24 comments/ 32477 views/ 31 favorites Little Things Ch. 04 of 04 By: nomennescio I highly recommend beginning with section 1. --- Next morning, the sky looms again grey and dismal, heavy with the threat of renewed snowfall. My body's cold and stiff as I awaken, the chill of desolation in my bones. It's an effort just to rouse my limbs to motion. Eating breakfast a mechanical exercise, the rich food tasteless in my mouth as I avoid eye contact with David across the table. And afterward, diving eagerly for the chores of the farm, a familiar distraction in checking the coop for fresh eggs, tending to the young calves. Still keeping away from my brother, taking tasks that put me elsewhere. Not wanting to have to look at him right now, when even silence says more than it should. A heavy load today, almost noon by the time we're finished. Late enough. A few minutes to freshen up, to throw on a new and more attractive set of clothes. Not exactly easy to show some skin in the middle of winter. I pick out a thin white blouse and a pair of tight jeans, but the thick sweater I have to throw on top probably ruins what little appeal it has. Whatever. Eyeliner. Lipstick. Nothing fancy, just a light carmine. Just a little help for the plain-faced girl I see in the mirror. We keep the keys to the truck on a nail downstairs; I pick them up, and almost make it to the driver's side door before I hear his voice behind me. "Wait!" Loudly, across the snowy field. He's jogging towards me when I glance backwards, swiftly closing the distance between us. A clean shirt hastily tossed on, rumpled beneath his open jacket. "I want to come with you." "You don't even know where I'm going." Flatly. Not that I'm much more certain myself. But most of my high school boyfriends still live in town; maybe one of them would be up for a visit. For old times' sake. "Anyway, no, you don't." "I do." He affirms with some force, his breath coming slightly short as he steps alongside the passenger side door. Last night's misery in partial retreat, his aspect reinforced with a firmer determination. "Sam, I'm still your brother, even if...even if all that other stuff is over. You're only here for a week - I want to spend time with you." A snort, a shake of the head. Dismissive - moreso than I really feel. "Jesus." Whatever he thinks right now, I know he wouldn't really want to come along if he knew what I had in mind. It would be cruel to bring him, to force him to watch as I proposition an ex. Or 'reconnect with.' However you want to say it. Amounts to the same thing, a cheap fuck to free my brother from my mind's lower quarters, to remind my body that there are other guys out there. Maybe I need to be cruel, though. Need to make him realize that I'm not whatever kind of shining angel he thinks I am. If he loves me too much...maybe I need to make him hate me. How much simpler it would be if he did, if I didn't have the chance and choice to fall into his arms...so I push up the corners of my mouth into a tight, false smile. "Fine." The truck doors unlocking with a click. "Get in." A look near relief on his face as he pops open the door. If only he knew. We don't speak again until nearly into town, until I need to figure out exactly where I'm going. "Is Eric still working at the repair shop?" Trying for a casual tone. Foolish - David knows me better than that. And besides, any words feel weighty after long minutes of silence. "Eric?" David speaks it slowly, working through the implications. "Yeah, far as I know. Why?" I ignore the question. "Is he seeing anyone?" "I don't think so." A beat. He looks at me; I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead. "I thought you didn't like him much." I didn't. I mean, he was okay. My last boyfriend before graduation, before leaving for college. We'd gotten pretty hot and heavy after prom, but that was it. There was nothing wrong with the guy, really, but not much right, either; I mostly went out with him because...well, you had to have somebody. Or so it seemed, at the time. He didn't have the grades for State, nor the interest, honestly, and when he made noises about commitment, about a long-distance relationship, I was equivocal enough for him to get the hint. We never even broke up, technically. Just...stopped. Now, though, I figure all that makes him more or less ideal. No bad memories, no broken hearts. Maybe a pinch of nostalgia. "He was fine." Muttering vaguely. I recognize how weak this sounds, and stab out blindly. "Sane, you know. Didn't want to bang his sister." David stiffens in the seat beside me. "Sam, don't." Injured, but trying for some pitiful dignity. "You don't have to say it, I-" "What, you just want me to shut up?" Snapping at him venomously, my throat tight. I need to be awful, need to drive him away. To take hold of the helpless anger, the frustration that smoulders in my heart and turn it against him. "You beg to come along, but you don't want to listen to me?" His head shakes, low and helpless. Staring out the window at the buildings passing here on the outskirts of town, small homes with large yards buried in a blanket of white. His breath fogging faint on the window. "I'll listen." "It's pathetic." Brutally, the words oozing revulsion. "Like you're a goddamn twelve-year-old who just figured out what girls are. You know? Like you're such a fucking...freak, you can't even manage a real relationship with anyone outside your family." My jaw clenching tight for a moment, breath hissing through my nose. "'Course, when you try to fuck them, those tend to get screwed up too." "I didn't want that to happen." His voice comes quiet and sorrowful, a sound of almost stillness against the steady rumble of the engine. "It's why I was afraid of telling you, that if I did I might lose...what we have. Lose you." "Yeah, well, great work on that." Sarcasm, cutting and vicious. "You were real fucking careful. Everything's just peachy." "Sam..." My name sounding like a sorrowful sigh. His body shifts, and he's staring into my eyes. Soft and imploring, in the moment before I turn away. "We can go back, can't we? Back to normal, to being just brother and sister." Swallowing uncomfortably, a quiet, delicate sound. "Just let it all be a mistake." Bitter laughter, brief and low. "You can never go back. You can't...unshatter a glass, can't unscramble an egg. Can't forget. You just have to live with the shit you've done. That's how the world fucking works. You break it, and it stays broken." My fingers tighten on the fake leather of the steering wheel, my gut churning with blind, aimless fury. God damn it. God damn it, it's not fair. "For fuck's sake, David, why?" A sliver of pain sneaks in beneath the storm. "Why'd you have to be like this? Why couldn't you just be happy with Sarah, or whoever?" Silence. His hand settles wearily on the window, staring hopelessly out. Half a dozen seconds before a response finally comes, weak and resigned. "I don't know." His hands clasped loosely in his lap. "I mean, I thought about that. About how weird it was, how...crazy, I guess. And how unlikely that we would ever have what I dreamed about. I tried, you know?" Glancing over forlornly. "Tried to be normal. But...well, I told you what happened. It just felt wrong. I couldn't do it. Couldn't be happy with her, or make her happy, if I really loved someone else." "Love." The words spill out quick and hot. "God, you're an idiot. There's no such thing. There's attraction, there's infatuation, but there's no goddamn love, no soulmates, no perfect, eternal emotion, or whatever the hell you think you feel. It's a fucking fiction." Pouring the scorn into my voice. Hate me, please just hate me. "There's nothing deeper out there than getting your dick wet, okay? And if you have half a brain, that's what you'll focus on. Forget about me, find some girl who'll let you stick it to her, because I won't. Understand?" My lips curling up to an almost snarl. "You're never going to touch me again." David doesn't try to answer. Doesn't have much time to, either, as I pull to a stop beneath the crude, handpainted sign of "Tom's Garage." A small and dingy place, with crumbling stucco walls and a permanent oil stain on the street outside. