Crave You: A Novel

Chapter 4

                                                                                         Scott

And she wrote, 

prettypeach26: That's it. You're boring.

hereforfun31: Why?

prettypeach26: Isn't it obvious? You're getting all the fun. I'm not.

I reread her text. I muffled myself, from the idiocracy I was sharing with someone, who had no idea how much I was flustered with myself. 

It started with her, pushing me in bed. She climbed on me, placed her hands on my chest, and started grinding my hips — deliberately, sensuous, teasing me to a mile I thought it would never end. 

I think I subsisted in the euphoria. I was too focused on myself, to focus on her. I was getting the taste. I didn't know how I should live. As I closed my eyes, eased my breath, I wanted to stretch my arms and touch the dream. Feel it close. All I wanted to do was get in the momentum that wasn't possible for me to admire in my waking hour.

I meant to imagine a world I've never stepped in. I wanted to swim in the pool, moving my arms back, in the possibility of experiencing paradise. This was the glee, a forbidden clarity, that was meant for me to look at the only person under the sugary sunlight, as her burgundy hair traced my skin. Then, all too suddenly, wide awake, I didn't mean to dunk and enter the other side of the wrong room. 

Standing dry in my wet towel, I feel like I'm staring at a clown who's ready to spring some intimidating surprises. On instinct, I should back out, careful and slow, only if my knees stop wobbling. 

What I'm trying to say is, I didn't know it would get funny and weird when she told me she choked me around with her thighs. I couldn't think what I should reply to. Honestly, I started imagining some action movie scenes. The thought jumped in like a switch. I couldn't believe in the middle of sexting, I was thinking about Halle Berry swiftly brawling the two robbers in Catwoman. 

I thought, alright, I will reply again, "Yeah." Like I was getting through our entire conversation. That was the best I could come up with. 

Gradually, our texts felt like we were exchanging normal monotonous messages. It seemed more like when friends get drunk, they either cry over screwing up or slur confidently while complaining. 

I wasn't able to see her, but I can feel it. She might be cringing at me while squinting at her phone.

And I think it's best to abandon the chat. It's pointless texting her now. I don't want to create any kind of riffraff with her. But, I unlocked the screen and replied, 

hereforfun31: I thought we were getting along. 

God knows what I was thinking.

prettypeach26: no, you seemed as if you were halfway through. Done. 

hereforfun31: I wasn't. 

I thought you were okay with me. 

prettypeach26: I was trying to! I couldn't bear it when you went on typing in one word. 

I had to do everything from setting the scene to plotting. 

It turned me off when you kept on saying, "Yeah." 

Like, that's it? Nothing to add, anything?

hereforfun31: Alright, I'm sorry. I admit I'm a newbie. 

But I thought that was fun. 

I replied, chuckling to myself, enervated. What if Matt was in her place and he would've chided me like her. 

If that would've been him, I would've sent him a gif of an anime character pecking a sweet kiss on the cheek of their frowned sullen partner. It would be interesting to know someday how Matt would react to this gif. If anything on any topic we would be chatting. But, I think I can't do that now. She has texted me again. She didn't give me time to complete imagining me and Matt,

prettypeach26: Ugh, my girlfriend is way better at sexting. If you weren't hot, I would've ghosted you.

hereforfun31: You're saying my pics turned you on?

prettypeach26: Aren't you a charmer? 

We're discussing how you suck at sexting.

hereforfun31: I didn't ask that.

prettypeach26: And I'm not saying.

hereforfun31: That means, yes, prettypeach26.

prettypeach26: Did you just call me by my username?

hereforfun31: Oh, look at you, feisty. I like you already.

prettypeach26: That's dumb and no, I don't like you too.

hereforfun31: The feeling is mutual. 

I sent her a wink emoji. Three dots appeared and I was rewarded with a suggestive emoji. I texted,

hereforfun31: Why don't we start over? 

I wait for her text. I wasn't hoping she would reply to me. Though, a little bit inside me I wish she would. Only to know if we're on or not. 

