The Opportunist

“Let me go.”

He held me tighter. We were so close I could feel his breath on my face.

“Who owns you then?” he challenged.

“Me. Not you, not anyone else…ever.” I felt petulant and foolish, but I lifted my nose in the air anyway and glared at him. Caleb’s eyes were cold and hard. He laughed at me, a deep throaty laugh. Then he looked down into my eyes and said;

“You are master of your own body, yes?”

“Yes,” I spat. Lava-like anger was erupting inside of me. I was ready to let the white trash out.

“Then you won’t have a problem controlling it,” he finished, and I stared at him through angry eyes—confused.

“What?”

He let go of my wrists, or more appropriately flung them away, but before I could move, he’d grabbed me around my waist and pulled me against him.

He kissed me, not a normal Caleb kiss, but a fierce moving of his mouth over mine. He was so in control of my mouth that I couldn’t have kissed back if I’d wanted to.

My hands pushed against his chest, trying to move the rock of him away, but it was useless.

My body started pounding in response to his touch. It was so powerful, I was sure I was going to split in half.

I picked up on the rhythm of his lips and returned his kisses, pressure for pressure, bite for bite. He broke away from my lips just when I had the hang of it and grabbed a fistful of my hair pulling my head back so that he had access to my neck.

Caleb peeled away from me and for a second I’d thought I’d won. But instead of backing away, he grabbed my t-shirt by the collar and with one tug, ripped it from top to bottom. My limp arms provided no traction and it fluttered to the ground. I stared, disbelievingly at him, and he grabbed me again, kissing my shoulders, running his lips over my collar bone. My bra came off, with a flick of his fingers and suddenly my legs lost their will to stand. Caleb scooped me up from behind my knees and placed me on my back, coming to rest on top of me. I wasn’t providing a shred of resistance at this point. My mind had stopped working—stopped making excuses. I was tangled up in the moment and for once I didn’t mind.

“Are you still in control?” he said this into my hair, as his hands climbed my thigh. I wrapped myself around him and nodded into his neck. Sure, I was. I was making a conscious decision to go along with this little roll we were having. I desperately wished that he would just shut up and get on with it.

“Stop me,” he said. “If you’re in control, then stop me.”

His hand was at the junction of my thighs now and stopping him was the last thing I wanted to do. I dug my nails into his arms in response. Caleb grabbed at the waistband of my sweatpants and tugged them down. Everything was blurry—everything except what I wanted to happen.

“Who owns you?” he said.

What? Weren’t we past this already?

I opened my eyes and looked up at him and I started to grasp what was happening. Caleb still had all of his clothes on while I was lying on the floor in my panties. I had lost complete control. He was playing with me. I let my body go limp and looked into his face.

“Who owns you?” he repeated more gently, placing his palm over the spot where my heart sat. He was right. He had my heart and every other piece of flesh that was attached to it. He wasn’t being a chauvinist. He was telling me something. I thought about sticking to my first reaction but the adult in me was struggling to get out.

“You.”

He stopped moving and I could feel his back heaving as he breathed. We were cheek to cheek, his arms resting on either side of my body. In one giant movement, he sprang off of me, and landed on his feet like a cat.

“Thank you.” He straightened his collar and then he walked out of the tent and left me—on the floor in nothing but my panties.

I burst into tears.

Chapter Twelve

The Present

“What is it like twenty degree’s outside?” I shiver and rub my arms. It is our last day and a ball of dread has taken up residence in my stomach.

“Try fifty,” he says handing me a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

I frown and climb back inside the tent to pack. I am folding clothes when I hear his voice.

“Olivia, we need to talk,” I peer over my shoulder suspiciously. He is spinning his thumb ring—always a bad sign.

I sigh. Is this about the phone? I wondered.

“Sure.” I am balancing on the very lip of disaster and I can feel our time sliding through my fingers like sand. I remember that creepo, ra**st’s warning outside of the music shop; You should get home before it’s too late. The sky’s red with trouble. Red, red, red…like Leah’s hair.

I follow him outside, my coffee still in hand. He leans on the hood of his car.

“What’s up?” I try to be nonchalant as I sidle up next to him.

“What’s going on here, Olivia? What are we doing?”

“Camping,” I declare, which doesn’t even earn me half of a smile.

What does he want me to say? What’s safe?

“We are…I don’t know Caleb. What do you want me to say?”

He shakes his head. He looks disappointed. Am I supposed to spill my guts? Before I can open my lying mouth, he beats me to it.

“You can’t think of anything to say?” he quizzes. I shake my head. Why do I always lie? For real, it’s like a disease.

“All right then…” He does the unexpected, instead of pushing me for more, he starts packing up our things; sleeping bags, clothes, Pickles. They all get tossed into the car, one by one, two by two, and all I could do is watch with my mouth open. But then what could I say? I want to be with you Caleb. These few days have been the stuff of dreams. I love you more every second I’m with you.

I am in a corner. I reluctantly get into the car and stuff my cold hands under my armpits. Caleb turns the music all the way up and ignores me. I am so mad. I think about things I can say to piss him off but I am too chicken to carry any of them out. The old Caleb had a hot temper, and if this guy had inherited it, I don’t want to find out.

The hills became flatland, as Georgia melts into Florida.

I turn down the volume as we cruise through Tallahassee and turn my body until I am half facing him.

“Caleb…talk to me.”

I see a muscle in his jaw twitch, but other than that he gives me nada.

“Please—talk to me,” I try. This is going to be harder than I expect. New tactic.