Hold Me Close

Effie said nothing. It was such a fucking cliché. She usually didn’t even care about kissing in that way, except right now when he wanted it from her, and she didn’t want to give it.

“You come over here and fuck around with me,” Bill said into her ear. “You won’t sleep over. You won’t let me kiss you. You don’t let me get anywhere fucking close to you, do you?”

Effie shrugged out of his grasp. “Don’t.”

Bill sighed and scrubbed at his short, pale hair. “Go, then. I guess I’ll see you the next time you have an itch that needs to be scratched.”

He slammed the door to his apartment behind her, which made her want to thump her fist on it until he opened it again. He wasn’t being fair. This was the way it worked with them. He should’ve been used to it by now. She’d needed and wanted him to get her off, but he hadn’t. She’d wasted her time and his. She’d hurt his feelings and hadn’t meant to.

Shit. Effie sighed and didn’t knock on the door. In her car, she watched Bill’s silhouette in the window. He would stand there until she drove away, so he could be sure she left instead of, what, being murdered in her car in the parking lot? Effie laughed without humor, hating the bitter taste.

Backing up, she pulled out into the street. In her rearview mirror, she watched the golden square of light from his window turn into darkness. Then she drove home.

chapter seven

“How was he?”

She wasn’t startled. Didn’t scream. She’d known Heath was waiting for her the second she came into the kitchen and saw the back door was slightly open. You’d think she’d be smarter about it, take a baseball bat or something to protect herself in case it was a serial killer who’d happened to pick her house out of all the ones lined up along this suburban street. You’d think she’d have been more careful about locking her doors, the way her mother had urged her over and over again to be.

When the worst had already happened to you, everything else seemed a lot less dangerous.

“None of your business.” Effie went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, listening for the sound of the crack as she broke the sealed lid before she drank greedily.

Her stomach rumbled. Mitchell had taken her to a Chinese place for dinner, and there’d been no way for her to eat any of that jumbled-together sort of food. Nor any good way to explain to him why she couldn’t have anything touching each other on the plate. Not without sounding like a lunatic. She’d gone to Bill with a different sort of appetite and he’d left her hungry, too. She pulled out a block of sliced cheese and took a piece. She offered one to Heath. He refused.

“Dammit, Effie.”

She turned and leaned against the counter. Heath wore all black. Ancient jeans, ragged at the hems. A black hoodie over a black T-shirt. He’d left his shoes by the door, and he wore no socks. She had to look away from his bare, long toes—his feet killed her with their perfection. His arms stuck out a few inches below the sleeves. Heath had a hard time finding clothes that fit him. Legs and arms and torso too long. At six-five he was gangly, even now as a man when he’d filled out with muscle.

Thinking of his body, Effie swallowed hard and drank more water. Her thighs rubbed together, slick from her earlier, unsated arousal. Her lower abdomen still felt crampy.

“Where did he take you?”

“Jade Garden.” She chewed slowly. Swallowed. Washed down the rest of the cheese with a swig of water, then another.

Heath let out a short, sharp bark of mocking laughter. “No wonder you’re hungry now.”

“He was a nice guy,” Effie said mildly. “He’s a software engineer. He makes good money. He smelled nice. He wears glasses.”

Heath moved closer. He’d been working in the cafeteria at a local private college for the past couple years. He did most of their catered events. He stank of grease and fried foods with an undertone of grass and smoke. He would taste like honey. Effie didn’t move away, but she didn’t lean into him, either. Didn’t soften or bend, didn’t open her mouth for him to kiss her.

Heath leaned in to sniff her neck. His lips moved against her skin. “You fucked him.”

“No.”

“You fucked someone,” he said and slid a hand under her dress and between her legs. His fingers cupped her hard enough to force a gasp out of her. In the next second he’d pushed his fingers inside her. “He’s still dripping out of you.”

In, out, his fingers slid against her slick heat, but he was wrong. She wasn’t wet inside from Bill, but from this. Oh, fuck yes, for Heath, always for him. He could look at her from across the room, no words. None needed. A glance, and she was weak-kneed and trembling at the thought of his touch. Of his mouth, that tongue. His teeth.

