Landslide (22 page)

It was electrifying to be looked at and touched like that. He repeated the same torturous finger trail on my other breast and just barely glanced up at me before dipping his head and bringing my nipple full into his mouth. His tongue circled and licked it two or three times, making the goose bumps I already had turn into a full-body shiver. I audibly gasped though and arched my back to bring myself closer to him, and I held his head to me when he pulled my throbbing nipple deeper into his mouth and suckled on it for a moment before transferring his attention to the other one. However, it wasn’t like just having my breasts passionately kissed, although that’s exactly what he was doing; he was doing the same thing he does sometimes with my tongue when we’re kissing, only he was doing it with my stimulated and overly sensitized nipple…but, I don’t know…it honestly just felt more like he was paying some kind of homage to me as a woman.

I wanted him so badly that night. I hadn’t truly wanted another person like that since the night of Holden’s funeral, but that was a completely different kind of desire. It was twisted and dark, and I’m still having a hard time coming to grips with how I treated Cole that night. The night at the cove I wanted him because as a byproduct of his compassion, he inadvertently seduced me with a sense of virtuous eroticism. He made me feel sexy and sensual, but even more than that, I felt like I was unquestionably and irrevocably
revered
.

I know where the line is though and I won’t ever cross it again. I don’t ever want to be so inherently disrespectful of someone who cares about me as much as Cole does, and I know he only does what he does to distract me from being sad or feeling alone. Most of the time it works. Other times, all I can seem to do is think about Holden and how badly I miss him.

So, even if we hadn’t heard whispered voices and footsteps approaching, I wouldn’t have tried to get Cole to give me more than he already had, and I didn’t say a word of protest either when he lifted his head from where he’d been feeding my soul. His eyes seemed to melt time and space when they looked into mine, and although he was already out of breath, his lips stole mine for one last, inebriating kiss before he snatched our towels, hurriedly bundled me up, and led me by the hand back to the camper without a word...our moment fading until it finally became more of a dream than reality.

As I tripped along behind him, though, I remember feeling adrift and rather disoriented, but I was happy about it, which wasn’t too much of a surprise actually. I mean the thing is, Cole is a phenomenal kisser. He really and truly is; I don’t know where he learned how to do it or who taught him, if anyone, or if God just decided to bless Cole with a gift he can share with whomever he so chooses, but the range of emotion he can produce at will is mind blowing. In zero to thirty seconds he can go from the sweetest, most innocent kiss you can imagine to something that’s primal and intrinsically raw, and I am being straight-up serious when I say that I have never—not ever—been kissed so thoroughly and so intensely that I would honestly have a hard time remembering my own name afterwards. However, there’s been plenty of private times that my head was literally spinning when his lips left mine, and they’ve made me grateful that he’s never kissed me in a public place like a restaurant because I’d assuredly be too tipsy to even read the damned menu.

Everything I felt then was what I tried to convey back to him last night. I thought if I could channel even a small amount of his seemingly built-in predilection for making me feel cherished, especially like that night, I could pat myself on the back as having done the job to the best of my ability. I wasn’t sure I was succeeding though until towards the end when I felt him watching me. Instead of becoming self-conscious with his eyes on me, watching every single thing I did, I felt powerful. There was no question about it; I was making him come unglued. It was just like what was happening to me when I was about to have my first orgasm…the one he gave me the night of the funeral. He was frantic and frenzied, and practically trying to claw his way out of his skin because what I made him feel was too much in almost every sense. And being able to do that; elicit that kind of response…me, Little Miss Prissy Pants…? Well, the power I felt was almost intoxicating. I really wanted to see it through to the end; however, he seemed so desperate for me not to and I remembered how I felt the moment before I climaxed, so I granted his wish and kissed him. I almost would’ve preferred to watch him come apart, though…to see him cross the finish line with my own two eyes and be visually rewarded by watching my resulting success, live as it happened.