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence, but I guess a repair shop doesn't have to if it's the only one in town. Eric was working here as a part-time job when we were together. Guess he made it full-time, though I wouldn't have thought the shop even did enough business to justify it. I'm in no fit state to enter, though. Not yet. Have to sit there with the engine running as I try to regain my cool, to work myself back to a state of mind where I might hope to be flirtatious. Stamping down the gnawing of frustration in my gut, checking my lipstick in the rear-view mirror while David looks on in pensive, mournful silence. When I finally pop open the door, the breeze outside is an icy caress on my cheek, a sudden chill that arrests me briefly in the seat. A moment of pause for me to glance over, tiredly remark "Come in. Or don't. Whatever." He does, of course. The door to the customer area jingles cheerfully as we step inside, a vague industrial smell of oil and rust filling the air. Half a dozen ratty plastic chairs lining the walls of the small room, and a shoddy cash register atop a counter at the far end. Nobody in sight, at least immediately - but as I wander up towards the counter, a figure strides in through the back doorway, wiping off his hands with an old rag. He almost drops it as he catches sight of me. "Well, I'll be damned." It's Eric. Not too much changed by the last three years, at least as far as appearances go. Dark auburn hair, a few inches long and loosely rumpled on his scalp. Eyes of hazel, with a perpetually sleepy look. A blue work shirt, stained with grease and open at the chest to reveal the wife beater beneath. Still barely an inch taller than me, but broader now than I remember him. A trifle thicker, too. The voice is familiar, words slightly slurred with the trace of a twang inherited from his parents. "Samantha Potts. I woulda bet money I was never gonna set eyes on you again." "Eric." A faint smile curving my lips as I urge myself into the moment. "I wasn't sure whether you were going to remember me." "Aw, come on now." He sets the rag down beside the register, reclines easily against the counter. "Like I'd forget the girl that ran off and broke my heart." The words belied by his confident grin. "Yeah, right." I manage a bit of a laugh. "I'm sure you were sneaking kisses off somebody else within the week." "Well, I'm right flattered you think so." A smirk lightly traced on his expression. "Even if I was really draining out my stash of booze at the time." His eyes fix on me curiously, with a little shake of the head. "What brings you out here, anyway? Something gone wrong with that truck of yours?" "Nah, it's fine." A casual shrug. "Actually, I was hoping to run into you." "Really?" Surprise blooms visibly on his face, before being ushered back behind a mask of cool. "Sure, why not?" Forcing a flirtatious purse onto my lips. "Home for the holidays, you know. Found myself thinking about you." True enough, as far as it goes. I nod my head over towards David, lurking in grim silence near the door. "My brother told me you were still working here." Eric glances over then, his posture stiffening a trace as he seems to take notice of David for the first time. "Hey there, man." An uncertain smile of greeting, met with a curt, unfriendly nod; he looks a little less at ease as he turns his gaze back to me. "Guess I shouldn't be too surprised to see him following you around, huh?" "Wish you could be." I have to look away, let my gaze flit around the room's dusty walls as my smile tightens, my voice perhaps rising a trifle, seeking David's ears. "Kinda trying to get him off my tail, honestly. The 'little lost puppy' act gets a bit tiresome, you know?" "Ah...yeah..." Eric answers cautiously, scratching at the day or so of stubble on his angular cheek. "I reckon I could see that. No offense there, Dave. I hear you're doin' great things for the team." An apologetic aside, before his eyes jump back to me. There's quiet for a moment as a calculating look passes through his expression, a gamble swiftly taken. "Gotta say, Samantha, I'm real glad you decided to stop in. After spending all day working on a van with a busted cylinder casing, seeing your pretty face is like waking up to a California vacation." An awkward line. Overwrought, rehearsed - god knows how long he's been waiting to use it, or whom he planned to use it on. Still, hearing it almost a comfort. It's just the game, the exercise of flirtation; I know my role, know the rules. Tossing my head to the side, so my hear swirls a moment before my eyes. Letting my body kink sideways at the hip, so it flares outward for his gaze. An affected lilt to my voice, reaction tailored to the tone of his overture. "Aww, you're sweet." Letting my hand swing out to brush lightly at his, a gesture pointless but for the signal it carries. A dance formalized and patterned as a Vienna waltz. "I'm glad, too. Hardly feel like I know anyone here anymore. It's nice to spend some time with a familiar face..." "Well, hell." Flush with success, he moves bolder, stepping up close before me, and I have to fight back the impulse to back away. "You eaten yet? We could grab a bite, catch up on old times. Whaddaya say?" "Sounds wonderful," my voice humming high, throat tight with the vague discomfort of dishonesty. But this is what I wanted. What I planned for. "You're sure Tom won't mind you taking off, though?" "Tom?" Eric chuckles heartily, a smirk caressing his expression. "Nah, he may still own the place, but these days it's pretty much just me running it. Confidentially," he leans in, close enough that I can smell something like pickle on his breath, see the pores on his face. His features crammed in tight, like a rat's. "He's thinkin' about retiring altogether one of these days. Gonna sell me the shop. What do you think about that - me, a business owner." Laughter, again. I can see the glint of silver fillings in the back of his mouth. "Not quite the loser you thought you were leaving behind, huh?" Surprised denial lifts my eyebrow. "I didn't think you were..." Trailing off to uncomfortable silence, as I try to squeeze past the stumbling block. "Anyway, yeah, that's really something. Guess you'll be a big man in town." "Damn right." He looks gratified, at least, at this answer. Such contrast between the pride in his expression and the shabbiness of the environs. To dream of owning a two-car repair shop in a nowhere town...well. I guess everyone has his own idea of success. "I figure a visit from the hottest girl I ever lost is reason to close up early, huh? We