A Song for Julia (24 page)

She fell silent. I could still see the shadow of the snowflakes, running across the room. I took a deep breath, and she did too. She looked … emptied. Her eyes were only half open, her pupils dilated, focused nowhere. And so I whispered my next words. “So … why are you talking now?”

Her face seemed to break apart, her eyes suddenly watering heavily, and she sobbed, “Because I’m tired of being so alone!”

She put her hands to her face and began to shake in great, horrible sobs, and I skipped right past her warnings not to touch her. I pulled her to me and held her tightly, and she broke down completely, crying against my shoulder, her fists dug into my back. At that moment, I wanted nothing more in the world than just to find a way to give her one minute, one hour, one day of happiness. We stayed that way until she cried herself to sleep.

Just for now (Julia)

When I woke up in the morning, the sun shone through the window, reflected off the snow in the Quad and glared off the walls with white light. I quickly became aware of three things. First, Crank was spooned behind me, his lips just brushing the back of my neck. That felt … really nice. Second, his right arm was curled around my side, and his hand was cupped around one of my breasts. Not exactly what I had intended to wake up to. Finally, he had an erection. There was no question that was what was pressing up against my backside.

He was dead asleep, and the last thing I wanted to do with him in this condition was wake him up. Which presented me with a problem. How was I going to pry his hand loose from my boob, and get out from under his arm, without waking him up? Because if he woke up, he was going to want to do something about that other problem. And honestly, feeling his breath, and the slight touch of stubble against the back of my neck, not to mention his hand…it made me want to do something about it, too.

I felt … different this morning. Drained emotionally. Yesterday … from the confrontation between Sean and his dad, the incredibly sad scene of Jack and Margot, not to mention Crank … and then me suddenly spilling my guts … all of it was just too much. I felt like someone had taken a wire brush to my skin. But I felt something else, and it was strange, and confusing.

I woke up happy.

Part of me wondered if instead of trying to escape from Crank’s arm, I should cuddle in, wake him up, wake that up, and do something about it.

Part of me was still terrified. He’d held me tight, while I cried myself senseless last night. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Oh, right. Because it had never happened. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt safe and comfortable. 

I closed my eyes and just lay there. I was warm, and for right now, I just hoped he didn’t wake up. It was easier to not have to decide anything right now, to not feel any pressure of any kind. Maybe it was better just to take things slowly. I was leaving for San Francisco in a few weeks for the holidays, after all. That would give me some time to explore this and figure out exactly where I was headed. 

I wasn’t looking forward to going to San Francisco at all. I’d managed to get out of going home for Thanksgiving this year, but Christmas was another thing. They expected me, and there was no getting out of it. School was closed from mid-December until late January, five full weeks. Five weeks with my mother browbeating me daily, telling me what a disappointment I was, telling me she didn’t raise me to be a whore. 

I wasn’t what she thought I was. I never had been. But she didn’t take the time to find out. She took the side of a malicious gossip over her own daughter. She believed the things that Maria Clawson had written about me. And I knew why. Because it was easier than looking at herself. It was easier than looking too closely at the fact that during that same time period when I’d been involved with Harry, she had her own secrets.

But for now. For now I was curled up in bed with Crank. And I didn’t know where this was going: I didn’t know what it meant. But for now, it felt safe. So I decided to close my eyes and go with it. It scared the hell out of me. But sometimes, you just have to walk through that fear. So I clasped my hand over his and let myself drift.

He stirred when I touched his hand. His breath sped up, and he stretched, which had the effect of pressing him up against me. I felt a mix of anxiety and excitement. Then he froze, and he said, very quietly, “Well, that’s awkward.”

I could pretend to be asleep and let him withdraw. But I didn’t want to, so I whispered, “Only if you let it be.”

I heard him stop breathing for a second. Then he said, “You’re awake. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …” and he started to pull his hand away.

I held on, didn’t let his hand go.

His breath quickened. And then he whispered something that brought very sudden tears to my eyes. “I don’t want to screw this up, Julia. I don’t ever want to be a person who hurts you.”

