can't shut down right now, then who'll bring him back? It certainly couldn't be me after I'm the one that caused it. He can't space out on me.
Slowly, he begins to shake his head. "And how do you think I'll react?"
"I don't know," I shrug. Not wanting to fall into a trap where anything I say is the wrong thing.
"You know, so say it. How the hell do you think I would react to this?" he spits out even more harshly, making me scoot away just a few inches. Not because I'm afraid he'll hurt me but I'm scared his voice will become too loud for me to bear.
I can already feel his anger sucking the breath out of the room. So much so that I feel like I can't take a sufficient breath. "I thought you'd be mad," I answer quietly, letting my eyes fall back down to the sheets. The pure white sheets we were so content between last night.
His tongue pokes into his cheek as his jaw clenches. Confirming what I assumed. "Then you'd be fucking right. Why the fuck wouldn't you tell me this? It's been a whole fucking week and you haven't said shit to me," he angrily goes off on me and rightfully so. I shouldn't have kept this from him. The moment I started having my doubts, I should have gone to him. By not doing that I just obliterated whatever ounce of trust he had left in me after I got drunk at a party I wouldn't drink at.
"I know and you have every right to be mad at me, but you have to understand I was just processing this too. It's a truth I had to deal with too, you know?" I bite the inside of my cheek, an old habit that occurs when I'm nervous. "I'll give you the time you need to process this. Whatever you need, I'm here for."
"No," he snaps, rising to his feet, "don't you fucking start that shit with me. We were together every day, you had all the time in the fucking world to tell me. Don't say you needed to process shit because we both know you refuse to do that by yourself," he says accusingly. I hate how right he sounds. I fucking hate how accurately he calls me out. I can't deal with shit on my own. If he's not there forcing it out of me, I'd be doing my best to move on and forget about it.
But that doesn't mean he has to go and throw it in my face. "I dealt with it the way I needed to, okay?" I counter. My hands fist the sheets instead of my palms. I don't want to make matters worse by digging my nails into my hands and calling it 'coping'.
Anger sets in stone across his features. "I swear to god if you fucking drank..." He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I mean it wouldn't be an unlikely circumstance, now would it?"
My face falls in disbelief. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. Do you really think I'm capable of doing something like that or is this just you being a dick? If I had even the slightest inkling that I was pregnant, I wouldn't have touched a single drop of alcohol, which I haven't by the way." I add the last part snidely. I knew bringing up the party would bring up the risky mistake that brought us here. With that comes the recurrent argument between us: my supposed-drinking problem. I don't want another cataclysmic fight like that to happen in our hotel room but I won't let him trample all over me either all because he's in a fit of rage.
"I think you're capable of anything," he scoffs. Those words alne make my heart sink to shattered pieces on the ground. He'll never trust me again after this. Will he?
I sink back down in my spot on the bed. The headstrong will I had mere moments ago to be found beside the pieces of my heart he's going to rebuild somehow. And I'll allow it. Again and again, he takes cheap shots at my fuck ups and he'll break my heart. I'll panic and that's when he starts to piece them together again. How much more pain can my heart take? How many more pieces can afford to be shattered?
Our fights are ruthless. Our fights are dangerous to the both of us. Whoever has the upperhand abuses that power like no other. I can't act all holy and above him in saying I haven't taken some low blows at him, but it's usually him at the advantage point. And it's usually me taking all these verbal hits. "Beau, I'm sorry," I tremble, easily shaken up by his eerily calm voice that can snap and rattle the walls with its volume at any moment now.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "How the fuck did this happen? I thought you said you took Plan B?" he says, sounding a bit more level-headed now. If I were able to give him a yes, it would be a problem solved right here and now. He would be able to calm my worst fears. Tell me it's stress that's delaying my period. He would be able to tell me that there's nothing to worry about because the pill is almost always effective in stopping a pregnancy before it happens. Giving him a no would continue this argument we're having, if not escalate it further.
I don't want to see him angry. "I didn't," I sigh with dread, "I forgot, it slipped my mind. I meant to take it the next morning, I did, Beau, but I was hungover and we were having such a good conversation that it slipped my mind. I know that's a stupid fucking reason to miss something like that, but there's not much I can do about it now⎯"
"Jo!" His deafening shout abruptly cuts off my senseless ramble. My mouth clamps shut and simultaneously the rest of my body flinches. "How the fuck could you be so stupid?" he vociferates in a slightly quieter tone, but not by much. I squeeze my hands in the sheets, trying desperately not to seek out my bare palms through the barriers I've set for myself. I expected him to get mad, I expected him to take out that frustration on me because I'm the one that caused it after all, but it feels like we've been doing so well. No fighting, no arguing, it was all going good. I kind of forgot what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his anger.
Tears start to well up in my eyes before I can gain control over them. "I didn't mean to," my voice comes soft and weak. Only one of us can be at an advantage here and it certainly isn't me. I can't yell. I can't find a good reason to argue back. There's nothing I can say to explain myself to him. No logical reason why I forgot to take the pill. Maybe I do deserve to sit here and take it. Finally take what's been coming to me instead of avoiding it. Like I always do, he says.
"Of course you didn't mean to," he scoffs, "You never mean to do the awful shit that you do and you go and do it anyway. What the fuck is your problem?" His words come out so harshly. He paces the room back and forth between the TV and the bed, his steps heavy and angry against the floor. He can't even look me in the eyes. Not long enough to see the tears threatening to spill out of them.
"I already told you it was a mistake, what more do you want from me!" I finally explode, but it's less of an angry explosion and more of an aggravated one. I need him to see me. I need him to look at me so at least then I could see if he has any hope left for me. I'd be surprised if he had any hope left for me after today, but the more naive part of me wants to see a sliver of it still there.
