by Lisa De Jong
“I need you to listen to me for a minute and not say anything, please,” I beg her. I need for her to let me talk before she says anything. But most importantly, I need her to trust me.
“Okay,” she says, her voice still trembling.
“If I had any idea, whatsoever, that this had happened to you, I would never have touched you like that. I need you to know that I would never take advantage of you, or pressure you to do anything that you weren’t comfortable with.”
She nods her head at me and maintains eye contact. “You also know that what happened to you wasn’t your fault, right?” She nods her head again, and her eyes fill with tears.
“Will you tell me what happened?” I ask her, hoping that she trusts me enough to tell me. Dropping her eyes again, she looks at our hands intertwined on the pillow that is sitting on her lap. For what feels like minutes, we sit. Her eyes are downcast and focused on our hands, which remain linked in a tight knot. With a gentle squeeze and a deep breath, she quietly starts talking. I hold my breath and hang on every word she’s speaking.
With her bottom lip quivering and her chin in a small pucker, I see the strength and bravery in the words she’s whispering to me. I take in every minor detail from the name of the park she’s running in to the song she’s listening to on her phone.
For the next hour, she tells me every last detail of what happened to her. There are times I don’t know if I can bear the details, but I don’t stop her. This is her story and she needs to tell it. At times, I’m overcome with sadness and other times, I’m overcome with anger…for her. But it’s when she speaks of Gabe that I’m overcome with jealousy.
Silence fills the space around us. I don’t know if she’s done talking or gathering her thoughts, so I give her time. She releases her death grip on my hand and lies down on the bed, her head propped on my pillow. She just stares at me, blinking slowly. She has spoken nonstop for the last hour and didn’t cry. I’m overwhelmed for her. Sliding off the bed, I walk to my dresser. I pull out a white tank top undershirt and pair of boxer shorts that will undoubtedly be too big for her, but I take them to her anyway.
“Change into these. I’m going to go get you some water and Tylenol.” I hand her the tank top and boxers.
Opening my bedroom door, I find her sitting on the side of the bed, her long legs dangling out from the wide opening of my boxer shorts. My tank top fits her snugly, showing every curve of her upper body. I hand her the two Tylenol. She pops them and swallows with a sip of water. She stands up and starts walking toward the door.
“Jess, take my bed, please. I’ll sleep on the couch.” With a slight smile, she doesn’t argue, but walks over to the far side of the bed. Pulling the covers down, she stands next to the bed, looking at it. I turn to leave the room and hear her slide into my bed and under the covers.
“Wait. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
For just a moment, I’m overcome with happiness. Not because she wants me to sleep with her, but because she feels safe with me. She trusts me. I feel a tug at my heart, which is such a foreign feeling for me, as I walk back toward the bed. Sliding into bed, I leave my cargo shorts on and reach to shut off the small table lamp. Careful as I lie down, I am sure to keep my distance from her to give her as much space as she wants or needs.
Raising my arms above my head, I relax into my place. Within seconds, she wiggles over and wraps herself around me, her arm across my chest and her long legs twisted in between mine. She’s pressed up against my side, and her face is pressed to the side of my chest.
I lower my arms from above my head and twist slightly to wrap myself around her. It’s comfortable and peaceful.
“Landon?”
“Yeah, baby girl?”
“Thank you,” she whispers, her lips pressed to my chest.
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
“For not running away from me. For listening to me and caring about me,” she replies.
“It sounds like you have a lot of people that care about you,” I whisper. Listening to her breathing settle into short, shallow breaths, I know she’s asleep. Feeling her heart beat against my chest, I close my eyes and feel a sense of contentment. For the first time in my life, I decide that I’m going to do the right thing, even though it may be the hardest thing I ever do. I’m letting her go.
****
I could love waking up to her warm body wrapped all around me every morning. Her long legs are still tucked in between mine, and her arm is tightly wrapped around my chest. There is absolutely no way I’m going to be able to slip out of bed without waking her. Running my index finger down her arm, I quietly whisper, trying to wake her without startling.
“Baby girl, time to wake up.” I continue to run my finger up and down her arm as she starts to rouse. Rolling her arm and chest off of me, she slides her legs out from mine so that she is now lying flat on her back. Rubbing her eyes, she mumbles something inaudible and rolls over onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.
I want so badly to touch her, to finish what we started last night, but then I remember the promise I made to myself. Let her go. I rub her back gently and lean in close to her ear.
“Time to get up, baby girl,” I whisper again, brushing her hair off of her shoulders and back, sweeping it over to one side, so I can see her face.
“Why?” she grumbles.
“We’ve got somewhere to go,” I say, pushing myself off the bed.
Rolling over, she opens one eye and scrunches her face at me.
“Who’s ‘we’? Because I have nowhere to be this morning.” She smiles the cutest smile at me. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I’m cautious of how close I am to her. I grab her hands and pull her up into a sitting position.
“I have an appointment and I want you to come with me.”
“An appointment? It’s a Saturday. The dentist is closed and the doctor’s offices are closed.” She’s so damn cute when she gets all sarcastic. “What kind of appointment?” she asks curiously.
