Calico (21 page)

“After college it is, then.” I am filled with light. It’s such a strange, unknown sensation to me—to be this happy. I never thought I’d experience the joy of life in the same way everyone does. Not with my father around, anyway. Days of sorrow and sadness, endless, stretching out for as far as I could imagine: that is what I envisioned for my future. Until Callan, that is. Now, I dare to dream. Now, I lay awake at night, excited for what next year holds for the both of us. We’ll be finished with high school and I’ll be an adult. Malcolm won’t have any hold over me anymore. I’ll be free, and I’ll be with Callan.
 

His hand travels purposefully down my belly, where he meets the lacy band at the top of my panties. He doesn’t go underneath them at first. Instead he moves further down, in between my legs, touching me lightly over the material. I’m already wet, which is kind of embarrassing, but Callan seems to find it a turn on. He growls as he applies pressure, sending waves of heat shooting up through my body. I love when he touches me like this. The more turned on I get, the more possessive and determined he becomes; the same thing happens today, except now I can look him in the eyes as he kisses me. I can see how fiercely he cares about me as he eventually pulls my panties out of the way and pushes a finger deep inside me.
 

“Oh god. Fuck, Callan.” I pant this, feeling a little light headed. Whenever he pushes inside me, I feel a powerful pressure building up inside me. It feels so good, but I can tell that it will be borderline painful if he pushes any farther. Callan senses my body tense—he must, because he eases off, stroking the pad of his thumb over my clit instead. I’m well acquainted with my body, I’ve touched myself plenty of times, but it’s so different when Callan touches me. It’s more meaningful, more powerful. It drives me insane.
 

I reach down and take his cock in my hand, slowly working my palm up and down the length of him, squeezing a little. He really seems to enjoy that; he thrusts his hips forward, pushing into my hand, groaning a little, and a thrill of excitement rushes through me. I make him feel just as crazy, by the sounds of things.
 

Soon we’re both breathing heavily, hands roaming over each other’s bodies as we lose our inhibitions. Callan rocks his hips back, pulling away, which confuses me until he says, “Slow down.
Slow
. If you don’t, you’re gonna make me come.”

I really want to make him come, but I know that’s not the end goal here. He wants to be inside me. I want him there, too, more than anything, but I’m too shy to instigate that. Thankfully Callan must already know this. He sits up on his knees, rifling through his book bag until he finds what he’s looking for—a condom. He pulls a shiny silver square out of his wallet and rips it open, then he rolls it down onto his cock, watching me the whole time.
 

“You seem like you’ve done that before,” I say quietly.
 

“I have. About fifty seven million times. All guys practice, bluebird. Would you still wanna have sex with me if the thing snapped off and hit me in the eye while I was trying to put it on?”

“That would
not
be sexy.” I laugh, which kills the very last remnants of my anxiety. Callan rolls his eyes, but falls serious a second later.

“I’m not gonna fuck this up, okay?” he says. “This is going to be perfect, I swear.”

I believe him. It already is perfect because it’s me and him, and nothing could ever be wrong with that. He kisses me again, hooking one hand underneath me at the small of my back so he can turn me on my side. We lay on the ground, facing each other, adoring one another, stroking and licking, sucking on each other’s lips, using our teeth. We caress and pet each other until I just can’t take it anymore. My brain seems to quit working altogether. I’m grinding up against Callan when he snaps and climbs up on top of me, guiding himself between my legs.
 

I wrap my thighs around him, and the whole situation begins to feel very real. This is happening. This is happening right now, and I’m more than okay with it. Callan takes a deep breath and holds me tight in his arms. “You sure?” he rasps.
 

I’m out of breath and a little dazed, so I just nod. There’s so much love in his eyes. I can feel him pressing up against my pussy, almost pushing inside, and my heart kicks into overdrive. Slowly, slowly, he begins to apply more pressure…

I suddenly feel so full. It was one thing having his fingers inside me, but this is a totally different ball game. Callan swears, hovering over me, going still. “Fuck, bluebird. You’re so tight. God damn it.” He clenches his jaw, screwing his eyes shut. I’m pretty sure he’s not even halfway inside me, and it’s starting to sting.
 