The water bottle fell to the floor, splashing her legs with chilly liquid. She put both her hands up flat on his chest. His T-shirt bunched under her fingers. She pushed at him, but Heath had put his other hand at the small of her back, holding her still.

He slid his fingers deeper until his thumb pressed her clit. His teeth took the place of his whisper, fierce on the tender skin of her throat. Effie’s head tipped back; now her fingers clutched at his T-shirt not to push him away but to keep herself from falling. Not that Heath ever would have let her.

He would never let her fall.

“So fucking wet,” Heath breathed into her ear. His hand moved faster. He added another finger, stretching her. His thumb stroked. Had it only been this morning that they’d been doing this?

He backed away from her so suddenly that Effie took a couple stumbling steps forward in order to keep her balance. She cried out, low, as she lost her grip on his shirt. Her head spun.

“I waited for you,” he said. “I was worried.”

What else could she do then, but draw him close to her and hold him? What else but to kiss him, first gently and then as though they each were the only meal the other would ever need? Here in the dark and in the morning’s ugliest hour, it was surely all right to take him by the hand and lead him into her bedroom, where he stood in front of her as she undressed slowly, piece by piece until she was naked in front of him.

Heath hesitated before stripping out of his hoodie, then pulled his T-shirt over his head with one hand over his shoulder in that purely male way. He tugged the button on his jeans and then slid the zipper down notch by notch without ever looking away from her. He wore no briefs beneath, and at the first sight of the dark bush of hair, Effie let a low groan slip out of her. Heath pushed his jeans down and kicked them off.

Effie backed up slowly until she reached the bed, then scooted back on it. She opened her thighs to show him her treasure and reveled in the way his gaze flashed in the light coming from the window. Propped on her elbow, she let the fingers of her other hand toy with her cunt, easing inside and then up to circle her clit. Slow, slow, until her head fell back and her back arched at how good it felt to have him watching her.

“Did he eat that pussy?”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t make you come.”

A stuttering, sighing moan ground from her throat. “No.”

“Look at me, Effie.”

She managed to lift her head. Heath’s cock was in his fist. He got harder as she watched. Long and thick, his cock was slightly curved upward. Effie had been with dozens of men. She’d seen a lot of erections. Long, short, thick, thin, bent, uncut. Low-hanging balls or tight and high. Some men trimmed or shaved their pubic hair and some let it grow dense and wild. Yet of them all, Heath’s was the only one she could have picked out of the crowd. She knew his body as well as she knew her own.

And he knew hers. Moving closer, he knelt between her legs to rub his prick along the seam of her cunt, up and over her clit again and again until she fell back onto the bed, legs splayed wide to urge him inside her. He teased her with the tip of his cock, his hands planted beside her head, his hips barely thrusting. Slick, flesh on flesh. She wanted him to fill her.

When at last he began to move, her hands went above her head, palm to palm, fingers linked. She gave herself up to the pleasure of him rocking his cock against her. She lost herself in it. She came in slow, rolling waves, aware she was crying out but not caring. So many times they’d had to fuck in silence, careful not to let anyone overhear them, but now in this empty house she let herself give voice to the passion only Heath had ever been able to give her.

Over and over, she rose and crested and dipped; over and over, he took her body higher until she thought she might pass out. Or die. Yes, she could die right now with him making her come. Or maybe she’d already died and this was both heaven and hell, this never-ending climax.

When the shaking of her body eased and she was able to breathe again, Effie opened her eyes. Heath still held himself above her. The cords on his arms stood out. His mouth had parted, slack, but his gaze was sharp and focused on her face. It stabbed her, that look. Penetrating and intense.

Without putting a hand on his cock, he nevertheless managed to find her opening and push inside. She groaned at the way he filled her. She moved to touch him, but he muttered a command for her to stay still. He didn’t move. He stared into her eyes and pressed his lips together.

“Please,” Effie said again. “Heath.”

A low noise like a growl rumbled out of him. He slid out of her almost entirely, then back in. So slow, but not gentle. Sweat dripped from his face onto hers and she licked it away, drowning in the taste of him.