should, uh..." Hesitation strikes suddenly as he glances back over at David, his train of thought derailed. A bit of a sour look tugging at his expression. "Or all three of us could get lunch, of course." "Oh, no," I jump in quick and dismissive. "Three's a crowd, right? You just close up or whatever, and I'll get rid of my shadow here." "Great!" His grin bares just the edges of his teeth, putting his slight overbite on display. Avoiding looking in David's direction as he turns back into the garage area of the shop. I wish I could do the same. That I didn't have to turn around, look at my brother again. That I didn't have to see him as I send him away. No help for it. No choice. My lips tighten to a bitter smile, aching with false cheer as I spin on my heel to regard him, standing like a silent guardian by the door, half a dozen feet away. His face turned downwards towards the peeling linoleum, though I can see how his eyes seek mine - and how his fists sit half-clenched at his side. A conflicted kind of hope in that. If he's angry, if he's angry at me...that's just what I need. To drive him away. To lose him, for the good of us both. So I stamp down the fluttering of concern in my heart, gather up all the spite I can find to poison my voice. "Well? You heard what's going on." I throw the keys of the truck across the space between us, a sudden, underhanded toss; there's a jingle as they impact upon his chest, his hands jerking up, startled and fumbling to catch. "Don't need you hanging around and embarrassing me when I'm out on a date." My lips curve in emphasis around the final word as I step up closer, just before him. Feeling his presence, like an aura around his body, warm and almost tangible. I have to force myself to glare up into his eyes, to cast aside the shiver I feel from their sapphire depths. "Go home. And don't wait up for me, either." I turn away then, without a goodbye. A final, insulting dismissal. Or at least, I try to. As I start to move, David's hand shoots out and locks around my wrist in a grip of steel, a hint of the strength he carries behind that compassionate demeanor. "Sam, wait." His voice still quiet, but struggling with an inner passion, a half-strangled quaver of wildness. Not much choice. I tug fruitlessly at my arm; it might as well be handcuffed to a pole, his hand moving scarcely an inch as I try to jerk it away. An atom of fear at this new ferocity, wondering what he plans, what he hopes...but deep down, I know I'm safe. I know who we are. And so I just speak three words, a tone of rebuke as I stare coldly into his eyes. "You're touching me." It takes a moment. David's eyes drop down to the his hand clutched around my wrist, as though unaware of it before I spoke. Then he lets go, his palm wide and open in a gesture of surrender. A creeping of apology in his voice as I step back, away. "Samantha, just...listen to me." Desperation, a hushed urgency. "You don't want to do this. You don't even like this guy, and I...I don't trust him." A look of quick frustration, his jaw tightening momentarily. "And I know how that sounds, like I'm just making it up, but - look, if this is because of me, because of us...if you're trying to punish me or something, then just - just stop. You don't need to. And I'm afraid you might regret it, if you do." Earnest sincerity staring down from his expression. Concern. God damn it. I feel like screaming, like clawing out those god-damned soft blue eyes. I'm doing everything I can to make him hate me, and he's fucking worried about me? "You think you know what I want?" A frenzied whisper builds almost to a scream. "You think you know what I need? You don't know anything, David. Just fucking go away!" I shove ineffectually at his chest, succeeding only in pushing myself backward. "Go home! Get lost already!" Silence as he looks back at me, anxious and woebegone, breathing slow and deep. A tension almost thick enough to choke on. But finally he nods faintly, turns and walks swiftly out the door. A chill breeze blowing in from the outside as I'm left standing there with trembling fists and burning eyes. Blinking clear my vision from the blur that swims before me. God damn him, how can he be so...be such a fucking... A door slams closed on the other side of the room, and I have to feebly try to jump back to a semblance of calm, to swallow the lump that aches in my throat. Eric standing there, sporting now a nicer brown jacket, his hands cleaned of grease. "Something wrong?" A cheery grin on his face that I can only try feebly to return. My mouth moving wordlessly for some moments before I can make myself speak. "Yeah. No, I mean, um. No. Not really." My hand rising to rub frustrated at my forehead, my eyes dodging away with the lie. "Just had a hard time getting rid of my brother." "Huh." Eric huffs with an abstracted humor as he closes down the cash register. "Sounds like it. It's weird, I thought I remembered you two getting along a lot better." Little Things Ch. 04 of 04 "No, we do." A pang of regret striking at my temple. "We did, anyway. Lately, he's just...he's braindead. Crazy. Or I guess really he's always been, but I didn't realize before now..." Awareness flashing, my mouth clamps shut. Why the hell am I telling him anything about this? But Eric just laughs. "Well, I can't deny the kid's always seemed like a bit of a freak. Actually saw him crying over roadkill once. Not even a pet - just a raccoon, or some damned thing." A smirk tugging upward at one side of his lips, ready with confident derision now that David's left. "Maybe he should be wearing that helmet of his off the field, huh?" "Watch your fucking mouth." I'm almost startled at the strength of my response, at the snarl that leaps so readily to my lips. The fury boiling in my blood, that he would dare...instincts from an early lifetime as David's protector, stepping forth as second nature. Righteous wrath rising in my breast, fixing a violent glare into my gaze. Even when thought and reflection does come around to give its opinion, it only joins the chorus. Even if I don't quite know what to do about David right now, this guy has no god-damned right to talk about his tenderness like it's a character flaw, like his sensitivity makes him retarded. "He's got a heart, that's all. I wish everyone did." "Right..." Eric's cheer thins with a visible cracking of irritation, quickly concealed. "Well, he is your brother; I suppose you'd know best. Sorry I mentioned it." A smooth insincerity in the apology, plastic in his smile. "You ready to go?" Second thoughts. I'm already reminded in half a dozen ways of why I never felt any enduring connection with the guy, of the myriad of minor irritations and conflicts that came between us. But...damn it. This was my plan. My hope. The only way I could think of to knock some sense back into my skull. I don't need him to be Prince Charming. I just need him not to be my brother. Outside, past the increasing howl of the wind, I can hear the familiar rumble of our truck as it drives away, and I know it's too late to reconsider. After everything I said to him, all the barbed words and venom I cast at David's face...I couldn't just turn around and call for him to come pick me back up. So I smile thinly back at Eric, nod. "I'll let you pick the place." Only one way out. Forward. --- And forward it is. Storm clouds roll in overhead grey and dismal while we scurry about, sliding towards