Still Beating

Avoidance has become my new favorite word.

Parents want to see me?

Avoid.

Lily wants to go out for drinks?

Avoid.

Mandy posts ambiguous memes about broken trust and betrayal all over Facebook?

Avoid.

Dean wants to talk?

Well…

Nope. Utterly avoid.

It’s Friday night and there’s a knock at my front door. I’m wondering which one of my avoidances has had enough of my shit and is coming over to smack me. The dogs follow me to the door as I peer out through the small, square window to see Lily with her heart hands pressed up against the glass. She blows into her palms, leaving behind a fog-shaped heart.

I pull the door open, planning to look irritated, but my smile betrays me. “I thought you were going to a party tonight.”

“I am.” Lily reaches for the bag resting near her feet and holds it up proudly. “You’re the party, Cora. I’ve got cheap Aldi wine that will give you such a bad headache, everything else in your life will seem like a magical fairytale, consisting of Henry Cavill riding on a unicorn naked through fields of endless cookie dough ice cream and orgasmic bliss.”

I blink. “The unicorn is naked? That’s awkward.”

“No, dumbass.”

“Okay, well, you should have worded it like, ‘a naked Henry Cavill riding a unicorn’.”

Lily swings her head back and forth as she pushes through the entryway with her migraine bag. “Dude. Don’t English teacher me.”

“I mean, that whole mental image sounds very unsettling if I’m being honest…”

She smacks me with the bag, slipping off her boots. “I also brought microwavable popcorn and a box of Kleenex for when we inevitably give into our wine emotions.”

I watch as Lily traipses through my living room to the kitchen, setting the bag down on the table and pulling out wine bottles. I can’t help but soften at the gesture, secretly grateful for the company. Avoidance has the unpleasant side effect of extreme loneliness. Shocking.

After three glasses of wine and two episodes of Dead to Me, Lily turns to me on the couch and gives me her gossip eyes. I glance at her, then quickly avert my attention back to the television, tossing a handful of popcorn into my mouth. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Like you’re ripping secrets right out of my soul.”

Lily pulls her feet up onto the couch, still staring at me. “So, you’re saying you have secrets.”

“No.”

“Liar. Tell me what’s going on with Dean.”

I shovel more popcorn into my mouth.

Avoid.

I try to distract myself with the show, but James Marsden kind of resembles Dean with the hair and the gorgeous blue eyes, and dammit, Lily is still staring at me. “No. Go away.”

“Fine. But I’m taking the wine with me.”

“Fine.”

She groans in protest, nudging my knee with her toes. “I’m not taking the wine. I wouldn’t do that to you. And I’m too invested in the show to leave right now, but still—tell me.”

Avoid.

“Cora, I swear to God…”

“Okay, whatever, fine.” My cheeks start to warm as thoughts of Dean poke through my armor. “What do you want to know?”

“Um, did you land feet first in the boneyard?”

I spit out my wine. “I have no idea what that means, but it sounds depraved.”

“Are you doing the mattress mambo?”

“Just stop.”

“Is he throwing the hotdog down?”

“I literally hate you.”

Lily breaks out into a fit of wine giggles, tipping over, her head colliding with my shoulder. “Don’t be such a prude,” she teases, smacking me with her free hand.

I let a grin slide across my face, my eyes drifting to my friend. “I wouldn’t say I’m a prude…”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Lily sits up expectantly, fully facing me. “You are, aren’t you? Holy shit, Cora. You and Dean? Holy shit.”

“You said that twice.”

“I’ll say it again: holy shit.” She bounces up and down like we’re two teenagers swapping our first kiss experiences. “You know I need all the gory details, starting with penis size. Go.”

I just can’t with her.

I shake my head through a sigh, riddled with giddy nerves. “It’s a mess, Lily.” I duck my head, stretching a smile. “A hot mess.”

“Lord, it’s probably fire. All that built up sexual tension with life and death situations thrown into the mix?” She releases a slow breath, fanning herself dramatically. “So, are you guys together? Like, official?”

Cue the ice water. “No. No. Of course not… it’s just sex.”

“How can it just be sex after all you went through together? There’s no feelings?”