He runs his hands through his hair while his breaths heave with fury. "I want you to start being fucking honest with me. It's the same shit, Jo, the same fucking argument we keep having because you refuse to accept the shit that you're dealing with. You pretend it's not there at all and it prevents you from being honest with me. How the fuck do you think it makes me feel knowing that I pour my entire heart out to you, my secrets, my past, fucking everything, just to get your bullshit denial in return?" His voice grows louder with every word. To the point where he's yelling at me, trying to get through to me. I hear what he's saying. I understand what he's saying. I've even thought about what he's saying prior to this fight. But I'd never thought he'd say it. I never thought he would reach such a point of hopelessness where he essentially tells me I'm a horrible girlfriend.
I've said it to myself before. But hearing him confirm it is a new level of hurt. Letting the tears free fall down the sides of my cheeks, I say while my voice is still clear, "I can't control what I can't remember, Beau."
He scoffs, forcing a fed up laugh to rise to the surface. "There's that denial again, babe. You told me yourself, you refuse to remember what happened. So no, it's not that you can't, it's that you don't want to. You'd rather let your issues pile up and cause problems in our relationship. It's a simple fucking fix," he hisses rather ignorantly. He would never say this to me, not if he were in a blind rage. The times that I've told him about my blank canvas of a past, he would have never thrown it in my face the way he is now. He wouldn't have called it a 'simple fucking fix'. It's his anger saying all of this to me. Not the Beau I know. It's just his anger...
"Stop!" I yell in desperation. "Stop saying shit you don't mean. We both know where that's gotten you before," I say without thinking twice. It's his tendency to spew out hurtful shit as a defensive front when he's fighting with me and I'm not going to force myself to put up with it. It's not right of him or me to let him go on saying hurtful shit that would strike a chord in me. I understand, it was a stupid move on my part to forget about the pill and an even stupider move to not tell him about it sooner. There's no need for him to continue trying to hurt me.
I'm reminding him for his sake where that kind of talk has done for us. Nothing remotely good. "Okay it might not be a simple fix, but it would change things if you just talked to your sister about what happened instead of going on ignoring it as if it never happened. It's⎯"
"No," I bark, interrupting him while shaking my head frantically. "No, fuck that. I forgot for a reason, Beau, I'm not going to go digging up some old crap. It's only going to do more harm than good." That's the calmest he's sounded since this argument really hit it's peak and I know I've just single-handedly ruined that by snapping at him.
His hand comes down on the bedside table alongside a loud curse that echoes through the room. "Fuck! You think it's better to have that shit haunting you for the rest of your fucking life instead of getting the help you need for it. I sincerely hope you're lying again because if you're not and you truly fucking believe that, you're just fucking delusional," he spits out with a venom I haven't witnessed before. My body erupts in chilling shivers. An accidental sob breaks past my lips at the sound of the wooden bedside table cracking underneath his palm. There goes another forty bucks we're gonna have to pay for destroying the room...
It feels like when he was fighting Colin all over again. I hate to think that way, but I do. So blinded by rage he can't even see what he's doing to me. The tears streaming down my face. The nervous tension making my knee bounce rapidly. It feels as if he's looking at me but he's not seeing me. "Shut up!" I choke out through sporadic sobs, "Shut up...shut up...shut up..." My voice goes quiet at the end. I fight the urge to cover my ears and tuck my knees up to my chest. I want to curl up into a ball of sanctuary, but I know better than to paint myself out to be the victim. I deserve to take this, every ounce of his rage for every day I lied to him.
His hand flies out to hold my knee in place. That causes him to come down to my level, we stare at each other for the first time, eye to eye. "Don't you dare fucking dismiss me, not again," he glowers. His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that made my tearful eyes look weak. Not even the sight of that could convince him to soften the death glare in his eyes. "I let you get away with a lot of shit. Thinking you could be pregnant isn't one of them."
I give a measly shaky breath. The best response I could conjure up. His touch conflicts me. Being so gentle against my knee while his tone is infuriated. My heart, or what's left of it, flutters just a bit. It's a weak pulse, but it's there.
"Who'd you tell?" His eyes dart between mine, trying to get a read on me. "And don't lie to me again," he adds.
I take my bottom lip between my teeth, chewing on it nervously. It's harder to lie to him when he's right in my face. Why the fuck am I thinking of lying to him? Haven't I done enough of that already? "Sophie," I answer too quietly, "I told her while we were getting ready yesterday." A selfish part of me hopes he didn't hear that. So I could lie. But the moment I see his features twist in fury is the moment I know I'm fucked.
"You told my fucking sister before you told me!" he shouts in disbelief. He wants to hit something, I can tell by the way his fists clench and unclench and he brings his hands away from me. At least within his outrage he can remember he would never physically hurt me. Which is why I feel safe enough to reach out and grab his balled up fists, keeping him from doing any more damage.
In return, he shakes me off of him, looking down at my hand with pure fucking disgust in his gaze. "What more have you hidden from me?" he asks, turning to me with that same repulsed glare that makes me go small in my mannerisms.
"Nothing, I swear," I croak. In the most genuine voice I can muster with the sobs trapped in my throat, I answer him in hopes that it'll make him back down.
His look is disbelieving. Yeah, my word isn't as good as it used to be, but I thought a miracle would allow him to believe me. Sue me for holding out a fraction of hope. "How can I believe a word you say anymore? You've lied to me countless fucking times...you're a liar," he speaks in that same venomous tone, not letting that go for a second.
That last part combined with the glare he stares at me sets a different kind of hurt inside of me. A pain that I can't handle. So I deflect it the only way I know how. He's tore me down so low that there's really only one thing I could say. Deflect...deflect...deflect... "Then why am I still here? If I'm such a liar, why keep me around? Fucking leave me then," I snarl, reciprocating the poisonous tone.
He comes back down to my eye level slowly. In his eyes is a conflict, a war between what he knows he should do and what he wants to do. He should leave me here. Vow to never see me again. He'd be better off that way so he'd be free to find someone worthy of his time and effort. He's deserving of someone who isn't going to lie to him. But what he wants to do is the complete opposite of that. My ultimatum isn't healthy whatsoever, especially because I already know the outcome and I'm only testing him to see if he's willing to succumb to it.