Strangely, It makes me remember that rotten apple left on the counter two weeks ago in Matt's kitchen. I found him in the living room on his plush pale pink couch on Saturday afternoon. He has been busy lately. Whenever I visit him, I see him working on his couch with his pretty wearied eyes glued to the screen.

I was on lunch break. I drove twenty-eight miles from my workplace to Collins, so Matt and I can eat together at his apartment when we have the time. That day was for us and instead, I was greeted with a warm stale smell. I asked him why the rancid apples were in the basket. He didn't reply to me. His eyes were on his MacBook. He looked serious. Too serious to talk to me. Until I marched to him and nudged his shoulder. As he looked up at me, he slammed the hood down, "What?" He asked, peeved, then zip his gaze from me. 

"I asked, why have you kept those rotten apples?"

"They might've expired today. I didn't notice." He answered, what sounded to me was absent-minded. 

His behavior was concerning me as I didn't believe him for a second. 

Matt can't tolerate a wet ring stain around him. When he notices something askew, he immediately cleans it. That's what he has instructed me as well. Whenever I'm at his place and when I've to leave, I've to make sure I do the same. 

"That's unlike you. Anyway, I threw it away. I'll wash the basket afterward."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." He said, frazzled. He raised his eyes and directed at his hands that held the laptop firmly angled in tangent.

"Is everything alright, Matt?"

"Yeah, yeah, all good. Can you, uh, order take out? I'm busy right now."

"Sure babe but, how long are you going to spend time with your device?"

"Might it be a while or long? I don't know, I just --" He was interrupted with a call. All I could see was the caller screen had an initial, S. It had no full name. Just a single alphabet that startled Matt. 

He looked at me, what seemed to me he felt uneasy and perturbed. 

He grabbed the phone from the couch and went out to the balcony. Through the glass I could see him pacing back and forth, smoothing his hair, and talking like he was arguing. His face was contorted. He curled his fist and after some seconds, he placed his arm on his waist. He was seething for sure. That I couldn't help but stare at him. Analyze his movement. His expression. I was trying to study what was causing him stress. Rather, who is this 'S' that Matt didn't need to feed the name on his iPhone? 

As I was thinking about how Matt is being careful around me with his issues, I saw him stop pacing. He was then listening to the caller intently, raptly, with his eyes shut and shaking his head. Several seconds went by. Matt didn't move. I was figuring out how I would ask him when he moved again. Walking to the railing. He leaned against it. He was still on call. I was still staring. All too suddenly, he slapped the bar.  

I've never seen Matt react that way. I worry about him sometimes when he thinks he can evade his matters from me. I know something is bothering him. I remember how numb my feet felt when he was still on call. The way he was acting around didn't appear fine to me. 

After some minutes, when he finally entered inside, I asked him, heedful, "Matt, what's wrong?"

"Scott, not now, please. Did you order take out?"

"No, not yet. I'll do it now."

"What? Scott, why can't you do a simple thing. I'm hungry now and you haven't ordered yet. What were you doing?" He yelled at me. I didn't like his tone that was becoming a thing with us. His frustration on me couldn't hide my jaws in front of him.

"Don't yell at me, Matt. I was worried about you out there. I forgot alright. I was getting anxious here."

"Scott, that isn't connected with you ordering take-out. That was a simple task. A simple thing. Now I've to do it."

"Matt, tell me what's wrong." I pleaded with him. I was hurt and I know Matt clearly could see how worried I was. He scratched his neck. Squinted his face in annoyance. That's how I saw him turn his back on me.

"Matt,"

"Leave me alone!" He slammed his bedroom door. 

I stood there quietly looking like timber. Something is going on with him. I wasn't used to this kind of attitude with me. Not since I was five. 

I shake it off and remember, I stormed behind his counter, took out those rotten apples from the bin. I smashed it on his counter. One by one. Smearing the acrid pulp all over the shiny surface. I left his place, with the fetid juice sticking in my hand. 

After three days, Matt called me in. He apologized and said about the board meeting he missed. That he was trying to resolve it with one of his investors. 

