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And on those days, I’ll go home—alone. I’ll make myself another drink or maybe three, and I’ll open that box, that coffin, just enough for her to stretch her legs. Then, I’ll scream and sob until my throat is hoarse. And when I climb into bed, I’ll go back to that summer and imagine a life that turned out differently for me—a world where I spent one of the final Saturdays in August asleep in a truck cab behind a pub, and each day after that was ordinary. A life where maybe I wasn’t special, but every day, I was loved—wholly and unconditionally. I always had a home.
And maybe the rest of the world would still run on currency currency, but we’d make our own rules. I’d keep him warm, and he’d keep me in the moment.
But the past isn’t any more real than the future. I can’t live there, either.
So when I wake up in the morning, she’s neatly stuffed back into her grave, and I carry on without her.
eight
Winter 2002
Music blares from the stereo system of someone’s Land Rover. I’m drinking flavorless beer from a red solo cup in the woods, dancing around a bonfire with the majority of our graduating class, some of them still wearing their caps and gowns just for kicks. It smells like rain; it has for a while now. We all ignored it, but now the sky opens up, and thick, ice-cold droplets teem down on us all. The forest erupts in cheers, most of my peers too drunk to care aside from the owner of the Land Rover, who knows he won’t be able to get it back out of the woods tonight.
I scan the group for Ty and find him sitting on a stump, watching me. He takes a swig of his beer and smiles when my eyes meet his. My Doc Martens sink into the mud as I make my way toward him, my shirt, my skirt, and my hair all sufficiently soaked by the time I reach him.
“I’m freezing,” I tell him. “Let’s get out of here.”
He takes my hand and tosses our cups into a garbage bag; then I lead him through the throng of people back toward the spot where we pulled off and parked the truck a couple of hours earlier.
“I’ll race you to the truck,” I challenge. “And then I’ll fuck you in it.”
“I have a better idea,” he says. “I’ll give you a five-second head start, and then I’ll race you to the truck. But if I catch you, I’m fucking you right there.”
My breath catches; wet heat pools between my legs. My hand at his waist dips down, and I stroke his hard cock through his jeans as I lean in and whisper in his ear. “But that’s no fun. If you give me a five-second head start, you’ll never catch me—not unless I want you to.”
“Turn around,” he growls into my ear before grabbing my shoulders and turning me so my back is to his front.
He molds his body into mine; I feel his erection pressing against my ass and moan as his hands slide over the length of my body, over the wet, bare skin on my legs before pushing my skirt up. His fingers find my clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles over the thin, soaked silk material.
“Oh, god,” I moan. “Here,” I plead. “Do it here.”
“You’re such a brat,” Ty says. “No. Close your eyes.”
I do as he asks, and he stops touching me. I gasp at the almost-painful loss. Then, I feel something cover my eyes, likely the bandana from his pocket, and he ties it behind my head.
“See if you can beat me with a five-second head start now, Princess,” he says.
An involuntary smile spreads across my face. I think I’m going to like this game.
Ty kisses the back of my head, then says, “Go.”
With my hands out in front of me, I move as quickly as I’m comfortable with through the dense forest in the direction of the truck, ricocheting between the trees, lifting my feet a little more than I normally would, hoping not to get tripped up.
I count the seconds in my head. Thirteen. I get to thirteen before I hear him right behind me. My heart pounds, and I bite back a smile while I continue stumbling my way through the forest, waiting for him to finally catch me.
At twenty-five, arms circle around my waist, and I scream.
“You’re going the wrong way, Princess,” he says before laying me down in the mud. I lie there—cold, wet, and desperate on the forest floor—waiting. I reach for the blindfold, but he stops me before I can remove it.
“Don’t,” he says.
Then, I feel him kneel between my legs, spreading them wide before I hear him fumbling with his belt. He wraps the belt around my wrists and must affix it to something else because they stay pinned above my head even though I feel both of his hands on me.
“You look so good like this, baby,” he says. “My perfect, dirty girl. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier.”
He pulls my tank top down, freeing my tits, his rough hands all over them. He pushes them together and runs his thumbs over my nipples before leaning down and taking one of them into his mouth.
It feels so good, but I’m desperate for friction elsewhere. I squirm beneath him, bucking my hips against him, and feel him smile against my skin.