He fucked her that way forever. Each thrust began to sting. She couldn’t come again, it was impossible, but the pain was a pleasure of its own and she rode it the way she’d done the string of earlier climaxes.

Heath drew a series of ragged breaths. His hair fell in front of his eyes as he ducked his head. His arms had begun to shake, but he didn’t lower himself onto her. He fucked harder, desperately. Frustration twisted his expression. Finally, he stopped, pushing upward again on his hands. He shook his head, but when he tried to pull out of her, Effie hooked her heels behind his calves and kept him close.

When she slapped him lightly across the face, Heath shuddered. The next time, she did it harder. His gaze flashed. Angry, but also that other thing, that dark thing that never went away between them. So she did it again, and this time he let out a low shout that got lost inside her mouth as he dived to kiss her. It was brutal, a clash of teeth and slash of tongue. She raked his chest with her nails, and he took her lower lip between his teeth. Then her tongue, biting.

They moved together, rolling, until she was on top. His hands gripped her hips. He thrust upward hard enough to knock her forward, her hands flat on his chest. She kissed him, not kind or sweet or loving. They made war and love at the same time until at last he pounded his cock deep inside her again, crying out. Then he went still.

Breathing hard, Effie uncurled her fingers. She smoothed the crescents her nails had left in his skin and bent to kiss the marks. A few of them overlaid the faint bruises from the last time they’d been together. One or two of them had bled and she took some extra time to soothe them. Then she rolled off him and onto her back beside him.

Heath was silent for a while before he turned onto his side, away from her. Effie had been staring up at the ceiling, cataloging the aches and pains of the aftermath. She waited a second or so before turning to spoon him from behind. Her face pressed the warmth between his shoulder blades.

“You stink,” she told him. “You need a shower.”

Heath didn’t move. He found her hand and tucked it against his chest. Effie nestled her crotch to his ass and breathed him in. She licked his skin. Tangy. She closed her eyes. They would sleep this way, if she wasn’t careful. Tonight she wasn’t sure if she cared.

“Are you going to see him again?”

He meant Mitchell, but he could’ve meant Bill. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to think before she answered. “Yes. If he asks.”

“Will you tell him about me?”

There was so much about Heath to tell, how could she begin to answer that? Effie nipped his shoulder blade instead of a reply. Heath rolled to face her.

“Will you?”

“No.”

“Nothing? Not a word?”

She smiled. “It’s not any of his business, is it?”

“Is he one of your fans?”

At that, she frowned and sat up. “That’s not fair, Heath. You know I don’t fuck around with them.”

“So, how did you meet him, then?”

“LuvFinder.” Effie laughed, embarrassed suddenly in a way she hadn’t been before. “I thought I’d try it.”

Heath snorted. “Better than trolling for dates at bars and insurance conventions, I guess.”

She pinched his nipple hard, until he swatted her hand away. “Shut up.”

“So,” Heath said quietly, “you’re looking for love this time?”

“Isn’t everyone?” She said it nonchalantly, but she knew this admission changed everything. Until recently, she’d only been exploring. Considering her options. Having fun. But lately she had to admit that she was searching for something more—something real. She wasn’t sure she could find it with anyone but Heath, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t worth trying.

“Not everyone,” Heath said. “Some of us have already found all we ever want.”

He ran a fingertip over her cheek then, and along her jaw. He finished by tracing her lips. When she opened them as though to bite him, he didn’t pull away, so she kissed it instead. Then she took his hand and turned it over so she could press a kiss to the inside of his wrist and the scars there.

“I just want something normal,” Effie whispered. A confession. It felt good to say it loud, like prying the last tiny piece of a splinter that had been festering beneath her flesh. “Is that so much to ask for? To be the same as everyone else?”

At that, Heath sat up and got out of bed. With his back to her, he said, “Effie, don’t you know that in a million years you could never be the same as anyone else?”

