Minder

Chapter 11

LAWSON

Outside, the sun starts to peek over the trees; my jacked-up truck is wet with morning dew. Feeling the same need to be taken care of.

The weather is already turning to s**t, and I avoid the chill. It f*****g makes me shiver; you’d think with all this body mass that I wouldn’t feel cold in my bones.

I refuse to use a coat, even though I scraped frost off my windows every morning this week.

A bright light reflects as Olallie makes her way past my house in my mirror. A few feet away, she doesn’t look at me.

“Olallie.” For a second, she slows but keeps her head down, focused on her path.

“Be a whipped b***h or be an asshole?” Choices, choices. “Damnit!” I run after her because apparently, I don’t know how to stay the f**k away from trouble. Just like a bug, hypnotized with something that will kill it. Loving the burn, a fool to the magnet.

My grip finds her elbow, not even startling her, and it doesn’t surprise me. Damn, if I couldn’t hear, I would be more paranoid than a tweaker coming down from heaven.

Olallie doesn’t even turn to see who is holding her back. Seconds pass until our breaths match a steady tone. She finally lifts her head, then turns to me. A look that stares into the abyss of my forgotten soul, vacant of effort on her face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Still no answer.

No makeup layered on her face. Eyes rosy with strain. In the months that I have known her, Olallie has always been made up to look like a beauty queen.

“Where’s your coat?” Why do I care?

She starts walking again. I let her because who the hell am I to stop her? She wants to leave, by all means, go.

“f**k…” Turning back to my house to get her a jacket. By the time I get back to the road, she is already down to the next block. Chick speed walks like hell is on her heels.

When I get close enough to place it on her shoulders, she is swift to flip it off and return it to my house.

“Aggravating piece of work you’ve got on your hands now, Lawson.” Keep the pep talk accurate.

When Olallie gets to the front door, she knocks politely. It opens, and she hands the coat to Angel. Then she rushes past me finishing her journey to school. My arms were high to the sky, confused at what went wrong.

My mother smiles at my bewilderment.

Fuck, all the women in my life are a pain in the ass.

Later at school, I’m still frustrated from the morning encounter. Olallie hasn’t arrived yet, and Kalonie is smirking with her b***h face turned right the f**k on.

When the girl who makes my mind want to hurl comes into the classroom, she looks like a dirty puddle was dumped on her.

Olallie makes her way to the teacher’s desk; the plump-lipped substitute gives her a side glance. Annoyed with the interruption.

“Maybe people like you with your disability don’t belong with the big wolves, ghost girl.” It’s me; I say the shitty line out loud.

Today, my ghost doesn’t have a voice, just another reason to disappear. Olallie attempts to explain that she doesn’t have books or paper. At least, I think that’s what that sign means? Who knows, maybe they agree on a time to meet up after school to get their freak on.

The substitute points at her golden hoop earrings before going back to her phone. Olallie drops her head, defeated. An expression that makes my spine straighten. She goes to her seat two rows over, amid the popularity bullshit.

Class starts, but I’m locked on her, tormented in her own world. The crowd doesn’t stop their conversations, ignoring her existence.

Tears fall onto her desk; her hands shake as she tries to cover her face. Part of her hair splits, and she’s missing her left hearing device.

Kalonie high-fives Raine while Calhoun peeks at Olallie. He must feel the heat of my glare because he moves his eyes to mine and then readjusts them to the front of the room before I can make him break.

There is no way to tell if the empty threats are making her break or isolated like a sinking ship.

“No.” It’s out of my mouth loud and clear. But she is gone, and I can’t catch a glimmer. “STOP! I DIDN'T MEAN IT!” I chase after Olallie. “f**k, ghost, haven't you ever said anything you didn't mean before?”

No, unlike you, I have time to plan out every word I say. Which ways to place my hands to make statements. Olallie starts flinging her angry hands around, and every time Olallie raises them, they are a loaded gun aiming at my heart, shooting to blow my chances.

She tells me she's different. The same thing I told everybody in that classroom behind us. Yet, I didn't use different. I told them her kind didn’t belong here.

“You did mean it, and you know it.” I can hear the sweet sob through her words. Tears, the f*****g tears make me want to rip out my own eyes. She doesn’t wipe those waterworks, allowing them to run and soak into an ironed dress.

I don’t mean to, but I follow her out the school grounds, over the hill beyond the football field. She stops once to look behind, accepting that I’m pursuing her.

We end up at the Krause mansion, and she leaves the front door open. I don’t hesitate to close it behind me. Not even nervous, Knox would find me strolling behind his youngest daughter.

I remember the way to her bedroom before she turns the knob. I’m right behind her, bumping my chest against her back.