Oh, there’s feelings. A crap ton of feelings. In fact, those feelings are climbing up my chest right now, lodging in my throat. “It’s… really complicated. There’s definitely feelings, but there’s nothing I can do about them. I’m sort of keeping him at arm’s length.”

Lily squints her eyes at me, as if she’s trying to read between the lines. “So, you just bang and bolt?”

“Your vocabulary concerns me,” I joke, avoiding the question.

Avoid, avoid, avoid.

But it’s kind of hard to avoid someone sitting a foot away, staring you down in Taylor Swift socks. “I guess that’s one way to put it,” I relent. “I basically show up on his doorstep a few times a week and we have crazy, amazing, rough sex. Then I skip out before sunrise and avoid him until the next time. In the beginning, he would try talking about it, but I think he’s just accepting our fate at this point.”

I worry my lip between my teeth, sounding like a giant hooker when I word it like that. I’m far from slutty—not that there would be anything wrong with that, really. I enjoy sex, but I’ve only been with three guys prior to Dean. Two of them were serious relationships with men who cheated on me, and then there was Troy Adilman, who was just kind of a drunken, weird, virginity-losing one-night stand. And Dean… well, he’s in his own category.

Lily’s eyes are getting extra squinty, which means she’s still trying to read me and trying to conjure up some kind of best friend advice that will probably be terrible. “That sounds equally hot and depressing,” she says after a few minutes of consideration. “Does Mandy know?”

My stomach pitches at the sound of Mandy’s name, sending waves of nausea right through me. “She knows we had sex, but not that we’re still having sex. I haven’t even spoken to her since the hospital. I… don’t really know what to say.”

“What about your parents? Who’s side are they on?”

I shift uncomfortably on the couch. “They claim to be Team Both Daughters, which I’m sure is code for Team Mandy But Can’t Tell Cora. I’ve only seen them once over the last few weeks and it was an awkward dinner without much conversation.”

“You’ve always thought your parents loved Mandy more than you, but I’ve never gotten that impression and I’ve known you a hell of a long time. They probably are on both of your sides.”

I try to squash the bitterness that tickles me. “Mandy can do no wrong in their eyes. She was the perfect prom queen with the perfect high school sweetheart, and I’ve always been the stubborn, nerdy kid who refuses to conform. Mandy always got the lavish birthday parties and the over-the-top praise: ‘Congratulations! Mandy learned to tie her shoes even though she’s nine. Oh, my God! Mandy got a B minus on her final exam. Wow! Mandy got her driver’s permit and only crashed once, and it was just a little crash’.” I pause to catch my breath, my resentment bubbling to the surface. “All I ever got was a pat on the back. Now, I’m the stain on the family—the daughter who gets kidnapped by a psychopath, the daughter who sleeps with her sister’s ex, and the daughter who overdoses on sleeping pills.”

Lily cowers away, holding up her hands. “Touched a nerve. Got it.”

“Sorry.” I cringe at my oversharing rant. “It’s the wine talking.”

She holds up the Kleenex box. “That’s why I brought these,” she quips. “And for the record, literally your only flaw has ever been liking N*SYNC over Backstreet Boys. Otherwise, you’re pretty perfect.”

We share a smile, the compliment washing away all of my inner turmoil for the time being. Before I can reply, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.

It’s a text from Dean.

Dean: I miss you.

Lily yanks my phone away and reads the message, swooning instantly. “Dear God, that’s adorable. Guys only text me when they miss my vagina.”

“I’m sure that’s what he’s implying,” I shrug.

“It’s not.”

Lily starts texting back a reply and I panic, lunging for the phone. “Absolutely not. Give it back.”

She dives from the couch laughing, her thumbs frantically swiping over the keyboard. I chase her around the living room and almost tackle her like a linebacker.

“Okay, okay. Don’t be such a psycho. Here.”

Lily tosses me the phone and I check for damage.

Lily: I need your baloney pony.

“Lily! Damn you!” I curse, glaring at the message, then watching as my friend doubles over with laughter. “I hate you so much.”

A zing comes through and I force myself to open the message.

Dean: Hi Lily

My head is shaking back and forth, embarrassed by her immaturity, as I text my own reply.

Me: Sorry. She’s awful.