'S'? Who keeps an investor's name like that? I didn't ask him. I was occupied, thinking if it's too soon to take a break from him.

Crazy, that's how my situation is. Once the apple becomes soft, it turns sour and brown, which bleeds a faint putrid smell. When the liquid oozes out, flies hover on it, claiming their territory on every inch of the red soggy skin. Like that, our exchange was that soft apple. And the flies were my hopeless assumption that made no sense. Until I see her text, 

prettypeach26: This ship has sailed.  

I deserve this. I should've known by now. This was a plaything for us. A game or something easy. I blew it up, all because I kept thinking how weird this was going to be. While I was getting over the boundary, I forgot to offer my hand to her. She was doing everything and I was being a prick. I should've seen this. I didn't think I would suck at it. I can say, I tried a little like taking a small sip of a pumpkin-spiced latte. 

prettypeach26: If you play right, you might get lucky. 

hereforfun31: what do you mean?

prettypeach26: I'm saying you need practice. I can teach you if you want to learn. 

hereforfun31: Like right now?

prettypeach26: Nope. 

hereforfun31: When.

prettypeach26: Until next time.

hereforfun31: Here or some other platform?

prettypeach26: Let's be here.

hereforfun31: What if I never return?

prettypeach26: You never know.

I don't want to be predictable. Neither I want to let her know when I would be visiting this page. 

This is insanity that was pleasuring me in ways I wanted to keep a secret. Only for me. Mine to call. In my head. 

I wasn't prepared to end this off soon. There has to be something for me. 

hereforfun31: Okay. 

Why don't you give me homework?

prettypeach26: Homework? 

hereforfun31: Yeah, to work on till we, you know.

prettypeach26: I thought you said you won't be returning.

hereforfun31: let's just say you're leaving me unhinged.

prettypeach26: let's not say that. Let's say, I'm leaving you because it's your punishment for losing me. 

hereforfun31: Fine, your highness.

What's my punishment?

prettypeach26: Basic. 

Imagine me in your bed. 

hereforfun31: And?

Some seconds went by, she didn't reply. She was either offline or blocked me. Or ignored me. Could be anything. What I know is, I was left on my own to imagine what could've sexting felt like if we had started over. 

Instead of pondering, I think I'll imagine myself like that with some fictional person sitting on me. 

As I close my eyes, I imagine myself lying there in the bed. Then, I imagine her, placing her shapely thighs on both sides of me. Trapping me in place I didn't want to escape. 

Then her curves sit on my hips. Unmoving. She's teasing me in a tempo that's testing my chest not to breathe out heavily. 

"Let's go to the balcony." She said, seductively, imagining her in a white t-shirt and a black panty walking me toward the glass door. I was mesmerized by her. The sunlight falls on her smooth skin, on those midnight eyes that seemed fatiguing. 

"Kayla."

"It's me."

"You're not real."

"That's right." She said before leaning on me, placing her long fingers gently on my neck, and whispered sultry in my ear, "You should think I'm not real." 

It's true. She's not Kayla. She's someone I barely have something to do. Kayla is somebody who makes me forget why I shouldn't think about her.

"Can't I pretend you are?" I said, gazing at her soft raspberry lips.

"Then show me." She said feebly as she moved her fingertips on my face. She stroked my cheek, looking at me lovingly.  

I couldn't help smile at the fact I had her in me. This is my fantasy, I had her standing close to me when she was far from me at the cafe. 

As I tuck her loose strands behind her cute ears, it makes me believe it's her. That by any minuscule hope, I want to believe it's her. 

I know that's not how the universe works. And that's not how I should be thinking about her. 

I can't help, giving myself in this ecstasy. That every inch of me is comforting me to agree, that this moment right now, works for me. And I'm willing to take it anyway to feel closer to her.

The next thing I know, I slipped my fingers from her cheek. As I drew, I stroked her neck. She shut her eyes, arching her back as I imagine her glistening in a carnal sensation. Then, irresistibly, I crawl my hands slowly inside her t-shirt.

I hear her say, "Keep going." I'm satisfied too. I imagine Kayla holding me when I start stroking her smooth skin.