She watched him gather his clothes and leave her room. She waited until she heard the back door close. Then she went, naked, into the kitchen to lock it.

chapter eight

“My mother says I’m not allowed to see you anymore.” The words come easier than Effie had thought they would. She’d practiced them in front of the mirror at home for an hour, every time stuttering, but now they sound as casual as if she were asking Heath about the weather. “She says it’s not healthy for us.”

Heath stares at her with large, hollowed eyes. He’s been smoking. He stinks of booze. There’s a blossoming bruise on one cheekbone that Effie didn’t put there. She’s sure it came from his father or another kind of fight, not from another girl, but that doesn’t matter. It makes her want to kiss him and also to slap him harder on the other side to make one to match it. It makes her want to hold him close.

Still without a word, Heath pulls a joint from the pocket of his denim jacket. He licks the end and tucks it into the corner of his mouth. The Zippo lighter comes from his jeans pocket, and the sight of it makes her mouth dry. That lighter had been Daddy’s. She hadn’t realized Heath had kept it. All these years later, and seeing it is still...it’s hard.

“Say something,” Effie demands.

Heath shrugs and lights the joint. He offers it to her. She should refuse. She doesn’t even like weed. It makes her sleepy and sometimes anxious. It reminds her of those hazy, blurry basement days when neither of them had the strength to get off the bed because Daddy had dosed them up with something to keep them from trying to get away. Yet the joint had been in Heath’s mouth, it will taste of him even if only the barest amount, and this could be the last she’ll ever have of him.

“She’s not wrong,” Effie says a minute or so later when they’ve passed the joint back and forth a couple times. They’re alone here in the picnic pavilion, but the park is officially closed. This is a risk, but then so is being here with him at all, even without the weed. “You know she isn’t, Heath.”

“She hates me.”

Effie shakes her head, already swimming from the pot. “She doesn’t... She’s only trying to protect me.”

At that, Heath pinches off the joint and tucks it away. “From me.”

“From everything,” Effie says.

“Where was she when you were getting pulled into the back of a van?” Heath’s voice is low, hard, sharp. Knife-edged. “Or when you were kept like a dog in the dark for days on end, or when you almost died? Who protected you then?”

He is angry. She can’t blame him. She understands why, but she understands why her parents worry, too.

“What does your dad say? Oh, right. He goes along with whatever your mother says.” Heath sneers.

Effie frowns. “Look, your parents might not give a damn about you, but mine do.”

He doesn’t flinch, but she knows she’s poked him someplace tender. It should make her behave more sweetly toward him, knowing she’s being hurtful, but there’s something dark with the two of them that makes her only want to hurt him more. It’s that dark thing her mother worries about. To be honest, it’s scares Effie, too.

“I’m only seventeen, Heath. What do you want me to do? Run away from home? Live on the streets? I’m going to college next year. I’m going to make something of myself. Not like you.” Her voice rises. Her fists clench.

“You think I’m nothing.”

She doesn’t. Effie thinks, in fact, that Heath is everything. He is too much to her and she to him. Even at seventeen she knows it. The girls in her class, her “friends,” are worrying about who will ask them to the prom, and none of them have any idea what it’s like to love someone so much you’d die for them. Literally die.

Heath rakes a hand through his dark hair, which has been cut shorter than she’s ever seen it. He told her he was going on job interviews again. Without a high school degree, without the hope of getting a further education, there isn’t much out there for him. Gas station attendant. Stock clerk. It’s been a year since they got out of the basement, and Heath’s quit or been fired from a dozen jobs. He can’t make anything stick. Nothing but Effie, anyway.

“I have to go,” Effie says. “I told my mom I was going to the library. She thinks I was going to write you a letter instead of telling you in person.”

“Why didn’t you?” He paces a little, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. His boots are scuffed, and the way he kicks at the gravel shows how they got that way. He won’t look away from her.

“I wanted to see you.”

Something small and hopeful glimmers for a second in his gaze before vanishing. “You should’ve written a letter. It would’ve been easier.”

“I don’t care about it being easy,” Effie says.

Then he is kissing her. Hard and hot and leaving her breathless. His hands on her. Over her clothes, cupping her breasts, then under her shirt to touch her bare skin.

