Blurred (Connections #3.5)

Blurred (Connections #3.5) Page 3

But my sister picks up the slack for me when I can’t find the words to continue. She takes a piece of paper from her purse. “I was thirteen when I read the following verse at my father’s funeral and the words are just as true today as they were then. ‘For this reason I bow my knees . . .’” She recites the bible verse she has kept close to her for so many years. Once she is done, together we thank everyone again for being there and I excuse myself needing some air.

I stagger outside and block out my surroundings for the longest time.

“Ben, I want you to know I’m here if you need anything.” I’d recognize his voice anywhere.

I swing around to glare at him, trying to figure out if I should keep my mouth shut but I decide against it. “Jason, look, I know what you’re up to.”

“What would that be?”

“Using our loss and your son’s addiction to get back with my sister.”

“Is that what you think? Because the way I see it—she needs someone.”

“She has me.”

He moves toward me locking his fists at his side but quickly relaxing them. “You know I always thought of you as more than just Serena’s little brother. You were mine, too. I appreciate and admire what you did for them when I couldn’t—the way you took care of my family. And I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now—losing your mother, your girl, and having your life turned upside down—so I’m going to let your attitude pass. But, Ben, remember, I’m on your side.”

I want to punch the righteous right off his face. “Oh, is that the way you feel? I’m glad you settled that between us.” I snort.

“One more thing. Since we’re having such a heart to heart. Trent is my kid, not yours. The next time he gets into trouble, call me. Don’t think you know what’s best for him, because you don’t.”

My patience for his arrogance has long passed. I move closer and press my finger into his chest. “No, Jason, that’s where you’re wrong. You don’t. You never gave that kid the time of day. I’d even go so far as to say you’re more worried about how it looks that the kid of a vice detective went to rehab than you are about what put him there.”

“I wish that were the case,” he mutters.

“Ben, stop it,” my sister calls out as she approaches us.

I raise my hands and try to talk but she cuts me off. “That’s enough. Just enough for today.”

“Right,” I say and walk away. I’ve had enough for today, too.

Fires have raced up the brushy hillsides and I feel just as pelted by the Santa Anas as those whose homes are surrounded by the blaze. I’m trapped in the flames of misery—lost inside my own ninety mile an hour winds, as time seems to pass so slowly.

I’m alone. Caleb left town shortly after the funeral. And Serena’s spending more and more time with Jason. He’s been going with her to check on Trent in rehab. But for me the days only bleed into nights. I decide to move out of my house. I can’t stay there. The ghosts are everywhere. I end up catching a break in that there’s a young couple ready to rent it. I move into my mother’s empty house where more ghosts haunt me, but right now, I have no choice. At least I can live off the rental income until I find a job, which isn’t going to be easy. And to boot, that f**king douchebag photographer from the funeral has decided to sue me. Let him see what he can get even if he wins. The house is in Dahl’s name and I have nothing else to speak of.

I fall into a routine . . . same thing, different day. I go out, get drunk, come home, and descend into oblivion. But the numbness from the alcohol is starting to wane and the pain isn’t fading as quickly anymore. Tonight a new antidote dropped itself right into my lap. I was at the Cliff and just before closing, a chick slipped her hand into my back pocket while I was playing pool. I saw only the back of her before she ducked out, but it was enough to intrigue me. I pulled the note out and read it. I’ve been watching you all night. Meet me around back if you want to know what reward and punishment feels like. I couldn’t turn that down. I exited the bar through the same door as her. I walked around the corner to the parking lot. She was sitting on top of a car, waiting for me. I stared at her as I tried to place her familiarity.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Ben Covington.”

I was still trying to figure out how I knew her.

“I didn’t think you’d recognize me. We went to high school together. We were in the same English class.”

I couldn’t f**king place her and by now it must have been evident.

“We were partners on the Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn projects. I made the Mississippi River for you and the blue epoxy stuck to my fingers for days.”

“Fuck, yes. How the hell are you . . . ?”

She laughed. “Dawn, Dawn Buckley.”

I lazily swept my eyes over her and recognition finally hit. She wasn’t the Dawn I remembered. That Dawn was a little freaky—goth, heavy eyeliner, black fingernails. This girl couldn’t look more different. Long, blonde hair, sexy legs, and hot.

“Yeah, I know I look different so I didn’t expect you to remember me.”

“No, I do.”

“I always had a crush on you, you know?”

I laughed. “Really? No, I didn’t.”

“You want to get out of here?” she asked.

She didn’t have to ask me twice. We left in my car and she started things off right when she showed me how this little game of hers was going to go—road head was my reward for inviting her back to my place.

The porch was pitch dark when we arrived and she began undressing while I fumbled for my key. When we finally made it in the house, we stayed where we landed—in the family room.

Time must have flown by afterward because now when I stand up and glance out the window I suddenly notice it is light outside and wonder how the night flew by so fast.

“What time is it?” she asks, squinting as the sun breaks through the blinds.

“I can’t even tell you what f**king day it is, let alone what time it is.”