“It’s a surprise. Just please get up. I need to get you home and changed so you can go with me, okay?” She grumbles and throws herself back down on the bed.
“Fine,” she mumbles as I hop off the bed and walk toward the bathroom.
“I mean it; we’ll be late. Up! Get dressed and be ready to go when I’m done. I’ll take you home so you can shower and change.”
Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I hear her grumble again. The shower is on and steaming up the bathroom. Brushing my teeth quickly, I step out of my shorts and into the hot shower. I didn’t sleep well last night. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Jess told me, and I just wanted to hold her, and remember how she felt in my arms. Rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I feel a rush of cool air drift across my body, and I hear the click of the shower door before I see her standing in front of me. All of her naked, tanned perfection.
“What are you doing?” My voice is tense. Sighing, she takes two small steps forward, and our bodies are mere inches from each other.
“You’re in a hurry. I thought this would save us some time.” Taking a step back, I reach above me to adjust the showerhead so that the water is coming down right between us. Turning around so her back is to me, she tips her head back, letting the hot water run through her long brown hair. I can’t help but look at her long back, all the way down to her ass. Every inch of her screams “sexy.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, trying to be gentle in my delivery. Turning back around, she closes her eyes and steps forward into the stream of water, letting it run down her face. I watch the trail of water as it runs down her face, over her chest, and off her tight nipples. My mind wants her out of this shower, but my body wants to take her up against the wall. It’s a battle of willpower for me. Fuck.
Reaching around me for the bottle of shampoo, she leans in, pressing her breasts against my chest. I can feel her nipples brush against me. I try to act unaffected, taking a
step back from her, but my body defies me. I’m instantly hard. Fuck. Again.
She takes notice of my condition and smirks, lathering the shampoo in her hair. Turning around again, she tips her head back into the water, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. Reaching for the sponge, I flip the cap on the body wash and squirt a decent amount. Flexing my hand, I work the body wash into the sponge and press it to her back.
She freezes at my touch. Looking back over her shoulder at me, she takes a step backwards into me, and I start circling her back with the sponge. Pulling her hair over her shoulder, I work the sponge over her shoulders, down her arms, and to her lower back. I want so badly to drop the sponge and use my hands lathered in body wash to cover every centimeter of her tanned flesh.
As I stand up, our mouths are inches apart, and even with the hot water, I can feel her hot breath against my lips. She presses her hands against my chest and, this time, I tense under her touch. I want so badly to wrap my arms around her and take her right here, but I stand still. Closing my eyes, my head drops back into the stream of hot water.
“About last night, I’m sorry. I would never have gone as far if I had…”
She cuts me off, pressing her index finger against my lips to shush me. “I should have told you before I let it get as far as it did.” Her voice trails off and she looks past me, her eyes heavy.
“I just wanted to feel your lips on my lips and your hands on my body before you knew what happened to me. Before you decided I was too damaged to touch.” I flinch at her comment. “I’m so fucked up. One minute, I want you to touch me, and the next, I can’t handle being touched.” Her hands move down my chest, to my stomach, and back up. With a small step forward, she’s pressed up against me. Both of us are standing under the water, eyes locked on each other. I want to make a move so badly, but the promises I made to myself last night are flashing through my mind. Let her go. Let her go. Let her go.
“I’ve been working through this with my therapist.” She pauses, staring at my chest. Her hands move down as she wraps her arms around my waist and presses the side of her face to my chest. Without hesitation, my arms instantly wrap around her in return. Standing for minutes in this embrace, I don’t want to ruin the moment, but I know we are running late. I pull back from her, reaching for the handle to shut the shower off.
She steps out of the shower and grabs two bath towels. Tossing one at me, she smiles a sweet genuine smile while she wraps herself in the other towel. I love seeing her like this: happy, confident, and beautiful.
“Like what you see?” she asks with a little giggle. I realize I’ve been staring at her.
“Always. You’re beautiful.” Her cheeks blush at my compliment. “You’re stunning, Jess.” She looks back at me and bursts out laughing.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Are you going to stand there and drip dry with that towel slung over your shoulder and toss compliments at me all day, or are you going to dry off?” She laughs.
“Shit.” I grab the towel off my shoulder and wrap it around my waist. Walking past her, I give her ass a hard smack through the towel she’s wrapped in. I grab my clothes and head to the bedroom to change. She’s still in fits of giggles as I close the door behind me.
****
Once again, she is looking at me like I have two heads.
“Why can’t we just take your car?”
“Because we’re young and wild and free, and we only live once. Hop your sweet ass onto the bike, or we’re going to be late.”
“Whatever, Wiz.” She rolls her eyes and mumbles at my reference to being wild and young and free, but she hops onto the back of my bike and gets settled in. She pulls an elastic band off her wrist and pulls her hair into a big messy ponytail, and puts her small Ray-Ban aviator glasses on. There is nothing sexier than she is at this moment.
“Ready,” she says as she stuffs a tube of Chapstick into the front pocket of her cut-off jean shorts that she borrowed from Lindsay.
