Teaching Willow: Session Three (2 page)

TWO- EBON

Upon waking Tuesday morning, one of my first thoughts is of Monday night at play rehearsal.  Willow Masters. 

She seems determined to wiggle her way under my skin no matter how much I try to keep her out.  If I had a single grain of intelligence, I’d tell her that I no longer want to read her story and put an end to all this madness. 

But I can’t.  Or I won’t. I’m not sure which it is; I only know that I’ll keep reading if she keeps writing. 

That’s not my only worry now, though.  Along with the added layer of complexity that the most recent portion of her story has brought, I’ve started to feel a growing sense of unease, like I’m missing something that should be evident.  I hope there isn’t something going on with Willow that could end in her getting hurt. I’d hate to have neglected seeing the signs of some sort of emotional distress all because I have an insatiable lust for someone I can’t have.  That would be pretty damn hard to live with. 

The more I try to put it out of my mind, the harder it gets to stop thinking about it.  It doesn’t help that I’ve called Sage a dozen times and gotten no answer. I can’t even ask
her
if all is well with Willow.  Or if this is even about Willow.  What if it’s really Willow’s way of showing me something about Sage that I’m not seeing?

Fuck!  This is far too complicated.

I scrub my hands over my face and then run them angrily through my hair.  “Where the hell are you, Sage?” I mutter, flinging my phone onto the bed as I stalk toward the shower.  Getting no answer makes me that much madder.

********

Some days, office hours are more enjoyable than others.  But some days, like today, I just wanted to come home after my 404 class. I was testy before; now I’m in a downright shitty mood.  Seeing a package waiting on the stoop, one wrapped in blue paper with red bats and white baseballs on it, does nothing to help matters.

I walk slowly toward my front door, a sense of dread eating a fathomless black hole in of the pit of my stomach.  I stop a couple of feet away, staring blankly at the box.  It’s possible it was delivered to the wrong address.  I mean, it’s obvious that it is intended for a young boy. At least it appears that way to me, judging by the juvenile wrapping paper.  But still, that does nothing to sooth my feelings of unease.  Something isn’t right.

I look left and right before I bend to examine the box.  There is no name or address, no shipping information, no stickers that proclaim it has made its way through the network of post offices to arrive here.  It’s almost as though it were hand delivered, placed on my front steps purposely.

I stand, looking around again, pricks of suspicion needling at the nape of my neck.  It can’t be.  Surely not.

But I know it is. I know without having to open the box that it is. 

I turn my burning gaze and tight jaw back to the box. I resist the urge to kick it and pretend that I never saw it.  But curiosity and the need to know get the better of me. I pick it up and tuck it under my arm until I can unlock my door.

Once inside, I turn the lock and the deadbolt before setting the box in the chair by the door and stepping back to stare at it for several minutes before touching it again.

Finally, I carry it into the kitchen where I open a bottle of beer, draining it before I turn back to the strange present.  Carefully, I pick at one of the seams to loosen one side.  I let it hang there for at least thirty seconds before I chastise myself for being a pussy.

“Screw it,” I mumble, tearing the rest of the wrapping paper off and prying the box open with furious fingers.

Inside is a baseball jersey, pants, cleats and a trophy. I stare at them blankly.  I don’t have to touch one single item to know what they are, who they belong to or who sent them.  In fact, I think I knew all that before I even opened the box.

They’re mine.  They belonged to me when I was a kid, when I played baseball my freshman year of high school.  I remember exactly where I left them.  And who would send them to me.

My mother.  My mother sent these. 

No, scratch that. My mother brought this box and set it at my door.  To her, it was probably like casting out a lure to snag an elusive fish.  To me, it was a warning.

She knows where I am.  She knows
who
I am.

Fuck!

Unbidden, the look on Sage’s face, the sweet smell of her perfume, the soft tone of her voice as she told me she loves me drifts through my head.  I don’t even think about what I’m doing after that. I just know I need her, so I grab my keys and head for the door.

As I park outside and then walk up the steps to Sage’s front door, I notice that the only light I can see is the blue glow of the television.  I should’ve called first, but I didn’t.  Because I didn’t want her to not answer. I didn’t want her to tell me she has other plans. I didn’t want to hear anything but the sound of her moaning my name over and over and over, the sound of her losing herself in me like I am losing myself in her.

I knock lightly at the door, just in case Willow is sleeping.  There’s silence for almost a minute before I hear an awkward clomping sound followed by a pause and then the click of the locks opening.

