The Failing Hours
Page 83“You won big today. I can’t believe you picked that guy up from a standstill—I was scared to death. How did it feel?”
“Heavy.” I roll my shoulders, listing my head from side to side, knots burning from the inside out. “I’m the last wrestler on the roster. The sooner I win, the sooner we can leave, and honestly, I wanted to get it over with so I could come home.”
“What was the rush?”
I meet her eyes; they sparkle naïvely into mine.
“You know what the rush was.” She can’t be that oblivious.
“You picked a guy up off the ground, slung him on your shoulder, dumped him onto the mat, and pinned him in under a minute so you could get home sooner?”
“Home to you,” I clarify.
“To me?”
A nonchalant shrug. “Basically.”
She considers this quietly, biting down on her bottom lip in concentration. Then, “Do you think you could you lift me onto your shoulder?”
My eyes start at the top of her pale white hair, trail down her chest. Stomach. Waist. Thighs, legs, and feet, weighing her in at one twenty-five soaking wet.
“Easily.”
“Hmmm,” she hums, all twinkling and mischievous, like she suddenly wants to play and get sweaty with me.
My dick twitches.
We haven’t had sex in days, and I’m getting turned on by the mere sight of her. By the smell of her clean room and the exposed skin of her stomach whenever she moves around on the bed.
Naked.
Just the thought turns my twitching dick into a semi-boner.
Violet leans back, foot dangling off the bed. She jiggles it up and down, drawing attention to her cute little toenails. Light purple.
“I don’t know; maybe. We’ll see after we’ve had our talk, won’t we?”
Fair enough.
I sit up straight, arching my spine, stretching. Put my hands on the small of my back, press down, and groan.
Her smile is slight. Soft and sweet.
“Here, come sit on the bed; it’s probably more comfortable than that chair I found at a garage sale. I trust you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”
She pats the spot next to her, scooting over to provide more space.
I stand. Kick off my shoes. Crawl across her bed.
Seat myself in the center.
Instead of sitting next to me, Violet lies down on the bed, curls her body, and rests her head in my lap. For a second I just sit there, frozen, unsure of what to do—I’ve never had anyone curled up on me before. Never had anyone’s head in my lap.
My hands poise above her relaxing figure, suspended in midair. Gradually I lower them to her face, touching tentatively, my rough, calloused hand seeking the silk of her hairline with a caress.
Gently.
She looks up at me, speaking softly. “We’re a lot alike, you and I.”
Stated so simply, as fact.
I swallow the lump in my throat that has me choking down a hoarse reply. “Yeah.”
“Tell me why you were so upset in the library.”
Her eyes flutter closed when I stroke her widow’s peak, down her temple to touch her cheek.
“I understand if you’re angry with your parents, Zeke, but that doesn’t give you the right to be angry with everyone else, least of all me. It hurts.”
“I know.” I lean down to kiss her forehead, sweeping her long hair away. “I’m… I can’t explain why I acted like an ass, and I feel like a bigger asshole apologizing; it makes me feel like one of those pricks who treat woman like shit. I’m not that guy.”
Her hazel eyes regard me thoughtfully. “If you’re not careful, you could be.”
It’s a sobering thought that gives me pause.
She’s right; I could end up as one of those guys. The dickhead who’s always making his girlfriend feel like a useless piece of shit. Demeaning her. Belittling. Apologizing until it becomes a cycle neither of them can climb out of.
I’ve seen athletes—who I spend most of my time with—do it all the time. Athletes with way too much testosterone and adrenaline pumping through their bodies, taking their restlessness out on the woman they’re dating—or screwing.
Witnessed plenty of public fights. Girls crying in corners, consoled by their friends. Football players hurling beer, picking fights. Posturing to their girlfriends.
It’s fucked up.
A sense of embarrassment and shame washes over me, knowing I’ve done it. Picked arguments with Jameson. Her roommate Allison at a party.
“I never thought I’d ever have a girlfriend—never. So I guess I wouldn’t know how to treat one.”
“How would you want to treat one?”
“I don’t fucking know. Like…”
This.
I run a hand through her hair, letting the long, silky strands thread through my fingers. “Like this.”
“And how does this feel?”
Awesome. It feels fucking amazing.
“Zeke?”
I still don’t respond.
“If you ever do anything like what you did to me in the library the other day, I will not see you again. This is your chance to redeem yourself. You get one.”
“But what if I do something stupid?”
Her eyes smile. “Well that’s a given; you won’t be able to stop yourself from some things, will you? It’s just who you are. I’m talking about embarrassing me in public, treating me like crap because of your pride.” Violet raises her palm, running it along my unshaven jaw. “And I-I want you to be faithful.”