The Ugly Sister (9 page)

Chapter 22

Bohemian

I’m happy to leave April and Drew alone.  I know she’s going to make up a lie about what she’s been up to, and I don’t want to hear it.  The whole thing is just too fucking sad.

I come out of my room a little later to retrieve my phone, and I’m surprised to see that Drew is no longer here.  April’s alone at the kitchen counter, where she’s pouring sugar and cocoa powder into a jar of peanut butter.  Wearing a drapey white blouse and a floor length bohemian skirt with an intricate blue design, her bracelets jangle as she stirs her concoction.

“Where’s Drew?” I ask as I sit down at the kitchen table.

“He left,” she says without turning around.  “I told him I was tired from work and I wanted to go to bed early.  Can you believe he just showed up like that?  I told him I was busy with you.  It’s like, how clingy can you get?  And he said he came over to bring me a salad—that was his excuse for showing up.”  She turns and picks up the white paper bag that Drew brought over, holding it up like it’s something repulsive. “Ugh, how pathetic is that?”  She flings it in the trash, then pulls a pack of sour patch kids out of her shirt pocket and proceeds to mix them into the peanut butter.

“So who have you been smoking pot with?” I ask.

She looks over her shoulder sheepishly.  “How can you tell?”

“I’ve known you for a long time.  It’s pretty obvious.” 

“I hope Drew couldn’t tell.  Am I talking funny or something?”

“Yeah, you talk in a weird baby voice whenever you’re high,” I say, messing with her.

“Seriously?” she asks, dropping the jar of peanut butter on the floor. “You’re really bugging me out.  I hope you’re kidding.”  She picks up the jar, grabs and spoon and takes a bite.

“I’m just messing with you,” I say.  “Your weird food choice gave you away.”

“God Ember, don’t do that to me,” she huffs, joining me at the table. “You totally freaked me out.”

“Well I feel the same way.  What’s going on with you and Drew?”

She shrugs, holding her spoon up to the light and examining it.  “The thing about Drew is, he’s a really great guy.  But he’s also
really boring.  I mean, he’s never been anywhere—and he doesn’t want to go anywhere either.  Traveling isn’t big deal to him.  He’s….a settler.  And I’m more of a wanderer.”

And more of an asshole.
  “So who’s the other guy?”

She looks at me with a smile. “His name is Ravi, and Ember, he’s
so
great.  He’s Indian and he has long hair and the most
amazing
British accent.  We work together—he owns the portrait studio—and sometimes we close up shop and drive around and take pictures all day long. Then we go back to the studio and smoke weed and he plays sitar while I look through all our shots, save the good ones and then we touch them up together.  He’s so fucking cool, Ember.  Unlike boring ass Drew.”

“Uh huh,” I say, crossing my arms and slouching in my chair.

She licks her spoon and stares into space wistfully.  “Ravi’s a little older than me—he has three kids.  But they’re back in England.  He’s divorced, obviously.” She smiles, a naughty gleam in her eye.  “And he’s uncircumcised, which is so much better in my opinion.  You probably wouldn’t know the difference, Ember.  But it’s much….glidier.  It’s a smoother ride.”

“So let me get this straight.  You’re cheating on Drew for some old Indian man with an anteater in his pants?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs.  “I thought you’d understand, but obviously I was mistaken, so nevermind.  Forget I said anything.”

“I’m sorry April, but I can’t forget.  And you’re right, I don’t understand.  Drew is a great guy.  He’s funny and he’s thoughtful and he’s totally in love with you.  I don’t understand why you’d throw it all away and treat him like shit. What did he ever do to deserve that?”

“Nothing, I just—“ She sighs again, then gets up abruptly and slams her chair against the table.  “Why do you have to make me feel guilty, huh?  I already feel guilty enough as it is. I know Drew’s a great guy—he’s just not right for me.  Why do you want me to be with someone who doesn’t make me happy?”

“If you don’t want to be with him, then fine, that’s the way it is.  But don’t cheat on him, April.  Have you ever been cheated on?  Because let me tell you, it feels pretty fucking shitty. “

“Oh, I get it now.  This isn’t about Drew—this is about you.”

“No, this
is
about Drew.  I run with him every other morning.  He’s my friend—a friendship you facilitated, by the way—and now you’re treating him like garbage.  If you’re going to break up with him, then break up with him. But don’t mess with his head and lie to him and throw his poor salad in the trash.  That was a really nice gesture and you just threw it away like it meant nothing.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there with her arms crossed and a pensive look on her face.  Finally she says, “I think this
is
about you.  I think now that you’ve lost a bunch of weight, you think it’s okay to go around acting like a judgmental bitch.”

