Read Beautiful Surrender (The Surrender Series Book Three) Online
Authors: Priscilla West
Beautiful Surrender (The Surrender Series Book Three)
Beautiful
Surrender
by
Priscilla
West
Copyright
© 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by
any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical
methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other
noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Copyright
© 2013
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Warning: This work contains sexual content and is
written for adults only (18+). All characters depicted in this story are over
18 years of age.
Table of Contents
It was
my first day of class for Econ 102. Junior year. I’d made it this far, busting
my ass semester after semester, camping out in office hours, staying up late
nights, living off of caffeine. Somehow I’d survived.
I
thought getting into Harvard was the hard part and the rest was grade
inflation, but the classes were actually pretty tough. Of course, others
cruised by on raw intelligence and superhuman brains that soaked up lectures
like a sponge soaking up water. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that. I was the
exception. Which meant I spent my first two years making closer friends with
textbooks than I did with real people.
The
lecture room was large enough to fit two hundred students and it was nearly
packed. Among the sea of bodies, one caught my eye. Actually, one caught the
eyes of the majority of the females in the room: bright blue irises, tousled
brown hair, high cheek bones, and chic glasses sitting atop a sharp nose. He
looked like a male model from a J.Crew catalog except he wasn’t digitally
enhanced—he was real. His features were sculpted with precision and economy.
Fitting. Considering the subject matter of the class—and considering he was
seated in the front row, which meant he was the teacher’s assistant.
I took
a seat in one of the middle rows and waited for the professor to start the lecture.
I could already tell this was going to be my favorite class of the semester.
***
“You
know, out of over a hundred students, you’re probably the only one who comes to
my office hours regularly,” he said with a heart-stopping smile.
I’d
found out his name was Martin Pritchard. A senior economics major. Brilliant,
insightful, and devilishly good-looking. It took an extraordinary amount of
willpower not to get distracted by those vivid blue eyes that somehow seemed to
burn hot with intensity and cold with calculation at the same time. A lot of
girls had come to Martin’s office hours during the beginning of the course in
hopes of snagging a lay. They giggled, flitted their hair, and batted their
eyes. Once they realized he was only there for academic concerns—not sexual
ones—they lost interest.
He was
sitting across from me in the TA office, trying to help me understand the
latest assigned readings. Just the two of us.
I
blushed and looked down at my notebook filled with scribbles about minimum wage
laws and Nash equilibriums. I had no idea what any of it meant.
“I need
the extra help. This stuff is kind of hard for me.”
“You
ask great questions. Ones I’d expect to hear from students from the more
advanced econ classes.” He grinned a perfect set of teeth. “I think you’re just
detailed in your thinking. Learning is a lot like putting together a puzzle.
And different people have different sets of pieces. The ones with more pieces
take more time to put it together, but once they do, it’s a bigger picture.”
I
smiled bashfully, averting my gaze to my notes then returning it to him.
“Thanks. I never thought of it that way.”
He
tapped his head. “Big picture.”
We both
chuckled then smiled at one another. It was definitely a shared moment and I
didn’t know what to say to follow it, which is why I was glad he ended up
breaking the awkward silence.
“Hey,”
he said brightly. “There’s a presentation by Gary Becker today in Lowell Hall.
You wanna go?”
At the
risk of sounding ignorant, I asked, “Who’s that?”
“A
famous economist known for the ‘rotten kid theorem’. He’s my favorite.” Martin
beamed. I loved how he got excited about economic topics and renowned
economists during office hours. His energy was infectious—even making me
excited about the stuff from time to time.
I
wrinkled my brows. “What a great name for a theorem.”
He
chuckled. “Great name for a great theorem. Imagine a bad brother takes pleasure
in harming his sister. If the parents say they’ll give more inheritance money
to the child who needs it more then the bad brother will want to help his
sister do well so that he will end up getting more inheritance. His welfare has
become dependent on the welfare of his sister. You can turn a bad boy into a
good one with the proper incentives.”
My
brows scrunched further, pondering the example.
Martin
shrugged then winked. “Maybe he’s not famous enough.”
I
laughed. “It sounds interesting.” And like a chance to hang out with a gorgeous
guy. Besides, it wasn’t often I got the chance to do leisurely things. “Sure,
I’ll go.”
***
We
began seeing more of each other. First neutral social events, then it became
increasingly clear that we were dating. We’d been seeing each other for a few
months when we walked by the gymnasium and Marty suggested we try out the swing
dance club.
“A guy
wanting to go dancing? I don’t know, I’m not a very good dancer.”
His
full lips curved into a wicked grin. “Are you saying men can’t dance?”
“Isn’t
that the stereotype?”
“Isn’t
it also the stereotype that girls are good at dancing?”
“Touch
é
.”
He put his
arm out for me to grab and I took it gracefully. “Shall we?” he said.
I was
surprised to find he wasn’t only smart and handsome, but also a good dancer.
We
spent the evening with our bodies close to one another, laughing and working up
a sweat. I tripped over my feet and stepped on his multiple times but he didn’t
seem to mind. He helped show me how to do the basic moves and even convinced me
to let him swing me around his waist.
It was
the most fun I’d had in college to date.
***
“I’ve
never done this before, Kristen. Have you?” His body was tense as he hovered
over me on my bed in my dorm room. I had taken his shirt off and it was now
lying on the floor where I’d thrown it. The surface of his sculpted torso was
smooth and it was a major turn on to see it so up close. I’d been surprised to
find he was amazingly fit for a nerdy teacher’s assistant. A regular routine of
swimming and dancing will do that to the body.
His
chest was heaving as he tried to control his breathing.
