Divine: A Novel (19 page)

I’m
not even going to respond to such a backstabbing comment, you cold-hearted
bitch.

“Fuck off, Violet.”

I
hate you! Your happiness is making it harder and harder for us to communicate.
I’m feeling a distance between us here, Div. Doesn’t that bother you? It’s been
a week since we’ve thought about some of your students meeting their demise.
Instead of being your usual mopey self, I’ve caught you smiling for no reason,
until I realized you had Dan in your head. He shows up right next to me and
knocks me further back in your mind. I’ve had a miserable week being happy!

My smile aggravates my inner voice even
more. I
am
happy...

And my cell’s ringing.

The screen shows an incoming call from
the university. This can’t be good.

“Hello?” I say in a soft voice.

“Div, it’s Richard. Sorry to call you at
home.”

“It’s not a problem. What’s going on?”

“Did you get my email? I thought you would’ve
responded by now.”

“I’m working on it. I’m sorry, I know
it’s getting late and you probably need time to read what I have to say in
order to prepare your own responses for the Trustees, but...”

“Div, Margaret passed away.”

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

W
hoa.

That’s the word I repeat for an entire
hour until I go downstairs to my living room and make my usual panicky sheep
sounds.

Mehhh. Bahhh.

I lied again about the meh-ing. I said
before that I had a dream about it being a form of communication. I left out the
part that in the dream it was a way to communicate with the dead. It’s how I
talk to my parents.

Okay,
now
you can call me crazy. I don’t give a shit. People do what they have to in
order to deal with death and I’m not apologizing for it. If I want to make
sheep noises when I’m anxious and I believe my mother and father can understand
my words only if they’re sheep-like, so be it. It’s not intended to scare
people away; it’s to bring spirits closer.

Mehhh.

If you want to really analyze it, the
sound is like a baby’s cry and that’s how I feel as a young adult under
pressure, that I wish I had my mom and dad to comfort me.

Margaret Cole died from a heart attack at
age seventy. She was a well-loved college professor who came in each day with a
smile on her face for half-a-century.

Classes are cancelled tomorrow and grief
counselors will be available in the lobby of the campus coffee shack for anyone
having a difficult time with the loss of Professor Cole, as well as those still
grieving Luke’s death.

And the Trustees aren’t meeting with
Richard. His job is to find a quick replacement, an adjunct to finish teaching
her classes for the remainder of the semester, and once Margaret’s classes are
covered and the campus community heals, then and only then will the future of
the department be discussed.

And I’m supposed to grieve and feel like
shit. If I don’t, I’m an ass. So be it. Call me an ass. I can’t force myself to
shed a tear for a hateful woman who treated me so poorly. It’s unfortunate she
passed and I’m sad for some of my students who are already dealing with Luke’s
death and the insanity that goes along with being a college student, but the
woman was old and it was her time, plus I’m sure she had a rewarding and joyful
life that everyone should be celebrating right now. It wasn’t some horrendous
accident, murder, or suicide. She died of natural causes. It’s over and yes, my
reaction is cold, but considering our relationship, she’s not going to get much
more from me emotionally.

My mehs and bahs end after I’m able to
process why I lack the feelings that I’m supposed to have. I take a beer to my
bedroom and fill one of my small travel bags with some overnight essentials:
clean underwear, clothes for tomorrow, toiletries, and a box of condoms. If
classes are cancelled, then I’m taking that road trip with Dan, and I’m getting
laid.

I walk to his place, bag in hand, after
finishing two beers and a shot of whiskey. He’s awake, answering the door in
plaid pajama bottoms, no shirt, and a bowl of cheerios in his hand. I love how
he smiles whenever he sees me; always making me feel welcome.

“You still up for IKEA?”

“No kidding?” he grins.

“I want to spend the night with you,” I
whisper, “and tomorrow as well.”

“Well, fuck me. Yeah, I’m up for it.” He
repositions his dick through his plaid pajamas and then scratches his stomach.
“Let me get a few things.”

I follow him to his bedroom, noticing his
rooms seem much larger because I have so much shit packed into mine.

“What changed your mind?” he asks while
pulling a duffle bag from his closet. He sets it on the bed and packs items
similar to mine, including a box of condoms. Great, we have two boxes. He looks
at the expiration date then places them inside. “Just in case,” he winks.