Dragging out this part will suck. I wrap my arms around Callan, digging my fingernails into his back. “Just do it, Cal.
Please
…” He hisses, swearing again. “
Please
, baby…”

The second time I beg him, he does it. Thrusting forward, I feel resistance and then pain as he pushes all the way inside me. I cry out, and Callan crushes me against his chest, holding onto me for dear life, whispering soft, beautiful things into my hair, my neck, my ear. He holds me like that until the pain subsides. Over his shoulder, tiny birds dart overhead, calling out to one another, cartwheeling and pivoting in wild dogfight maneuvers.

After a few minutes, the sharp, searing pain turns to a dull throb. I angle my hips, testing out the water, seeing how bad the pain will be if I rock against him. Surprisingly it’s not too bad. Callan groans as I move again, this time pulling back enough that I can feel the friction between us when he slides back inside me. It feels hot and raw and kind of good. On top of me, Callan’s doing his best not to move at all. I can tell by the way he’s holding his breath that this is tough for him. “God, I want to fuck you so bad, Coralie. This is so fucking hard.”

“Then do it. Fuck me, Callan. Please…I want you to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You won’t. Please.”
 

That’s all it takes. Callan draws all the way out of me, then, thrusting back inside me carefully, and then repeating the process. He’s not rough, though I can tell he wants to be. I move against him, grinding my hips against his, encouraging him to speed up.
 

“Fuck, Coralie.” He hisses the words out between gritted teeth, and then he blows out hard down his nose. Lord knows why, but his need turns me on so much. I can barely keep myself together as I rock against him. I know he’s so close to coming. I can read it everywhere—in the way the muscles in his arms are twitching and shaking. The way his eyes are narrowed, barely even open. By the way two deep lines have formed between his eyebrows. And also by the way his cock feels inside me. Every small movement, every small pulse sends a shockwave through me, and he’s getting harder and harder by the second.

He’s holding back, and I don’t want him too. I want to witness him coming, feel it happen inside me in order to feed this insane craving I have to get as physically close to him as possible. I lean down and around, twisting my body underneath him a little so I can take hold of Callan’s balls. It’s almost as if I’ve electrocuted him. “Jesus, Coralie. You’re gonna make me come if you do that. Fuck.”

“Good.” I don’t know where this inner, brazen girl has come from but I like her. I arch my back a little, brushing my bare breasts against Callan’s chest, and I carefully massage and tease his balls as he fucks me. In a few moments, Callan’s back arches too and he’s burying his face in my shoulder, groaning as he climaxes. I feel all of it, and it’s incredible.
 

He holds onto me and he won’t let go. Not that I want him to. I’ve never felt so connected with anyone in my whole life. Before Callan came along, I was alone, though. I had no one. Just the ghost of my mother and dusty boxes of memories. With him in my life, I have Jo. I have Tina and Shane. I have hope.
 

“I love you so much,” I say, running my fingers lightly through his hair.
 

“I know you do, bluebird. I love you, too.”

Three months later he repeats this into my hair as I finally pluck up the courage to tell him that I’m pregnant. We were safe. We were smart. But sometimes, no matter how safe or smart you are, fate has other plans for you.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CORALIE
 

Terminal Velocity

NOW

Terminal velocity. I’ve known about terminal velocity since high school, but I’ve never really felt its impact on my life before. Not directly.
 

The constant speed that a freely falling object eventually reaches when the resistance of the medium through which it is falling prevents further acceleration.

That’s the definition you’ll get when you look up the term in the dictionary. There comes a point where you’re moving as fast as you can go, and the things around you that have prevented you from increasing in speed toward your destination no longer have any bearing to your flight path.
 

That’s how I’m feeling right now.
 

