Page 57 of Level With Me
It was just feelings; just chemistry and proximity, and wanting what I couldn’t have, I knew. But having spent the past three weeks resisting any hint of fantasy from my brain, on Sunday night, faced with the knowledge that the next day I’d be spending all day alone with him, everything was coming in hard and fast.
My thoughts were relentless—everything I came up with to distract myself just brought me back to Blake.
Baseball? No, Blake had played that as a kid.
Office supplies? What about that time Blake had made a Mr. T necklace out of paperclips while we were going over annual meeting minutes to see if I’d notice.
Gardening—that had to be safe. But there was that patch of flowers in the community garden across the street from Blake’s mom’s facility he’d told me about. He paid one of the community members to keep it going all year round because his mom could see it from her window and it made her smile.
It was hopeless.
I finally gave up, letting myself run wild with every thought I’d suppressed. Maybe if I got him out of my system that night, I could work with him with neutrality the next day.
Finally I got out of bed and got in the bathtub, hoping the warm water would lull me to sleepiness. But before I knew what I was doing, I was imagining Blake in there with me, his hard body at my back, his beautiful, broad hands roaming my body. In the end, I’d stood up and pulled out the jet attachment on the shower, dialing it into a hard, forceful stream, and directing it between my legs.
I stood against the wall, breathing hard as water vibrated against my clit, picturing Blake in the shower with me, stroking that beautiful cock I hadn’t dared picture while he watched me pleasure myself.
I came hard and almost violently, imagining him spurting his hot seed alongside me.
Apparently, that was what I’d needed, because after getting back into bed, my mind finally rested long enough to let me sleep.
13
CASSANDRA
I startedMonday of week four with a run—on my own again, as Chelsea had once more texted to say she wasn’t going to make it. Normally I didn’t mind when she skipped our runs. But this time, I’d been worried.
Chelsea had been meeting her obligations at work still, though she’d been coming in later than usual some days. But I could no longer ignore the fact that it seemed like her constant socializing wasn’t a phase. That she was prioritizing it over her own health, and if she wasn’t careful, her work.
I’d taken her out for coffee in town last week, and asked her point blank what was going on.
“I’m fine,” she’d said, defensively, but I saw the way she’d twisted her bracelet around and around on her wrist. Mom had given her that bracelet on her twelfth birthday, I remembered.
Chelsea had taken Mom’s death harder than any of us, maybe other than Dad. And I realized as I watched her pick at the scone she’d ordered that maybe all the partying she was doing wasn’t just a distraction or blowing off steam, but a grief response. I also realized I’d known that all along but had been turning the other way, hoping she would burn through it on her own.
“Have you thought about therapy, Chels?” I asked. “We have an extended health plan.”
“I’m too busy.”
“What, with going to the bar?”
She’d stiffened, looking at me pointedly. “Why aren’t you in therapy?”
Next to us, two women laughed as they chatted. In the background, the clank and hiss of the espresso machine at the front amplified the time it was taking me to answer.
“I don’t know,” I’d said finally. I was being honest. Chelsea and I were rarely at odds, so I think her response had surprised both of us. My excuse, if she hadn’t already used it, would also betoo busy.But that wasn’t good enough.
“Why don’t we both look into it?” I said finally, reaching for her hand across the table. It was so thin. Guilt ran through me. I hadn’t noticed how thin she’d gotten. “We can do it separately,” I said. “No pressure, but maybe we can let each other know if we find any good providers? Then we can check back in a month?”
Chelsea nodded, her eyes welling with tears. “I just miss her,” she said, her voice breaking. “And dad, too.”
As I went over and wrapped my arms around my little sister, I couldn’t help the fresh spark of anger at Dad’s absence. It was so selfish of him to disappear. Couldn’t he see how much we needed him?
“Have you heard from him lately?” I asked, after sitting back down in my chair.
“Not for a couple of weeks,” she said, frowning. “Should we be worried?”
“No,” I’d said, waving my hand. She shouldn’t be. But I was. It wasn’t call-the-authorities level worry yet—he’d slipped off the grid before, once on a silent yoga retreat where he vanished for ten days and came back saying he hadn’t said a word the whole time and how exhilarating that was. Another time when he went on a camel trek in Mongolia without telling us.
