The end is here. I can feel it. I knew it the moment I woke up in our hotel room without Lucy by my side. The sun was streaming through the window and the shower was running and I knew then and there that things were well and truly over.
Hell, I should have known it last night. The way we made love was like a long, slow kiss goodbye. She came four times—on my face, on my hand, on my cock, and once more riding my mouth like a goddamn rodeo queen. We were like teenagers who had the house to ourselves and couldn’t get enough of each other.
But it’s a new day, and that’s all over.
There’s a distance between us in the car that’s even greater than when we started this road trip. A few days ago, we were uncertain around each other, annoyed and exasperated. But now we know each other’s secrets. I know what makes her cry out with ecstasy. I know what she loves. And I know what she’s afraid of.
I also know the wall she’s built around herself is only there to protect her. It’s not personal; it’s just self-defense. She’s always kept herself at a distance, so afraid of getting attached and having her heart broken.
Funny thing is, she’s broken mine and she doesn’t even realize it.
The rest of the trip is uneventful. We roll into Madison late in the afternoon and the winter sky is dim. Without asking, I grab her stuff and haul it up the steps.
“Where do you want this?” I ask, just as Lucy says, “Do you mind taking that to my bedroom? First door on the right.”
Your bedroom, Lucy Noelle?I think to myself.No problem.
I walk into her room, and it’s pure torture, though I have no doubt the ride home alone will be worse.
Her soft, sweet scent envelops me as my gaze scans the room. It’s decorated in white and cream and about a thousand shades of purple. There’s a desk, but no papers or books crowd its surface. I have no doubt they’re all neatly tucked away in their proper drawers.Her bed is made, because of course it is. The pristine white duvet is piled high with pillows of various shapes and sizes, and it doesn’t take an overactive imagination to see her splayed out across the stark white sheets. Before I can stop it, a vision of Lucy laid out in front of me, her legs spread wide, her ass resting on one of those ruffly pillows, her sweet mouth begging me to fuck her invades my mind.
Goddammit. I’ve pictured myself hard and ready in Lucy’s bedroom, but never like this. I’m not here for a sleepover. I’m just dropping off her luggage. Fuck. My. Life.
I set the oversized suitcase next to her closet and walk back out into the tiny common room.
“Hey,” she says, her cheeks still flushed from the cold. “Do you want a drink or anything? I can brew a pot of coffee, if you want, or—”
“Nah,” I cut her off. “I’m good. I’ll stop in a couple hours to grab a bite and crash.”
“Oh, ok. Yeah, that makes sense,” she says, looking out the window at the darkening sky. Damn, January is depressing.
We stand there awkwardly for a minute, neither of us moving. It reminds me of all our goodbyes at camp. We knew the summer was ending, knew we had to get back to our regular lives. Back then, there was always the hope of next summer. But not this time.
Her lips part a for a moment; I think she’s going to ask me to stay the night. And fuck it all, I’ll say yes if she asks.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she smiles sweetly and thanks me for driving her here and tells me to have a safe trip back.
Impulse control has never been my strong suit, so I brush my hand against her cheek, kiss her lips softly, then say goodbye and leave the way I came.
Only difference is, on the trip back down to my car, I can feel my heart breaking.
* * *
Lucy
Ten minutes ago, I shut the door. Listened to his footsteps as he descended the stairs. Waited to hear the faint rumble of his engine as he drove out of town.
He’s gone, and I’m still sitting here on the floor, with my back against the wall and tears staining my cheeks. I shouldn’t cry over Caleb Whitman. I’m not sixteen anymore. What was it Alyssa said? I need to fuck him out of my system. Well, that wasn’t my plan, but it didn’t work anyway. If anything, I'm more drawn to him now than ever.
And I know that if I called him, he’d come back. Stay the night. Make love to me. Make me come again and again. But I can’t call him. That way lies nothing but disaster and heartbreak. Our parents are married, for God’s sake. How could we ever sustain a relationship?
As if to emphasize the point, my phone rings loudly. I pull it from my pocket and see my dad’s number flash across the screen. I’ve been avoiding him because I’m a terrible liar, and he can’t know that I missed my flight. Not only do I not have an hour to spare for a lecture on time management and responsibility, but I also don’t want to explain how I got back to school. There are some things that are best kept as secrets, especially where dads are concerned.
I’ve sent a few noncommittal texts along the lines ofHow’s the honeymoon?AndWorking to prep for the internship!They weren’t lies, but they were far from full disclosure.
Nothing says “back to reality” as much as taking a call from my dad while I’m heartbroken about my stepbrother leaving without so much as a goodbye kiss. But I can’t avoid my dad forever, so I answer the call.