"Touching you like this, you feel so good, Kayla." She doesn't respond to answer me. Her soft moans tickled me underneath. 

I think about how Kayla would feel if I put pressure on my thumb and let her know how crazy it is, that I want to keep touching her. 

In that haze, I twirl her, press her against my chest. Then I push my hips against her. At the same time, I sneak my fingers inside her cotton material. She was there again. Those moans made me imagine Kayla show it to me how desperately she wanted me to please her. I close my eyes, feeling her at the real moment, as we brushed at Seus Does. 

I can still feel that slight touch on my skin. That fruity smell and the curves walking away when what I wanted was, to touch her hands and tell me how much she wanted to stay there with me.

As I do, I rub her skin. Sweet and wet. I stroke her in a pattern that has her shiver in my arms. I feel the insurgency on my finger in her warmth as Kayla falls on my heaving chest. She surges, looking at me, in a glorious mess. 

I can't help groaning. I look into her eyes, and clutch her waist, as she reaches for my length and drives me desperately. 

"Lift my t-shirt." She orders.

I do. I lift her tee. And expose her rising chest in the warm breeze.

Kayla clutches my shoulder. Her fingers gently dig in my glimmering skin. Or so I think. She gasps, trembling, asks me, "Slip your fingers inside me."

"Not yet," I say. 

Kayla whimpers as I continue stroking over her skin. I slide my finger up and down her lips. I touch her little bead, careful not to rush. 

I see her shake against me. She desperately puts one of her delicate hands on mine, holding me to hold herself in place. The sounds lure me in a sweet mystical tune that I begin to press her firmly, apply the pressure that she was longing for. Like a wave hitting the shore, she loses her grip. We fall on the floor. But, I don't give up on her.

I kiss her neck and gently bite her shoulder. I let her feel how torturous the moment was getting for me. And for her.

"Yes." I cry in delight. I untie my towel and stroke myself. I feel I want to have her all. Everything that I can make her mine. I imagine tearing her panty down. I slide my fingers in the center. I explore inside her warm cave and slowly increase my pace, rubbing them vigorously.

"Slip it inside." Kayla whimpers. I can feel her wriggling. I want to savor the joy. Savor the sensation as I hold her soft mound and played with her n****e.

I put my finger inside her. I push her back and forth, hearing the elation squelching around us.

Kayla moans loudly. Her head falls. Her back arches with her blades rising like wings spreading enormously, effusive in the sun splayed high in glory, looking magnificent in the burning sunrise. 

"I can't," Kayla says briefly. I can feel her simmering herself, holding me in, squeezing me inside. I can feel her burning me up with her warm scintillating rush. 

"Release it for me, Kayla. Let it go." I say as I run it fast. 

I breathe heavily. The noise is getting louder in Matt's room, in a fury of pressure that licks me sensually, making me go high in a daze. 

I smother my pace and control myself from calling out her name. 

I imagine her swimming in the pool, teasing me as she splashes water at me. The ripples barricade our little play. I sink in, delve in the blue, and reach, pulling her close to me. Then, I kiss her, savoring an unknown taste that I assume might be true. 

Her tongue explores mine. After she licks my bottom lip, giving it a nip, I feel her fingers dragging up below my pelvic muscles. We play again, but this time, I push her against the edge and kiss her fervently, reminding her how much she has bewitched me, like a Shangri-la I've never visited before. 

I gasped, really feeling that I'm with her. That I was touching her and she was caressing me in ways I always craved. Then, in a blinding rush, I release what's left of me. 

I ease my breath. I let my heart control my pulse.

As I open my eyes, I look around me in the dim room. I feel my chest rising and falling. I feel my blood pumping rhythmically. That was a rush I might get addicted to. But, that depends, where I want to head. This is unlike any imagination I felt. 

I feel different. Perplexed. And see Kayla. The same day, the same expression, she turned and left Seus Doces. 

I shake the memory and turn my head to see the last text.

The last message was mine. Twenty-nine minutes seems like I drove to heaven on a windy summer noon. 

