If You Stay (7 page)

And she seems to like it. 

Yesterday, she mentioned that she was taking today off, just in case I needed to know for my ‘stalking calendar.’  I love a girl with a sense of humor.  And I have to admit, today feels a bit empty because I know that I won’t be seeing her.  She gave me something to get up for, something to look forward to.

But not today. 

I woke up early this morning from a restless sleep, roused by my own tossing and turning.  I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac and actually, it’s why I started taking pills in the first place, years ago.  I realized way back then how easy it was, how very easy, to swallow a pill and slip into oblivion. 

I had a therapist after my mom died, and even though I can’t remember what he looked like, I can remember that he prescribed me sleeping pills.  It helped keep the nightmares away. 

All I remember now about the nightmares is that they were horrible.  Bad enough that I used to sneak down and sleep in the doorway to my father’s room.  He would wake in the morning and find me sprawled on the floor.  And I would wake not remembering my dreams. 

My therapist told my father it was my mind’s way of protecting itself from the emotional trauma.  Well, my mind has done a good job.  To this day, I don’t remember the events surrounding my mother’s death. 

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I pick it up to find a text from my father.

You need to come sign your papers.

Fuck.  It’s that time already?

I toss the phone back on the stand, where it skids across the mahogany, coming to rest against the wall.  Every quarter, I have to sign papers for my trust fund, since it is fed by my mother’s family business.  I am technically the sole heir to her shares.  It’s a pain in the ass, but it’s a necessary evil. 

I am on the way to the shower when my doorbell rings and I pause.  I’m not expecting anyone.  It had better not be someone trying to sell me religion or they might find their teeth knocked into their throat. 

Because fuck that.

Glancing through the window of my door, I see Jill the bar whore on my porch, nervously shifting her weight from left foot to right.  I sigh.  I’m really not in the mood for her, but I open the door anyway.  I guess I feel sorry for the desperate look on her face.  She pretty much always comes to me when she doesn’t have money to buy from her dealer.

A blow job for a line of blow.  It’s our running deal.  And the deal was her idea.  Who am I to pass that up?

Jill smiles as the door opens, revealing grayish teeth.  It’s a sign that she has been using harder shit, like meth.  I cringe.  Even I won’t touch that shit.  It’s the devil, or so I’m told.  One time and even the strongest user is addicted.  I don’t need that.

“In the mood to get your dick sucked?” she asks with a smile, her fingers jittery as they thrum her leg.  She’s agitated and restless, a sure sign that it’s been awhile since she’s used and she’s craving it bad.

“Not really,” I tell her honestly.  “I just woke up.  And to be honest, my dick is a little pissed off that you left me to die on the beach.  A stranger had to call for help.  You ran off like a chicken shit.”

Jill looks stricken.

“Pax,” she whines.  “I didn’t mean to.  I just can’t go to jail, you know?  I’ve got two kids.  I’m a single mom. I can’t be in jail.”

She’s desperate now, whining even louder and I stare at her in surprise.  Shocked horror, actually.

“You’ve got two kids?”

After all this time, a couple years, I didn’t know that.  She’s never said anything, never mentioned them even once. 

She nods.  “Yep.  A girl and a boy.  Five years old and seven.”

All I feel is disgust now and I shake my head.

“Then what the fuck are you doing on this shit, Jill?  And hanging out in the bar all day and night?  It’s one thing to fuck up your own life, but it’s entirely different when you’re fucking up someone else’s.  You need to get your shit straight.”

I start to close the door in her face but she lunges inside, clutching at me.  Crying.  Wailing.  Panicked. I grab her wrists and hold them to prevent her from scratching me.

“Please, Pax.  I need it.  I’ll stop.  I promise.  But I need it one more time.  Just one more.  And then I’ll go get help.  I promise.”

Tears are streaking down her face in black streaks from her makeup.  The sunlight exposes the hardened lines on her face, the lines that nighttime hides for her. In the light of day, she looks hard and used. 

Because that’s exactly what she is.  I sigh again.

“Fine.  I’ve only got a little.  I’m not going to use for a while.  You can have what I have left, which is probably only one line. And then you need to go get help.  Get your shit straight.”