the unspoken inevitable. Lunch at a burger place, a movie, drinks at the bar...time passes quick and forgettable, like a play put on for the hundredth time. The lines of our conversation spoken as though by rote, easy and meaningless. Eric's polite. Nice enough, insisting despite my protests that he'll pay for my food, my drinks...maybe because he's expecting something back, but so what if he is? That's how these things work. I was counting on it anyway. Late, now. Pushing eleven. I'm expecting him to drive us back to his place - instead, we're out cruising along narrow county roads, winding between fields and small clusters of trees in his old Mustang, fixed up now to a semblance of serviceability. The car speakers humming with a slow, electronic beat. I don't realize our destination until we're nearly there, the little promontory looking out across undeveloped woodland. Logs and branches arrayed at the edge of the hilltop, laying out a makeshift parking lot. The overlook. Empty right now, save for the two of us; I remember sometimes there'd be half a dozen cars out here, but I guess it's not so popular a destination in the middle of winter. "Thought you might appreciate coming out here," Eric offers low and smooth over the engine's purr, pulling up to the edge before turning off the car. "Some good memories, I hope." In the sudden stillness, his hand slips over casually from the gearshift to rest on my knee. "Some." Half-agreement, quiet. From the corner of my eye, I can tell he's looking at me. I don't look back, not yet. Staring out into the darkness, the beam of his still-active headlights vanishing into infinity; the trees below us barely distinguishable from imagination, a faint tinge of green on the blackness, cresting and crashing like ocean waves in the wind. "Kinda funny, you know, that we come out here for this." "Yeah?" An affected interest in his voice as his hand slides up, squeezing demandingly at the side of my thigh. "How's that?" "Well, think about it." I glance briefly over at his face, at the flicker of impatience in his expression. "The woods down there have been around for centuries. This...that storm out there, it's part of some vast, horribly complex weather system. If it were a little clearer, we'd be seeing the stars, billions of miles away. It's all so...big. Bigger than we are. More important than we are, than all our little diversions. But people just come out here to fool around, to fuck, because their body says it feels good. Listening to the tiniest, deepest voice we have." A quiet snort of bittersweet humor. "Seems almost silly, doesn't it? Trivial?" A confident smirk curves his lips. "Nothing silly about feeling good." I open my mouth to disagree, and that's when he makes his move - leaning in to cut me off with a kiss, his lips pressing against mine wet and tepid as he clambers across to my seat, and I try to enjoy it, try to reach for that excitement, that satisfaction that I know must be inside me somewhere past the immediate stiffness, the instinctive bristle of discomfort. I should like this. I have to like this. His mouth opening, letting his tongue emerge slimy and rapacious, licking along the line of my lips until I force them to part and grant him passage. Inside, now, exploring methodical as a dentist's probe. One hand clutched at my shoulder, pinching almost painfully, while the other grabs and fondles at my breasts through my sweater. Playing like a child with a new toy. Triumph glints in his eyes when he finally pulls back. Pleasure at his impending conquest, I guess. "How about we lose these heavy clothes, baby?" Murmuring, with breath heavy and a leer in his grin. "I've got some other ways we could keep warm." And I feel so much like a liar as I nod and shrug and smile back, not trusting my voice to words. Pulling off my sweater, tossing it to the back seat while he does the same with his jacket. Half-heartedly undoing a few of the buttons of my blouse as he stares down with lustful approval. Then he's on me again, his mouth almost gnawing at mine. A smell of grease and alcohol and cheap cologne stinking in my nostrils. His hands in the valley of my breasts, moving with the smoothness of experience as he undoes the remaining buttons of my blouse, hardly hesitates before sliding around my back, reaching up to the clasp of my bra. So quick. Not so much hunger in his manner as impatience; I can feel it in the fidgeting of his fingers, the careless rapidity of his motion. He hardly seems to notice how little I've done, how I've just lain back in the seat, trying to force myself to take pleasure in his touch. Maybe I don't need to do anything. Maybe he doesn't even want me to. Just wants a body, a form with the right shape and the right number of holes. A slot for his tab. Doesn't matter who I am, what I feel. Hardly matters if I'm alive or dead. My bra comes loose, fluttering down in the space between us to be snatched away by his ready hand, tossed at my feet. I'm exposed to Eric, the same as I was a handful of times years prior. But different. It all feels so dirty now, so cheap and tawdry. My skin cold where he touches me, my body bitter and uncooperative beneath his gaze, stubbornly resistant to my urging to slide into the moment, to find pleasure in this tryst. Damn it. What the hell is wrong with me? He wasn't that bad a lover; I need to just relax, let myself get into it. Need to kiss back as his arms slip around my back for a close embrace, as his arms lock like manacles behind my waist. Holding me tightly against him so that I can't get away, trapped there while my skin crawls and body screams in protest against its confinement, and I try to pull away, but he's stronger than me, and I hate it, I HATE IT. "Let go of me." A quaver in my voice now, upset and uncomfortable, breaking my lips away from his to speak for the first time since we started. My breath coming quick and shallow with stress. Eric thinks I'm kidding. Or I assume he does, chuckling deep in his throat as his cheek touches to my forehead. "Oh, I'm not about to let you go, baby." The epithet chafing at my mind as he punctuates it with another squeeze around my midsection, firm enough for a moment's pain as my elbows dig into my waist. I can't stand it. I can't. A frenzy burns in my blood, panic or rage or both at once, and I push suddenly with all my strength, struggling for freedom as though my life were at stake. A gasping ferocity in my voices, "I said fucking LET GO," as I twist in his arms, fighting to push him away, to break free of his grasp. And then, all at once, I am. Eric retreated to the edge of the seat - still straddling my legs, but space enough that I can think, that I can regain some element of composure. Insult and irritation in his expression, alongside a faint puzzlement, while embarrassment creeps slowly into mine. The strength of my reaction already seeming like madness, even just these few moments later. "Sorry," I mumble vaguely, a flush descending on my cheeks as I scramble for an explanation. "I'm sorry. I just...I've had a really weird couple days, and I'm feeling off, and...and kind of sensitive, you know, about some things." The lameness of this explanation sour sour on my tongue. "Uh-huh..." An acknowledgement slow and distantly biting. "Well, what, do you want to talk about it?" Politeness forces the question; it's clear from his tone how little the thought appeals to