"You know I can't do that," he hisses through his tightly clenched teeth. Sending my mind for a whirlwind, he threads his hand through the back of my hair, pulling at the roots to force me to tilt my head back. The initial shock of his quick movements causes my lips to part in a gasp. Taking the perfect opportunity, he leans forward and crashes his lips against mine. He controls the entirety of the kiss, sliding his tongue into my mouth, staking a claim in anger.
I reciprocate just as feverishly. Despite being aware that I ought to know better. My arms reach up to hook around his neck, making the sheets covering my chest pool down at my waist. It wouldn't make a difference because Beau tears the covers off me anyways. Still keeping our lips connected, he yanks the backs of my thighs closer to him. He doesn't care for the soreness in my legs that make me wince, and the more we kiss, the more I start to realize I don't bother myself with it much either. The impassioned way he kisses me erases everything. All I'm left with is him. I can't think straight when his lips are on mine. When his hands are on my body, I know I'm a goner.
I become whole again. And I start to think maybe this isn't so bad. This pattern of fighting and fucking works for us. It may not be the most conventional, but we're happy nonetheless. How can something so terrible make us both so happy?
Godammit Beau. His lips leave mine as he lifts me up by my waist. Standing upright with my legs encasing his hips, he begins to walk. It doesn't take a genius to know where he's going. Needing to shut off my thoughts before they come about, I reattach my lips to his neck. Swiping my tongue along his sharp jaw to prevent my mind from telling me what's right.
"Fuck, Jo," he sighs in a sinful conflict between anger and lust. It's a nasty combination, one sent from the depths of hell. But it's always the things that are bad for you that feel the best. Candy, sex, drugs... His hands grip my ass, his fingers burning themselves into my skin, branding me almost. "Don't you dare say some shit like that to me again," he seethes right above my ear, "You've got a bad fucking habit of saying things you don't mean." Without warning or even an ounce of remorse, he smacks my ass, shamelessly letting the sound rip through the room. I flinch in his hold as I groan into his neck. Tightening my arms and legs around his body, I ensure I'm not going to fall when he reaches out to open the bathroom door.
The familiar painful burn absorbs into my skin. I don't have to look to know there's a red mark the size of his palm on my ass. As if it were a trademark at this point.
He taps me twice, signaling to put me down. Reluctantly, I pull my face out of the crook of his neck and allow him to drop my feet back down on the floor. My legs are undoubtedly wobbly from the abrasive way he came at me and the ache between them. For support I keep my hands on the countertop behind me. My eyes linger on him as he drops his sweatpants to the floor, revealing an erection I already felt at my center. Looking a little more closely, I can see a darker wet spot at the top of his waistband, my doing. Damn hormones, always kicking in at the wrong times.
"Beau," I mumble, crossing my legs to try to relieve some of the sore ache there.
He looks at me with a mocking expression of pity. "Poor thing, sore from last night are you?" I nod, lowering myself onto my knees before I inevitably fall down there. His hand comes up to my cheek, tilting my chin up by running his finger along the length of my jaw. There's something subtle in his touch, not sweet at all. More underhanded in its aggressiveness. The anger is still present in his words and his actions, but there's something oddly calming about his touch. It triggers chills down my spine.
"You're gonna make it up to me real good aren't you?" he asks as I take him willingly into my mouth. My body may be sore but my mouth sure as hell isn't. I'd be content with making him come this way, but I know better than to think he'd pass up the chance to be inside me.
I hum a tranquil, "Mhm," while he moves his hips forward, pushing my limit. He lightly smacks my cheek in reprimand. Not the time for my games. My hands curl into the back of his thighs as I allow him to control the pace. He moves his hips steadily, slow enough that he can hit the back of my throat with every thrust. The torturously unhurried pace makes it so that I gag on his length, feel every ounce of punishment he's incorporated into this.
Eventually he gets impatient with just my lips wrapped around him. He quickly pulls himself out of my mouth, leaving me to gather myself within coughs and harsh intakes of breath. Before helping me up, he dives for his pair of sweatpants and grabs the condom he must've hurriedly tucked in his pocket as we kissed our way to the bathroom. He wastes no time putting it on and carrying me into the shower, nibbling on my jaw the entire way there.
With one arm and the support of the wall behind me, he's able to hold me up while being able to occupy his other hand at the apex of my thighs. A sly smirk appears on his face when he feels how wet I've gotten. "Does arguing get you off or what?" he chuckles lowly as he starts gathering my arousal on his fingers. Bringing his soaking fingers up to my mouth, he doesn't have to say anything else. I lean forward to wrap my lips around his fingers, sucking them clean. At the same time, he pushes his cock into my entrance. My vision blanks as my eyes squeeze themselves shut. His audible groan tells me he can feel my pussy clenching around him as I adjust to his width.
His hand leaves my mouth to hold me in place. "Oh my god," I moan while he starts rocking in and out of me steadily. The careful momentum hits deep inside of me. His tip hits my g-spot at the perfect angle. I'm not gonna last long, not at all.
"Look at me, Jordyn. You know the fucking rules," he breathes heavily. I force my eyes open and tilt my head down, looking at him how he asked. His pupils are completely blown out by lust. Gone is the vivid forest green. That burned to ashes with his angry flames. There is no telling when he'll look at me with a look other than the one he's giving me now. Conflicted. With a hint of disgust, not at me but for what I've done. I've never seen that in him before. Then again, I wasn't a consistent liar like I am now.
My hand trails from the back of his neck to his perfectly parted lips. As I toy with his bottom lip to my pleasure, he grazes his teeth along the pad of my finger. Smiling just a bit, I move my hand down further to the chain around his neck to twist it around my finger, tightening it around his throat. I'm too distracted by the intensifying eye contact we're exchanging as he fucks himself into me to notice him reaching to turn the water on.
The faucet above our heads pours water onto our bodies. The cool temperature of the water soothes my burning skin, but that soon changes when it gradually becomes boiling hot. Not so much that it's unbearable, but it's definitely hotter than what I'm used to. "Shit! That's hot," I yelp, squirming under the steaming hot water.
