Brother's Keeper (11 page)

Chapter 9

The second half of the academic year is now in full force. I’ve finally bought my car, an old, slightly rusted out Jeep Wagoneer. It has wood paneling and an old, worn, leather interior. I love it, but rather doubt anyone else does. It is just nice to be off that damn bike finally. Even this liberating time is dampened as I start to realize the end is near. Logan will be leaving for Denver and his new place at Brighton and Brinks within just a few weeks of graduating, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m terrified of losing him. It is spring, and spring break is a mere two weeks away, and the passing time is starting to weigh on my mind.

Over the past couple of months, I have continued my regular cohabitation with Logan, and it continues to confuse and excite me. There are many times when it seems as though he is holding me at arm’s length, and at other times, he seems so open to me—desperate for closeness. He is an enigma to me, and he belies nothing of what he is thinking. Lying to Sara has also become exhausting, and I know our deceit must be difficult for him, too. Logan will be going away for spring break with his friends to Colorado again for their annual ski trip, and I’m dreading that time. He has made me promise I’ll continue to use the apartment or stay with Sara when he is away, but it isn’t my father that has me so bothered. I simply don’t want to go without him for so long.

*

I would give anything to just cancel this stupid trip. I don’t even want to go, but, of course, that is ridiculous. What guy doesn’t want to go away with his oldest friends on his final spring break? Oh yeah, the kind who is infatuated with his little sister’s best friend. I don’t even see Amy any more, but have never officially broken up with her. After New Year’s Eve, I wasn’t able to even pretend civility with her. I started blowing her off every time she called, and eventually, she simply stopped calling. I’m glad to be rid of her but strangely never cared enough about the end of our relationship to even mention it to people.

I’ve managed to keep Rowan out of my bed, but hardly out of my mind or my fantasies for that matter. When I masturbate, it is her I see, her voice I hear, and her soul I possess. It is never satisfying, and I’ve become the most sexually frustrated man in history. And it is on one such frustrating evening I find myself in the most horrific of all compromising situations.

It is always on Thursday nights that Rowan has her private dance lessons, and depending on the state her father is in, she arrives late or not at all. Not knowing whether to expect her or not and certainly not for some time, I find myself lying on my bed, daydreaming about all the things I’d like to be doing with her. My mind is imagining her naked on my bed. She is looking at me, her eyes begging for me, and I’m compelled to oblige. I have to taste her before I can make love to her, and I ease her legs open from the knees as she looks on in anticipation. As I open her lips to me, I take one long delicious lick without breaking her gaze, and she gasps in excitement and need. I imagine myself studying her wet pussy before eating her. Her folds are slick and pink and swelling with desire. Her scent is intoxicating, and as I begin to feast on her bud, her hips start to move of their own accord.

Before my fantasy can take me any further, I sit up in my aroused stupor and fumble at the button of my pants, letting my hard cock loose. It is begging to be touched and stroked, and I imagine I’m stroking my cock in preparation to enter her body. I continue stroking myself, indulging in my fantasy. In my mind, I stop eating her and return to studying her every inch. I brush her clit with my finger as a shiver runs through her body, and I then run the finger down to her opening. I stroke the opening before pressing into her. Only a fraction of an inch at first and then back out. Her body is quivering in anticipation, and I don’t make her wait long. I continue fingering her in and out, pushing further each time, relishing the sight of my finger gliding in and out of her beautiful tight body until finally I push all the way. She looks down at herself, wanting to watch me fuck her with my finger as much as I’m enjoying the same view. She is quietly moaning as I continue to finger her deeply, and she continues watching my slick wet finger enter her over and over.

In the real world, my front door opens. But I hear nothing but the moans inside my head. I continue to stroke myself, needing my release desperately. And then I’m jerked back to reality as my only partially closed bedroom door is pushed all the way open.

*

When I arrive at the studio, I find it locked and dark. It is unusual for Anthony to cancel lessons and even more unusual that he wouldn’t at least call. I contemplate, only for a brief moment, driving back home. But as I was leaving no more than twenty minutes ago, my father, too, was preparing to leave, and besides, I much prefer Logan’s company to my father’s any day. Furthermore, Logan would be furious with me if I went home knowing he was out getting drunk. I am looking forward to spending the evening with Logan, something I typically don’t get to do on a Thursday, and I make it to his place in record time. As I enter the apartment, it is quiet, and Logan is not in the living room or kitchen. As I move down the hall, I see his bedroom door is ajar and hear quiet movement from within. I enter his room and gasp.