In the low light of the moon, backlit by the television, I see a petite figure in a tank top and panties, hair in a messy knot at the base of her neck, with her arm in a sling of some sort.

“What happened?” I ask, not even trying to confirm which sister I’m speaking to, not really caring which sister I’m barging in on when she’s in her underwear. 

She backs up, stumbling over something and nearly falling before I reach out to steady her.  I hear a giggly laugh before a soft, feminine form melts against my chest.

As my eyes adjust, I see the glasses and I know that I’m holding Willow.  Not only does she appear to be hurt, but she seems to be drunk as well.

Fuck.

“Willow, what happened to you?”

Her grin is sanguine and not quite alert as she gazes up at me, winding her good arm around my waist.  “I got in a car accident,” she answers, matter of fact.

“When?  What happened?  Are you all right?”

“So many questions,” she slurs happily, rubbing against me like a kitten.  A sexy, studious kitten.

My dick jumps.

Fuck.

Reluctantly, I reach around me for her wrist to try and gently disentangle myself.  “Do you have any answers?”

Her smile widens.  “Yes.  One.”

When she doesn’t continue, I prompt, “And?”

She leans further into me, her knee sliding up the inside of my thigh. I grit my teeth to keep from reacting.  This is a dream and a nightmare all wrapped up in one.

“I’m fine.  Better than fine now.  My mother left a couple of hours ago, pissed as hell.  My sister won’t be home until tomorrow.  And you’re here.  I couldn’t be better.”

“Willow, you’re obviously medicated.”

“Ya think?” she giggles, bending backward until I snake my arm around her waist to make sure she doesn’t fall.  Her arched spine pushes her tantalizing breasts up and out and forces her lower body into intimate contact with mine.  Before I can even stop them, thoughts of pulling the low neck of her shirt down and taking one nipple into my mouth bombard my mind.  In the blink of an eye, I’m sucking on it until she’s writhing against me. I’m reaching between her legs to touch her damp panties. I’m pushing them aside and driving my fingers inside her, so hard she bucks against me and comes all over my knuckles.

Fuck.

I know there’s no way to keep the blood from rushing to my cock now.  Damn my imagination!

Gingerly, I pull her upright, my leg slipping between hers as I stabilize us.  I hear her gasp.  I feel the warmth of her pussy through my jeans.  I sense the pause and the way she turns serious all of a sudden.  And I know what’s coming next.  The bitch of it is, I don’t even try to stop it.

Willow reaches up with her good arm and winds it around my neck, tugging until I lower my head.  She smashes her lips against mine in a kiss that tastes desperate. And hot.  And forbidden.

I dive into her mouth, licking and sucking, temporarily lost to this little taste of something I’ve denied myself for what seems like forever.  My hands are in her hair, on her back, biting into her ass cheeks.  I pull her tight against me and she moves her hips, riding my thigh.  She’s all but begging me to make her come and holy god how I want to!

But I can’t.  This is Willow.  There is good reason I’ve resisted for so long.  Damn good reason.

Reluctantly, I pull away.  She’s breathing rapidly as she stares up into my face, her eyes heavy with desire and whatever she’s taking for pain.  “Willow, stop.”

Speaking those words is harder than
even I
thought it would be.  And they have an even more profound impact than I thought they would.

“Why don’t you want me?” Willow asks bluntly.

The question is like a sucker punch to the balls.  I want her so fucking bad I can almost taste it.  And I
want
to taste it, to taste
her.

“Willow, you’re my student.”

“What if I weren’t?” she asks, something…anxious in her eyes. 

“But you are.  And I’m dating your sister.”  I see my words penetrate her daze like razor sharp arrows.  But I don’t stop. I can’t.  I have to make this clear.  For both our sakes.  “This can never happen.  Never.”

I don’t know what to make of the expression that sweeps across her beautiful face.  It looks like a million things, few of which make any sense to me.  The only thing I know for sure is that I have to get the hell out of here.

“Will you be okay by yourself?”

Her laugh seems bitter.  “Oh this?” she asks, nodding to her immobilized arm.  “This is nothing.  I’ve been through worse.  A million times worse.  And that’s only the beginning.”

She laughs again as she turns away from me.  “See you in class,
Mister
Daniels.”

I actually move about an inch and a half toward her, nearly giving in to my desire to sooth her, to sooth
myself. 
To rid my body and my soul of this need for her, once and for all.  But I stop myself.  God only knows how, but somehow I manage it.

