forty-five
With our final classes coming to their bitter end until the next school year, Taylor and I woke up exponentially early the following morning to pack up our dorm. By the time noon arrives, we've successfully crammed all our belongings into tote bins and then head to the dining hall for lunch. Last night after my run-in with Professor Thronton, I was too on edge to talk to Taylor about it when I made it home and saw her laying across her bed. Mainly because my emotions were still on overdrive. Why did he need to make it more difficult than it would've been to initially confess his feelings for me before? Why did he all but say he was in love with me while also saying we needed to avoid each other?
My brain couldn't take the stress of trying to deduce what exactly he wanted—or perhaps didn't.
Telling her now seemed like such a bad time—but if not now, when? When she had to hear about it from her sister? I knew that would be worse, but I doubt Meghan would dare speak a word of this to her sister. Taylor would always pick Trevor over her when it came to their estranged relationship. It's the reason she hadn't told her thus far. Her history of infidelity was the reason for that. Not to mention how bad she would look being so concerned with his love life while being pregnant with another man's child.
Trying to fathom any of the shit happening in my life was, to say the least, stressful, and I'd silently been whispering phrases of gratitude under my breath as we approached the lunch line in pursuit of food. At least food wouldn't let me down. At least it hadn't yet when I needed something to immediately alleviate all my pent-up frustration and stress.
I load my tray with the choice of beef stew, mashed potatoes, and green beans—opting for a slice of strawberry cheesecake for dessert and a pack of celery sticks—before following Taylor to a vacant table in the hall. It isn't a second after we've made it to our seats that I begin devouring every shred of sustenance I could get. I'd already been operating on depleted strength from the strenuous effort it took to pack up my dorm and with the play happening in a mere seven hours, there wasn't much time to replenish what was lost. Not only did I have to worry about the additional duties the stage director position required, but my time was also already cut short since I wanted to run through my lines in full at least once more before show time.
Apart from all of that, I was trembling with anxiety thinking about how the next interaction might go with Trevor once we saw each other again tonight. I couldn't help replaying the scene of our last encounter over and over in my head. The way his scent wrapped me in a blanket as he stood so close to me. Our body heat radiated off each other as his minty breath sent a shiver down my spine. Fuck. I shove another spoonful of stew in my mouth and choke down the salvation of my illicit desires with it.
I'm halfway through my stew when I glance over to Taylor and her eyes fixated on me with amusement smeared over her face. Thankfully, she refrains from mentioning the way I've scarfed down my entire bowl of stew before she's even made a dent in her choice of turkey sub, peas, and an orange.
"So, I've been meaning to ask ... How's your dad?" Taylor questions, using her fork to move the peas on her plate in circles. "Is he still in the hospital?"
All I can manage was a nod. I couldn't be bothered to think about any of that right now. Not if I wanted the remainder of the day to go as planned. If I gave too much thought to it, I'd crumble and that's the last thing I needed. The last update my brother and I had gotten from Lorelei was nothing we hadn't heard a million times. He'd still been in a coma but the doctors remained optimistic about his recovery. It was redundant. Enough that it made me dread a single thought of him.
She doesn't say anything in response so I use her silence to continue shoveling spoonfuls of mashed potatoes into my mouth until I've cleared them from my plate as well.
To keep her eyes from obsessively watching me indulge in my slice of cheesecake next, I probed her on questions about her relationship with Leonardo. She doesn't have to say much about him for it to be visibly apparent that he made her happier than that douchebag Tony ever could. In any case, she tells me that for half of our semester break, they agreed on going back to his family's house to spend that time together to get to know each other better, I couldn't blame them. In all actuality, I encouraged it. She deserved to be spontaneous after being bound to such toxicity before. Not that I had much of a say in anyone's dating life considering I couldn't even keep my own in order. Nonetheless, it remains true.
We finish our food and head back outside to the quad with nowhere, in particular, to head next. Any further conversations we begin are brief and to the point. Apart from the play tonight, we decided to meet up much later to accomplish a few more conquests on our list of adventures we'd seemingly forgotten about yet again. Shortly after, we decide to part ways until tonight when she'd be in the theater to witness my leading role. I'd never practiced a single line in front of her. I suppose I could attribute that to my crippling stage fright, but hearing her excitement when I offered her a ticket, I couldn't have been more elated. With my last ticket waiting to be passed out, I'm plagued with thoughts of my friend long gone from here. Even so, I shoot her a message to remind her I'd been thinking of her and that I would be performing as the lead in a play on campus that I wish she could've attended.