And then he kissed the back of my neck, his lips just touching the top of my spine, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. I squeezed my eyes tighter, feeling his body down the length of mine, and pressed his hand harder into my breast. His lips moved slowly, just barely touching my skin, along my neck, up the side of my face. I turned my head to the right, bringing my lips to his. He was slow, tentative, his lips touching mine. My mouth opened, just slightly, and his opened, and for just a few seconds our tongues touched, and I shivered, my whole body awash with sensation. He ran his tongue along the edge of my lip, and I felt myself smiling. I turned my body toward his, my arms twisting around his body. 

When I turned, he lowered his head, bringing his lips to the base of my throat. His stubble was rough against my neck, and I sucked in a breath, my body pressing against his as if it had a mind of its own. His lips traced the edge of my jaw, up to my ear, and I found myself tilting my head back, giving him room. I let out a soft moan of pleasure, all of my attention focused on that one spot, where his lips touched my body. 

I gasped when he suddenly pulled back and opened my eyes. He’d backed up, and he said, “I want to see you. All of you.”

He didn’t have to ask me twice. I nodded, quickly, and he reached forward and lifted my shirt, lowering his face to my belly. I whimpered a little as his tongue explored my belly button, even as he raised my shirt off my head with his hands. He moved his head up, and ran his tongue along the edge of my breast, and I grabbed his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle as he teased me, moving around, but not quite touching my right nipple. Then his teeth grazed my nipple, and I gasped. A part of me couldn’t help but mentally compare this to Willard, who would have been all finished by now, leaving me bored and feeling slightly used. Crank was … different. I’d never been with a man who was focused on how I felt. And it was very, excruciatingly clear that my pleasure was foremost in his mind. For a second, I thought I was going to scream as he bit me, and I found myself pressing my hand on the back of his head, willing him to bite harder.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his tone deep, reassuring.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered.

He slid up my body and whispered in my ear, “Are you sure? Is this moving too fast?”

I opened my eyes and looked in his. Then I reached up, grasping his face between my hands. “Don’t you dare stop now.”

He grinned, then reached down and grabbed my pajama pants and yanked them down and threw them across the room. I let out a shriek as his tongue touched the bottom of my foot, tickling me, sending sensation racing up my entire body. He grasped my right leg in both hands and held it, then began running his tongue up the side of my foot, then my leg. He shifted one hand to my other leg, caressing up my thigh. My legs were shaking, my whole body shuddering, almost convulsions, as his tongue ran up my inner thigh. Slowly, painfully slow. 

Then his tongue was inside me, and I nearly screamed, my hands grabbing the sheet into my fists, and I threw my head back. I didn’t know if I was in pain or pleasure or what. I’d never had a man do this. It was something entirely new, and then I was just lost in the sensation. I moaned, loud, then louder, squeezing my eyes shut and wanting to cry out.

I thought he was going to stop, and I didn’t want him to. But he kept going, and I got lost in wave after wave of sensation. My eyes rolled up in my head, and I felt my toes clench together, and then I couldn’t stop myself. I let out a scream.

He did stop then. “Careful, you’ll wake up your roommates.”

“Screw them,” I said, my voice fierce.

“That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as this.”

“Shut up. Keep going.”

“As you wish,” he said, teasing, then plunged back to business, and my back arched, and I stuffed my face into a pillow, desperately trying not to scream again. Tears were running down my face, and I felt suddenly lightheaded as my entire body shuddered. 

I pulled my face away from the pillow, my breath starting to slow, and whispered, “That’s never happened before.”

He chuckled. “It was my pleasure.” And then he kissed my belly button again, and my breasts, and moved his way back up to my mouth. I felt his penis, hot and erect between my legs. I pressed myself to him. “I want you inside me.”

He closed his eyes for a second. “I don’t have any protection with me.”

“What?”

He sighed. “I hadn’t … didn’t plan on this.”

I wanted to cry out in frustration. But I certainly didn’t have any condoms in the room, and I wasn’t on the damn pill, and … damn it! 

“Lay down,” I said.

“What?”

“You heard me, punk. Lay down. You don’t get to do that for me and not get the favor returned.”