Our shocked eyes lock for a moment before I’m drawn back to the source of my gasp. It takes me a confusing moment to realize what is happening, and when I do, I can’t take my eyes off of his penis. His hand is still wrapped around its shaft, and he is hard and erect. He is stunned and unable to move, and I’m stunned and unable to take my eyes off of him. As he comes to his senses, he realizes I’m not looking away from him, and in order to bring me back to my senses, he huskily whispers out my name. It doesn’t work, and he has to repeat himself to get my attention. Finally meeting his gaze again, I am suddenly aware I’ve been staring far too long, and I become immediately humiliated. Our eyes are locked on one another, and as I inhale ragged breaths he looks steadily at me, his heavy breathing and wide eyes the only signs of his own inner turmoil. I start to stutter some unknown language before finally breaking the stare and darting from the room toward my own.

I close the door to my room and stand with my back to the door unable to move. Many minutes later, I make my way over to the bed and sit. I haven’t turned the lights on, and I sit in darkness for a long time. I am mortified, but through my mortification I keep going back to the sight of him. It is early yet, but I stay in my room for the rest of the night. He makes no attempt to disturb me, and I thank god for that. I don’t think I could bear seeing him right now. He must think I’m the stupidest girl in the world staring at him as if I’ve never seen a penis before. I finally drift off to sleep uncomfortable about the coming day. I set the alarm clock early, intending to go home before he gets up, and I sneak from the apartment shortly after five o’clock.

*

I wake from a restless night sleep. I know I should have gone to her last night and tried to explain, but I just couldn’t get past my own embarrassment. I don’t want her to see me this way, like some testosterone-driven animal. I will have to talk to Rowan about what happened this morning, but I am dreading the conversation. Humiliation is not an emotion I experience very easily, and I am not a big fan. As I shower, I can’t help but remember the look on her face as she was staring at my cock. The humiliation has only just started to subside, and I can’t stop seeing those intense stunned eyes on my body. Were they on me for the right reason and not pure terror, they would have been an unmatched turn on.

Am I really such a cock that I lose my sense of hearing just because I have a fucking hard-on? How could I have not heard the door open? I have to admit I’ve fantasized, on more than one occasion, of Rowan watching me pleasure myself as I watch her do the same, but this was not what I had in mind. I step from the shower and finish getting ready, mentally preparing myself for the “birds and the bees” discussion that will ensue.

I knock on Rowan’s door and get no answer, and it occurs to me, given her past history of fleeing my apartment, she likely left long ago. I enter the room and, not surprisingly, find it empty with the bed made. Irritation starts to build as I remember the last time she sneaked off to avoid me. These little immature games were going to have to stop. I suppose I’ll just add that to the list of fun topics we’ll be discussing next time I see her. Only problem is, I never have any idea when I’m going to see her.

I’m late for a meeting with the DA and have to rush around to get there in time. The day is long and as much as I’m not looking forward to our discussion, I’m looking forward to seeing Rowan.

Chapter 10

After Rowan sidestepped me in the morning, I’m ready to see her come evening. But she doesn’t make an appearance, and I’m left disappointed. Boredom getting the better of me, I decide to hook up with my friends at The Inn for some pool and darts. On my way there, I drive by the Bistro and see Rowan’s car parked out back. At least I know she’s there and safe. I then spot her father’s car at his shitty bar of choice. I can’t help but feel a sense of excitement at seeing his car. If he’s there, she’ll be coming over when she gets off work at ten o’clock. I can’t keep my eyes off my watch all night, annoying my friends. After a few beers and a few hours, I’m ready to leave but decide to wait until I hear from Rowan.

As much as I enjoy spending time with my friends, I’m still missing Rowan and yearning to see her. The time is now ten, and I should hear from her anytime within the next half hour. Even though she knows she doesn’t have to call, she nearly always does, except, conveniently, when I happen to be masturbating to my fantasies of her. As soon as she gets home and sees that her father’s car is gone, she’ll call. But she doesn’t. I start to get anxious around ten forty-five when I can’t reach her, and I’ve still not heard from her. I decide to drive by her trailer just to make sure everything is okay.