Beau could not give an even lesser damn. Rather, he strengthens his grip on my ass and moves me closer to the water. "Can't handle a little water? Pathetic," he hisses, clearly still angry with me and making no effort to hide the fact. Well maybe not angry considering he's having sex with me, but annoyed in the slightest perhaps.
I can't blame him for that, but he also can't put the blame on me either for not wanting to wordlessly take his slander. "Fuck you," I groan. Replacing the tight grip of his chain with the tight grip of my hand on his neck, I press down on the sides of his neck. Reveling in the way his eyes roll back in corrupt ecstasy.
"You already are," he smirks, pushing into me even deeper this time. "I thought you were sore," he pants heavily.
"I'd rather fuck you," I hiss back with just as much passive-aggressiveness in my tone. Both of us can play this game. Hell, I'm the one that brought it into existence. I'm not going to let him beat me at my own specialty.
He slows down, focusing more on going harder than faster. "Spoken like a true fucking slut. Are you a slut, baby? Don't lie to me, you've got a nasty habit of doing that too," he says, offhandedly taking a jab at me. He's great at that, taking shots at me whenever he can. He is fucking ruthless.
I choke him harder, taking a technique from his handbook. If you don't like what the other person is saying, shut them up. Simple as that. "A slut when it comes to you. Feel how good you fuck me? I could never pass up on this..." I trail off with a whine. Doing exactly as he warned me against, I threw my head back against the wall. Some drops of water sprinkle into my eyes, but that's the least of my concern at the moment.
"You're fucking insane," he groans into my collarbone. Swiping his tongue over my exposed neck, I shiver as his tongue explores my skin.
Without giving much of a second thought, I refute, "Then what the fuck does that make you?" I put both hands on the back of his neck as he starts pushing himself into me faster, bringing me to the edge long before I anticipated. He drills himself into me repeatedly, hitting my g-spot over and over again. I know he can sense my climax because he holds onto me tighter, expecting my body to give out any second now. "Oh, Beau, fuck!" I cry out, relentlessly scratching his shoulder blades with both of my hands.
"That's it, pretty girl, come all over my cock. Just like that," he whispers against the hinge of my jaw. While I go through the motions of my orgasm, he kisses that sensitive spot. He creates an ever more drastic mark there. Of course he did.
He drives into me at a faster pace as he chases after his high. "Go on," I taunt, "see if you can fuck the liar out of me."
He lets out a gruntled curse in response. My legs tremble at his sides as my body recovers from my orgasm. I let him fuck me to his finish, no matter how senstive I am. The burn in my thighs comes back full force now but I push through because when within that, there's still pleasure to be found at my throbbing clit. My body doesn't know what to do with itself when he's infiltrating it. His conflicted feelings become my own as he unloads them onto me.
"Fuck, I'm not even close to forgiving you, you know that?" he seethes. It's impossible to get hurt when we're feeding off of this pleasure. He could say whatever the fuck he wants to me during sex and my mind wouldn't connect the dots until after the fact.
I nod still. "I know," I gasp, "I know."
"You went to my fucking sister before you went to me."
"I know."
"She knew the whole truth before I did. Why, Jo?"
"I don't know."
The steam from our shower isn't the only thing making this air thick. Our tension is causing the majority of it. Him still feeling so betrayed by my lie, but like me, he wants to fuck the problem away.
Sex with him needs to have sincere meaning.
"You lie to me all the fucking time."
We can't fuck because we're angry at each other and neither of us wants to face the fear of talking through it.
"You take advantage of the fact that I always let you have your way because I love you."
Our intimacy can't be tainted by anger and hatred, too many things of ours have been taken away from that reason.
"And I can feel myself getting sick of it, Jo. I never wanna get sick of you."
I don't want sex to be this way with him. I can feel our distance. I can feel our walls going up. I can already see the estranged path we're heading down if our intimacy becomes lessened to something we do when we want to avoid talking about things. We'll come to resent each other that way. We'll hit a dark point where we won't even have sex because we love each other. We'll have sex because it's the only thing that can shut us up. A lot can build up inside of us when we're forced to keep it in. I would know.
"Red," I say defeatedly, ignoring the guilty pang in my heart that comes with the weight of that single fucking word. "Red."
He stops immediately, pulls out of me and lets me out of his hold. I don't let him go too far though. Wrapping my arms around his torso and laying my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat palpitating against my ear. The heart he and I both know I've broken too many times. "I'm sorry," I whisper, "I don't know what I have to do to make you forgive me, but I know this isn't it. Our fights shouldn't come to this. Ever."
His hand comes up to rest on the back of my head. "We shouldn't have done this," he murmurs in understanding.
My voice cracks a little amid the tears rising to my eyes, betraying me while I say, "I'm not mad at you, okay? Please don't think I'm mad at you."
"No, baby, I'm not mad at you. I think you're right, we shouldn't try fixing our problems with sex. Fuck, I'm so sorry I did that to you," he continues to apologize profusely. After the tumultuous morning we had, I know I'm the one that should be apologizing.
He reaches out to turn down the temperature of the water. We stand there in each other's embrace for god knows how long getting over the initial shock of it all. It was in some way easier to ignore the depth of what we were about to get ourselves into when we were rushing ourselves to get to the only place that makes sense to us─ sex. Communication isn't our forte. We're either screaming back and forth or shutting down because we can't face certain things head-on. We're talking too much or not talking at all. The only common ground we know of is what takes place when our clothes are off. In the heat of the moment, solving an argument with sex doesn't look so bad.
It's when you're in it that you finally start to understand why it isn't something you should do. For us, sex does have meaning, a purpose. Even when it's just a quick thing in his car, there's always some underlying purpose. Both of us are aware of it, it's not a big huge secret that we fuck for love or for lust. But today, that underground purpose was anger and I couldn't take it. There've been a handful of times where that had been the case, but I never allowed myself to foresee what would come of that destructive pattern. Rage would destroy every part of sex that we held dear. I didn't want an angry wall put up between us. That's the front he put up with other girls and I couldn't bear it if he did that to me.