him. Not that I want to discuss it any more, myself. "No," my head shakes quickly. "No, let's just...do this." My hand half-heartedly rising to touch encouragingly at his chest. "I need to do this. I need it from you." My throat tight with the words. Protest in the back of my mind. A breath. He nods, with a bit of the smug in his gaze, and on his face I can see him rebuilding the smooth façade of seduction. "Well," tones suddenly deeper, huskier, "I think maybe I know what you need to feel better." His hand rises up my leg, stroking along my inner thigh. "Could probably use somebody licking clean that honeypot of yours." Maybe. Maybe it would help. Trying to force a smile at his tired metaphor, I obligingly unbutton my fly, squirm quickly out of the waist of my jeans. There's a feeling almost businesslike, detached as we cooperate in the close confines of the passenger seat to pull them down to my ankles, my panties following after with no more ceremony or comment. An awkward pose, but Eric manages to crouch there in the space beneath the dashboard while I sit slid halfway down the seat, knees spread wide in his hands. Exposed obscenely now to his eyes in the increasing cold of the car. And though I struggle again to stir up excitement in my soul, to call for the thrill of my first night out here, all I can find is resignation. It's not...horrible. There are flickers of pleasure as his tongue slides roughly upon my entrance, twinges of sensation carried up dutifully by my nerves. I try to cradle them into my mind, to breathe life upon them like the sparks that would ignite a conflagration, but somewhere inside I already feel a sick certainty of how hopeless it is. A sense of wrongness here, of filth and guilt, throbbing painfully in my soul whenever I permit myself a moment of reflection. Poisoning any pleasure I might receive from his touch. Far from being carried off into ecstasy, as minutes begin to pass I'm most aware of the banalities of discomfort, of the awkward position of my back against the seat, the cold air that seeps in from outside the car. I can't even say what's wrong, exactly. Eric's technique might be growing increasingly repetitive as time drags on, but it was good enough for me once, and there's nothing in particular I could point to making it fall short. No, it's something in the whole, in the totality of the experience, in the personality of his quick and mercenary tongue. Maybe because of cool and casual hookup that brought us to this point, meaningless sex offering now not even bodily satisfaction. Maybe because in truth I don't like this guy, can't stand the smallness of his vision or the coldness of his heart, because when I look down between my legs I have to see his ratty face instead of... No. God damn it, no. I shove the image from my mind, refusing to think about those sky-blue eyes, those golden curls. I'm not that messed up, I'm not. But this...this isn't working. Eric's attractions no more pleasurable than a pap smear, though he keeps stubbornly at it all the same. A scream of frustration held aching in the back of my throat - can't he tell how little this is doing for me? What the hell do I do now, just tell him to stop, that it's pointless? I know already how well that would go over, how insulted guys get at the suggestion that they can't satisfy you. Adding that kind of awkwardness to the pile is about the last thing I want right now. I guess the answer's obvious. Fake it. Not usually my style, though it won't be the first time I've had to resort to it. When it's the only way to avoid a conflict...you do what you have to. "Oh!" I try to put some passion into the sound, feeling, though I'm suddenly unsure of even what I sound like when actually aroused. "Oh, right there." Cringing inside at how ludicrous it sounds in my ears, how cheap and unconvincing. But it seems to fool Eric, as his tongue moves with new eagerness between my legs, his fingers gripping enthused at my skin, while my insides squirm with something like revulsion. I don't have the heart or the patience for long deception; my ascent towards orgasm must be one of the quickest ever. It's scarcely a minute before I let out a long, wavering cry and force a feeble quiver upon my hips, then lie quiescent, feeling like a liar. Only faint relief as he rises up again, his face smeared with spittle and smugly grinning. "There, what'd I tell ya," he croons triumphantly, wiping his cheeks with his hands. "Bet you feel worlds better now, huh?" Jesus. A weak smile, lying through clenched teeth. "Absolutely." "Great." He stands up before me, half-shadowed by the car's meagre overhead lights, and starts to undo his jeans. "Let me tell you baby, I cannot wait to get back inside that sweet pussy of yours." I swallow silently, looking away as disgust curdles in my nerves. I wanted to do this. I thought I had to do this, it's what I came for. But right now...god, I just can't. I wouldn't get anything out of it, wouldn't be able to bear it. Even just the thought of him touching me is enough to raise a shiver of revulsion. I have to call it off. Shaking my head, softly apologetic, "I think that's a little much, Eric." He hesitates only briefly, keeping his steady smile as his jeans drop to the floor. "Well, hell. That's okay - I haven't gotten a good blowjob in a while anyway." And he rubs at the bulge in his boxers, looming over me as he inches forward onto the seat. Awkwardness. He's crowded in now, close and uncomfortable. One hand grasped loosely stroking at the side of my head, presumptuously familiar. The other shoving down the waist of his boxers to retrieve his organ, waving it around so fucking confident in front of my face, like there's no question I'd do anything but dive right on. A faint moldy stink wafting up repellant in my nose, like it's been days since he's washed. I don't want this. The clenching of self-pity and frustration in my gut; I don't want to be here, don't want to deal with this...my lips flicker in a brief, false smile. "No, I mean..." God damn it, I wish he wouldn't keep his cock right there when I'm trying to talk. "I think we've maybe done enough for tonight." "Aww, baby," a tone of playful protest, but my jaw tightens at the repeated appellation. "I know you're not serious. You got me so hard it'd be torture if I don't get relief." His hand still stroking obscenely along his shaft, a sight normally intriguing that right now just leaves me cold. "You can take care of that yourself, I think," I mutter, and have to bite my tongue to keep from adding on an unkind comment. His voice slides closer to wheedling. "Come on now, baby-" This is once too many. "Could you not fucking call me 'baby?' Please?" A snarl of sarcasm in my throat. Anger flashes briefly in his eyes, but his smile only tightens. "Fine. Samantha." His tone darkened with bilious condescension. "You just wanna stop right now, is that it? You think that's fair, after you show up outta nowhere all flirty, after I take off early for you, drive you all around town, drop like fifty bucks on your ass?" A snort of indignation. "You let me lick you off just fine, but when it's my turn, suddenly it's time to call it a night?" "Look," trying to reason with him, trying to be circumspect. "It's not...I'm sorry, okay?" Some truth to that, though he's working hard to destroy what sympathy I have for him. "I am sorry, but I just...it doesn't feel right to me