Last weekend Effie went to a slumber party with some girls from school. She’d been best friends with a couple of them in middle school, but they’re not close anymore. She pretends they are, hoping maybe it will become the truth. They all played Truth or Dare and the biggest question was about who’d “done it” and who had not. None of them had.

Effie had lied and said she hadn’t, either.

“But I thought—” Wendy Manning had started to say before Rebecca Meyers shushed her.

Effie knew what all those girls thought. In the year since she’s been home, the rumors have flown fast and thick. But Daddy had never touched her. Not like that. He’d done a lot of things, but he’d never done that. It was a lie to say Effie was a virgin, but faced with that solemn-faced group of girls, Effie was not about to say anything else. They still giggled about touching “it” or French kissing. None of them understood sex at all.

When Heath pushes a hand between her legs now, Effie pulls away. “No.”

She hasn’t slapped his face, but she might as well have. Heath frowns. He reaches for her, but she dances out of his grip again.

“I said no!”

“You don’t have to worry. I brought something,” Heath says. “We’ll be careful this time.”

Effie’s lip curls. “You want me to fuck you right here on the picnic table? Classy.”

“I want to be with you, and I want you to feel safe, not worried about anything happening again. But you know if it did, I’d take care of you.”

Effie hops off the picnic table. She doesn’t want to talk about what happened. She doesn’t want to think about it. “No.”

“You don’t love me,” Heath says.

This is too much. All this time and all that happened with them, and now he wants to tell her that he loves her? What is it supposed to mean, what is she supposed to do about it now, when everything has changed?

“I already told you how I feel about that,” she snaps. “It’s easy to love someone when they’re all you know.”

“Effie, please...”

“No.” She holds up a hand, backing away from him. “We can’t go back to where we were, Heath. Don’t you get it? What happened to us, it was totally fucked up. Okay? We had a super shitty thing happen to us, but we got out of it, we made it through, and now...it’s over. You can’t hold on to it. It’s not normal. It’s crazy. It’s wrong between us. You have to let it go. You have to let me go.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Not wanting to and not being able to are not the same things!” Effie wants to punch him with her fists but settles for hitting him with her words, forcing him back a few steps.

Heath holds up his hands. Turns his face. He stops moving so that if she keeps advancing she will be pressed against him, and she stops herself from doing that. They stand less than an arm’s length apart. Close enough she can see the throb of his pulse in his throat.

“Loving you has nothing to do with choice,” he says.

“Because we never had one!”

Heath is silent.

Effie lifts her chin. “You’ll find someone else to love. We’re still kids. You never find the one you’re supposed to be with forever when you’re a kid.”

“There is no forever for me without you,” Heath says, and Effie knows he means it. “If I never see you again, Effie, there will still never be anyone else but you.”

She’d learned about sex, but whatever she’d believed she knew about love shatters in that moment, leaving her broken in its wake. Shaking her head, Effie says nothing as she backs away. Three, four steps take her to the driver’s side of her father’s car. She’s behind the wheel a moment after that. Staring straight ahead at the road, wondering what would happen if she drives herself straight into a tree.

She unbuckles her seat belt.

She puts her foot on the gas.

But in the end, Effie is not about to die for love. Not again. Not ever.

When she walks in the front door, her parents are waiting for her. So are two uniformed policemen who exchange looks when her mother flies up off the couch to grab her. Effie recognizes one of them. He was the one who found them in the basement. Effie remembers that he held her hand while they waited for the ambulance.

“What’s going on?” She tries to slip out of her mother’s clinging, desperate grasp.

“You’re all right,” Mom says.

Her father swipes a hand over his face. “Thank God.”

Effie, staring over her shoulder at the cop, turns her attention to her mother. “Yes, I’m fine. I told you I was going to the library.”

“Effie, we know you weren’t at the library,” Officer Schmidt, that’s his name, says. “You were with Heath Shaw in Long’s Park.”

Effie fights off her mother’s grip. Panic rises. “Where is he? What’s wrong? What happened to him?”

“You don’t need to worry about him anymore,” Mom says, but Effie won’t even look at her.