Then we collide, and I do remember to flip the lock. Olallie unzips the dress and lets it slip away. Olallie’s insecurities going with it. No speech enters the area; I tug my shirt over my head. Jeans and junk drawer next.

Blue eyes raise glory to the heavens above. I struggle to remember why staying detached was positive.

Olallie closes in on me. I look down at our feet touching now, her toes painted baby blue. She doesn’t ask, her hand wrapping itself around my hard c**k, and I blink, stepping back in surprise.

I doubt Vayden taught her those seductive tricks.

But Olallie doesn’t give up; she inches forward, and I try to think of a food I hate to stay repulsed.

Instead of grabbing me between the legs, she uses her own to crawl on the bed and wait for me to make the first arrangement.

Easing nearer, I take my time looking at all the curves in the beauty. My body crawls over Olallie’s. I shrink, fitting my weight to feel lighter as I rub on top of her.

“Make it stop; the beating in my chest is so broken I can't establish a beginning or an end. It's constant, Lawson. Make sense of its pattern. Because it doesn’t feel like my own. It belongs to someone else, someone worthy of freedom.” Olallie’s prayer comes to my conscious state, and I would do anything to make it right. “I'm tied to it like you are devoted to a corrupt father. Your loyalty and mine are a match made in sorrow. A dead mother hangs over my shoulders, and I've been carrying around her weight since I was a little girl, hoping my good deeds could revive her.” Olallie’s words sound too personal, worried I shouldn’t be hearing them.

Instead, I feel them everywhere.

But I know she does it on purpose, every sentence exposing both of us on different levels.

For the first time since my first s****l experience, my hands shake. Nervous about the act, wondering what it will mean. If it will be more than I can handle. What if it is dull and plain?

She kisses my neck, and I close my eyes as my fingers find her wet core. n*****s rub against my chest, my c**k only growing more impatient.

Olallie’s hands dance up my back like she is playing her favorite melody. She arches as I push my fingers deeper, searching for the source.

Condoms come to my mind, and I shift off her a bit to reach my pants. Those determined hands cup my jaw, and something comes over me as she locks contact.

My only desire is to push inside her so deep that I forget every pain I’ve ever gained. So, I do. I spread her smooth legs; the tip of my p***s kisses her pink lips.

Olallie’s hips buck, wanting more, needing to feel something extreme. The first few inches are a struggle. My bite on my jaw leaves me concerned I’ve cracked a tooth.

Her legs lock around me, pulling me further, needing to have complete involvement. I push also, and a quiet gasp follows through as her boobs arch upward.

My mouth is salivating to appreciate her entire shape. Bending my head down, I kiss before I suck. I won't hesitate to hold back; I jam in and out of her. She takes every bit of the punishment I provide.

Welcoming the promise of an o****m. Olallie moans. It sounds like the waves muttering to the shore, about how they’ve been missed.

“More.” Olallie silently begs.

Tight is all I can think of, so tight that if Vayden did take her virginity, he didn’t steal it entirely. Because after we’re done, and I unload inside her, there is also blood to be abandoned with the desire.

As I roll on my back away from her, I look to the roof, where stars swirl. I witness the galaxies of another dimension.

“There are scars on your left arm. You said they were from your brother. But I worried it was about another man you never speak of.” Olallie asks too many questions. But it is the answers in her eyes; she already knows, just wants confirmation.

I looked away and pulled my right sleeve down.

“I memorized the shape and jagged angles: fierce and brutal. I knew the feeling, although my scars are internal. You wore yours like a life sentence. Someone who knew about that.” Again her words are airy, and I wish I could snatch them up to bury them.

I shifted uncomfortably away from her, pulling my shirt down, pressing down the wrinkles. Keeping the presence orderly.

“Is it Kalonie you lust after?” The change of subject was needed, but this turn was shocking.

“What are you talking about, ghost?” Because the more walls between us, the easier our downfall will be.

“Your eyes, they wander. In search of something you don't have but want?”

“Yes.” They don’t wander anywhere except the empty space you rarely take next to me. It was true, her question, wanting what I don’t have.

“Who is she?” You. It’s only ever been you, Olallie.

But I don’t say that instead. I reply, “Does it matter?”

“I guess it doesn't. I just was wondering who you marveled at most.” Her fingertips tickle to touch me, and my skin is addicted to the soft pressure.

“Later, O.” Not continuing the conversation would be the easiest way to remain evasive.

“Bye, Lawson. I hope she finds you too.” Ghost girl has me all tangled in a web of worry. Does she actually want me to be happy with some chick other than her?

I wasn't in love with her; I slowly appreciated her. It was coming down as the exact definition in my book.