As I round the corner onto Rowan’s street, I see her father’s ancient piece of shit car parked in the driveway, and to my horror, I see her car parked beside it. A chill runs down my back when I realize his car is partially pulled onto the lawn in an obvious drunken attempt at parking. I pull up quickly, and as I approach the house, I can hear him yelling and things being thrown against the walls. I slam open the door, yelling for Rowan in a full-on panic. The yelling and commotion is coming from her room, and I burst into the room in an instant. Rowan is curled up in the fetal position on the floor, and he is kicking her in the backs of her thighs, buttocks, and any other area he can land a foot.

He doesn’t even hear me enter the room through his drunken rant, and I have him in a headlock before he even knows what has happened. I pull him backward into the hallway and out into the living room, not at all sure what my next move should be. He is struggling quite effectively, given his drunken state, and I opt to let him go and face him head on. I can hear Rowan in her room crying, and my fury hits an all-time high. I throw the first punch, hitting him square in the jaw and sending him to the floor. For good measure, I kick him in the gut. I look down the hallway to see Rowan standing hunched over and in obvious pain in her doorway. Her mouth is bloody and her face tear-stained. I want to run to her but am afraid to turn my back on her father. He is restless, and while he hasn’t made any attempts to get up, I won’t give him the opportunity. I watch Rowan as she stumbles in pain down the hall toward me, glancing constantly down at her father still moaning and groaning on the floor. As she approaches me, I reach for her hand and hurriedly usher her out the door to my car.

Once safely in my car and blocks away, I pull over and turn desperately to her. She is still crying, and I have no idea how badly injured she is.

She doesn’t even give me the opportunity to ask before interjecting. “I’m fine. Just take me to your place, please.”

“Please let me take you to the hospital.” My words are quiet. I know she’ll refuse, but I’m begging.

“No.” She doesn’t fail to deliver. And the quiet resolution in her voice ends the hope I had. Not enough to stop me from continuing to plead with her, but eventually I give up, and I watch her in defeat.

She has wiped her bleeding lip on her shirt, and I touch her face, gently turning it from side to side to see if there are any other facial injuries that might imply a head injury. She allows my touch without hesitation, and when I ask her if he kicked her in the stomach or chest, she assures me he didn’t. I begrudgingly take her to my apartment, wanting instead to drag her to the hospital, but it isn’t my choice. She is silent the whole way there, and I help her slowly up the stairs when we arrive home.

I lead her to my room and get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. I wipe her lips and face clean and can see that the split lip has stopped bleeding. I then start undressing her. She doesn’t object, and I’m as gentle as I can be. I pull her shirt up and over her head, finding that she is braless. I look over her stomach and small breasts carefully, finding no injuries or signs of bruising.

When I turn her around to look at her back, though, I see the trailing ends of red welts that disappear below the waist of her jeans down onto her clothed bottom. I turn her back around to face me and see that while she isn’t audibly weeping, she has tears running down her cheeks. Her arms are up covering her exposed breasts, and she is shaking. I ease her arms away from her hidden breasts, pulling her into me. She relaxes in my arms, wrapping her own around me. After a long moment of stillness, she asks if she can take a bath. I quietly but adamantly tell her that I want to finish looking at her.

I continue my examination of her body. I sit on the side of my bed and slowly undo her jeans as she stands in front of me. I expect her to object, but she doesn’t. She allows me to pull her pants down and help her step out of them. Again, the front side of her body is unmarked, but when I turn her, I see the swollen red marks on the backs of her thighs and calves that disappear under the panties she is wearing. I sit on the side of my bed, with her back to me, and gently pull her underwear down to see the small round cheeks of her bottom red and painful. It is apparent that her injuries are localized to her legs, bottom, and mouth. I can only imagine how sore she must be and how sore she will be tomorrow. I run the palm of my hand over the round cheeks of her bottom, and her breath catches as she stops breathing. Thinking better of it, I pull the back of her underwear up over her bottom and stand up behind her. I caress the back of her neck and quietly tell her I’ll run her a bath. I lead her nearly naked into my bathroom and while the bathtub is filling, I hold her, and she cries. I give her privacy when the tub is filled and she has what she needs.