tonight." Trying not to look at his manhood jutting inches from my face. A vague apprehension clawing inside, his hand still kept firm on my shoulder. "Oh, it doesn't 'feel right.'" Bitter mockery. "That's good. They teach you that one at college? Take whatever you want, then when it's time to pay the piper, just say it doesn't feel right?" "'Pay the piper?'" My voice rising towards archness, always too eager for a fight. "What, you're saying I owe you a blowjob?" "I'm saying you owe me something." His smile finally snaps, shattering into an ugly scowl. "I didn't drop by your place making a bunch of promises. I think I deserve a little more here than a god-damned peck on the cheek goodbye." "Maybe if you didn't whine like a fucking child, I might actually want to give you something more," I snap back hotly. "Oh, I'm a child now?" Fury burns in his tone, and alarm runs swiftly chilling down my spine as his hand slips over, gripping painfully at the back of my neck. "You little bitch. Maybe I oughta just take what you owe me, huh?" His cock lining up roughly with my tight-closed lips, fear wrapping coldly around my heart. "Maybe teach you not to be such a fucking tease." Panic like icicles in my quickening pulse, my mind scrabbling frantically for a way out. Would he really...I wouldn't have thought him capable. I've never been in this situation. God, I don't know what to do. A mass of impulses crowding contradictory in my head; struggle, run, scream, fight, beg and plead...but it's an altogether different instinct that steps forward as I sit there paralyzed, that lifts my head to stare steadily into his eyes. That speaks, cool and firm and unflinching. "Eric, you're not going to do this." The rest of me watching terrified from within, wondering what I've just done. For a moment, it just seems to provoke him further. "I'm not, huh?" A snarl, and I fear that I've made an awful mistake. But then I see the inward flicker of his eyes, the slowing of doubt and of reflection. Looking away from me, down into himself, the furious quickness of his breath abating. When he finally moves again, long seconds later, it's to lift his hand from my neck, releasing me. "No, I'm not." A look in his eye not so far from apology, though it hardens quickly back into anger as he moves to crawl clumsily back to the driver's seat, limbs stiff with brooding. Staring at the windshield as he settles in, looking out into the night. Bitterness in his voice. "I tell you what, though, I am done giving out free rides." Little Things Ch. 04 of 04 I don't respond immediately, trying to quickly reassemble my clothing, to cover myself as unobtrusively as I'm able. My heart still pounding from the nearness of this escape. Only once I've finished buttoning up my blouse do I cautiously ask, "What do you mean?" A quiver of outrage held quiet in my heart, horrified at what nearly happened. "Just what I said." Sharply, glancing pointedly over at me again. "I'm not a...I'm not gonna force you to do anything. If you wanna just call it a night after all I did for you, well, that's your decision. Just don't count on me giving you a ride home." It slowly dawns on me what he's implying. "You can't be serious." Indignation bubbling up inside; I try to hold it back, afraid of provoking him again. "We're ten miles out of town. What do you expect me to do, walk?" "Hell, you're a smart girl. You'll figure something out." He simpers at me snidely. "'Course, I'd be happy to take you - if you make it worth my while." His hand rubbing vulgar and suggestive at his crotch. God damn it. This is barely better than before. Helpless, hopeless anger circulates in my head, a maddening mixture of fury and despair; I stare into my hands as though to find an answer written on my palm. I could have been at home right now. I could have been peacefully sleeping, safe and warm in the bunk above David's. Or even...god, why the hell did I have to do this? I don't even know anymore what I was hoping to accomplish. Just another of my stupid fucking ideas. Self-loathing slithers like a serpent in my gut. Maybe I should just do it. Give him what he wants, so I can just go home, put an end to this disaster of an evening. What's one more blowjob, after all? One more time used. Wouldn't even be the first I've given him. And it's not like I've got much virtue left to lose... "Well?" Eric demands impatiently. "I don't wanna wait around all damn night. Go down or get out." Scorn seething in his eyes, barely touched with lust. So simple, so obvious how little I am to him. Less than nothing. Valued only for my holes. Somehow, this settles it for me. Maybe I'm not a pure and perfect princess, but I have at least a trace of self-respect. The cold night air whirls into the car as I pull open the door, a chill easily below zero; still, I manage not to shiver as I rise out of my seat and step into the thin slush outside. "Fuck you, Eric." Contempt, loathing dripping from my lips, looking back for a parting shot before I slam the door closed. The car's engine roars to life before I'm three steps away, but I don't bother to turn around until my ears catch the window rolling down. A faint hope of reprieve, that he's changed his mind. It dies as I see the spite still in his eyes, hear the vitriol in his voice. "Just so you know," he nearly has to yell to be understood above the growing wind, "You always gave lousy head anyway. But at least when my dick was in your mouth, I didn't have to listen to you talk." Smug satisfaction on his face as the window rises once more; I can think of nothing more eloquent than "Asshole!" to yell back. Fuck, it's cold. Rubbing at my arms for warmth, it takes me a few moments to realize suddenly the significance of the bare skin beneath my fingers. By that time, Eric's already pulling around to leave. "Hey, you've got my sweater!" Screaming as I try to run after him, to bang on the window, but he peels off like a madman, spraying me with gobbets of ice and frozen earth. I can't even tell if he heard me, whether it's accident or simple malice that I'm left out here in the snow wearing just a blouse and blue jeans. There's nothing I can do but stare after him in helpless rage as the red gaze of his tail lights waver and disappear around a curve, the sound of his engine swallowed up by the howling wind. I'm okay. Anxiety pounds in my heart, anguish presses on the back of my eyes, but I'm okay, I have to be. I have to get out of this. Hugging myself to try to keep warm - I never much liked the cold, never dealt well with it, was always the first to bundle up, hang out by the fire, turn up the thermostat. Hardly options, now. My teeth are already chattering as the wind whips cruelly over me, stealing away my body's meagre stores of heat, leaving me numb. No joke, this - it could be dangerous, not just unpleasant. I could freeze, hiking home for hours in the frozen wind. There's only one chance, really. One slim hope. Cell phones never used to work out here, too far out of town...hell, that was one of the reasons it was popular, since you could be sure you - or your date - wouldn't be suddenly interrupted. But they're always putting up those damn eyesore towers, right? It's been three years - maybe it's covered now. Maybe, maybe, maybe...my fingers stiff and uncooperative as I squeeze the phone from my pocket and flip it open, a silent prayer on my lips. Peering at the reception display in the