She’s shaking now, her breath catching in her throat as she waits for me to lead her to the coke. It’s all she can focus on right now, so I shut up and save my breath with the lecture. 

I lead her to my kitchen table, and cut up the one little rock I have left.  I drag it into a line and watch as she inhales it in two snorts.  She slumps into the seat and lets it take affect and when she turns to me, she is visibly calmer.

“Ready for that blowjob?”

She’s looking up at me, expectant, familiar.  And for a second, the thought of a blowjob does make my groin automatically react, shifting against the constrained crotch of my jeans.  But I shake my head. 

“I’m not really in the mood, Jill.”

I turn around and pad across the stone in my bare feet, toward the living room.  She grabs my arm. 

“You can’t give it to me for nothing, Pax.  I don’t feel right about that.  Besides, I feel bad for leaving you the other night.  Just let me pay for it.  Please.”

A woman is begging to suck my dick.  Oh, the irony.  And it’s particularly ironic that I just don’t want it.  My mind has been consumed with Mila Hill lately.  The thought of this bar whore frankly turns my stomach a bit now.

I shake my head. 

But Jill shakes hers too, and now she leaning against me, running her hands over the bare skin of my chest, trailing her fingers down to my waist band and unzipping my jeans.  She bends and runs her tongue around my nipple and then she’s got me in her grasp. I’m instantly horny.

I inhale a little as she runs her fingers up and down my shaft, outside of my underwear.  Fuck.  I curse my testosterone. 

“Fine,” I sigh.  As if getting a blowjob is a hardship.  I drop my pants and she sinks to her knees in front of me, taking all of me into her mouth.  And as I lose myself in the moment, in the pleasure of her lips forming a vacuum around my dick, sliding, moving, sucking, I stare at the lake. 

As Jill’s head bobs, I watch the current and the waves, the occasional sailboat.  I watch the seagulls fly, I watch the sun.  And then Mila’s face forms unbidden yet again in my mind.  Hers is as different from Jill’s hardened face as it can possibly be; fresh and innocent.  I focus on it, then picture her lush tits with the pink nipples that point to the sun.

It makes me come a lot faster than normal.  I groan and spurt into Jill’s mouth and I don’t even look.  In my head, it is Mila’s mouth.  It is Mila’s hands cupping my balls, lightly squeezing them as I come. 

And as I open my eyes, I am horrified to see Mila’s face.

For real.

Staring up at me from the stretch of beach below my house.  She can see perfectly into my home, and can see perfectly that Jill is bent in front of me sucking my dick. 

And she looks as horrified as I feel. 

Chapter Eight

Mila

Oh, my God. 

I feel like a freight train just plowed into my chest, knocking all the air from my body.  I don’t know why.  I don’t own Pax, not in the slightest.  But he’s been coming to see me every day so I felt like there was a mutual attraction there.  I mean, he drove into town just to walk me the length of one block every day.  Frankly, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.  He’s even invaded my dreams. 

But clearly, I was wrong.  My fascination with him isn’t reciprocated. 

He’s getting a blowjob from the girl who left him on the beach. 

I can’t even think.  My head is swirling in a blur of anger and hurt.  I just grab my supplies, fold up my easel and bolt for my car.  I think I might hear his voice behind me, calling my name, but I don’t turn around.  I start to run, and when I reach my car, I dump my things into it and peel out. 

I chance a glance into the rearview mirror and he’s not there. 

I exhale. 

I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or not.  A sick part of me kind of wishes that he’d cared enough to chase after me.  But he didn’t.  So he doesn’t care.  I feel like crying.  And that’s ridiculous.  But then I cry anyway.

I cry for the end of something that didn’t even have a chance to begin.

And then I cry because I feel even stupider for having such stupid thoughts.

I’m an idiot.

I drive to my shop and sit there for a bit inside of my car.  I pull myself together and finally walk inside.  I flip the sign to Open and put my apron on.  And then I do what I always do when I’m happy or sad or bored or well, anything. 

I paint.

With swooping strokes, I paint the sun hanging over the edge of the lake by Pax’s house.  I paint the gray choppy water and then I turn the sun black, allowing the paint to drip toward the water.  It’s a dark scene and it perfectly fits how I feel.  Stormy, black, angry.  All are words that can be used to fit both the scene and my mood.