Thinking about it after the fact, it’s sort of hard to believe that was me. I mean I always thought giving a hand job or head was all for the guy, and never in a million years did I expect to enjoy it myself. But, now I can kind of see how some girls could totally get hooked on giving blow jobs. It’s a heady feeling, having that kind of power over a person and them knowing you have it, and still they trust you enough to not use that power against them.

A tap at the screen has me setting my coffee cup down on the words written on the yellow construction paper in front of me. My eyes go to Cole still completely passed out though, and I sigh as Amanda pops her head inside the camper.

“You about ready? I don’t wanna rush you, but I gotta get Cody out of here…Brian and Alex both have massive hangovers.”

“Yeah. Gimme like five more minutes, though, okay? I’m gonna try one last time to wake him up.”

“Okey doke.”

I wanted to tell Cole last night that I’ve decided it’s time I head back home. I’d talked to Amanda about it—or rather, asked her if she wouldn’t mind giving me a lift to the bus station in the morning. She asked why I was leaving as suddenly as I am, so I just gave her the basic truth. My boyfriend and Cole’s best friend recently died and it hit us both really hard. Cole had decided he was done living at home and I went with him, but just for the summer. I have college starting in a couple weeks and it’s not only time I get back to my life, but it’s also time to let Cole start living his, wherever he decides to do it, and he can’t really do that schlepping me around the country.

I don’t want Cole to take me to the bus station though because I don’t want to have one of those teary goodbyes or change my mind at the last minute. And I’m pretty sure I would. I’m scared about returning to real life and not having him there to catch me when I fall, because just like I’m sure I’d chicken out of leaving, I’m pretty damned certain I’m going to be falling flat on my face a whole bunch of times. Only, it’ll just be me around and unless I want to spend my life on the floor, I’ll have to learn to pick myself up. It’s a good thing, really, and something I know I need to do; I’m just petrified of doing it. I can’t use Cole as a crutch anymore, though, and that’s one of the things I explained to him in my goodbye letter that I wrote a little bit ago.

Although now, I’m a tad irked with both him and myself this morning. I didn’t want him to watch me leave or me watch him fade into the distance, but I
did
want to say goodbye in person. Except, the big, lovable dummy won’t wake up. I tried telling him last night when I finally came to bed, but then…well, oral sex happened, and afterwards, he turned into a typical guy. I actually did tell him that I was going to be leaving in the morning, but I only remembered after he told me to have sweet dreams, and by then I was too late. He was out cold and has been ever since. I’ve tried nudging him, making noise packing my stuff up, blowing in his ear, poking him, pulling his leg hair, tickling him, and the most response I’ve gotten so far is that he’s rolled over twice, grunted a few times, batted my hand away once, and mumbled something about Scooby Snacks. One of the times he rolled over, the sheet pulled away and presented me with an eyeful of naked guy bits.

At first I averted my eyes, but then wondered—out loud actually—what the hell I was thinking. I mean, I just got intimately and expressly acquainted with the important parts last night, so why would it be a big deal to look this morning? Excepting last night, I’ve actually never seen a live penis, and because it was nighttime, I didn’t really get to see it. Like, I did, the moon coming through the window at the head of my bed was really bright, but I guess I just wasn’t thinking about thoroughly checking out his junk before sticking it in my mouth. Not that seeing one has been on my bucket list or anything, but I’m curious now, which is curious in itself because I never used to be.

I inadvertently walked in on Holden in the shower once and immediately turned on my heel and left. And when he and I almost had sex at Christmas, except for the low flickering light from the fire, the room was dark and I was glad it was. I remember feeling almost bashful I guess you could say about even the idea of looking at that part of him, and I felt the same way when he took my panties off me…grateful that his eyes weren't watching what his hands were doing. I don’t know if any of that unease was because I was nervous or anxious because we were going to have sex for the first time or what, though.

Anyhow, my findings on further inspection are that the male form in all its glory is really pretty magnificent, and, kind of intimidating. For a split second, I considered trying to wake Cole up a completely different way, but…my um…my jaw is a little stiff this morning. So, considering his substantial intimidating magnificence in the light of day and all, I thought I probably shouldn’t push my luck and do anything to make it even more sore. Plus, neither of us are truly in need of consolation at the moment, and it’s daylight, thus against our unspoken rules.