By the time I get to my car, I feel like putting my fist through the windshield.  Anger is boiling in my blood.  Anger over Willow and the fact that I could’ve taken what I’ve wanted for so long.  Anger over my mother and the fact that she has found me after all these years.  Anger over Sage and the fact that I can’t seem to reach her yet her car is here in the parking lot.

I push back into the driver’s seat, straightening my arms and squeezing the steering wheel until my fingers ache.  Then I pound the heel of my hand against it until I fear I might break the damn thing.

Ten long minutes of internal battle have passed before I start my car and drive away from Willow and everything that she represents.

THREE- WILLOW

A loud thumping wakes me.  At first, it coincides so perfectly with the pounding of my head that I don’t realize the noise is actually external.  It’s when I hear the clatter of keys hitting and skittering across the bar that I come fully awake.

I don’t have to ask or wonder or be afraid. I know exactly who it is. I can feel the chill in the air, the disturbance in my soul. 

It’s impending doom. 

It’s Sage.

She’s home.  And the jig is up.

Seconds later, my door is unceremoniously flung open to reveal my very upset sister.

“What the hell?  I told you I’d be coming home today and you couldn’t even bother to drag your ass out of bed to pick me up?”

I lean up just enough to glance at the clock. It’s already past noon.  I flop back down, wishing I could turn back the clock, and not just metaphorically speaking.  Meta
physically
as well.

“God, you are such a bitch,” she mutters, shaking her head as she turns away.

“Sage!” I snap, sitting up in bed and flinging off my covers. She whirls back toward me, fury in her eyes, until she sees my shoulder immobilizer.  Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t ask any questions; she just waits for me to explain myself.  “I was in a car accident.  Didn’t you wonder why the phone suddenly went dead?”

She shrugs.  “No. I thought you were just being pissy and hung up on me.”

“Because I do that so often. I think that’s more your M.O. than mine.”

“Whatever,” she mutters off-handedly.  “What happened?”

“I got T-boned as I was pulling into the lot.  Dislocated my shoulder.”

“Is that it?”

I can’t help but laugh.  She really is a cold, selfish bitch.  “Yes, Sage.  That’s pretty much it.  I was in the hospital for twenty-four hours for observation and then Mom brought me home.”

“Where is she?”

“She went back home.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“It took some convincing, but I finally managed to get her to see that I’m fine and that all I needed was rest.  Rest that I couldn’t get if she was bugging around here.  She knew you’d be home today, so…”

“Yeah, I called them, too.”

Anger spikes in the center of my chest.  “Evidently so.  Sounds like you had quite the conversation.”  I can’t keep the bitterness from my tone. In fact, I don’t even try.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just
had to
tell her about everything, didn’t you?”

“Like what?” she asks innocuously.

“Don’t play dumb, Sage.  It’s insulting.  You know I’m talking about the pages you gave to Ebon, the fact that I stopped my meds.  All of it.  Things that weren’t your place to tell.”

“How is your welfare something I’m not supposed to talk about with our mother?”

“When I’m fine, it’s no one’s business.  How would you feel if I called her periodically to tell her who you’re sleeping with and what kinds of parties you’ve thrown and which brand of tampon you’re using?”

Sage rolls her eyes.  “I’m not the one who’s sick.”

Angrily, I spin to put my feet on the floor and stand, every muscle in my body taut.  Oh, how I’d love to throttle the shit out of my sister sometimes.  “Well, lucky for us all, I’m not sick
anymore
, so fuck off, Sage.”

I stalk past her and go straight to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.  I stand perfectly still, boiling, my fingers clenched into tight fists.  My fury is interrupted by the generic ring of a phone.  My “Sage” phone. 

My heart stops.

I hear a muttered
What the hell?
that prods me into motion.  I fly out of the bathroom just as Sage is making her way into her bedroom to investigate the sound.  I push past her and launch myself across the mattress to grab the phone from the bedside table, hitting the mute button on the side before calmly crawling off the bed and heading back to the bathroom.  From the corner of my eye, I see her mouth hanging open. I see the question in her eyes, but I keep right on going.  I can’t trust her with the truth. 

In the bathroom, I wait for the voicemail alert to pop up.  When it does, I press play and listen to Ebon’s voice as he asks where I am and tells me to call him.

With a sigh, I lower the phone.  I’ll just have to avoid him for a while until I can figure out what to do. I know I can’t be Sage anymore.   At least not like I was.  The problem is, I don’t think I can break it off with him yet. 

Maybe if I can just hold him off for a little while longer, I can think of something else to do.  It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it.  Anything is better than giving him up completely.  Anything.