Monica Murphy - Three Broken Promises

So I gave her some bullshit excuse and walked out.

No wonder she’s done with me. If I were her, I’d be done with me too.

I left work early because I couldn’t take it anymore and besides, business was dead. Wednesday nights are notoriously quiet. The college students seem to pretend they’re studying that one night a week more than any other. Considering it’s still early in the semester, the majority of them probably are. They all start out with good intentions, but it goes south quick. Plus, there are so many weekly events in the downtown area that bring the kids out in droves. Thirsty Thursday is a big one, the kickoff for the entire weekend.

May as well rest up considering the next few days ahead, as usual.

Entering the house, I see there’s only one light on in the kitchen, the dim one over the sink. The house is quiet, no TV on, and I glance around pointlessly, knowing Jen isn’t there. If she were, I’d sense her. Smell her. Feel her.

She has that much of an effect on me, though I’m not sure she’s aware of it. I’m still mulling over everything she admitted last night. How she said she wanted me. Did she really mean that? I know there’s something between us, an undeniable sexual chemistry that brews every time we get near each other. I always figured it was one-sided, since she never owned up to it. Ever.

Until last night.

I replay the kiss in my mind, which hadn’t been much but had felt like everything. I know I want more. I want to slide my tongue against hers. I want to know the sounds she makes when she’s aroused. I want to see her naked, her smooth, golden skin, those long, pretty legs tangled in the sheets. I want to swallow her moans and fill her body and brand her as mine.

Swallowing hard, I go to the fridge and grab a bottled water, tearing off the cap and taking a quick swig before I slam the door so hard the beer bottles inside rattle against each other. I slap my palm against the switch on the wall as I exit the kitchen, killing the light before I start down the hall toward my bedroom.

Frustration thrums through my veins, making me angry—the most pointless emotion in all the land, besides jealousy. Why do I always deny myself? Yeah, I shouldn’t fuck around with Jen. Yeah, she’s too good for me. Her brother was my best friend and I let him down in the worst way—and then sent him off to his death when I should have gone with him.

Making the promise to Danny that I would always take care of Jen had been easy. Actually making good on that promise proved much more difficult. She ran away. I found her almost a year ago, living in her car, stripping at the sleaziest club in the area, for the love of God. She worked most of the night and slept in her car in the parking lot of Gold Diggers.

I’d found her like that. Desperate and hungry and ready to run from me, though I hadn’t let her. I chased after her. Forced her to listen to me, forced her into my car so I could take her home. I’ll never forget how she looked. Like a wild animal caught in a trap. Frantically looking for a way to escape.

We’d always been friends. Growing up, we were close. Danny never mocked my connection to his sister, which I appreciated, because what Jen and I had shared was special.

We don’t talk much anymore, though. She’s keeping something from me and I can’t figure out what. Discovering that she danced and took off her clothes had been bad enough. What more could she be hiding?

Who knows? She’s not telling me squat.

Now here I am finally doing something right. Finally not being a total selfish prick and giving Jen the opportunities she deserves. I can’t hold her back from doing what she wants. It’s not fair. If she wants to leave and find her footing somewhere else, I need to encourage her. Lord knows her parents don’t. They’re too wrapped up in their own problems to pay attention to hers. You’d think they’d be over their son’s death and how it affects them, how it’s damn near ruined their marriage.

Huh . I have no business talking.

Once I enter my bedroom, I methodically strip off my clothes, leaving a trail behind me as I walk into the master bath. I turn on the shower and immediately step under the icy spray, gritting my teeth against the cold blast. The temperature of the water snaps me out of my shit mood and I stand under it for a bit, soaking my head.

Soaking my thoughts.

I finally turn up the heat, shampoo my hair, soap up my body, and rinse. Grab hold of my cock and jerk off to thoughts of her like a boy harboring an unrequited crush. Jen with me in the shower, her body soapy and slick, her smooth skin gleaming from the water. She’d touch me everywhere, her hands wandering all over my skin as she knelt before me. Her lips would whisper over the head of my hard cock just before she took me deep inside . . .

And as I slump against the slick wall, panting, my muscles trembling from the effects of my orgasm, I close my eyes and press my cheek against the unforgiving tile. Wishing she were with me, naked and eager under the spray, on her knees just as I imagined, ready to take me in her mouth.

Just before I grab her by the shoulders and haul her into my arms, press her against the wall, and fuck her into oblivion. That’s what I really want.

But instead, I’m alone. As usual.

“Danny! Damn it, where are you?” I move through the forest, calling his name over and over again.

He’s laughing. I can hear him. Maybe he’s in a tree, hanging from a branch and watching me as I search everywhere for him. All the while he’s laughing at my frustration. Or maybe he’s hiding just beyond the trail, behind a bush. I can’t figure out where he is. All I know is that I can hear him.

“Danny! Swear to God I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t show your ugly face now,” I yell, stopping in the middle of the trail. The sun beats its merciless heat down upon me, and I rake a hand through my sweat-dampened hair. His laughter rings in the distance, infuriating me, and I kick at a rock, pissed that he keeps doing this to me.

I’m sick of his games. All I want to do is talk to him. See him. Insult him. Laugh with him.

Just like old times.

“Fuck you, Wilder. Come and find me!”

He’s daring me, as if we’re playing some sort of twisted hide-and-seek game, and I trudge on. Ignoring the heat, ignoring how the trail narrows and becomes rockier. More treacherous. I stumble and I hear his mocking laughter, the jackass.

“Don’t slow down, follow my voice,” Danny encourages. “Don’t be a pussy!”

His words anger me and I increase my pace, determined to catch his ass so I can kick it. “Fuck you, Cade,” I mutter, and he laughs harder.

“You can’t get me. I’ve always been the stronger one. The better one,” he taunts.

Not true.

“The faster one,” he continues. “In school, I did better in all the sports. I got the prettier girls. You were always second best, Wilder. Hell, your old man doesn’t even bother to come around and see you anymore. Well, he never really did, did he?”

“Fuck. YOU!” I break out into a full run despite the heat, how tired I am, how the sweat literally drips into my eyes. I wipe at them with the back of my hand and see Danny in the distance. Standing there, his hands on his hips, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

I want to wipe that grin off with my fist.

Clenching my hands so tight my fingers ache, I run up on him, ready to reach out and grab his shoulder, but the next thing I know, he’s on the ground. Lying flat on his back, his entire body still, his dark brown eyes wide and unseeing. Staring up at me with no acknowledgment of life, they’re completely empty.