Both of us thrive off of touch. So we can tell when the touch is sincere and when it's not. Today it wasn't. The next time we pull some shit like this, more likely than not it's going to be the same crap. We need to nip this habit in the bud before it gets worse to an extent where sex is tainted by rage, war, and revenge.
I pull my head out of his chest and grab the bottle of soap from the built-in tile shelves. I want to touch him because I love him and I need him to feel that underlying purpose. He gazes down at me as I lather the soap in my hands. A gentle sigh passes between the two of us when I put my hands on his chest to start rubbing the bubbles all over his body. I can feel the thick air of sexually-charged and infuriated tension dissipating into the water vapor above our heads.
"I'm sorry I lied to you," I say quietly, keeping my gaze laser focused on my hands. Knowing he's watching my every move makes me a little nervous, but I shove that back down. He needs to know how much regret has filled me for hiding something like this from him, sincerely. Because from what he said earlier, I know I don't give him enough, almost nothing really in comparison to all the reassurance he gives me even when I don't ask for it. "I'm sorry I keep lying to you. I'm not going to make any excuses because I know nothing can excuse the way I treat you." My shaky voice makes itself prominent towards the end. This is why I hate pouring out my thoughts to him. Because I always feel like I'm disappointing him. It's a habit I've always had with everyone I care about, shutting myself off to prevent them looking at me like I'm a shame. He knows that by now.
I spend a little extra time at his hands. Those hands...so kind and so gentle when I'm not making him mad. These hands are capable of doing bad things, but hurting me isn't one of them. I'm not afraid to hold them a little while longer before I make him turn around so I can reach his back. "I love you. And I'm afraid one day I'm going to let you down." I motion for him to turn around. Reluctantly, he does so without a word. Probably not saying a thing because he thinks that if he does it'll discourage me from the pouring-out-my-feelings thing I'm doing. "I see all the progress you've made since we first met and then I look at myself and..." A quiet sniffle interrupts my words. I want to break down and cry, but I know that's not something he would do when he's telling me how he feels. "And I think I could never possibly come close. It sucks to feel that way, you know? I'm so fucking proud that you're doing better for yourself, don't get me wrong. I admire all of the progress you've made, your strength to do it. All I'm doing is holding you back. And I'm selfishly terrified of the day that you wake up and realize that. I don't think I'm worthy of being loved by you."
Talking through my tears becomes too great of a task. I lay my temple on his back, taking deep breaths like he always tells me too when I start feeling like I'm about to hyperventilate. I assume not looking at me while I pour my heart out to him turns insufferable when my small frame starts to shake with quiet sobs. That's when he turns around and pulls me into his chest, not letting go. He creates a safe place between his arms for me to slink into. My countless tears mix in with the water sliding down our bodies. The only dead giveaway to my silent cries is my trembling body. Otherwise I could hide that from him. Hide my weakness so he doesn't see me for who I really am. Pathetic.
As if he read my mind, he soothes, "You're used to internalizing your emotions and pretending as if they're not there. Sadness, rage, overwhelmed, you're allowed to feel all of those things. What you can't continue doing is bottling it up and letting it consume you. It's killing you, Jo. You know it and so do I."
"I don't want to be a burden to you," I sob, "I don't want you to think that─"
He places his index finger over my lips, shushing me without attempting to be rude. "Baby, it doesn't matter what I think when it comes to your feelings. You feel what you feel and that's okay. You are not and will never be a burden to me." Thumbing away my tears from under my eyes, it brings me out of my hiding place. He's done nothing all this time but promise me I'm safe to share my thoughts with him. Acting strong is such a deep-rooted habit I couldn't kick after all these months because there's always this pessimistic part of me I can't place. It's always telling me that one day he's going to see too much of me and that's when he'll abandon me. It's always that voice at the back of my head that prevents me from opening up to anyone for the fear that they'll walk out on me as soon as I start to open up.
And that's why whatever I forgot will remain forgotten. Because I know I will abandon my well-being because I got to know too much about myself. How can I expect someone else not to do the same?
He switches our places, putting himself under the majority of the water so he can wash off the soap. He reaches out to grab the bottle of soap, "My turn," he says softly. He starts off with me facing away from him. For good reason. I'm at a point where I can't look at him without my doubts arising and making my tears return with a vengeance. His hands fall on both of my shoulders, deciding first to run the soap along my arms. "First off, I'm sorry for what just happened. It shouldn't have come to the point where you felt like you had to use the safe word, we shouldn't have even had sex in the first place, but my mind was all over the place." I want to say something, but I owe him the courtesy of getting to speak without being interrupted like he did for me. Besides, I'm in no condition to utter a word just yet, so I remain silent.
"I'm still struggling to wrap my head around why you felt like you had to keep something like that from me. Tell my sister before me, no less...I don't want to be mad at you. You know that's the very last thing I'd want to be when it comes to you. But it's lie after lie with you. I get to feel upset too, you know?" He sounds fed up and he has every single right to be. It wasn't solely this lie that made him blow up on me. As he said, it's been an accumulation of fabrications that led us here.
"Why did you forget to take Plan B?" he asks. I can already hear it in his tones he's preparing for a lie, or lies. It'd be audacious of me to lie to him again after this conversation we've had. And there's still one thing he doesn't know about.
Am I fucking terrible or what?
"You had three days to take it. Three days to remember," he adds.
I know he's going to be infuriated. I just don't know at who. Everything has to be out in the open and it's not until then that we can start working past this. "The first day it slipped my mind," I explain, incredibly relieved that I don't have to watch his face fall upon realizing my immense stupidity. "I was hungover from the night before and we were spending the whole day together, I didn't want to ruin it."
"And the two days after that?" he pries.
Would now be a good time to off myself? "Did you ever hear about the rumors that went around about us after the whole...suspension thing?" I ball my hands into fists down at my sides. His hands that were once rubbing circles on my tense shoulder blades stop abruptly, not moving a muscle.
"No..." he trails off worriedly.
