His Reverie (6 page)

Weak: not strong.

June 30
th

I’
m at home alone, hiding out in the living room with the lights off, the TV off, everything dark. Except for my phone. I’m curled up on the couch with an old quilt my grandma made when I was little, Google becoming my best friend as I do a search for Reverend Harold Hale.

There’s so much on the guy it’s unbelievable. He has an entire channel on YouTube. He has a dedicated website, numerous magazine articles about his ministry, television features, his TV show…the works. He’s everywhere. I had no idea how popular he was.

I remember that disclosure statement they had me sign when I first started working for him. That I wouldn’t release any sort of information to the media, not even the color of the guy’s socks, or else I’d put myself at risk for being fired.

Now I totally get why. He’s a media sensation. Everyone wants a piece of him.

So then I decided to Google Reverie Hale.

There’s not nearly as much information about her and most of it is old. Seems like the Hale kids fell out of the spotlight a few years ago. Reverie and her brother Evander don’t even make appearances on the television show anymore but there’s a lot of old footage out there. And pictures. Tons of pictures. My favorite is of a cute little Reverie in a white dress, her hair pulled back and topped with a snowy white bow, a shy smile on her face as she stood with her family.

She was adorable. And on such blatant public display for most of her life along with her brother…then they weren’t. I wonder what happened. What changed that? Why were they taken out of the public eye so fast?

I can’t ask her. It’s none of my business.

There’s a knock at my door but I ignore it. It’s late, past eleven at night and I’m definitely not expecting any guests. I keep it low key because I’m living on my own since Mom died and I’m still underage though I don’t feel it. Child Protective Services would probably try and throw me into foster care until I turn eighteen or something stupid like that and that is the last thing I need. I don’t know why they haven’t come sniffing around already but whatever.

CPS isn’t knocking on my door this late at night though. Who the hell could it be? And why are they so persistent? The knocks just keep on coming, getting fiercer with every attempt.

“Nick! I know you’re in there,” a voice yells from the other side of the door and I sit up straight, surprise and irritation coursing through me.

I recognize that voice. It’s my neighbor, Krista. She’s my age. We’ve known each other forever, since elementary school. She was my first kiss. My first real girlfriend. The first girl I had sex with. I had sex with her right after I got out of jail too.

She called it my welcome home present.

“Nick! Open the damn door. I can see the glow from your phone through the window, asshole. Why are you avoiding me?”

Krista is super classy too. Though I really shouldn’t bag on her. We’re the same, Krista and I. We grew up in the same neighborhood and our moms were acquaintances. It’s a natural progression, Krista and I ending up together. I broke up with her in the middle of sophomore year and she got so pissed at me. I blew her chances to go to prom, she accused. I didn’t really care. I got sick of her neediness. And her disloyalty to me.

Two months later, I’m accused of a crime I didn’t commit. By my very best friend—the same guy she screwed around with that eventually led to our breakup. My life changed completely.

And she wasn’t there for me. She was before. She definitely was after. But during the hard stuff, when I struggled and I needed a friend to stand by my side? Nope. Krista disappeared.

She knocks again, rattling the cheap-ass door so bad I’m afraid she’s gonna punch a hole through it. I climb off the couch and go to answer it, wrenching the door open to find Krista standing on my doorstep, looking practically naked in a red string bikini top that barely covers her tits and the tiniest white shorts I’ve ever seen.

I immediately think of Reverie. What would she look like in an outfit like Krista’s? Fucking hot, is what.

“There you are.” She reaches out, plants her hand in the center of my chest and shoves me as she walks inside, slamming the door behind her. “You’re looking good, Fairfield. Where ya been?”

“Krista. Wassup.” I grab hold of her bare upper arms, telling myself I need to stay immune to her charms. Because she’s got them. The girl is sexy and she knows it. All that wavy brown hair, the pretty, sometimes overly made-up face and the tempting curves. She is stacked. And her ass is pretty damn tight.

She’s fucked a lot of the guys at school, including David. That was the reason I dumped her. I can’t be with a girl who’d screw around with my best friend behind my back.

But I’d been weak and horny when I got out of jail and she knew it. We’d fooled around in the backseat of her Dad’s beat up old car and I’d immediately regretted it after. Then I got wrapped up in Mom’s illness. Wrapped up in the shit that became my new life. Death and sadness and wondering how I was going to survive.

Getting lost with Krista… was a way to forget. At least for a little while.

“I’ve missed you. Haven’t seen you around much the last few days.” She somehow breaks free of my hold and steps in close to me, curling her arms around my neck, her hands in my hair.

“I got a new job. It’s keeping me busy.” I reach behind me, trying to disengage her hold on my neck but she presses even closer, her huge tits smashed against my chest. I can feel the heat of her skin through my T-shirt.

I know what she’s doing. And I hate to admit it but it’s working.

“Too busy for me?” she asks, blinking her heavily mascara-ed eyes at me. She tugs on my hair, pulling my face close to hers. “You don’t want me anymore, Nick? Don’t bother lying. I can feel that you do.”