“It’s Sunday or maybe Saturday.” She laughs.

I shrug and scratch my head wondering why this chick is still here. I should tell her that it is time to end this party, but her presence is helping me forget the things I don’t want to remember. In the kitchen I grab a drink and steel a look at the clock—nine a.m. Fuck, we’ve been at this for hours. I walk back in the room after chugging down another beer and she has a scowl on her face.

“Did you change your mind?” she asks.

“No I didn’t.”

She points to the ground. She wants to punish me and I’m going to let her. Why not? I already knew it was coming—she warned me. She wanted me to go down on her after she got herself all worked up, but I wasn’t into it. Since I refused—punishment it is. I drop to my knees, facing the couch as she instructs. She stays silent. She’s dead serious about this and I try not to laugh. She ties my ankles to the bottom rung of the coffee table with some ribbon she found on my mother’s desk. When she’s done she lies on the sofa and fingers herself. She’s masturbating in front of me and it’s f**king hot. Her method isn’t entirely worthless because I definitely want to touch her now, but her pu**y is too far away. Obviously this is working just the way she planned it—entice me with the view. And I’m enticed. My dick swells while watching her and once she starts humping from her own touch, I take it in my hands and start stroking myself.

She jumps up in an instant and whips the belt off my shorts. “No, no,” she purrs from behind me. She grabs my hands and tucks them inside the seat cushions of the couch. “Now, don’t make me tie these, too.”

I’m so turned on by this chick’s forcefulness that my heart is racing . . . I’ll do whatever she wants as long as the rush doesn’t leave. I’m sitting here, naked, on my knees, my back to her, when I feel the cool metal of the belt buckle slide across my ass. From my peripheral vision, I can see her slap it lightly against her palm and my blood starts pumping even faster. How big can a guy’s dick get before it explodes? My ass muscles clench as I prepare for what I think is to come. But she isn’t going to give it to me that easily. She yanks my hair, pulling my head back. “You’ve been a naughty boy. I asked you to do something and you refused. Maybe the next time I ask you—you’ll do it.”

I have to swallow, not out of fear of course, but, f**k, this is so hot. Her hands are on my balls and she’s squeezing them. “You like it when I touch you?” she asks.

I’m practically panting and she can’t miss my nod. The leather snaps across my ass and it stings like a son of a bitch. My shoulders hunch and I lean my forehead against the couch when she kneels behind me and again grabs my balls. But this time she runs her other hand up and down my ass crack. “Let’s try this again. Do you like it when I touch you like this?”

“Yes,” I answer, my voice low and harsh.

She leans away. “You will learn to give me a complete answer, I promise you,” she hisses and again I can hear the leather slap against her palm.

But before I can feel the burn of her anger, or the pleasure of it, the sound of my sister’s horrified voice echoes in my ears. Serena screams, “What the f**k is going on? I’m calling the police. Ben, are you okay?”

I try to get to my feet, but my ankles are tied to the coffee table. “Fuck. Serena what are you doing here?”

She stands there in shock, as I twist around trying to undo myself. The chick is scurrying to get dressed. Once I’m untied, I rise to my feet and find my shorts. The chick is picking up her things scattered around the room. Serena doesn’t move, but her eyes follow mine every step of the way. Her mouth hangs wide open and the bag of groceries she’s holding is looking pretty heavy. I take the bags from her and set them on the half-round table in the entryway then I flip around. “Hey,” I say to the chick. “Wait for me outside.” At least her forcefulness is only in the bedroom because she hurries past Serena in a flash. I want to tell her to call a cab, but I don’t want to listen to Serena’s shit about my lack of manners.

I run my hands through my hair. “You should have called first.”

Serena grabs the plastic handles of the bags and walks toward me, setting them on the coffee table. Why move the bags? I’m not sure, but it got her closer to me. She looks at me with disgust on her face. “Do you even know that girl’s name?”

I shrug and nod. I shove my hands in my pockets, dropping my gaze to the woolen throw rug.

“I came over to tell you Dahlia is getting married today. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Everything stops . . . my breathing, my pulse, my churning mind. It takes me a few minutes to pull my heart from my throat. “What day is it?” I ask her.

“It’s Saturday, October thirty-first, Ben.”

“Fuck, she’s getting married on Halloween?” My voice falters. I drop to the sofa and cradle my head in my hands.

After a minute, I look up at my older sister.

She nods with an equal mix of sympathy and pity and I can’t stand it.

“She’s getting married on the anniversary of her parents’ death. Why would she do that?”

“She wants to make it a happy day in her life.”

I scrub my head. I tried to do that so many times for her. I shuffle to my feet and pace the room. Then I turn back to Serena. “Fuuuck!!” I yell, swiping everything off the desk.

“Ben!” my sister scolds.

And that’s all it takes. My trigger. I look at my sister and can tell my eyes go blank. “I don’t give a shit what she does anymore.”

Serena shouts at me, her face turning red, and disappointment shines from her vibrant blue eyes. “Yes, you do! Of course you do!”