Abandon (2 page)

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I grab her hand and pull it away from her face. “It’s okay,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone.

“No, it’s not,” she says, a hard edge to her voice as her hands reach down to undo the button and zipper on my jeans. “But it will be.”

She pushes my boxers down until my dick springs free and I suck in a sharp breath as it comes in contact with her.

“I don’t have a condom.”

My hair hangs around my face as I hover over her. She reaches up and pushes my hair back as she pulls my mouth to hers. I groan as I try to resist making such a stupid mistake. Despite the rumors, I don’t have unprotected sex. I may be a whore like my mother, but I’m not as reckless as she is.

I try to pull my face back, but Senia holds my head still. Suddenly, I’m royally pissed off. I tear myself from her grasp and glare at her.

“This is just a fuck. Nothing more,” I insist and her eyebrows scrunch together. A sharp pang of regret twists inside my chest. “I’m sorry.”

Why the fuck am I apologizing?

“Then shut up and fuck me,” she says, tightening her legs around my hips. The tip of my cock presses against her opening.

I slide in slowly, watching as she closes her eyes and tilts her head back. Leaning forward, I suck on her throat as I gradually ease myself further inside her with each stroke.

“You’re tight as fuck,” I whisper as I carefully work my way deeper inside.

She doesn’t respond, so I keep thrusting, slowly at first then working my way up to a steady pace. I pull my head back to see her face and her eyes are still closed. I don’t know why, but I want to see her eyes.

“Look at me,” I command, and she opens her eyes instantly, her gaze finding mine.

Her eyes are slightly red and that’s when I notice the tear tracks running from the corners of her eyes, down her temple, and disappearing into her dark hair. A strange urge overcomes me and I lean down and kiss her temple. Licking my lips, the saltiness of her tears turns me on even more. I ease my hand behind her knee and lift her leg higher so I can thrust deeper.

She whimpers as she threads her fingers through my hair and pulls my mouth to hers. I kiss her slowly, matching the rhythm of my hips to the movement of our tongues. She bites my top lip and I feel myself getting so close to blowing my load.

“God damn,” I whisper as I try to pull my head back, but she holds my head still and kisses me deeply as I let go inside her.

My dick twitches as I fill her with my gushing warmth. I grunt into her mouth and she continues to kiss me, swallowing my cries the way I did hers. Finally, I tilt my head back and look her in the eye. Then I ask her a question I haven’t asked anyone since I broke up with Ashley four years ago.

“Who was that on the phone?”

Grandma’s voice is soothing and strong, but it’s not harsh like Elaine’s. I hate Elaine’s voice.

I step into the living room and Elaine is wearing a dark-red dress that looks more like a sweater. It only covers her to the top of her legs and her black boots come up over her knee. She isn’t dressed for the snow, which is probably why Grandma asked her why she’s dressed like that.

“Where the fuck do you think I’m going, to get a fucking ice cream?” Elaine laughs and Grandma’s round face scrunches up in disappointment.

Elaine’s dark hair is messily flipped over to one side of her head. I didn’t inherit her dark hair. Mine is light brown, probably like the sperm donor. That’s what Grandma calls my father. I’ve never met him, but I think that’s because Elaine doesn’t know who he is. When I was seven, she told me that she wished she’d had an abortion. I didn’t know what that was until I looked it up in the dictionary. That was two years ago. That was when I started calling her Elaine.

“You should take Tristan to get ice cream,” Grandma insists as Elaine digs through her big brown purse.

“It’s fucking snowing,” Elaine replies with a chuckle. “He can go outside and scoop some snow into a cup.”

The blonde girl standing next to Elaine lets out a low, rumbling laugh. I don’t recognize this girl. Elaine’s always bringing different girls to our house and Grandma hates it when she brings them here, ever since one of them threw up on her carpet. This girl looks younger than the other girls Elaine usually brings home, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Her eyes are covered in dark make-up and her mouth hangs open, making her look a little stupid.

The blonde looks at me and her top lip curls up. “We should take him to get ice cream. I need some ice cream.”

Elaine glances at me then she goes back to digging through her purse. “Fine. We’ll get a fucking ice cream. At least it’s too fucking cold outside for it to melt. Last thing I need is for him to make a mess all over Sadie’s car.”

“I don’t want ice cream,” I say as I scoot closer to Grandma.

That’s when Molly starts to cry. She has a fever and Grandma has been fussing over her all night ever since Elaine brought us over here. Maybe I should pretend to have a fever.

Grandma pats me on the back. “Go with your mom, Tristan. I have to take care of Molly.”

“I can help you,” I insist, but Grandma’s already in the hallway on her way to her bedroom where she keeps Molly’s playpen that Elaine hauls around everywhere.

Elaine rolls her eyes as she opens the front door for the blonde and me. “Hurry up,” she says.

“I need to get a jacket.”

“You don’t need a jacket. The ice cream parlor is indoors. Just get in the damn car.”

A whoosh of cold December air blasts me in the face as I step toward the front door. As I make my way out the door, my eyes repeatedly flit over to Grandma’s purple sweater, which is draped over the arm of the sofa. I consider swiping it up and wrapping it over my shoulders, but purple is for girls. I’ll look stupid and Elaine will make fun of me.