Now I feel even worse having to unveil two things to him. The disgusting rumors and how they got back to me. "Those two days that you were gone from school, all people did was talk. I found out it was because they all thought I was lying about the whole thing, that I was..." The word tastes foul on my tongue, but Beau wants honesty. I have to give it to him straight. Suck it up, Jordyn. "Cheating on you with him. And I didn't want to own up to it so I told everyone he, um, did what he did." A heavy pit sinks into my stomach, unable to say what I'm really hinting at with my vague words. Luckily, Beau doesn't push for more detail. Instead he interlocks our fingers. This time taking a technique from me, rubbing his thumbs across the backs of my hands to comfort me. And it becomes easier by a fraction to talk to him, knowing that he'll listen and try to understand.
"So when I asked you later that day if anyone said anything to you," he begins. Already putting the pieces together before I even tell him. Now I'm really glad I have my back towards him so I can't see the cast down expression on his face.
"I'm sorry," I say for what feels like the thousandth time in the last hour. I'll say it again and again without a single complaint in the hopes that one day if not today he'll forgive me. "The memory of it was so fresh at the time and I couldn't bring myself to relive it with you. Getting to talk to you at the end of that day was the best part and I didn't want to ruin it with other people's bullshit." His quiet sigh breaks my heart. Another lie uncovered, he knows.
"I found out when I was in my first period. Some assholes were sitting across from me and Kelsey. One of them reached his leg to our side and started messing with me under the table. So of course I spoke up and so did Kelsey, but when they told me about the rumor that'd been going around I shut down. I didn't think people would be so cruel about my situation." I start choking up on my sobs again, my emotions betraying me once more. Contradicting how I thought he would react, he brings our hands up to my chest and hugs me closely. He stays silent when I regain control over myself, occasionally nodding in understanding whenever I manage to blubber a weak, "I'm sorry".
"Who were they?" is the first thing he asks. Okay, maybe he's not so unpredictable.
"Dallas and Benedict, one of them's in football and the other I'm not sure." His hands go tense with aggravation in mine. "I'm not telling you this so you can go and pick a fight, okay? Assholes like them aren't worth it," I warn before he can get any ideas.
"Okay," he huffs. I shoot him a warning glare, despite my tear-filled gaze, but he receives the message. "Okay," he says a little more calmly, "thank you for being honest." His hands leave mine to travel back down to my hips where he turns me around to face him. I watch him grab another helping of soap to wash my front.
"I'll try harder from now on," I nod concretely, "I do love you though, that'll never be a lie."
Pecking his lips softly one time, I'm glad to feel his reciprocation. "I love you too. And I'm with you through everything, thick and thin. Even if you are," he pauses, looking down at my stomach, "with child," he says dauntingly.
I suck in a harsh breath. I've had a longer time to process the possibility that I could be pregnant and the mere mention of it still rattles me to the core. I guess it could get easier now that I've told him about it so not a consistent thing looming over our heads, but fuck if it isn't scary thinking in nine months we could be parents. It's a surreal thing actually, something I can't bring myself to accept until it happens. "I sincerely hope this is a scare," I say now that we're on the topic of truths, "we're way too fucking young to be parents."
"Have you taken a pregnancy test?" he inquires, attempting to be nonchalant as he rubs soap all over my breasts.
I ignore it for the sake of the conversation. "No, I'm waiting to see if any more symptoms arrive before I go all haywire." I grab the complementary shampoo to start raking through my hair before his. I think we've wasted a shit ton of water by being in here and we still have to head downstairs for breakfast. And admittedly, this isn't a conversation I'm ready to have. I cannot be pregnant.
He nods, "Understandable. It could just be stress, babe, we have nothing to worry about."
With everything I want to believe him. I want to silence my mind by simply taking his word for it, but it's not so easy. But god I wish it was. "I've never missed a period. But suddenly we have sex without a condom and my cycle goes irregular? You know what kind of conclusions that draws." Instinctively, I recoil myself into the safety of my arms. Putting them across my chest and hugging myself while he puts me under the stream of water to wash my body.
He grabs my hands to pull me out of my weakened stance, playing it off nicely like he's just trying to get the soap off of me. "We don't know for sure though," he points out, "We'll just have to watch things play out. If you're not pregnant, great, we dodged a bullet and we won't be making the same mistake again."
I nervously await the negative if. If I'm pregnant... My eyes glance down at my stomach. A woman's body is capable of some crazy shit, creating a whole human is still one I'm struggling to comprehend. My body can grow a baby. There could be one microscopic clump of cells right now as we speak that has the key to change everything about our lives. Everything we thought we knew about ourselves and our relationships will come to the light and be tossed aside to care for that tiny human. I'd be forced to get my shit together. He'd be roped into a lifetime commitment. The choice would be made for us, we would be stuck together whether we liked it or not. A cluster of cells could change everything.
If I decided to have it, that is. There's still...options. Things I have to take into consideration. Life doesn't change when the baby comes, life changes the second I find out it's there or not.
Beau gives my hands a few comforting squeezes, prompting me to look at him. "If you are pregnant," he sighs in dismay, "we'll get through it, together. Like we always do." He leans forward and presses a tender kiss on the faint scar along my temple. He holds his lips there for a few seconds longer than he usually does. When he pulls away, there's a softness in his eyes I would have thought would be there so soon after our fight.
This. This is how we should solve our problems.
I help him wash the remainder of shampoo from his hair so we can finally get out of this foggy shower. We still have to go down and eat breakfast with Sophie like we planned, otherwise we'd be coping ourselves up here with room service until it's time that we check out of the hotel. It can't be any earlier than ten at this point, so I'm hoping Sophie slept in late as well so that she's not serving us her wrath when she sees us.
I shut off the water while he grabs two towels that we can pat ourselves dry with. "I was a dick to you earlier," he mutters, deep in thought, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have gone off on you like that."
Shaking my head, I respond, "No, I did deserve that kind of reaction. It's my fault for lying."
"We are not about to go back and forth putting the blame on ourselves," he laughs weakly.
"I know, I know. None of this wouldn't have happened if I didn't lie to you, so I'll do better for you. I'll tell you everything that's going on in my life, even if it's something as mundane as what grade I got on a test."