“Let’s do this,” I say, getting on the bike and starting it up. Selfishly, I know I should just drive my car, but I love the way she feels pressed up against me, her thighs bracing me. I know that this will be the last time I will have her on the back of my bike, so I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.
She wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek to my back, and her fingers press against my stomach as she holds onto me and we wind through the streets. Pulling into the parking lot of a small brick building, I park my bike and cut the engine.
“Where are we?” she asks, looking around while sliding off the seat.
“Told you. It’s a surprise,” I say, grabbing her hand. She laces her fingers with mine, and I pull her toward me. Walking up to the small building, she sidles up next to me, unsure of what we’re doing. The building has no signage except for a neon sign in the front window that flashes “open.”
Opening the front door, I motion for her to enter first. She puts her sunglasses on top of her head, and eyes me tentatively.
“Joey!” I announce and look around for my friend.
“What is this place?” she whispers. The front reception area has a leather couch and loveseat, but is non-telling of where we’re really at.
“You’ll see.” I smile at her. I know that the nondisclosure is driving her crazy.
“Landon!” Joey announces, rounding the corner from the hallway that leads back to the four stations in the back. Joey walks up to me and shakes my hand. “And who do we have here?” he asks, looking at Jess, which causes her to press herself closer to my side.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Joey,” he says, offering his hand for her to shake. Politely, she reaches out and shakes his hand, but does not remove the death grip she has on mine.
“Jessica,” she replies. “Nice to meet you as well.”
“Well, let’s do this, shall we?” Joey smiles, his voice full of energy and enthusiasm. Leading the way, Joey turns and begins walking down the hallway, and we follow suit. Turning into the large bright room, she gasps when she sees where we are. Her eyes are large, and she squeezes my hand, turning to look at me. Her lips curl into a smile.
“You’re getting another tattoo?” she whispers. Leaning down, I rub my nose into her hair and kiss the top of her head.
“Yes, and I wanted you here with me while I did it.” Her smile is huge and her eyes light up with excitement.
“Have any ink?” Joey asks her.
“I’ve always wanted one, but I’m too afraid,” she admits quietly.
“Nothing to be afraid of, I tell ya. Once you get one, you can’t stop. Just look at our guy here.” Joey smirks. “I’ll be right back. In the meantime, lie down on the table and take off your shirt,” he directs me.
“Pull up a chair, sweetheart.” He barks orders as he leaves the room. I pull back my t-shirt over my head, and my white gold crucifix I’m wearing dangles from my neck. Jess walks over and places her hand over the top of the cross, pressing it against my chest. I wonder what she’s doing, but I don’t ask.
“What are you getting?” she asks quietly.
“A saying that I tell myself every morning,” I whisper back.
Her eyes find mine. “What is the saying?”
“Vive ut vivas.”
“What does it mean?” She moves closer, not moving her hand from my chest or from the crucifix.
“Live so that you may live.” There is silence while she takes in the meaning of the saying. I take her hand off of my chest and bring it to my lips, kissing each one of her fingers. I take my time because I know, after today, I won’t see her or touch her again.
“Live so that you may live,” she whispers.
I tug on her hand, pulling her down to me. I place small kisses on the center of her forehead between each word, “Vive ut vivas,” as if I’m pushing those words into her subconscious.
“Live so that you may live,” she whispers again. She pulls back from me when Joey comes bounding back into the room,
carrying a sheet of transfer paper. I lie still on the table. Joey hands me a small pillow that I tuck under my head with my free hand, still holding Jess’ hand with my other.
“Ready, big guy?” he asks. Sitting down in a chair that is next to the table, she’s right by my side. I give her hand a small squeeze, willing her to calm down. She’s been running her thumb in a fast movement across the top of my hand. My squeeze slows her thumb considerably. Joey preps my chest, shaving the area and cleaning it. She gasps when she looks at Joey press the transfer sheet to my chest.
“Jesus Christ, that’s huge,” she bellows. Joey laughs at her reaction, but doesn’t flinch as he places the paper across my chest. Pressing it on, he removes the paper and hands me a mirror.
“It’s perfect.” The large font follows the curve of the top of my chest, from just under each collarbone. Joey grabs the tattoo gun and begins working. Since it’s black and in a simple English-style font, it won’t take long. Jess watches the needles glide across my skin.
“Does it hurt?” she whispers, squeezing my hand.
“No. I’m used to it. This is my eighth tattoo.” I point to the others that mark my arms and chest.
“So it doesn’t hurt?”
“Not really. Some pinching here and there, and every once in a while, he’ll hit a sensitive spot, but for the most part, it doesn’t hurt; it’s just uncomfortable at times.” Joey continues his work across my chest, not talking while he’s working; he’s focused intently on the job at hand. He’s a legend in this town when it comes to tattoos. He has done every single one of mine. Jess sits, impatiently bobbing her legs up and down, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Hey, Joey,” she asks.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” He stops, looking up at her.
“Got time for one more when you’re done?”
“Really?” I ask her.