corner...oh, thank god. A single, feeble bar, flickering down to nothing once even as I watch. Out of network, but who gives a damn - I laugh briefly there in the snow, near-delirious with relief. There's only one person I even consider calling. It takes forever to connect, long seconds waiting for that first ring, crossing my fingers that the call won't be lost. A touch of panic on my spine as I suddenly notice how little battery power I have left - I won't be able to give this a lot of tries. But finally I hear the quiet click of linkage, a familiar voice on the other end obscured and garbled by digital static. "- -m. I didn't th- - - -ng to hear from you." "David!" I clasp the phone tight to my ear, my eyes feeling abruptly damp. Suddenly so glad to hear his voice, however distorted, however poorly I was treating him before. He picked up on the second ring - must have been waiting for me, despite what I told him. "David, this is a really bad connection, and I don't know how long it's going to last, but I need you to pick me up from the overlook, okay?" "Sh- - - - -arely underst- - - - - - up from where?" My ears strain to pick out the few snippets of meaning amidst the noise. "From the overlook. I need you to pick me up from the overlook." A gust of wind blows by, wet and freezing, and I can't help shivering. "And it'd be really nice if you could make it fast." "- - - - as soon as I can." I can hear a clatter of motion in the background. "Is everyth-" Sudden silence falls like a knife in the middle of a word. "David?" No response. A glance at the display confirms what I know already, that the call was lost. No reception, now. And hardly a moment later that I think I feel the reason why, settling on my skin in wet, delicate impacts. The air around me filling with tiny snowflakes drifting to earth, illuminated like little crystals in the dim glow of my cell phone. A sight right now less beautiful than ominous. It's okay. I'm okay. He's coming; I'll be able to go home, and...and everything will be okay. I hunch down shivering in the snow, huddled as best I can to try to keep warm, to stay out of the wind. Staring blindly in the darkness as the anger and the worry and the desperate resolve which so recently filled me drain slowly away, leaving in their wake a desolate emptiness, a chill within to match that without. When I feel the wetness on my cheeks I think at first that it's melting snow; it takes a moment for me to realize that I'm crying. Not even sure why. Stress, shock. Everything that just happened. Finally finding out for real just how little I'm worth, how the only reason guys waste their time on me is this fucking hole between my legs. To the point that if I don't give it up, they'll just take it, or...cast me aside. Throw me out in the cold. Pain pounds a slow tattoo in my heart, self-loathing sharp and vicious. What did I think? What did I expect? That's always the deal, when you dip below the surface, when you get past the dance of courtship, the flattering lies about how nice you are to be with. In the end it's always about sex. Did I think I was special? That he'd be happy just to see me? If I did, I'm an idiot. A fucking fool. Damn it, no. I don't cry, not anymore. I don't. I won't. Shoving the tears to the back of my mind, trying to remember old poetry, to recite in my head the paper I just wrote. Embracing distraction with all my strength. Emotion aching behind my eyes, but dammed down to a trickle. I'm okay, I'm fucking okay. I can handle this. I can. David's going to get here, and I'm going to go home, and everything will be fine. Time passes slowly in the swirling snow, the bitterness of cold biting at my skin and of misery clawing at my heart. It feels an eternity before I hear the low rumble of a truck's engine past the howl of the storm, before bright headlights finally bob into view - but a glance at my watch says it's only been twelve minutes. God, he must have been racing down those icy roads. I should stand up, wave, help him see where I am, but I can't bring myself to move. I just kneel there, huddled and shivering, barely managing to tilt back my head to look as he pulls up beside me. The glow of the interior lighting like a halo around his head as he opens the door and steps out into the snow. "Sam!" Backlit as he is, I can't really see his face, but I sniffle somewhere between laughter and tears at the familiar tone of concern that he infuses so urgently into my name. "Are you okay?" Taking off his jacket as he rushes to my side, he slips it quickly around my shoulders, a kindness to which I can only stammer out a quiet 'thanks,' forced through chattering teeth. Pulling it tightly around my chest, drinking thirstily the leftover warmth from his body, comforted by his scent. Almost ready to stand up. Almost. "Where's Eric?" Perplexity in David's manner, straining to look around the empty lot. Maybe thinking the problem was a broken-down car. But as moments pass without an answer and without a sign, comprehension dawns, swiftly boiling into outrage. The stiffness of fury moving in, a stranger to his form. "I'm going to kill him." Spoken like a revelation, the words coming quick and hot, and to the extent I can think I'm taken aback - David never makes such pronouncements. "No," I push unsteadily to my feet, trying to remember how to shape a reassuring smile. "No, he didn't do anything." "Didn't do anything?" His eyes are wild and seething, burning like little stars. "Don't give me that. You're out here alone, half-frozen, in the middle of the night, and you..." A double-take, as he looks closely at my face. Shock passing swiftly through his expression. "And you've been crying. Whatever he did to you..." His head shakes ferociously, unable to finish the sentence. "I'm going to kill him. Where is he?" His voice intense and demanding. Still trying feebly for denial, "He didn't..." I trail off into silence. Pointless to lie. But dammit, I don't want a feud, I just want all this to be over. "I don't know, okay? He left, he didn't say where. And look," my voice cracking slightly with emotion still raw, "It doesn't matter. I'm tired and I'm cold and I just want to go home. Please, David." My arms clutched helpless around my chest as I stare up at him, my brow low and pleading. I can see him hesitate. Anger rebellious in his breast, eager for some vague and half-considered notion of vengeance. But gradually he pushes it down, his gaze acquiring again the lambent quality of mercy and concern that I'm familiar with. Staring back at me with worried regard. "Jeez, you look awful," a soft and tender deprecation. He almost hugs me - stepping forward, only to awkwardly stop again as the prohibition I set flashes across his face, and I feel my eyes tighten again with tears, wishing that he had, that he could, that I hadn't screwed everything up. "Yeah, well, thanks," I try weakly for humor as he ushers me to the truck, opens the passenger door for me. And god, it's a relief at least to get out of the wind. I flip the heat to maximum, and sit curled almost to a ball in the seat, silent and unmoving as David gets back into the driver's seat and starts to turn us around. He asks when we're barely back on the road. I knew he would. Who wouldn't. "What happened, Sam?" Quieter than before, circumspect - but I can still hear in it a thin and fiery flicker of his earlier fury. "Nothing happened." Low and flat, laying