Ben; my career; Friday; my need to not be a complete and total fuck up my entire life—these things have stopped me from spiraling out of control since I left Port Royal, but now nothing seems to matter anymore. I should never have slept with Callan. Nothing has any perspective anymore. Nothing else matters. I could lose Ben tomorrow and I would be glad of it. I could never sell another painting and I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. But now, when I leave Port Royal for what I hope to be the very last time, when I have to say goodbye to Callan for what I
know
will be the very last time, it will be the end of the world for me.
 

I can still feel the remnants of the alcohol I drank last night quietly humming in my veins. I’m sober, but there’s no way I wouldn’t blow over if I get breathalyzed, so I leave the Porsche where it is in the hotel parking lot and I take my second taxi of the day out to the county morgue.
 

I’ve showered and changed but I must look like hell because the woman behind the counter literally jumps when she notices me standing in front of her. She’s wearing a t-shirt with a UFO on the front of it, and the slogan
‘Get In, Loser
,’ which seems strange considering the otherwise sober environment I find myself in. I hand over the paperwork from the sheriff’s department and tell her why I’ve come.
 

“Great. Thank you. Now, all we need you to do is identify your father’s remains and we can release his body,” UFO girl advises me.
 

I stare at her blankly. “I’m sorry.
What
?”

“Yeah. All we have to do is have you view the body and then we can officially confirm that it’s your father. Then the funeral director can come collect the body and you can arrange the funeral.”

“You have got to be fucking
kidding
me.”

“I’m sorry, you don’t…?” She trails off, looking perplexed. “Some people find it therapeutic to see the body of their dead loved ones?” she says. Her voice goes up at the end, like a question, like she already knows from the look on my face that she’s making a grave error by even suggesting such a thing.

“I’m not looking at his body,” I say.
 

“Well, it’s just something we have to do to finalize our paperwork, Ms. Taylor. I’m sorry, but there really is no way around—”

I turn and I storm out of the office. No way am I even standing around to entertain the prospect of looking down on the cold, lifeless body of the man who tormented me for so long. It’s just not happening. Outside in the parking lot, I bend over double and throw up.
 

I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t stick my fingers down my throat this time. It didn’t happen because I wanted to take control of the situation. It happened because the very prospect of having to see him again terrified me half to death. I’m shaking as I start walking. The county morgue is a good twenty-minute drive away from the center of Port Royal, but somehow the minutes and the miles sweep by without my notice and I eventually find myself back on Main Street.
 

I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m doing. I carry on walking until I find myself standing outside
Willoughby’s, the hardware store Callan used to work at a very long time ago. Shane’s family used to run the place; I’m sure they still do. I head inside, not sure what I plan on accomplishing by seeing Shane after last night’s performance. I find him leaning against the counter, his forehead propped up against the support beam directly next to it. His eyes are closed, and for all the world it looks like he’s asleep.
 

I suddenly feel very silly. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at the morgue, screaming at UFO Girl until she agrees to release Malcolm’s body. I should be doing something about the fact that I need to get out of this godforsaken town. I’m about to turn around and walk out of the store when Shane opens his eyes and smiles at me, as if my presence was only to be expected.
 

“S’up, Cora,” he says. “I had this strange feeling I was gonna see you today.”

“You did?”

“Uhuh. Callan was on the phone first thing, freaking out because you vanished on him, and I thought, yeah. She’ll find her way over here at some point. No doubt about it.”

“He told you I went over there last night?”

Shane nods sagely.
 

“Damn, I hate him.”
 

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard come out of our mouth, girl. And I’ve heard you tell some whoppers.”

Years ago I might have been affronted, might have asked him what the hell he meant by that, but so much time has passed now that the lies I used to tell about why I had to be home every evening, why I couldn’t come to parties, about where the odd bruise came from…none of that seems to be relevant anymore, like the amount of time that has passed since I told them has made it all okay. I take his comment in stride.