His hand comes up to my chin, angling it upwards. "No more lying, okay?" he pines for reassurance.
I nod without hesitation. "No more lying," I repeat. This time, I'm the one who initiates a kiss, a soft one with no other motives other than to let him know I mean this. No more lying. Not even the little white lies will do. After all I've heard from him today, I'm no longer willing to risk him because I'm scared. If he could get over his fears to give his whole entire self to me, I can do the same for him. Maybe one day I can be the girl he deserves. The kind of girl who's worthy of her loving boy.
As I'm pinching my hair dry with the towel, he comes up from behind me to wrap his arms around me. Right when my heart begins to flutter innocently, he shakes his head, letting all the water droplets in his hair fly free, splattering my face in the process. "Beau!" I scold with a laugh. Grabbing the two ends of the towel, I flip it over his head and pull him in for another kiss. "Love you, baby," I whisper into the sliver of space between our lips.
Once we pull away, he enunciates, "I love you too."
"I need to blowdry your hair," I pout, ruffling it a bit, "or else it's gonna look like we showered together." After rummaging through a few empty cabinets, I find the complementary hair dryer in the top drawer and plug it in. He tries to wriggle out of my hold on his arm, so I wrap my arm around his neck; he's not getting away that easy.
The corners of his lips turn up slightly, breaking his defiant attitude. "We did shower together though," he smiles cockily, "Look at us, being all eco-friendly."
Silencing him with the blaring noise of the blow dryer earns me a playful glare. It won't take me that long to dry his hair considering it's not soaking wet and it's straight to the point where I can run my fingers through it, no problem. It's the longest it's ever been I think. He's kept the sides pretty clean cut, but he's been letting his brown strands grow out so he won't have to put gel in it every morning. Another plus side of its length is that it's easy to rake my fingers through whenever I want to.
As I thought, it doesn't take long to get his hair almost completely dry. But being the overdramatic little shit he is, he acts as if I've taken hours. He'll wait hours to purchase a new game console the split second it comes out, but standing here for thirty minutes doing nothing is completely off limits. I really can't take him seriously.
We get ourselves situated and get dressed into the clothes that are still laid out from before he took me into the bathroom. I made a sly retort about how terrible hotel guests we are and that led us to placing our bets as to how badly we trashed the place last night with our escapades. Considering what we did to the bedroom, I assume the living room and dining room areas would be about the same, but he actually thinks we did less damage there. "We'll see," he tells me, "if I'm right, you have to watch all of the Fast and Furious movies."
"Okay," I smirk, "and if I win, you have to try pistachio ice cream." I wouldn't even think of doing that myself so I'm very well aware how cruel my challenge is, but he's making me sit through a shit ton of movies I know I won't like. Well, Paul Walker being the exception.
Tsking his tongue, he extends his hand out to me while the other hand grips the door handle. "Moment of truth, I'm not eating that god-awful ice cream."
"And I'm not doing that whole marathon," I fire back. He chuckles, pushing the door open to reveal...
That I was right.
The first thing I want to do is celebrate the fact that I don't have to power through a nine-movie-long series, but that urge slips away when I really start to look at the shambles we left the room in. The four chairs beside the dining table are all in chaotic disarray. Two left standing, the other two not. I'm almost sure we fucked in every single one of them. The table appears untouched, but when I reach out to touch it, it wobbles unevenly. The painting that once hung proudly on the wall is now face down on the floor.
I glance over to the living room across from the dining room and it doesn't look any better. The coffee table, unlike the dining table, is broken. One leg in the top right corner is a few feet away, like one of us must've kicked it out of the way and it slid across the marble floor. The glass top is shattered right in the middle. Both couches are missing their throw pillows and one of them is missing a whole ass cushion. "What the fuck did we do?" I giggle, taking in the entire visual. I knew we were pretty aggressive, or passionate for a better word, but I didn't think in the morning it would come to look like this.
"We had some mindblowing sex last night that's what," he laughs it off nonchalantly, pressing his lips behind my ear while he ushers me out of the room.
"When your mom asks why the hell there's an extra fee on her card, what're you gonna say? 'Oh yeah sorry about that, me and Jo just went ahead and broke everything that could be broken.' She's going to kill us," I hiss, wary that we're out in the hallway and not in the privacy of our trashed hotel room.
The elevator doors open automatically and we step inside, allowing us to talk without worrying about someone eavesdropping on the conversation. Speaking for myself, considering he couldn't care less whether someone hears us or not. "Relax, will you? You act as if money's a problem," he shrugs.
"That's not the point. She's going to know we had sex," I hiss. I'm sure Mariella has long known we've been having sex. She may be one of the few people in our lives that hasn't caught us or heard us in the act, but like she said to me once, she was our age too, and that means she's no stranger to our antics. That still doesn't mean I want to rub it in her face. I prefer to keep some of my dignity.
"Relax," he hums, grabbing my top knot and lightly tugging it side to side like a joystick. My hand flies up to grab his wrist, my eyes shooting daggers at him in reprimand. Tucking his hands back in his jeans, he rationalizes, "I'll cover the cost of the damage. She won't know a thing and if she did, you know she wouldn't say anything."
Okay, he's right. If Mariella hasn't said anything about us having sex, what are the chances of her saying something now? I'm always worrying about things I don't need to be immersing myself in. Maybe I should take a few pointers from Beau and just relax.
We walked into the same banquet hall we were in last night for the ball. It looks just as classy and elegant, but now it's filled with zombie-looking people nursing hangovers and hangry children. Along the furthest wall is a bountiful buffet that the sight alone makes my mouth water. Beau leans down to whisper discreetly to me, "I'll serve you a plate while you grab us a seat, 'kay?" He knows what I like so I nod him off. We've had breakfast enough times to know that I'll pick pancakes every time and bacon over sausage. I know he'll put some fruits on my plate to fill it, but I'm confident he knows what to get for me.
