Tara Sivec: Passion and Ponies

My eyes suddenly jerk open when I feel the subtle shaking of my bed. For a minute, my sleep-addled brain wonders if we’re having an earthquake and panic sets in. Then I remember I live in Ohio and the house is probably not preparing to crumble down around me. As my eyes adjust to the darkness in my childhood bedroom, I listen intently for sounds of heavy breathing or the distinct metallic clang of a knife sharpening, certain the shaking of my bed is a not-so-stealthy axe murderer preparing to slit my throat.

What? That could totally happen. Some dude could have broken into my parent’s home and now he’s sitting on the edge of my bed, sharpening his giant knife.

I hold my breath in fear. I begin to slowly turn my head and prepare to come face-to-face with a homicidal maniac when something kicks the back of my leg with the force of a two-by-four.

“Ouch! Son of a bitch!” I shout as I quickly flop over in bed. Unfortunately, I don’t come face-to-face with a killer. What I do find in my bed next to me is much worse.

“Tyler! What the fuck are you still doing in my bed?” I whisper-yell, hoping my initial outburst didn’t wake my parents, who are sleeping down the hall.

Tyler Branson, man-child extraordinaire and the guy I’ve been shame fucking for the past few months, doesn’t even bat an eye at me. I listen in irritation as he lightly snores and watch as his legs jerk forward every couple of seconds. Pretty soon, his arms join in, reminding me of those stupid YouTube videos of dogs dreaming that they’re running.

Almost immediately, a sound that can only be described as a whinny passes his lips as his arms and legs move at a faster pace, my bed bouncing with the force of his movements.

Oh, my God. Oh, sweet mother of Mary...

Reaching for my bedside table, I quickly turn on my lamp even though seeing Tyler swathed in any kind of lighting right now makes me want to puke. This is an image I don’t want burned into my brain.

With my face scrunched up in disgust, I reach around his flailing arms and punch him in the chest. His eyes fly open in fear and he bolts up in bed, scrambling backwards until his back hits the headboard.

“What is it? What happened?” he asks frantically as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“What the hell were you doing?” I demand.

His eyes zone right in on my braless chest covered in a tank top. I quickly pull the sheet up to my chin and give him a dirty look.

“I was sleeping. What the hell did you wake me up for?” he complains.

“You kicked me and made a horse noise.”

He stares at me blankly for a moment before scoffing at me in disbelief and sliding back down the bed until his head hits the pillow again.

“I was having a dream. Now leave me alone and let me go back to sleep.”

When he rolls over, I shove my hand against his back. “Were you dreaming about horses? You were fucking prancing in your sleep.”

Tyler looks over his shoulder at me and I watch his face redden with embarrassment. “What? You’re delusional. I don’t prance. I NEVER prance.”

I just shake my head at him. “You were totally prancing in your sleep. Prancing and whinnying like a damn horse.”

“You shut your face! Shut your face right now!” he shouts.

I shove my finger close to his nose. “No, YOU shut your prancing face, Twilight Sparkle, before my parents hear you. You’re not even supposed to BE here. You were supposed to sneak out of my bedroom window just like always. Get out of my bed!”

He huffs in irritation and angrily flings the blankets off of him before getting out of bed. My already black soul dies a little more inside when I can’t tear my eyes away from his perfect ass and his chiseled abs as he pulls his clothes on, muttering under his breath the entire time.

This was never supposed to happen. Sleeping with Tyler was supposed to be a one-time thing – a means of scratching an itch and quelling the boredom that has consumed my life lately. The first time we had sex and he sang the theme song from My Little Pony while he went down on me should have sent me running for the hills like my ass was on fire. He’s immature, he constantly pisses me off and he’s twenty-five years old and can’t hold down a job to save his life.

But dammit, sex with Tyler was the biggest high I’ve ever had in my life.

It’s official: I am clinically insane.

I am twenty-one-years old and I hate my life. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word. I’m dissatisfied . I took a leave of absence from college because wasting my parents’ money when I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life was pointless. I’ve been working at my mother’s company, Seduction and Snacks, as an administrative assistant for the past few months and hating every minute of it. My mother co-owns the business with her best friend Claire. Mom’s side is the Seduction half of the equation. They sell all things sex from toys, porn and games to lingerie and costumes. Claire operates the Snacks side, where they make the best damn baked goods ever to hit the Midwest. Sounds amazing, right? I should love the fact that my family has made a small fortune over the years and that Seduction and Snacks is now located in twenty-eight states throughout the U.S. I should also enjoy working in the family business and take pride in the fact that my mother and my Aunt Claire started building this empire when they were only a few years older than me.

Maybe that’s my problem. They were my age when they came up with this idea and they made it a reality only three years later. I don’t have any earth shattering, groundbreaking ideas. I have nothing that’s just mine alone, except a fashion blog where I talk about clothes and purses and other things that interest me. I’m expected to work at Seduction and Snacks and continue living their dream. It’s not my dream, though. I have no fucking clue what my dream is aside from finding a good sale at Nordstrom’s for those Michael Kors wedge pumps I’ve had my eye on.

Which brings us back to Tyler. And no, he’s not my fucking dream either! He’s just a way to keep my mind off of the fact that I’m in my early twenties and clueless about where my life is going. Obviously, it’s going nowhere fast with Tyler and I need to nip this thing in the bud immediately.

Tyler pulls his shirt down over his head and I pretend like I’m not sad to see his naked abs go.

“I can’t believe you’re kicking me out at three-o’clock in the morning,” he grumbles as he slides his feet into tennis shoes without bothering to tie them.

He walks over to my window and slides it open, looking back at me and smirking. “So, same time, same place tomorrow?”

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “No. Absolutely not. We’re not doing this anymore. Leave and don’t come back.”

He’s got one leg swung over the windowsill and his body halfway out before he jerks his head back inside and stares at me in surprise. “What? What do you mean ‘don’t come back’? Like, don’t come back tomorrow, or ever?”

Seriously, how can he be so dense?

“Ever. This was a huge mistake.”

He actually has the nerve to growl at me. Thank God he didn’t whinny or I’d be puking right into my lap.

“Fine! But you’ll be begging for another piece of Tyler, mark my words!”

“Jesus Christ, don’t talk about yourself in third person,” I complain.

“They come back, they always come back to Tyler,” he mutters with another smirk, completely ignoring me.