Walking over to the bed and then staring at him blissfully snoozing his day away, I decide to almost jump on the bed and plop myself down right by his head. All I get is some sleepy utterances.

Setting the letter down on the box on top of the small nightstand table, I nudge his shoulder. “Cole.
Cooole.
Wake up, sleepy head. I’m leaving now.”

“Mmdgldmsos…”

“Those are just sounds, Cole. You’re just making sounds. I’m leaving and you’re just making incoherent sounds…” my finger moves to wipe the corner of his mouth, “And you’re drooling a little.”

Dejectedly sighing again, I lean down to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, “Thank you for everything, and being the best friend anyone could ever ask for. I’ll call you or text when I get home, but I’ll miss you so,
so
much. And, I love you.”

“Mmgjk…I lub schyou, Ercahksk.”

“
Humph
. I’m just gonna assume that’s me.” I kiss the dry, non-drooling corner of his mouth and then push to my feet, trying my hardest to clear the enormous lump in my throat.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

With a deep breath, I pick up my purse, small rolling suitcase, and one incredibly stuffed duffle bag, and shoulder my way out of the camper, bumping into and bouncing off of cupboards and the narrow doorway. I make such a ruckus getting out of the camper, I think for sure it would’ve woken him up, but I don’t look back. I count to thirty and then to sixty. At one hundred when the only sound I hear coming from inside is disappointing silence, I have to swallow once and blink the tears back before I can take a step and then another one. Just one slow step after another until I’m in Amanda’s Jeep. By the time I count to 463, the campsite is in the review mirror and I’m finally able to put my head in my hands and cry.

18

“On My Own”

—Cole—

Somewhere in the distance I hear a flock of geese squawking.

Or, is it a dog barking?

Jesus, my head feels fuzzy.

Must be a dog. I don’t think I’ve seen geese at this place. A dog could also explain my crazy dream. I was hanging out in the Mystery Machine with the Scooby Doo gang. Except for Scrappy because that’s when the show took a dump and I have too much respect for myself to let that little punk-ass puppy into my dreams. And Erica was there. I tried to tell her to not eat the brownies, but she wouldn’t listen to me and she ended up getting
stoopid
stoned. It was kind of funny until she told me she loves me. She went from practically chugging a whole box of Scooby Snacks to out of the blue saying she loves me while sparkling, pale yellow snowflakes fell from the sky, or roof I guess, and they swirled around us like bubbles before they magically evaporated into thin air. And suddenly, we weren’t in the Mystery Machine anymore. We were in the kitchen of her grandparents’ house. I was sitting at the table, her hair was in lopsided, piggy-tail braids with mismatched ribbons in them, and she was wearing a flowery apron and making mud pies. She pulled one out of the oven and after cutting a slice and putting it on a piece of her grandma’s good china, she served it to me with a kiss on the cheek.

You’re such a moron…that wasn’t a dream. It was a memory, you tool. Actually, it was three memories slammed together. The Halloween that Holden, Erica, Trent, Kamber, and you dressed up as the cast of Scooby Doo and Erica ate pot brownies in Trent’s van by mistake. She got mad munchies and then got sick. You ended up holding her hair back for her while she puked because Holden was passed out, as usual. Next up was from when you were dancing with her in the street the night of this past Fourth of July and the local band playing decided to use a bubble machine for when they did a surprisingly great cover of “Champagne Supernova.” You almost kissed her right then and there in front of all the townsfolk, but a huge bubble landed on her nose and popped, leaving half her face soapy and ruining the moment, but making you both laugh. Still a little disappointed that you didn't do it anyway because the shock and awe from those who knew you as her brother would've probably been more entertaining than the small-town pyrotechnics. The other one was when you were like eight and you actually ate mud for the girl because…well, I still don’t know why the fuck you ate mud. Doesn’t matter. Are you still drunk?

Holy shit. I remember that now. Why
did
I eat mud?

Maybe because you were in love with her way back then too.