“
What
?”

“That’s right.  This is your real personality coming out—you’ve kept it hidden all these years, but the truth is, you’re a bitch and you like to look down your nose at other people and criticize their decisions when they’re just doing the best they can.”

I close my eyes and scrub my hands over my face. “Okay, I’m going to bed.  You’re high and this conversation is going in a terrible direction, and I’m done talking tonight.”

I walk past April without looking at her, then retire to my room for my nightly ritual: putting on pajamas, washing my face, then reading for a bit. 

I’m lying in bed with my book when there’s a soft knock on the door.  Then April opens the door a few inches and peeks in.  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said before,” she says. “You’re not a bitch—I’m the one who’s a bitch.  I’m a really fucked up person, obviously.  So…I apologize.  For being a bad sister and a bad girlfriend and a bad—everything.  I know I’m wrong.”  She shrugs and looks down at her toes. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Why don’t you just tell him?” I ask. “Tell him the truth and let him get on with his life.”

She continues staring down at her feet.  “Because I don’t know what I want to do.  I don’t know if I’m ready to lose him yet.  I’m just confused right now.”  She looks up meets my eyes.  “Are you going to tell him?”

I shrug.  “I’d rather not.  But I’m not going to lie for you anymore, April. I can’t.”

She nods.  “I respect that.  Goodnight.”  And she shuts the door with a soft click.

Chapter 23

Heartache

For the next two weeks, barely a day goes by that Rio and I aren’t intimate.  Today he’s lying naked on my bed with his arms folded behind his head.  Tan and heavily muscled with an enormous erection springing from the neat patch of black hair between his legs, he looks absolutely obscene on my crisp white sheets. 

“Turn around, let me see that ass,” he demands coolly. 

I told him about my lingerie collection when we were working out earlier that day.  He got a hungry gleam in his eyes, then told me he’d be over after his own training session at the boxing gym. Now I’m putting on a little fashion show for him.  At the moment, I’m wearing a sheer red nightie with no underwear.

“Nice,” he says as I turn my back to him. “Now bend over and touch your toes.  Let me see those sweet pussy lips.”

I bend over as he instructs, lifting my butt high in the air and enjoying his low hum of appreciation. 

“Turn around,” he says, and when I do, he has one hand behind his head and the other one is holding his swollen cock.  He looks regal and wicked, and when I’m close enough to touch, he grabs my hand and pulls me on top of him

He’s fresh from the gym, and the heady smell of pheromones hits me like a drug. “You smell so good,” I sigh.

“Really?  I was about to apologize for not showering.”

“No, I love it,” I say, kissing his neck and enjoying the taste of salty male sweat. He pulls my nighty over my head and tosses it on the floor, then rolls out from under me.

“Stay there a minute,” he says in a low voice, “There’s something I want to do to you.”

He digs in his gym bag and comes back with what I recognize to be hand wraps.  He unrolls them, long strips of black fabric that he wraps around his fists to keep them protected underneath his boxing gloves.

“I sense where you might be going with this,” I say with a smile.

“Shhh.”  He takes my ankle and wraps the fabric around it, then ties it securely. Next he guides my arm down to my ankle, and ties the strap so my wrist and ankle are bound together.  He quickly does the same thing to the other side of my body, and before I know it, I’m spread eagle on the bed, unable to move my arms or close my legs.

“I don’t know if I like this,” I say.

“Oh, you’re gonna love it,” he says, then his face is buried between my legs. 

Rio clearly loves going down on a woman, which takes center stage in his sexual repertoire.  It’s something he does often and amazingly well, and the best part is how much he enjoys it.  As he’s teasing and suckling, sending the most amazing sensations spiraling through my body, he makes small moans of delight.

I pull at the restraints that keep me spread wide open before him, but my motion is severely limited. I can’t close my legs, can’t move my arms.  All I can do is lay there and accept the intense pleasure he’s giving me with his tongue and fingers.

His fingers dance over my folds while he tongues me soft and slow.  The pace and pressure ebbs and flows, the pleasure so intense I feel like I’m drifting in and out of my body.  I tug at the bindings, feeling them bite into my skin.  Knowing I’m completely as his mercy makes the whole thing even hotter, and soon I feel an orgasm cresting. 

I’m helpless as it rises and breaks over me, tearing a loud, long series of cries from my throat and making my body buck and thrash.

When it recedes, I lay there panting as he continues his gentle ministrations. “Please stop.  Rio, I can’t take it anymore.”