I didn’t think to check the date on mine.
They’re probably two years old.

“This is a sweet surprise, by the way,
but you haven’t answered my question. Why the change of heart?”

“Margaret Cole passed away. Classes are
cancelled.”

He looks down at the floor, shakes his
head and sighs. “You okay?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Come here.” He leans against his dresser
and opens his arms as a comforting gesture. I step forward and hug him, my
hands running along the bare skin of his back.

“I’m sure a lot of the students are going
to be upset, including my sister,” he whispers into my hair. After a few short,
but comforting kisses, I step aside so he can continue to pack. I want to get
the fuck out of this town for the night, and I don’t really care where we go,
just as long as it’s not here.

He steps around me with a handful of
clothes while I’m left staring at his dresser. There’s a photo of him wearing a
hockey uniform, back when he was a teen. He looks like a badass in the black
and red team colors with a small cut under his eye as if he’d been in a fight.

“I bet you were a real ladies’ man when
you were a teen.”

He laughs and zips his bag then eats the
final spoonful of his cereal, not commenting. He also has a collection of
semi-expensive colognes set in a line next to the photo and a freestanding swivel
mirror that I look into to check the small amount of makeup I’m wearing. The
mirror’s tilted and when I stand in front of it, I can’t see my reflection,
only the window behind us.

The same window I peeked through months
ago to watch him masturbate.

I wonder... no... did he? Was he watching
me?

“Dan?”

“Hmm?” he says while slipping into a pair
of jeans and a t-shirt.

I have no idea how to ask the question.
Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

“I’m ready,” he says.

I look into the mirror then back to him,
but he offers no sign that anything’s wrong, and perhaps that’s for the best.
And if he saw me then I wonder why he didn’t call the cops. We didn’t know one
another at the time. Unless he got off from it, literally, maybe that’s what
happened. And clearly he’s not all that upset, or he never would’ve met me for
our first date... or maybe he agreed to the date
because
I did that. Oh fuck, I’m confused. And if he didn’t see me
I don’t want to tell him because...

“You having second thoughts about
traveling in the middle of the night with a guy who once wanted to be a
priest?” He extends his hand toward me. “I promise I won’t bring the foot.”

I don’t want to tell him because I’ll
never do such a thing again. It was foolish and I regret it. But, no secrets,
damn it. And with that thought, Dan’s voice runs through my head.
I want you to tell me something that you’ve
been keeping under lock and key. I want us to have an unbreakable relationship
and that only happens with honesty and trust.

“I think I have voyeuristic tendencies,”
I whisper. “Or I did, maybe I did, I’m unsure.”

Fuck. No expression at all? Nothing? He
just stares at me blankly.

“I mean, what I’m trying to say is that I
enjoy hidden sex cams,” I blurt out. “It’s a turn on to watch people screw. Or
it used to be. I don’t know if it is anymore.”

Still nothing.

“Uh, why did I say that?” I whisper. “I’m
sorry.”

“You watch porn?” he asks and I nod in
response, now completely embarrassed. “You and me both, come on, let’s go.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, my dick just grew half a foot
hearing that. You don’t watch clown porn though, do you?”

“Oh my God, no. That’s just wrong and
sounds downright creepy. No, nothing extreme for me.”

“Good. Don’t. Trust me on that one. As
long as you don’t enjoy clowns fucking you’ve earned bonus points in my book.
Now let’s hit the road.”

That was dumb of me, what man would be
opposed to his woman watching porn? Too bad I wussed out and didn’t mention the
window.

We take Dan’s Cherokee and spend the
two-hour drive exchanging stories about our childhood and college years. I wish
this would last forever. I’m learning so much about him and I’m starting to
pick up on his habits, like his finger tracing his lips, his hourly adjustment
of his dick, and his happy-go-lucky whistling whenever I say something cute or
set my hand on his leg.

He was a boy scout, of course, and a
straight A student. He played hockey, soccer, and baseball as a kid. He won the
county spelling bee when he was in 7th grade and wrote a series of short
stories when he was thirteen about a boy who wanted to be this or that...
Tommy’s Going To Be A Chef, Tommy Trains For
The Olympics, Tommy Wants To Be A Spelunker
. He still has them in a box in
his closet, next to the honey and the foot.