Taylor and I stop once we've made it to the theater—despite it not being where we initially intended to go. She hugs me goodbye and waits for me to leave.
"Wait," She calls out, closing the distance that has gathered between us. "There's one thing from the list we can do right now," Taylor ends, glancing up at me. Before I've even had the chance to ask what, her lips find mine—catching me off guard in a kiss.
"Um, okay. Wow. Didn't expect to enjoy that as much as I did," I say, once she's pulled away. Wide-eyed and focused on her. She only laughs and reveals that I'm not the only one with a few tricks up my sleeve. And then she's gone with a wave goodbye.
The theater appears vacant once I've made my way inside and toward the stage. Luckily for me, it meant I could get some uninterrupted practice in before showtime which I desperately wanted. Although having company might not have been all bad. I strip myself of my jacket and toss my backpack to the side after retrieving my phone to take Chessie up on her offer of rehearing together.
To my convenience, her dormitory is less than a five-minute walk to the theater and she arrives in the blink of an eye—though pressed for time and only able to stay for an hour max. During that time she helps me liven up my enunciations and dramatize my expressions. We sail through eighty-five percent of the script before her alarm blares, cutting our time short. She bids me farewell until tonight and scurries off the stage and out of the theater as if her life depended on it. The doors latch with an echo, and I proceed with my act with Chessie's input. Though my supporting actor, Philip is absent, I recite the script without him.
"I have thought of death—wished for it. Would even have prayed for it, were it fit that such as I should pray for anything. Yet, if death be in this cup, I bid thee think again, ere thou beholdest me quaff it!" Without our props out for use, I lift my hand to mouth as if to drink from a cup—brows furrowed with hesitation and fear.
If only Wyatt were here to see me now. I think to myself before the echoing sound of applause nearly startles me to the ground. It isn't until I've asset the many seats in the theater that I notice Professor Thornton tucked away in the last row of seats near the back. He must've been here awhile or else I would've heard his entrance as loudly as I had heard Chessie's exit.
"I couldn't have cast a better person for this role," he says, slowly making his way toward the stage.
My stomach has somehow in the past few seconds tangled itself in a bundle of nerves because I'm unable to speak. Stunned that he'd seen me rehearse. Surprised that he thought so much of me. Afraid of what might happen if he got any closer, though his movement doesn't stop until we're face to face. Inches from the other. I swallow hard, hoping to somehow undo the cluster of thoughts swarming my mind but fail exponentially.
The most I manage is a nod in his direction before my eyes fall to my feet. What was he doing here? It's not like we were needed here for another two hours to start dotting I's and crossing T's, but I'm in no position to question him. Not when it's clear that he had been here before I arrived. No! I thought to myself. Why did I have to give him the satisfaction of my uncertainty? Why was I allowing myself to feel out of place or unwanted somewhere I worked my ass to be? Yes, the start was rocky and maybe at first I didn't want the responsibility of being the lead—hell even the stage director—and still, I worked my ass off to maintain it despite all the shit unraveling at my feet.
I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of taking this away from me or making me feel like I needed to be ashamed of myself for the things I had done; the things we had done... together. I was sick of playing by everyone else's rules. Being constrained to what this person said or what that person thought. Wracking my brain with whether or not this conversation was deemed "necessary" to him by his requests. It's then that my eyes rise from the deadpanned stare of the ground and up to his.
"I wasn't aware anyone was here other than me. Wait, I am allowed to speak, right? Wouldn't want to inconvenience you with nonessential conversation."
His eyes remain on mine, teetering ever so slightly between them. Roaming every angle of my face until they've landed on my lips, glued in place until the sound of me clearing my throat sends them back to my eyes.
"Okay, whoa," he says, taking a step back enough for me to examine his body. He was dressed in a black sweats suit, and his cologne was one I didn't recognize, but It didn't make it any less tasteful. He smelled like a million bucks—hell—he looked it as well. Not that that mattered. I shake away my desire and focus on him. "I just wanted to say that I enjoyed watching you in your element. You have a real talent for the arts. A passion many of my past students have lacked. Is showing appreciation for that a criminal offense?"