I look down at him but he just grins devilishly and returns to my sex, lapping at me ever so softly.
“Please, Rio.  It’s too much—I can’t take any more.” I struggle against my bonds, for real this time, but I’m unable to close my legs or wriggle away from him.  Soon I give up and surrender to the gentle strokes of his tongue.  And before long my pleasure is rising again.

After I come for the third time, I lay there spent and boneless, my wrists still bound to my ankles. Rio prowls over me with an intense look in his eyes.  “I love your pussy, you know that?” he says as he pushes a lock of sweat dampened hair off my face. “Love the way you taste. The way you smell.  The way you feel when you come in my mouth.”

I’m too depleted to utter a reply, and can only lay there trying to catch my breath as he eases himself into me.  He’s impossibly hard, but I’m so wet that he glides into me with ease.  My body seems to have grown accustomed to his size, and all I feel is bliss as he slowly pushes into me.

He dips his head and draws my nipple into my mouth, suckling it and pinching the other as he flexes his hips into me.  Again and again and again, stoking my pleasure higher.

Then his mouth finds mine and he kisses me deeply, moaning against my lips as he pumps into me at a steady rhythm.  Each time he fills me, I feel like he’s staking his claim on my body.  My heart.  Everything I am.

Like he’s imprinting himself on me forever, or taking some essential part of me—I don’t know which. All I know is that he’s making me his in some primal, unalterable way.

After what feels like hours, his thrusts grow more frenzied, his breathing heavier.  He closes his eyes, presses his forehead against mine and I feel him drain himself into me, a look of pain mixed with pleasure twisting his beautiful face.

When his cock stops pulsing and his body grows limp, he kisses me once more before rolling off and unfastening my restrains. Then we lay together completely spent.  Limbs entangled, our hands stroking and caressing each other in contented silence. 

I feel completely wrung out, in a kind of dreamstate brought on by excessive orgasms and all my senses being overloaded by the delectable feel of his body against mine.

Sex was never like this before.  Never this good.

Life was never this good before Rio.

From the moment we met, he changed everything.

The way I look.  The way I feel.  The person I know myself to be.

I sigh happily and rub my hand over his massive shoulder.  “I love you,” I whisper on a sigh. 

I’m met with silence, but I’m too relaxed to worry about it.  I glance over at Rio to see if he’s fallen asleep, and I realize he hasn’t.  There’s a faraway look in his eyes, and his jaw ticks.

A few minutes later he rolls over and puts his feet to the floor, then I hear him putting on his clothes.

I lean up on an elbow and watch him pull on his gym shorts.  “Going somewhere?” I ask with a smile.

“Yeah, I’ve got a practice fight tomorrow so…I need to go home and get a good night sleep.”

“You can sleep here,” I say, expecting him to say something flirty about how neither of us would get any sleep if we spent the night together.  But he doesn’t.  He doesn’t say anything at all.  Just pulls his t-shirt on over his head, then grabs his hand wraps off the floor and stuffs them into his gym bag.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, I just need to get going.” He grabs his gym bag. “Early day tomorrow and all that.” He reaches over and tousles my hair. “See you later, December. Have a good one.” Then he walks out of my bedroom and a minute later, I hear the front door shut.

I lay there confused and bewildered.  And then I start to feel really sad.
Did he really just tell me to have a good one? 
I remember him telling me about his multiple fuck buddies, and I imagine that he must’ve said goodbye to them the same way.  And for the first time, I feel un-special.  Like I’m just one of many to enjoy his gorgeous body and sexual expertise, but nothing more.

Nothing more.

I remember wanting a fling with Rio, and knowing I’d be okay with it, okay with being nothing more.  But now I’ve gotten exactly what I wanted, and my heart is breaking. 

I pull the covers up to my chin, feeling dirty and used and discarded—and embarrassed at how much I’d exposed to him.  How vulnerable I’d allowed myself to be, letting myself go and showing him
everything
.  Doing things I never would have imagined doing with anyone, and doing them with complete trust and reckless abandon. Things that made me euphoric while they were happening, but now make me feel the exact opposite.

I need to get out of this bed.  It smells like him and it’s making my heart ache.

I pull on sweats and drag my comforter out to the living room, where I sit on the couch without turning on the lights.  Sitting alone in the dark for a long time, I replay the way Rio left in my mind, starting with the moment I told him I loved him and ending with the thump of the front door closing, in a long endless loop. 

I hate myself for loving him, for telling him that I love him like some silly romantic idiot. And I hate him even more for not loving me back.