on my side as I stare into the darkness outside the window. Not wanting to face David too long, to see him too much. "Yeah, right." A snort of irritation escapes his nose. "Look, if you don't want to tell me, then...then just say that. Don't lie to me." Greater force in his voice than I'm used to. And I don't, really. Don't want to tell him. I don't know why I don't. Shame, I guess. Fear of what all of it means, of what it says about me. Not wanting him to worry about me...or to know what other guys really think of me. Afraid that it might break whatever illusion makes him think I'm special. But there's a strident voice inside me, somewhere above my heart. A remonstrating reminder - I should want to tell him. That's who we are - I don't keep secrets from David, I don't lie to him. I don't want to abandon that honesty. Not now. I have, it feels, so little left... There's a space of seven breaths before I speak. "It's not what you think." My voice coming low and ghostly, almost pleading away his fears. Whatever he might think. "He didn't...we just had a normal date, you know? Then we came out here, and we fooled around a little, but I just...I didn't like it. I wanted to stop, to go home. He didn't. We kind of fought, and he...for a little while, he acted like he was going to force me." 'Force.' The euphemism heavy on my tongue, bitter as ash. From the corner of my vision, I can see David's big hands tighten and squeeze at the steering wheel like he's trying to throttle it. "I'm gonna kill him." "But he didn't do it, okay?" I'm quick to declaim, trying to settle him down. "He didn't do...that. What he did was...he just said I had to give him a blowjob if I wanted a ride home. And I said no." I look away, hug myself tighter, feeling a sudden stab of cold in my chest. "Anyway, it's...I was stupid. I should have just given it to him, saved everybody a lot of trouble." I can hear the shocked disbelief in David's voice. "Should have...? Jesus, Sam, how can you say that?" "Because it's the fucking truth." My voice wavers with upset, all the torturous tide of disgust and self-loathing rising up again inside me. "Not like it's anything new. That's all anybody's ever wanted out of me, the only thing I've ever been good for. The only reason anybody ever wasted his time with me. Eric was just more honest about it." I laugh brokenly, misery blurring my vision. "Hell, even you. Even my own brother only cares about me because he wants to fuck me." The truck suddenly swerves to a stop at the side of the road, and a frantic terror catches hold of my heart. He's mad at me. I couldn't take it, I can't, I need him right now...but no. When I turn to beg my apology, he's already looking at me, desperately imploring, his hands clasped in anxious earnesty. "Sam, don't think that. Please don't think that. I..." His mouth stretching, grasping for words just out of reach. "I love you, as my sister, as my friend, before anything else. Even if all this other stuff is over. Even if...even if I could never even see your face again, I would still care. I'd still love you. I swear I would." Those perfect blue eyes, shimmering soft and sincere like an echo of his soul. "I know." Words whispered with the helpless fervency of truth. "I know you would." Tears welling up again in my eyes, my heart pounding deep and aching with an undeniable longing. Crawling across the gearshift into his seat, into his lap - I need to know that he's there, that he's real, need to feel him beside me. Throwing my arms around tight around his neck, burying my face in his chest. A little sniffle, as I'm warmed by the feel of his heartbeat on my cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I whisper into his shirt, clutching myself close against him. "I've been such a jerk...I don't know why you're so good to me." He is. Always. A shadow of a smile blooms faint and bittersweet through my tears as I nestle in his arms, as his hands rise gentle and comforting on my back. Murmuring - quiet, but almost overcome with feeling. "You've always been there for me, haven't you? No matter what I do, no matter what it costs you. You've never questioned, never hesitated. God, you helped me get ready for dates so many times, when you must have been feeling..." Quiet. A moment's stillness in my heart as my fingers trace slow at the back of his neck. A decision trembling into being. "I...I've given myself to a lot of guys, you know? Guys who didn't mean a tenth as much to me as you do. If you want..." There's a lump in my throat, anxious and aching; I have to swallow it before I can continue. "If you're crazy enough to want me...you deserve me." And I look up expectantly into his eyes, my chin scraping slightly on the white cotton of his shirt. David's reaction is muted, looking back down at my hesitantly for long moments. Finally asking slowly, "I deserve what, exactly?" "You know." A significant look, my voice hushed. "Me. My...my body. Sex." My insides stirring now, flush and warm with the frankness of this offer. Awareness of my rear planted sideways in his lap, of the gentle strength of his body around me. "We can do it here in the truck." Husky thickness creeping into my voice. "You can have me, right here, right now." Another silence. The only sounds are the wind outside and our slow breath. I can feel his groin awakening beneath me, stretching with interest, but his eyes are quiet, almost sad. When he speaks, it's with a tone nearly of resignation. "No." "No?" Blankly. The wheels in my mind spin without catching, unable to process this refusal. "What do you mean, 'no?' You don't..." Then understanding strikes, a sting of humiliation in my soul - I shake it angrily away, press feverishly forward. "I know I don't look my best right now, but-" "No," he interrupts with a tone fairly mortified, "Jeez, no, it's not-" "-but I'll make sure it's everything you ever dreamed about." Continuing over him, undeterred and undistracted. Fiercely, planting a soft, seductive kiss at the side of his chin. Grinding my hips slowly in his lap, feeling with relish the answering growth of his organ beneath me. Urgent whispers as my heart pounds in my chest, my lips brushed upon his ear, purring as evocatively as I'm able. Applying everything I know about what turns guys on. "You can do whatever you want to me, David. Use me however you like." "Sam..." His tone strained, but still low and serious. Trying for denial, and spurring a frantic determination to claw at the back of my mind. If I owe anyone anything, it's David. Everything he's done for me, every time he's listened to me ramble, put himself on the line, talked me up when I was feeling down...he's earned this from me. I can't let him go on being so damned noble, so selfless. I know he wants me; I just have to make him take me. To relieve this terrible feeling of debt that throbs in my soul. "Where do you want to start, huh? You want to play with my tits?" My fingers fumbling impatiently at the buttons of my blouse, undoing them for the second time tonight. Staring up into unhappy eyes - dammit, I have to try harder, have to really turn him on. A lustful murmur, faintly roughened with frustration. "You want me to suck that big cock of yours? Want to fuck your big sister's pussy? Jerk off on my face? Anything, David. My body belongs to you. Tonight, I'm your own personal slut." My teeth clicking closed around the final word. Appealingly, I hope.