Dean: It was kind of funny

Me: No

Ugh. I toss my phone onto the sofa cushions as Lily comes down from her laugh attack. “How are you the worst and the best at the same time?” I ponder, plopping back down with a huff.

Lily shrugs, joining me. “One of my many talents, along with singing the alphabet backwards and gardening.”

I try to return my attention to the TV show that we’ve been completely missing when Lily’s elbow pokes me in the ribs. “Ouch. What?”

“Well?”

I stare at her, unblinking.

“Are you going to invite him over?”

I scoff, returning my focus to the screen. “No. It’s a bad idea.”

“So is drinking Aldi wine, but we do it anyway.”

“One bad decision is enough for me tonight.”

Lily lets out a sigh but doesn’t push the matter, curling up with one of my throw pillows and whispering, “If you say so.”

An hour later, Dean has me bent over the kitchen table, pounding into me from behind as my fingernails scratch along the wood. He tugs my hair back, twisting my face to his, and I chant his name against his lips—I know it drives him wild.

He snakes his hand around my middle, sliding it down my stomach until it reaches its destination between my legs. With my sweatpants around my ankles, I arch into his touch, moaning when his fingers find my clit. “Oh, God…”

Dean works me into a frenzy, trailing his lips from mine and attacking my throat with his tongue. “You’re always so wet. I fucking love it.”

I gasp out loud, already edging towards release as I press myself against the table. Dean sweeps his fingers up the nape of my neck, collecting my long hair between them and squeezing his fist, ramming into me harder, while still fingering me with his other hand.

Holy, holy, holy crap.

This shouldn’t feel this good.

Why does this feel so good?

“Come for me, Cora,” he demands, leaning forward on top of me, his chest to my back, thrusting his hips with impossible intensity.

I shatter.

I dig my nails into the kitchen table, surely leaving marks, as my body convulses around him, a cry escaping my lips.

Dean whispers against my ear as I come down, brushing my hair aside and slowing his pace, “That’s my girl.”

I’m hardly recovered when he pulls out of me and spins me around, lifting me onto the table and settling between my legs. He kisses me as he pushes back inside, hands planted on either side of me as I link my ankles behind his back. His thrusts are slow and even, and I already feel the pressure building again when he breaks the kiss to hold my eyes.

God, his eyes. They will be my undoing.

I look away, the feelings swirling inside me proving too much. Too intimate, too powerful, too real.

This can’t be more than sex.

Dean pinches my chin between his thumb and finger, gently turning my face back towards him. “Why can’t you look at me, Cora?” He’s still moving inside me, but not as hard. Not as fast. His strokes are languid and deliberate, almost like he’s trying to tell me something.

But the last thing I want to do is talk about our feelings when he’s balls deep inside of me, so I clasp his face between my palms and crash our mouths back together. I push my tongue between his lips and he lets me in, his hips moving quicker when our tongues begin to dance. I’m an arrow to his heart—a dagger to his defenses. He knows what I’m willing to give and he takes every piece, every breath, every accidental crumb.

And then we’re grinding against each other, nails scratching, tongues vicious and angry, bodies full of raw desperation. I open my mouth to speak, suddenly craving more. I’ll never know if it was the goddamn wine, or maybe I’m just irrevocably fractured, but three words spill from my mouth that make Dean go still: “Tie me up.”

He looks at me, a light sheen of sweat casing his brow, his blue eyes wide and troubled. He halts all movement, and even his breathing goes shallow. I stare up at him, wishing I could swallow those words back down.

He deflates then, like a child’s balloon or a wounded animal. Like I stole something precious right out of his hands. Dean pulls out of me and drops his forehead to mine as I sit there in silence, my legs still wrapped around him. “Fuck,” he mutters, but not out of anger—not out of spite. It sounds like hopelessness. He untangles himself from me and steps back, tugging his jeans up over his hips.

Heat flames my cheeks as I rest propped up on my elbows, spread eagle and exposed. I feel like he can see right through me, right into my tormented center, where my guts and ghosts and darkest parts are utterly vulnerable. I snap myself into action and slip down from the table, pulling up my sweatpants without meeting his eyes.

“What the hell, Cora?”

I spare Dean the tiniest glance as I smooth out my hair. He’s facing me, fingers perched on his hips, his gaze riddled with heedful regard. “It was nothing. Forget it.” I storm past him, making my way to the bedroom. “I assume we’re done here, so feel free to let yourself out.”