He stalks off while I start to wander aimlessly, hoping to spot Sophie at one of the tables. As I stray a bit further, I hear the sound of my name through her familiar accent a few feet away from me. She waves me over to the half-empty table. Taking the seats beside her are Mariella and a tall curly-haired girl I recognized from last night but I just can't put a finger on it. Though, both her and Sophie appear to be radiant so I get the impression of where I might have seen her.
I'm a bit glad that Mason decided to skip out on breakfast. I don't know where the hell he is, but frankly, I'm happy with it being far away from here. After the small confrontation outside of the party, it would have been incredibly awkward and even that's an understatement. Either him and Beau would have had a hard time keeping their mouths shut about the issue, so I'm utterly glad he's decided to do something else with his time.
"Morning, Jo," Mariella chirps, giving me a quick side hug. "You have a glow to you," she compliments, pinching my cheek affectionately. I'm grateful to have the relationship that I have with her. She is really kind-hearted and deep down I know she would do nearly everything for her kids.
All but get rid of their source of trauma. I'm sure she has her reasons for staying with Mason, even when the going got rough, she stuck around. I mean we all have our reasons for doing what we think is best and for other people it's easy to look at those decisions and judge them. But I can't help but wonder...what was her reason for staying with Mason all these years? What did she see in him? Was it the possibility of redemption? Hope? Desperate love? The money the company brought in? Why did she never leave?
I'm in no position to pose those questions, to her or to anyone close to her really. All it leaves me to wonder is why Beau hasn't asked her himself.
Speaking of the devil...he pops up right beside me with two plates of warm food in his hands. "I got us both the same things, so you won't feel tempted to steal off my plate," he jokes.
When I open my mouth to argue that I'm going to take food off his plate regardless, a waiter comes up to us. Offering mimosas.
I can feel Beau and Sophie's eyes locked on me. Awaiting my response. I hear them both audibly sigh when I opt for water. Jerks. Beau takes a mimosa because why the hell would he not? The waiter circles back to bring me the water I asked for and we resume digging into our plates.
"So, how was everyone's night?" Mariella asks, making small talk to include all of us. I'm chewing on a cube of watermelon so I use that to excuse myself out of answering.
All of us respond in simultaneously contented hums, except for Sophie. "Went great. After the auction was done, I slept like a log on those pillows," she fawns before taking a small bite of the melon ball on the tip of her fork.
"The pillows were comfortable, like for real I felt like I was sleeping on clouds," I gush. Those pillows were like heaven come to earth, they weren't too soft and they proved useful in other departments as well.
I feel Beau's knee nudge mine under the table, attempting to get my attention. I hit him back a little harder, smiling to myself. Little does anyone know...
"And you, Lyric?" she asks the girl beside Sophie.
A blush arises on her tanned cheeks as her eyes leave Mariella's to look elsewhere. Sophie bumps her shoulder slightly. "Uh- yeah, pillows were great," she answers hastily, "We slept all night."
By the looks of it, they most certainly did not sleep all night. "Sorry," Sophie laughs nervously, "Lyric's just shy." Her gaze flips to Lyric's as she whispers something to her, making them both giggle quietly to themselves. I spot Sophie's arm gravitating closer to Lyric as she goes to grab her hand under the table.
Mariella's voice chimes in, snapping my focus back to her. "Beau? How were the pillows?" she says with a light smirk playing on her lips.
His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "They were fine..." he responds, but incredibly reluctantly.
She nods slowly, clearing her throat in the process. Now she's got me on edge. Like she knows something none of us don't. I take a slow sip of water. It's nothing, it's nothing...
"The pillows would have been more comfortable if I didn't hear both of my children having sex on either side of my hotel room," she overexaggertedly sighs boldly.
The water I was calmly sipping on goes down the wrong pipe, leaving me a coughing mess. Turns out I'm not the only one. Through my teary eyes I look over at Sophie who's choking on a melon ball and Beau beside me is turning a ghastly red color from a mix of embarrassment and the chunk of french toast falling into his windpipe. Lyric is the only one who seems composed, but she's blushing just as hard as Beau, so really, Mariella would win this contest if it was who can keep the most composed. She watches all of us clearly dying with a small smile on her face.
I mean, serves us right. We kept his mother up all night. I kept my boyfriend's mother up all night with my...holy fuck what did she hear? So much for not worrying.
"Don't worry," she says, nonchalantly sipping on her mimosa, "I fell asleep before the two of you could finish." A perfect gel-manicured finger points directly at Beau and I. I can literally feel my cheeks burning from the inside out as my eyes go as wide as saucers. There's no way in hell I could have imagined myself at this level of embarrassment. In times of humiliation before, I've only wanted to crawl under a rock and remain there for the rest of the week. Now I want to crawl under the same rock and remain there until my dying days. Mariella heard us fucking.
"I am so sorry," I say in a shaky voice. My throat feels parched but looking at my glass of water only reminds me of how I nearly drowned myself with it and would do the very same if I tried to drink anything for the next fifteen minutes. No, scratch that, however long it takes for me to forget that Mariella, my boyfriend's mother, my best friend's mother, a sweet woman I've known for months now knows how I sound when I'm having sex with her son.
There is a special place in hell just screaming my name.
She laughs at our expense. "Oh don't worry, darling, I'm not mad. I'm still a little tired though," she yawns.
Sophie snaps her gaze up from her lap to face her mother. "W-wait how much did you..." she stammers. That's the first time I've ever heard her speak so slowly. Go figure, she's in the same exact predicament as us, except if I were in her shoes I'd be booking my next flight to the end of the earth.
"I heard it all," she says, making me and Sophie gasp in horror, "Unfortunately," Mariella adds as she finishes off her glass.
They always say you learn something new everyday and well, I did. Now I know to never trust Beau when he says 'not to worry' and just know he's jinxing it. I harshly glare at his beet-red face, mouthing, "I told you so."
a/n
ahhh poor Mariella having to be surrounded by all that mess 😭😭
what are y'all thinking is gonna happen with MK H&J? Is she really pregnant? CAN SHE REALLY STOP LYING 👀??? Let me know all of that down in the comments, I'd love to hear your theories!
Anyways, til next time lovelies <3