One Time, Badly Read online

  She crossed the room to him, crawling onto his lap and kissing him hard on the mouth.

  "I missed you, too."

  "Mm? Tell me about it," it was a whisper against her mouth.

  Cecelia threaded her fingers through his and kissed him again.

  "I missed your hands."

  She let him go and reached for the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head and tossing it to the side. She nuzzled into the warmth of his neck, taking a deep breath and letting it out against him.

  "I missed the way you smell."

  This earned her a soft laugh as she went for his mouth again, this time taking advantage of the opening he left her.

  "I missed the way you taste."

  Her hands were moving south now and he knew well enough to stretch out along the bed, giving her the access she was asking for. She helped him rid himself off his sweatpants and left a lingering kiss on his mouth.

  Then she was kissing her way down his chest and he threaded his fingers through her hair. She loved him like this. All sensation; no quick comments. When she took him in her mouth she felt real power course through her body. It was perfect.

  When she'd finished and crawled her way back up his body, she felt the confidence coming off of her in waves. No matter how many times she'd done this for him, it still felt like a power move each and every time. It was something so simple, but it was the basis of so much more.

  She waited for his breathing to even out before she took her own shirt off and climbed back on top of him.

  "No, no, no. Your turn, Cee."

  And with that, he flipped her over so she was on her back, his frame braced on strong arms just above her.

  She unbuttoned her jeans and he dragged them down her legs, slowly pulling the fabric off of her calves and kissing his way back up the skin he'd just exposed.

  She could see the glimmer in his eyes as he neared her center and she let out a small moan of anticipation. As much as she loved him as he'd been just minutes ago, she loved him even more like this.

  His rough fingers looped through the lace of her underwear and the door behind them swung open. Louisiana stopped dead in her tracks.

  "Shit! Shit. I'm so sorry. I must have eaten something bad, I threw up at the freaking camp out and they made me come home. But I really need a shower so you guys just please keep going and I'll be back in an hour. I'm so sorry!" Lou's mad rambling hadn't even allowed Cecelia to get a word in, but what would she even had said?

  Both she and Max had remained deadly still as Louisiana rushed out of the room, shower supplies in hand. Once the door was shut behind her, Max let his head drop to rest on Cecelia's hip, his hair tickling her stomach.

  "Well, shit. That really killed the mood, didn't it?"

  "Poor Lou, that's so embarrassing."

  "Poor Lou? Poor you. That was about to be something, I could feel it."

  "We do have an hour."

  "We both know that Lou will be back in 20 minutes. She's sick. There's no shot she stays in there any longer than the courtesy time to finish up and get dressed."

  "Aw, I love that you know that."

  "Lou is kind of my girlfriend, too. I know enough about her."

  "Alright, well she better be you're only other girlfriend."

  "The only one that counts." He shot her a wink and a smile. "If she's sick, it's probably better if I go. You want to come with?"

  "Eh, I think I'll hang back here and she if she needs anything. I'll walk you to the elevator, though."

  Once they were both decent, Cecelia now in her pajamas, they left her room and walked hand in hand down the hallway to the lounge where the elevator banks were located.

  "I wish you didn't have to go."

  "Me too, Cee."

  And then he was kissing her again. It was meant to be a goodbye kiss, she knew that, but it escalated way too quickly for either of them to get ahead of. She was melting into him, and she knew he wasn't leaving, not now.

  His hands were roaming, air was getting scarce and, through the fog, Cecelia had an idea.

  "Come with me."

  She grabbed his hand and led him to the end of the hall, into a stairwell and up just one flight.

  Her dorm building was located on a river with gorgeous views, especially in the morning. For some reason, rather than being located in the basement as the laundry room had been in her building last year, this one had a rooftop laundry room, if you will.

  The washers and dryers were on the very top floor of the building, it was as if the architect had created a sunroom on the roof and somewhere down the line it was given this other purpose. There were thick, old windows everywhere, from floor to ceiling, on the wall opposite the line of washing machines. And, at the moment, it was empty.

  Cecelia flicked on the lights and led Max into the room, taking a moment to peer out over the river and take in the night around them.

  "This is where you do your laundry? This is the nicest place I've ever seen on campus, this makes no sense."

  "Shh, Max. You're missing the point," she turned to face him, "We're alone."

  "Oh, are we? Hadn't even noticed."

  And with that he was walking her backwards, until she was pushed up against the washing machine that had been feet behind her just seconds ago.

  "Your turn, Cee."

  He lifted his arms and pulled his t-shirt over his head, laying it carefully down on the washing machine behind Cecelia. Then he was lifting her up until she was sitting atop the machine, Max standing between her legs. He pulled her pajama pants down, exposing her, and dropped them at his side. And then he was kneeling and Cecelia was wrapping her legs over his shoulders, digging her heels into his back.

  And as she looked up, she was met with her own reflection in the floor-length window in front of her. Max's strong back flexing as his head moved between her legs and his hands gripped her thighs. She'd never seen herself like this. She never wanted to forget it. Suddenly, her earlier power move had been very sorely outmatched.