He couldn't even hold himself accountable to his simpleminded requests, yet forbid I say one thing to him in regards to anything and it was me crossing the line. I couldn't stand his hypocrisy. It infuriated me.
"You tell me, Trevor," I all but yell, though the echo in the room confirms that it was louder than all of our previous exchanges. Regardless, I turn on my heels in pursuit of my jacket and backpack to leave. The only difference this time was that it was on my terms.
Once I've gathered my belongings, I walk in the opposite direction of the stage and toward the curtain in an attempt to avoid the usual pull that caused either of us to stay, but the sound of his feet trots quickly behind me. All of our props and costumes were back here, sprawled out for when the time came to set the stage and ready the performers. I squeeze and maneuver my way through the maze of props until the path clears and I'm able to proceed without obstruction, only it isn't the props that stop me this time. Trevor races until he manages to stumble his way in front of me. He holds his hands up in defense and urges me to slow down.
"Why did you have to show up now? Huh? Why couldn't you have just waited until we all agreed to be here to show up?" He questions, pacing the space between us.
If he intended to defuse the situation, he was doing a piss poor job at it. As he continues pacing, his attention finds me again, long enough to seize his sporadic behavior and take a few steps toward me. His cologne whiffs past me as he walks closer and I hold my breath to hide the blindness of our proximity.
"What the hell kind of question is that?" I spit, rolling my eyes at him. This was getting old—quick! This toxic game of back and forth. His unwillingness to accept his feelings for me then completely unravel when I refused to reciprocate mine. In the beginning, it was fun. Maybe even a little sexy, but now I was over it and in all honesty, all I wanted to do was be far away from him as humanly possible. "Better yet, save your breath trying to answer. I'm leaving," I end, turning on my heels yet again. This time in pursuit of the way I had entered.
And then there it is again. The pull, and then I'm back in front of him, closer this time, inches away from his lips.
"You can't leave. Not now. Not when I've finally put my narrowest concerns behind me and owned up to the way you make me feel," he breathes, his bottom lip trembles as the words fall from them. "I care about you. Scratch that—I have fallen into an unfortunate position of being in love with you. You plague my dreams, even my daydreams—something I didn't think I possessed the ability to have anymore. I'm blinded by my feelings for you, crippled by my lust, and irrevocably angry at myself for allowing so much time to pass between us where I refused to let you know that."
I want to speak, to move, to stand my ground and march out of this stupid theater like I was so intent on doing seconds ago but I'm trapped by his confession; glued in place at the thought of the two of us finally getting to have our moment. Once my eyes have come back into focus, I notice his. Big, and beautiful, grey like the clouds in the sky preparing for a monsoon. Only the clouds aren't what releases the downpour—it's his eyes and it's then that I know I'm unable to leave and I hate myself for allowing these feelings for him to encompass me as they have.
My palm finds his cheek and my thumb caresses his skin to relieve them of the tears streaming down his face, but they return not even a minutia
later. I have to take a moment to force myself back into my composure. Erratically blinking away the tears that attempt to take me over as they do him. I blink several times, and between one of the many, that's when his lips find mine in a manner they have never before. One that stops time and cures hunger—alleviates the world of distress and pain.
Everything feels light and I'm more than certain my heart has found a new home in my belly. The world seems to vanish around us, though the moment remains for an inkling of a second until my right mind returns to me and my heart has managed to return to its designated location. Before I even comprehended my movement, my hand pushes against Trevor's chest hard enough to sever our lip lock. His nose is stained crimson and a trail of damp moisture remains in streaks down his cheeks as our eyes latch again.
"I can't... Trevor, I can't do this." Now it's me pacing the floor. "I have a boyfriend. I'm with Wyatt."
I expect that to solidify this interaction, but instead, his hand finds the small of my back and pulls my body in closer to him.
"But do you love him?"