I
smiled. “If you’re asking if I’m a virgin, I’d have to say no. I had a couple
boyfriends in high school.”
“I
see.” He averted his gaze from mine to look down at my chest, where he often
liked to look. I didn’t mind. In fact, I liked the way it made me feel
desirable. He was usually so confident and in control but now in this intimate
moment, he was vulnerable.
“Is
that a problem?”
“No. .
. I just never had a girlfriend before you. I’m kind of nervous.”
I
squinted my forehead.
“You
look surprised.”
“I am.
I thought you’d have an extensive dating history given how smart and gorgeous
you are.”
He
looked at me with those vivid blue eyes. “I don’t trust others easily. I
usually don’t get too close to people.”
“You
trust me?” I gently pulled off his glasses and placed them on the bedside stand.
His eyes became radiant.
“I
trust you, Kristen.”
“We’ll
go slow Marty. We’ll take our time.” I pulled one dress strap off my shoulder.
I took his hand and placed it on my breast, releasing a slow breath as I felt
the warmth radiating from his skin.
His
cheeks flushed. It was so adorable to see him this way. “Kristen, I—I think I .
. .”
“What
is it?”
He
shook his head. “Nothing. You’re just so wonderful. The most amazing person
I’ve ever met.”
I
smiled. “Even more amazing than Gary Becker?”
“A
hundred times more amazing.”
I
tugged his brown hair and brought his lips down to mine. We made love that
night for the first time.
***
Marty
punched a fist-sized hole in the drywall of his apartment.
I was
frightened. I’d seen small glimpses of his temper over the past few weeks—small
outbursts over seemingly trivial things other people did—but I wasn’t too
concerned. I attributed it to stress. He was a TA and had a heavy course load
after all. But his reactions had never gone this far.
“Marty,
calm down. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is
a big deal. How could he do that? Doesn’t he have a conscience?”
“You’re
overreacting. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t see you coming so he accidentally
opened the door and hit you in the face.”
He
sighed and rubbed his nose, which was beginning to swell up. He sat down on the
brown suede couch next to me with his head in his hands.
“Why do
you get so upset?” I asked. “Have you been stressed lately?” I began stroking
his back gently. It was as much to soothe him as it was to soothe myself. I was
still shaken up by that punch.
“No,
I’m fine,” he grumbled.
“Talk
to me, Marty. You’re not telling me something.”
He
didn’t answer for a moment, preferring to rub his temples to calm himself.
“I’ve never told anybody about this . . . sometimes I just get really angry. My
mom was a bit harsh on me when I was growing up.”
“What
happened?”
He let
out another long sigh. I could tell he was debating whether to say what was on
his mind or not. “She was a drug addict.” The words lingered in the air for a
moment. “Even when she was pregnant with me, she was snorting cocaine. She says
she’s clean now but I know she still drinks a lot.”
My
heart ached for him. I knew what it was like to have a bad relationship with
your parents. How it affected your social skills and your ability to relate to
other people. You couldn’t escape it no matter how far you ran. For me, moving
from Texas to Massachusetts wasn’t far enough. I thought I had it bad but it
sounded like Marty had it even worse.
“I’m
sorry to hear that,” I said, continuing to rub his back to soothe him. “I
didn’t know.”
He
brightened unexpectedly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s in the past.” He touched
my cheek and kissed me. “I know I have a short fuse sometimes but I’m working
on it. And you make me want to be better.”
***
“Are
you taking your medications?” I asked Marty. We were sitting in a secluded
alcove of the Houghton library trying to study.
He had
another bad episode recently when he punched a second hole in his wall because
a professor criticized a point in one of his essays. The first hole had only
been patched two months ago. We’d done it together with some do-it-yourself
spackle from a nearby hardware store.
During
that time, I’d recommended that he should see a therapist. He was reluctant at
first but I finally convinced him to do it. After a few sessions, they told him
he had borderline personality disorder, which meant his emotions were amplified
and he was very impulsive. He could switch from extreme elation to extreme
anger or depression quickly. All from a small trigger—slight criticism, a
misunderstanding, etc.
His
condition was both good and bad. The times he was happy, he was really happy,
which made him the best person in the world to be around. He could brighten
your day even if you had just attended a funeral that morning. That was part of
the reason girls—and even some men—were attracted to him like moths to a flame.
He just had that kind of energy.
But the
times he was unhappy, he was awful to be around. It was like a black cloud
loomed over his head, tainting everything around him. He would rant and rave,
exhibit bitterness, paranoia, and sometimes become physically violent—but he
had never hurt me. I had a hard time believing such a wonderful person could
become so terrible so quickly. It made me nervous that he could switch between
the two extremes in a heartbeat.
Dr.
Perkins had prescribed him medication that he was to take regularly. It was
supposed to regulate his mood fluctuations. Make him more balanced like the
average person. Less volatile.
“No. I
can’t think straight when I’m on them. I have to write this paper that’s due
tomorrow.”
I felt
extremely frustrated. “Do you care about me Marty?”
“Kristen,
I care about you more than anything else. You know that.”
“Yeah,
Marty. I know. But you understand how it affects me when you don’t take your
meds right? It makes me scared.” Tears began welling in my eyes. I didn’t want
to cry, but it was so frustrating not being able to get through to him. He
needed help and I felt helpless in aiding him.
“Shh,
shh.” He put his arms around my shoulders and rubbed my arm up and down. “I’m
sorry, Kristen. I’ll take them.”
I wiped
tears from my face with my hand. “Are you going to your sessions?”
“Yeah I
am . . . just not in the past few weeks.”
“You
need to go to your sessions,” I said, trying my best not to sound like I was
nagging.