I close my eyes, trying to fight this. She’s persistent. Greedy. And so am I. I can’t help it. When you have nothing, you grasp at any pleasure you can find, no matter how fleeting. No matter how empty. “We can’t keep doing this,” I say as I rest my hands lightly on her hips. I mean to set her away but instead I pull her even closer. So close, not even a piece of paper could fit between us.

“Who says? I don’t have a boyfriend and you don’t have a girlfriend. I’m bored, Nick. Nothing’s the same anymore. None of our friends are around this summer and David’s still in jail. They didn’t let him out quick like they did you, since he lied and all. So let’s have some fun.” She drags her lips down my neck, her hand slipping from my hair to touch my chest. And lower.

I hate that she mentioned David but it doesn’t kill the sexual buzz running through me. Not with the way she’s boldly touching me. And I don’t want to think about David. How he wronged me. How he’s still in jail and I’m not.

So I keep my eyes closed and think of Reverie instead. I don’t deserve her. I’m not a good person. I’m letting some girl use me to get her kicks because I want to get off too. Reverie would never do that. I bet she’s never been touched. Never been kissed. I’m used up goods and she’s virginal perfection.

Tonight…this very moment, it almost feels like I’m being unfaithful to Reverie, being with Krista. I can’t believe I’m thinking like this but there it is. And I don’t know how to deal with it.

So I don’t.

We’re kissing now. Or at least Krista is trying to kiss me and I keep avoiding her lips so she dives for my neck. We’re stripping off each other’s clothes, falling onto the couch, hands everywhere. I’m trying to lose myself like I’m so good at doing but all I can envision is Reverie.

Earlier today she was out by the pool, shooting me shy glances whenever she thought I wasn’t looking. But I’ve become quite adept at looking at her all the time, as slyly as possible. She passed by me and I called her Daydream, making her smile and blush. That smile made my heart swell, the scent of her made something else want to swell and I could hardly contain myself.

It seemed she felt the same way because she tripped somehow and nearly fell into the pool but I rescued her. Slipped my arm right around her tiny waist, making her breath hitch when I tugged her close to prevent her from falling right into the water. I held her to me for one too-long second, savoring the feel of her nestled close to me.

She was a perfect fit. And it was a struggle to let her go.

Krista is tugging on my T-shirt and I pull away so she can yank it off me. I’m like a robot, going through the motions, intent on finding my satisfaction. Drowning out the sounds of Krista moaning against my neck, how she seems to get her lessons from porn stars in how she should act when she’s having sex.

All the while I can imagine Reverie’s disappointment if she knew what I was doing. How much I’d rather be doing it
with
Reverie.

“Come on, Nicky. Act like you want it at least,” Krista mutters, her fingers curling around my dick and giving it an almost too firm squeeze.

Leaning back, I study Krista, the way she’s rubbing against me like a cat in heat, her lids lowered, her lips pursed. Deciding the hell with it, I grab hold of her hand and drag her back to my bedroom where I can close the door, shut off the lights and pretend I’m with someone else.

Someone else I absolutely one hundred percent do not deserve.

Feeling like this is ridiculous. Pointless. I mean nothing to that girl. She might flirt with me, smile at me but it’s meaningless for her. I’m not the type of guy she’d ever be involved with. If she knew what I’ve done, what I’ve been accused of, she would freak out. She
should
freak out. I have secrets I can never tell her. She wouldn’t understand.

I know it.

Dear Diary,

(June 30
th
, 10:43 p.m.) I spied on Nick today. I know, I know, I feel silly for even writing it, but I want to remember every detail of what I saw. He’s so incredibly good looking. I know I shouldn't care. It’s about the integrity of a person that counts. Not how someone looks on the outside, but who they are on the inside.

I believe Nicholas Fairfield (I love his name!) is a beautiful person both inside and out.

How do I know this you ask? Because I watched him, first from my secret spot in the living room, in Daddy’s old chair that sits close to the window. The back of the chair is so high I can peek around it and see the backyard without anyone noticing me.

Nick definitely didn’t notice me. He was outside working around the pool. Taking the net and picking out every single leaf and bug floating at the top of the water, his dark brows wrinkled in concentration, his mouth scrunched. His mouth…I think about his mouth all the time. I have an unhealthy fixation on it. I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like on mine.

Anyway. He was wearing khaki shorts that hit him just above his knees and a plain white polo shirt that was wrinkled. No little navy blue jockey on his chest, like what Evan wears and the rest of his friends. Only my brother can get away with being so completely materialistic while Mom insists I shop at Old Navy or Target or Walmart and nowhere else. She wears brand name stuff too, which makes me so incredibly mad. It’s unfair. I don’t know why they treat me this way. Why I can’t have the same privileges everyone else has.

Sigh. I need to stay on topic. So I spied on Nick cleaning the pool, my eyes constantly dropping to his legs. He has really nice ones. They’re kind of hairy but not in a gross way. No, more in a, I wish I knew what they felt like when they rub against mine sort of way.