I close the page and leave the used towel on the bed. 

Matt wouldn't like it when he finds the rumpled cloth and the wrinkled sheets still in the place where we were and not in the laundry. This time I'm not going to do it before I leave. 

I wouldn't call myself irresponsible. Just someone he should know why I did. I'll leave my revenge in the form of this damp towel sit confidently on his side.

I wonder what he would think? As far as I know, Matt might not bother. Or if he's in bad mood, he may start an argument with me. He might stoke a fire. We might say things. Go on the roller coaster again. Because definitely, I can see that happening. Matt isn't the guy who I can predict or know what he's thinking. His feelings are complicated for me to piece them in their place.

I wonder if he considers me important as I see him. 

It's hard to believe him when he says he loves me. When we are on the streets, walking hand in hand, it doesn't feel like we are partners. Rather friends who might get lost. His affection is bizarre for me, like the times he introduced me to his colleagues as friends. He hasn't officially announced we're together. It makes me mad but my patience has put me in place. 

When I asked him why he didn't introduce us as a couple, he replied, detached, "I'm not ready for us, Scott. I like you but I'm not ready to let people know about us."

"Are you hesitating because?"

"Scott, I want to take time and think things through, alright. Please, understand, babe. You're important to me. I just want to figure things out before making us a thing."

"I see," I said, leaving his place. I didn't speak with him or text him after I reached home. The first thing I did was kick my shoes somewhere in the corner and blast my earphones since I'm a responsible neighbor and a broken mess. Then there's Kayla. 

I wonder if she's single. I shouldn't have thought about her like that. It was tempting like the delectable pricey chocolate muffin you can't ignore on advertisements or blog pages. I couldn't help mesmerize her as if she was speaking to me through her silence.

I shake my head and get up. I change quickly into jeans and a plain t-shirt. I don't bother looking back. Because all I know is, I love Matt. Kayla is my distraction. Someone, I can think of when he doesn't open his door. 

The rest of the day is ahead of me. I think it's time I visit the rehab. I don't want to go there and bear to hear the buzzing noise. 

It's been two years. The authorities obviously won't stop calling me. 

I check them on my block list. The text is clear that I received it a week ago. I didn't reply because I don't want anything to do with the person who abandoned me at a tender-hearted middle-aged nurse's porch. 

I don't know how old I was. Maybe seven or six, doesn't matter. I can visualize myself, very vividly as if it was yesterday, building houses with lego at a neighbor's house. For the first time, I was excited to have our time together out somewhere. The promise she did. That we would eat at driveway diner. Then, visit the new water park, that she wanted to go to with me.

I thought finally she was sober. Finally, she was taking a step to steady herself. After her disastrous divorce from her second husband, I thought I wouldn't see her again at home. I shut my eyes and lock that memory away.

It's no use remembering the past I've nothing to do. Not anymore. If it wasn't for her last wish, I wouldn't have bothered to remember how she looks. We forget names. Names that we wouldn't be using anymore. It should've been easy failing her name at least. The text didn't let me do that. 

I text Matt letting him know where I'm heading. Should I? I don't think he would bother checking since most of the time he doesn't reply to me where I'm or what I'm doing. 

I'm being too much. I might tell him later or on Sunday when I meet him.

Making a tough decision is time-consuming. When it's time-consuming, it makes one have second thoughts. For me, it's a curse and not a choice to not see her again. 

I delete the message. I put away my phone in my pocket. I lock the door and head for the elevator. 

I don't look back. Like I usually do when I think when Matt would ask me to shift with him. I don't know when would be the day I'll see myself here. As the door dings, I feel a sharp hit on my shoulder. 

"Watch where you're going, man." A gruff voice swerved my attention to a man I collided with. I could only make out his back, burly, in a black loose hoodie and washed jeans. I couldn't see which direction he went as the door closed on me. 

Might be a delivery guy. I saw a tiny glimpse of some package in his hand. I don't have time to point out whose fault it is.

I brush it off and tell myself, aloud, "Here I go, Catherine. For you."