The shop door jangles and I sigh.  I usually don’t hope that customers don’t come, but today I’d sort of like to be alone.  I turn, my paintbrush still in hand, ready to smile at the customer.

But it’s Pax. 

The smile dies on my lips and I am frozen.

He is freshly showered, I can tell.  His hair is wet and I can smell the scent of soap as he approaches.  His face is oh-so-serious and I clench my jaw.  This guy just got a blowjob.  He has no right to come and talk to me.

Then why am I so happy that he came?

It defies logic.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Pax says quietly, forgoing a greeting.  “Please, Mila.  I’m really sorry.”

I grit my teeth and turn back to my painting, smearing the sun into the gray sky.

“What you do is your business,” I tell him curtly. “It’s not mine.”

Pax sighs and I can hear it from here, even though he stopped moving several steps away from me.

“I could tell you that it wasn’t what it looked like, but that would be a lie.  It was exactly what it looked like.  I could explain it, but you wouldn’t understand.”

“Then why are you here?” I whisper, confused.  If he doesn’t want to explain, then what’s the point?  I don’t look at him, instead I just stare at the movement of my paintbrush.  I notice that my hand is shaking.

And then I feel him behind me. 

His hand closes around mine, steadying it.  His is warm and large.  And I should pull away, but I don’t. His warmth is all around me and I want to be absorbed by it.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he admits softly, and his voice is so close to my neck.  “Because I can’t stop thinking about you, I guess.  And because I’ll never get that horrified expression on your face out of my head.  I’m sorry to have put it there.  Just know that she doesn’t mean anything to me.  She was persistent and I didn’t say no.  It was a habit.  I’m sorry.”

My heart hammers hard in my chest.  I don’t know what to say.  I know that I should tell him to get far away from me, but my heart is a traitor and wants him here. My heart must have issues. But I can’t say that. 

“You don’t even know me,” I tell him instead, finally turning around to look at him, pulling my hand away as I do.  I stare up into his hazel eyes and find an expression there that I haven’t yet seen. Trepidation.  “Why would you apologize to someone that you barely even know? You don’t owe me anything.”

He shrugs and his movement stirs his masculine scent. I inhale it and fight the urge to close my eyes so that I can better enjoy the smell. 

“I don’t know.  All I know is that ever since I met you, I’ve
wanted
to know you.  That’s why I’ve been coming into town this week to see you.  Something about you makes me think that I can be better, maybe even get my shit straight.  I haven’t felt that way in a very long time. And I feel like I
do
owe you something.”

Hell.  His words strike a chord in me and I swallow hard.  His tone is hesitant, soft.  And it melts my heart.  I can’t help it.  Sometimes, there is such a broken look in his eyes.  And deep down, I just want to fix it. 

“Why?” I ask, my gaze firmly locked with his.  He shakes his head. 

“I don’t know. You just seem so
good
, so wholesome.  It draws me to you.  I can’t explain it.”

I laugh now, thoroughly amused. 

I gesture toward my painting.  “Does that seem good and wholesome to you?”

We both study the angry black and gray canvas.  It looks like something that someone in a Psych ward might have painted.  Pax finally smiles. 

“Well, then, Red, it looks like you’ve got a dark side.  But the difference between you and me is that you channel yours in a healthy way.  I don’t.”

I stare at him, trying to decide what to say, how honest to be.  But this moment seems like a good time for honesty, so I don’t hesitate.

“I don’t know if it’s all that healthy that I’m attracted to you,” I admit finally.  “I’ve never been attracted to a bad boy before.”

He is so close to me that his proximity is a bit intoxicating.  I feel almost dizzy from it as I stare up at him, waiting for his response.  It also seems as though I can feel the danger emanating from him…it’s charged, electrical, fascinating. 

Pax thinks on it for a moment, his jaw covered in day-old stubble. 

“Well, I’ve never wanted to be good before, so I guess it’s a first for both of us.”

We stare into each other’s eyes for what seems like forever. 

I don’t know if I should believe him, but he seems so sincere.  I do know that I
want
to believe him, even if it’s a stupid feeling.