I hate him for asking that question. More so because he knew the answer to that without needing to put me on the stop to confirm it. It's impossible to link eyes with him again so I don't dare, yet I've mustered enough strength to put more distance between us though it doesn't last long. Somewhere between our pacing and arguing, we'd ended up back in the thicket of props. My calf slams against a sofa and I pummel on it with my bottom. There's not enough time for me to rise from it before Trevor is in front of me, kneeling on the ground. He latches onto my hands and looks me directly in the eye. Even still I'm unable to do the same so he frees a hand to push my chin up enough, leaving me no choice.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me you love him."
Even though that's all he says, I know what the translation of that is. Prove that I feel nothing more between us and that what Wyatt and I have is genuinely what I want. That I'll be satisfied with my life and content with the fact that my answer will determine the fate of our future.
As hard as it is, I force a lump from my throat with a swallow and meet his eyes. He removes his hand from mine and releases my chin, leaving all the hard work strictly up to me and I'm almost certain I can get the words out, but when my lips part to speak, nothing falls from them and instead, my head drops to my lap where my hands cuff my face to mask the embarrassment coursing through me. Why the fuck couldn't I get those three words to come out of my mouth when it wasn't Trevor they were intended for?
I'm so entangled in my thoughts that I miss the sound of myself hyperventilating. Trevor pulls my hands from my face and uses his hand to reposition my attention on him.
"Don't cry, baby," he says, tears returning to his own. "I've made a mess of things, I know, but I promise you this time I intend for things to be different. Even if... Even if it means that I have to leave my teaching position so you can finish off your time here. I'm willing to commit to you."
His request to refrain from crying doesn't become any easier after his confession, but the fluttering in my belly is foreign and one that I know I have to cherish for as long as I'm allowed it. When he leans in again to plant another kiss against my lips, I'm paralyzed, engulfed in an intense sensation that prevents me from accessing my better judgment. I know this is wrong. I know my actions will hurt Wyatt, but I can't pull myself out of the euphoria slowly pinning me to the sofa.
I'm no stranger to the structure of his body or his touch, but I've never experienced it like this before. Sure we've had sex before. Done everything under the sun with each other, and still, nothing compared to this, because this time we weren't fucking. We weren't using each other's bodies for some quick form of release. It's no wonder we remained fully clothed yet prisoners to the touch of the other. I can barely catch a sustaining breath of air, but breaking from his lips seems more consequential than struggling for a breath, so I don't.
Trevor uses both hands to roam my body. First my breast, then my hips, and finally my thighs where he manages to free myself and him from the concealment of our clothing. He uses his shaft to make circles around my sweet spot to lessen the friction once he's pushed himself in, but there's no use. I've already reached the point of pleasure to dampen my undergarments, something he'd have noticed if he had the chance to look at them I'm now. I guide his hand further toward my entrance, and though I'd never be prepared for the girth of his member, he pushes it in with ease against my secretion with a moan that fills my ears and sends a wave of bliss throughout every nerve-ending in me.
From there our bodies glide against each other in slow motion, both of us drowning in our moans as our lips hungrily devour one another. We stay like this for what seems like an eternity. Riding the high of our ecstasy and refusing to pick up speed. Trevor resumes his exploration of my body again, stopping once both hands have securely gripped my breast. He fondles them with waves of pressure that edge me closer and closer to release and I know he's almost there himself because his moans are too frequent to continue kissing. Instead, he finds himself in the crook of my neck, barely able to trail kisses along it until his lips attack my ear followed by a soft nibble on the lobe of my ear.
His breath hitches until it becomes a bunch of syncopated gasps and grunts that fully send me to my place of release and it isn't much longer before he follows shortly after me, collapsing on my chest, with a sigh of relief. We don't move from our position, and the throbbing of his cock remains prevalent in me longer than it ever had all the times we weren't able to last as long as we had this time.
Trevor lifts his head from my chest, "I love you," I surprise myself with a whisper as he tucks a loose curl behind my ear and then places another kiss on my lips that cause his shaft to harden again and nearly escalates to another surge of sensation until were both startled from our position at the distant sound of the theater doors slamming shut.
It isn't but a mere five seconds that we've secured ourselves in our clothing and I've gathered my things before we made it back to the stage to assess who had entered the building—only no one's there and without needing to waste breath questioning what it meant, we don't because we're terrifyingly aware of the latter. We'd been too caught up in our bickering match earlier to hear someone come in and now they had left unbeknownst to either of us.