It’s freezing inside the car. I could tell by the emblem on the hood that this is a Cadillac. The inside of the car smells like smoke and perfume and the gray leather in the backseat is cold as ice against the backs of my arms. I try to lean forward a little so it doesn’t touch my skin, but I begin to get carsick from the way Elaine drives, so I just lean back and close my eyes.

A few minutes later, the car stops and I open my eyes when the engine stops rumbling. The blonde girl is looking over her shoulder at me from the front seat as Elaine touches up her make-up in the rearview mirror.

“What’s his name again?” the blonde asks.

“Tristan. I named him after—” Elaine stops herself before she can finish this sentence. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s go get a fucking ice cream so I can take him home. I have shit to do.”

The entire time we’re standing in line, Elaine is tapping her foot against the white tiled floor. When we make it to the front of the line, she doesn’t even ask me what I want, she just orders a scoop of vanilla on a sugar cone. I hate vanilla.

I take my ice cream cone from the man behind the counter and he can see the disappointment in my face. “Is this not the flavor you want, kiddo?”

“Yes, it is,” Elaine replies quickly as she grabs my shoulders to turn me away from the counter. “Come on, come on. Let’s go sit down. I don’t got all day.”

I take a few licks of the ice cream cone once we’re seated in our plastic chairs at a small, round table. But then I think of a solution.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say as I stand from my chair.

“You can’t go to the bathroom alone,” Elaine says as she pulls her cell phone out of her purse. “Just hold it till you get home.”

The vanilla ice cream is starting to melt. I have to throw it away without her seeing. “I can go by myself. I’m nine years old.”

“Charlene, take him to the bathroom,” she says as she begins dialing a number on her cell phone. “I’ll be outside.”

Charlene stands up, not bothering to bring her bowl of orange sherbet with her. “Come on, kid.”

She grabs my shoulder to lead me forward and I wriggle out of her grasp. “I can go to the bathroom by myself.”

The corner of her red lips curls up and my heart thumps against my chest as we near the bathroom. She reaches for the doorknob and opens the door for me. It’s a private bathroom. No stalls, just a single toilet and a sink. It smells like cherry air freshener and it’s almost as cold in here as it was in the Cadillac.

The lock clicks and she crosses her arms as she waits for me. “We ain’t got all day.”

The toilet is on the same wall as the door. If I take a piss, she’ll see me from the side. All I wanted to do was throw away this damn ice cream, which is now dripping down my hand and wrist. She huffs as she takes the ice cream from my hand and tosses it into the garbage can next to the sink.

“What a mess. Come here so I can wash your hands.”

She pulls me toward the sink and turns on the water. It’s cold so she turns on the hot water and waits until it warms up before she sticks my hands under the water. Her chest is pressed against my shoulders as she gently scrubs my hands with the slick soap. She begins massaging my fingers and I pull my hand away.

“Stop,” I mutter, trying to back away, but she’s pressed against me, locking me in place.

“Your mom will kill me if you take your sticky fingers in the car. Just relax, Tristan.”

I swallow hard and try not to breathe too loudly as I let her rub my hands with the slippery soap. I close my eyes, trying not to let what I think is happening inside my pants actually happen. Not now. Please not now.

“Does that feel good?” she whispers and I shake my head fiercely. “It’s okay if it feels good.”

She wraps her fingers around my thumb and moves her fist slowly up and down. I want to scream for her to stop, but there are people sitting in tables outside the door. What will Elaine do if I make a scene? I’m not at home where Grandma will keep me safe.

“Do you have to use the potty?” the blonde asks as she reaches for the button on my jeans.

“No,” I say firmly as I push her hand away. I can’t let her feel that thing growing in my pants. “Stop. Please stop. I just want to go home. Please.”

“Tristan, your mommy said you have to do this or she won’t take you home.” She reaches for my button again, but this time she waits until I finally move my hand away. “That’s a good boy. You’ll like this. I promise.”

So she heard me talking in my sleep? Big fucking deal. I’ve heard that same line from other chicks a dozen times. Not a single one of those girls sold her story. Chris Knight’s bassist isn’t a juicy enough target for the tabloids, even though I’ve given them plenty of material over the years. And what’s the worst thing she could have heard?

My stomach churns with the thought of the worst thing I could have said.

The shame morphs into anger and I punch the inside of the door. “Fuck!” The pain shoots through my knuckles and the burn of broken skin is instantaneous.

I am not broken
.

I close my eyes and repeat this mantra in my head a few times before I make my way into the kitchen. My cell phone buzzes on the granite countertop and I glance at the screen before I pick it up.

“What?”

“Xander said we have to be at Reverb in an hour.”

Chris’s voice has an edge to it, like he’s in pain but he’s trying not to let it show. Typical Chris, putting Claire’s and the band’s needs before his own. Chris broke his leg a couple of months ago – a grotesque compound fracture – and since they cut off the cast a couple of weeks ago, the guy hasn’t stopped running around like a crazy person. He’s desperately trying to find a studio in the Triangle where we can record the new album. He even got the producer to agree to let us make this second album totally acoustic. All so he won’t have to go to Los Angeles to record and leave Claire behind for the second time.