He lay down flat. “My dreams just came true.”

“Be quiet.”

And then he was. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Why should anything make sense? (Crank)

I could think of nothing in the world I would have liked better than to have just stayed in bed with Julia. All day. All night. All month. Whatever. Unfortunately, we had a couple of problems to deal with—she had a big paper due on Monday, and we had two wrecked cars across the street. I wasn’t about to suggest putting off working on the papers: Julia’s too smart for that. And the cars, well, we couldn’t just leave them.

So, we got our showers, suited up for the cold, and spent a good chunk of the morning on the phone with our respective insurance companies. This was going to be very, very bad for my insurance rates. I didn’t even want to think about that. 

Finally, that was sorted, and we were both trying to figure out what to do next. And that was—awkward—because in truth, we hadn’t really resolved anything. Had we just had a one-night stand, and no one told me? I didn’t really know the answer. Were we friends? More than friends? Lovers? Hell, if I knew. And as bold as I usually am? I was afraid to ask.

It was time for me to go, and I didn’t want to go, and from what I could guess, she didn’t want me to go either. And then my phone rang.

I looked at it. Dad. Dad rarely called me, unless it was for something important, so I answered it immediately.

“Hello?”

“Dougal, listen … I need you to come by the house. This afternoon.”

“Dad … kind of a bad time, what’s up?”

“If I wanted to discuss over the phone, I wouldn’t ask you over, would I, wise guy? Just come by.”

I sighed. “Listen … I kinda wrecked my car last night. And Julia’s.”

“You what? How the hell did you manage that?”

I shook my head, getting frustrated. “Ice, when I was taking her home.”

“Well, take the T then. But I need you to come to the house, all right? It’s important. Where are you, anyway?”

I swallowed then said, “I’m in Cambridge.”

His voice dropped. “At Harvard? With her?”

I coughed. “Yeah.”

“You better not be doing anything that’s going to end up hurting that girl, Dougal. I love you, but I know you, kid—you’re bad with the girls.”

“Not anymore. Not this time.” My reply was firm. Not defensive. 

He didn’t answer right away. Julia was sitting across the room from me, a curious expression on her face. That was going to be a difficult conversation to explain. I was hoping she wouldn’t ask.

“All right, kid. Just come by. When can you get here? I’ll pick you up at Broadway.”

I checked her alarm clock, sitting on the desk. It was a little past noon.

“I’ll be there at one.”

“All right. Don’t be late.”

He hung up without saying goodbye. My dad’s always been a paragon of good manners. 

I folded the phone and stuffed it in my pocket. “Listen, Julia … I gotta go to my dad’s. I don’t know what it’s about, sounds like he wants to talk about something, but he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

She nodded and asked, “Want me to come along?”

“I really do. But don’t you need to work on your paper?”

She shrugged. “I’ll bring it with me. Unless you want to go alone…”

I looked at her and raised my eyebrows. “Of course, I want you to come.”

“It’s decided then. Give me a second to get myself together.”

So a few minutes later, we were trudging through the snow toward Harvard Square. Holding hands. That was … weird. And nice. And it didn’t resolve any of my questions. Her dorm, or house, or whatever they call it, was separated from the rest of campus and from Harvard Square by several blocks. And with a good ten inches of snow on the ground, that felt like a long distance. But we finally got to the square, got a couple cups of coffee from Au Bon Pain and started toward the entrance to the T. 

Behind the newspaper stands was the sunken amphitheater shaped area everyone calls The Pit. Even in this weather, there were a dozen or more people hanging out in the pit, mostly huddled under the shelter for the T. My kind of people: misfits, mostly. Punks with nowhere else to go.

“Hey, Crank!”

The voice came from one of the guys huddled in a coat in the Pit. It was Lenny. About twenty-three, maybe twenty-four years old, he’s a lanky, pale skinned guy with dreadlocks and multiple face piercings. I don’t know if Lenny is his real name, but he’d been a regular around the Pit for years. We used to pay guys to go in the packie and get us liquor, then get stinking drunk in the cemetery.