He’s hot on my heels. “No. We need to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Are you kidding me?” He grabs my wrist, spinning me around as we enter the bedroom. His tone turns sober, his shoulders dropping. “This isn’t okay.”

“Then, go. I’m not keeping you here.”

Dean’s jaw clenches as he tries to hold back his frustration. “I thought I could do this. I thought I could live with whatever the fuck this is, whatever scraps you were willing to give me… but this is killing me. It’s killing both of us.”

I repeat my statement slower, putting emphasis on each word. “Then, go.”

“Is that what you want?” His hands rise, resting on my shoulders, and his breath catches. “Because when I walk out that door, I’m not coming back.”

His words do something to my heart. They wrap around the bleeding organ, squeezing the life out of it. “I can’t have what I want,” I say, my voice weak and frayed.

Dean lets out a breath, dipping his chin. “This isn’t healthy, Corabelle. We can’t thrive like this. We can’t heal like this. You told me in your car that night at The Oar that I was holding you underwater, that you couldn’t breathe, and I made myself believe it wasn’t true—I wanted to believe that we needed each other. That we had to cling and fight and claw our way out of this together.” He shakes his head with surrender in his eyes. “But you were right. We’re drowning here… and I’m gonna fuckin’ lose you if we don’t come up for air.”

My emotions start to soar like waves crashing down, drenching me in bitter truths. “I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to keep you.” My tears fall fast, landing on my lips, tasting like the salty sea. “I’m just sinking.”

“That’s why we have to stop, Cora.” Dean tightens his grip on my shoulders and the pain is evident in his eyes. “I need you healthy. I need you put back together, smiling and alive and glowing. I think you’re still living in that basement, and as long as you’re tied to me, you’re tied to it. You need to get the hell out of there. You need to be free.”

I’m shaking my head, my face a mask of heartache. “I can’t let go of you.”

“Then let me let go of you.”

“No. Dean… please.” I reach for his shirt, clutching the fabric in my fists. Holding on for dear life. “You said we could start over. Maybe we just need a few days to think and regroup, and then…”

“It’s too late.” He kisses my forehead, inhaling deep. “It’s too late to start over.”

I lift my chin, finding his lips and pressing a kiss to his mouth. “But I…” I trail off. I drift away, choking on the words.

Dean frames my face with his hands, kissing me again, light and tender. “You what?” He pulls away to search my eyes, smoothing back my hair.

“I love you.”

I think both of our hearts skip a beat—the same beat. And I feel like that must mean something.

Dean’s eyes slowly close, as if he’s absorbing those words, replaying them over and over in his mind. Carving them into the deepest layer of his soul. “Shit,” he mutters quietly. “You’re making this so damn hard.”

I inch up on my tiptoes to capture another kiss, only this one is brimming and burning with everything that’s in my heart. Passion, possessiveness, love, desire, need. I can taste his hesitation as he goes to battle with himself. Right and wrong. Yes and no. Stay or walk.

Dean envelopes me in a fierce hold, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me to him, our mouths feasting and yearning. His tongue kisses mine, and for a moment, we are lost. We’re okay. We’re still swimming.

But he jerks back with a heaving chest, scrubbing both hands down his face as he retreats. “Goddammit. I need to go, Cora. I need to fuckin’ think about this.”

I step forward. He steps back.

“Dean…”

“I have to think. I’m sorry.”

I lower my eyes, forcing back an ugly meltdown. I fold my hands together, my knee bobbing with anxiety. “Fine. Just go.”

“Cora, don’t make this harder. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“Go,” Everything comes bubbling to the surface—rage, disbelief, sorrow, rejection. I confess my love and he still wants to walk away. I feel shredded. Dismantled. “Go, go, go! Just get out.”

I try to avert my gaze, try to keep my eyes off his, but I can’t help myself. I glance up as Dean takes two steps backwards. His head is swaying side to side, his features pinched with conflict, and I swear I see tears rimming his eyes. But he keeps backing up. He keeps going.

He keeps walking away.

And when the front door closes shut, I break down.

Dean said we needed to come up for air, but I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.

He’s gone… and I can’t breathe.