  They'd sat together on the floor after that, Max leaning against the dryer and Cecelia leaning against Max. He'd put his head next to hers, chin resting on her shoulder as they'd looked out the window. He just wanted to see things how she was seeing them, just to be a little bit closer.

  2018

  September

  These were the things that stuck out the most to her now, as she continued her walk through the city. It wasn't the memories so much as the feelings that had accompanied them. And, as much as love is beautiful and transformative and unique each and every day, it's also about power. It is power. It's power to be different than you were before, to join together and be better. It's the power to help and to heal and to really hold another person up if the time comes that they need it.

  The sex held a power all it's own. She'd been a virgin when she met Max and, not that she'd really been saving it for anything in particular, she was so happy that it was him that she gave it to. It was another night just like the ones they'd shared before, sneaking around hoping roommates didn't magically appear out of thin air.

  That night had changed her. It had left her so feeling so vulnerable, but so loved. And just so, so powerful. It was a feeling that she never could reach again. It was that particular, that complex.

  She really wished she wasn't thinking about this in the moments before she saw him again. She should've just taken a cab.

  Chapter 8

  2014

  May – November

  They made it through the rest of their college years without much of a hiccup. There were fights, but they were always the healthy kind; the types of fights that ended in a better understanding of one another or just really good sex. She'd ended up getting an apartment with three friends her junior year and things got even better between them. They had a place to hide out, to cook meals for one another or cuddle up on the couch to watch a movie. These were seemingly adult aspects of a relationship that they hadn't even realized they'd been mi
ssing, but just made things more real between them.

  They weren't squeezing in time when roommates were away, they were relaxing, they were enjoying one another at their own pace. There was something to be said for slowing things down and savoring them and, after those two years of lazy love, Cecelia was the one saying them.

  Graduation snuck up on them, like a thief in the night ready to take them away from the bubble they'd lived in, pretending to be adults when really that world was just ahead of them. And so they donned caps and gowns, said goodbye to their friends and headed back home to their families. That's when things started to creep in, things that would crack the foundation they'd built before they realized anything was amiss; things that would take it all away before either of them was ready.

  The first few years out of college are possibly the scariest and most overwhelming of a person’s life. It’s the first time in 22 years that the goal is vague, or not there at all. After a lifetime of working towards graduations, you’re finally the graduate. And the graduate, first and foremost, must mourn the child that began the journey. The graduate, the adult, must say “Thank you for holding on to your dreams, and all of the hard work you had to put in. Thank you for learning to read, and to write, and for keeping your chin up on your not-so-good days.”

  And then the child must say, “It’s up to you now.”

  And then the child will add, “Please don’t forget me. It would be sad if it were all for nothing.”

  Like most important things in life, there's no preparing for this period of extreme transition. It was a dull and depressing shock. There's no such thing as instant gratification, not anymore. Cecelia missed exams and writing papers, missed the feeling of impressing professors. Life's tough for a teacher's pet with no teacher.

  Also tough: trying to feel like an adult in her childhood bedroom. She wasn't a stuffed animal type girl to begin with, all magazine clippings of Ashton Kutcher had been removed from the walls, she'd invested in some beautiful vintage furniture, and still, she felt like a little girl walking around in her mother's high heels.

  There was no way for her to really spread her wings and grow into herself in her parent's house. It took her a few months, but she put together a little plan for the very near future. She'd drawn out a budget, and applied to some jobs in New York City.

  In the meanwhile, she was waiting tables at her favorite restaurant in town, a little mom and pop shop called The Purple Rose, and putting away anything she didn't spend on her weekly necessities – food, drinks, manicures. Max was bartending at a local dive and she'd grab Lou and swing by most nights just to watch him in action.

  She'd loved seeing him change his persona at each stop up and down the bar. The older woman got that sweet smile that she'd seen for the first time when he'd invited her to lunch, the younger girls got a charming aloofness and maybe a free shot every now and again. The men got bro Max, as Cecelia called it. All of a sudden, he was talking about sports and cars, calling people "man." That one was the funniest to her, so unlike the person she knew. Cecelia got smug smiles every time a pretty girl leaned in close, as if to say, "I'm not even trying, they just can't help themselves."

  It was so interesting to adjust to this new life with him. They weren't college kids anymore, where any relationship can be written off once that graduation song starts up. They were a real life adult couple. It was exciting to think of them in this new way. The relationship had always been serious and so precious to her, but now there was a bigger picture for both of them and, without a conversation or a moment's hesitation, they'd taken that step.

  They'd spent their time at college pursuing goals that they'd set before they'd ever even thought of one another. Now, they'd be thinking of a life together, considering one another in any and all major decisions.

  By September she'd landed a job with a salary just high enough for her to get her own apartment. She'd be writing social media posts for a large pharmaceutical company. She'd been at the point where she'd take any job that had the word "write" in the description.