And I tell Dan one of my dreams consisted
of inventing new ice cream flavors, which he’s thrilled to hear all about. He
listens as I try to remember the recipes for Chocolate Potato Chip Crunch, and
Mint Milano Peanut Ripple. Shit, those still sound good. The problem was I
could never figure out how to keep the chips from getting soggy.

I mention my job, briefly, and how I
originally planned to run my own graphic design business after graduating from
college, but couldn’t pass up the offer from the university. I thought I’d work
for a year or two, save some money, and then start my own company. I doubt that
plan works for very many people. Life and bills will always get in the way of a
person’s dreams.

His face is lit then alternately darkened
as we pass the streetlights along the highway. It’s a quiet night, a decent
night for a drive. There hasn’t been rain for a week and that could be a sign
of an upcoming dry summer.

I pull my seatbelt loose and rest my head
on his shoulder, listening to him narrate, in great detail, the first time he
saw a couple kiss. He was three and couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going
on. And then I tell him about my first kiss, when I was fourteen, and how I
couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on.

We laugh and touch one another tenderly, both
of us anxious to stop at a hotel.

And when we arrive at a Comfort Inn
around midnight there’s already a parking lot full of cars and Penske trucks.

He’s quiet and licks his lips; a nervous
reaction that I also caught myself mimicking during the drive.

I want him.

He gets a room, but not before he asks me
ten times if this hotel is alright, if I want to go someplace nicer, or not do
this at all, and if I’ve changed my mind, that it’s okay.

“Dan, I’m going to be blunt. Take me
inside and fuck me,” is what finally comes out of my mouth.

We walk to our room holding each other’s
sweaty hands and step inside to two queen size beds with green and pink
flowered comforters and dark brown cheap furniture placed along the walls to
fill the room.

“It’s perfect,” I say.

This
is bullshit.

No, it’s not. It’s about being with one
another and spending time together and I don’t give a fuck where it is. We
could’ve stopped at that vintage ‘50s motel with the fluorescent cowboy sign
and it would’ve been fine.

You
must really adore this guy
.

Yes, yes I do.

“I feel like I’m on my honeymoon,” Dan
says, tossing our bags onto one of the beds. “Fuck, I had this all planned out
and now I’m a nervous wreck. I should’ve just fucked you after our first date.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I whisper, walking
slowly toward him. “I don’t believe you would’ve anyway. Now that we’ve spent
time together I couldn’t imagine you being that type.”

“No,” he says softly, pulling me closer.
“I wouldn’t have, not with you, and I’m glad you know me well enough to say
that. It’s what I’ve been waiting for.” He brushes his lips gently across my
neck and lifts my shirt over my head. “I’ve had my share of one night stands,
but never with someone I could see myself with in the future. Those women meant
nothing to me because I knew immediately I would never mean anything to them.”
He rubs my lips with his finger and unsnaps my bra with his other hand, pulling
the straps off my shoulders. “You’re different, Div. I’ve given you my heart
before you ever got inside my jeans.” Our lips meet and my insides flutter. My
bra falls to the floor, then his shirt, my jeans, his jeans, our socks,
underwear... holy crap. This is really going to happen.

I’m surprised and more than delighted
when we don’t fuck right away. He doesn’t throw me to the bed and prod into me
like some wild animal. He doesn’t fuck me like a caveman for five minutes and
then it’s over. He doesn’t say nasty or derogatory things to me like the men in
some of the erotic books that I read and write. And I believe he could, we had
a dirty session of sexual acts that night at his house. He has it in him; he
said he read erotica for research purposes (yeah right), and that he likes to
fuck hard... but not tonight. Not our first time. Dan’s the gentleman I thought
I’d never meet, or that only exists in PG-13 romances, like Kimmy Firestorm
romances.

He caresses every inch of my body, gently
touching, massaging, kissing, and sucking until I’m in a continual state of
arousal, an orgasm that begins but never ends. When I try to pleasure him, he
guides me from his dick to his mouth, whispering that he’s not deserving until
he knows I’m completely satisfied.