  And the world spun a bit more smoothly, and the future went a shade brighter on that first day when she took the bus into the city as a working woman. What a feeling of hope and satisfaction to have a salary, and medical benefits, and all of the things that didn't seem all that interesting until she had earned them for herself, until they were supporting her own choices.

  She started apartment hunting almost immediately and Max proved to have an impressive knowledge of real estate and building codes. She didn't think about asking him to move in. She was going to wait for Lou to save up some money, and they'd get a place together. She had years, hopefully decades of them, to live with Max. He could wait.

  It wasn't until she'd settled into her new job and decorated her apartment that she realized something was going on. And then it was months before she could admit to herself what it had to be. The only thing that it could be.

  She thought she was an adult. She was a woman with a full-time job; she had her own apartment, and paid her own bills. These checked boxes made her responsible; they were proof of her ambition and her drive, but it was Max who would make her an adult. It was his trials, it was the desperate fear that she'd never felt before, it was the decisions that would come to shape her. It was Max who took the last remnants of childhood, who took the lightness from her heart.

  And, if someone had asked her before it all started to go south, before she'd gotten the full view of him, she would've sworn that he wasn't capable of these things.

  The wooden door to 42 Central, the bar where Max worked, swung closed behind Cecelia, killing the sunlight and leaving the room in darkness save for a few TVs and the dim glow of the overhead strip bulbs.

  There were a handful of people scattered along the bar, as was usual for 3pm, and Max was wiping down the high top tables with a dirty old rag. Sometimes it really was shocking that he was able to make any money at all in a place like this.

  "Hey there, handsome," she smiled as she reached Max, leaning in to pop a quick kiss on his mouth.

  "I'm at work, Cee," his tone was sharp as he turned, leaving her to awkwardly peck his cheek.

  "What? Is your manager here or something?"

  "Tom doesn't give a shit what I do. I just don't need to be making out with my girlfriend in front of customers."

  "Ok, I'm sorry, Max. It never seemed to bother you before," she was trying to keep the bite out of her voice.

  "I'm not bothered, Cee, just trying to work."

  "Alright, I get it," Cecelia took a step back and leaned on the table next to the one that Max was wiping down. She narrowed her eyes at his back as he leaned across the table to reach the far corner. Was she missing something? It wasn't his birthday, she knew that, but he was obviously taking issue with her and there had to be a reason. "Were you busy at lunch?"

  "It was slow for a Saturday, but I had a bunch of guys come in after intramurals so I did alright," Max finished up with the high tops and headed back behind the bar, Cecelia following slowly behind him and grabbing a stool so she could talk to him.

  "That's great! I just wanted to stop by and see what time you think you'll be off. I made a reservation at Matthew's so we won't have to wait," she found herself tempted to grab a handful of bar nuts, just to give herself something to do other than wither under Max's annoyed glare. She decided she'd rather look as awkward as she felt than risk ingesting anything that had touched the bar at 42.

  "I actually told Jen I'd cover her shift tonight so we'll have to rain check dinner," he didn’t even have the decency to look sorry as he said it. Strike two.

  "Seriously? We've been talking about this all week," Cecelia tried to keep the whine out of her voice, but she couldn't help that she was disappointed. They hadn't gone out together in longer than she could remember.

  "Cee, we can go to dinner another night. It's a Saturday and I need the money. I couldn't pass this up," Max clearly wasn't interested in having a discussion about
it. His decision was made and the second he brought up money Cee was left without a leg to stand on. Lest she dare get into the job search conversation with him, which, at the present moment she absolutely did not.

  "I know, I just was looking forward to hanging out with you. I feel like we haven't had time together in weeks."

  "I'm sorry, Cee. You know I'd much rather be with you tonight, I promise we can do something tomorrow, just us," he had the words down, but the emotion was missing from them. He couldn't give a shit less and she could tell.

  "Deal. I'll let you get back to it now. Text me if you have a minute. Bye, Max," Cecelia didn’t even bother waiting for him to walk her over to the door, which he normally did when it was this slow. She wanted out. Now.

  "See you later, Juice."

  "He was really rude, Lou. My feelings were actually kind of hurt," Cecelia was seated next to Louisiana at their favorite nail salon, Magic Spa, as they both soaked their feet in the warm aloe water below them. Whenever they could, the two would grab Starbucks and head over for a mani/pedi to freshen up after a week of typing and commuting chipped away at their respective coats of polish.

  "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. He was probably just having a long day and decided to take it out on you. Not cool, but understandable. He works at freaking 42 Central, I'd be snapping at people, too. Are you sure this color is all right for my skin tone? I'm having doubts," Lou held up the pale pink polish she'd chosen. It was going to look great on her. It was the type of shade that would wash Cecelia right out, but was sure to pop against Lou's darker skin.

  "Not helping, Lou. And, yes, I'm sure," Cecelia reached for her iced latte as the technician began massaging her legs.

  "I'm not trying to help. You're fine. You're in the perfect relationship, so stop complaining. My boyfriend moved to Oregon, I have real problems," Louisiana narrowed her eyes at the polish one more time before shrugging and handing it back to Lydia, the woman that Lou always insisted on.