Never Been Loved, p.4C.M. Kars
When the doors slide open, a dude I’ve never seen before gets in the elevator, carrying in enough groceries to feed a small country. I hold the door open for him as he waddles his way into the elevator car, and feel my jaw slacken when I spy Aly coming through the outer doors in the lobby, that the babe from next door’s holding open for her. Aly doesn’t even say thank you and that fucking bothers me.
I step out of the elevator in a daze, and hear the doors chime closed. I watch Aly dig into her purse for her phone, probably to call me, and the babe from next door use her key to get the inner doors unlocked. I can’t seem to move or speak - all I can do is watch I’ve forgotten all about my pouch.
I wish I knew the babe’s name; I wish I could talk to her and not come off as an asshole. I wish I was normal for her, I wish I didn’t have Matty. That kind of girl deserves one hundred percent of a man’s attention, if she wants it from him. She doesn’t need to deal with a little kid making shit all complicated, or the fact that I’m sick.
No, Aly’s the one for me. I walk past the babe next door, who holds the door open for me and walks away, eyes straight ahead, staring right at the elevator. I’ve been dismissed. Just like that.
“Hey, baby! I was just about to call you!” Aly squeals. When did her voice get so fucking annoying? “Did you like my little video?” she purrs, and I want to punch the door, make my fist go straight through the glass.
Rage boils my insides, blood pounds in my ears. I don’t want her here. I just want to sleep. But my dick wants in her, and I’m so pissed right now, a good bout of some serious angry fucking might help me set my head straight.
God, what must the girl next door think of me? I don’t want her to see me with Aly. I don’t want her to know how bad of a person I am, how bad of a father.
Then again, maybe I should show her how much of a dick I am by almost-fucking Aly right in front of her. That’ll kill all the possibilities for a better woman at my side for sure.
I get the inner doors open with shaking hands, my keys making music for all to hear. Fucking Aly probably thinks it’s all for her, like I can’t get enough of her, when all I want to do is punish her for making me like this – a fucking animal, hooked on the way she makes my dick feel, the way my orgasm chases away the dark for slight bits of time.
Red coats my vision, and the way my body shakes reminds me of when I have a low. Every part of me trembles – muscles, eyelids, hell, even my insides. I hate what she’s done to me, how I need to fuck her, to feel normal even if I hate myself for doing it.
Aly somehow gets in front of me. I’m too far gone to notice how or when she did it, but we’re inside the lobby and she’s licking her lips in that way of hers, and I know she’s ready for me.
Awareness sets in and I know the elevator doors haven’t closed yet. And that the babe I really, truly want if I had the balls to try to be a good person is in there, is waiting for the doors to close. I need to erase her from my memory, I need to forget that she lives next door to me.
My attention zeroes in on Aly licking her lips, making them glossy. I hate this. I ignore the hollow feeling in my chest and make a grab for Aly’s hips, pulling her close to my body, not even enjoying the feeling of her chest pressed up against me, or the way she circles her hips, pushing into me, and my dick answers the call.
I push forward, making Aly walk backwards. Back, back, until we’re in the elevator. Fucking shit, I can smell her, something like cinnamon or vanilla, and it reminds me of a bakery.
It’s like divine intervention – I want a woman that smells like sugar – the one thing that can actually kill me if I don’t inject myself.
I bite Aly’s lip a bit too hard, and I’m about to pull back to apologize, but she winds her arms around my neck and squeezes her body closer to mine. I can’t breathe. My heart’s hammering in my chest while I brace my hands on either side of her head against the cab wall. In some part of my brain, I hear the doors close.
Now I’m locked inside an enclosed space with Aly and her. Fuck, I wish I knew her name.
Aly’s tongue’s in my mouth, making me do something with mine. Her appetite is voracious, and if I didn’t know better, I’d figure she’s a succubus, sucking out whatever happiness I have inside of me.
Aly moans, and I’m deeply ashamed of that sound, of how she can hear it, of how she’s probably watching us. Aly slings a leg over my hip, pushing her pussy right up against my dick, and I can’t help myself – I push back into her, feeling that lightning streak up my spine and my balls tighten up.
I need to get off this fucking elevator. Now.
Chiming, I hear the chiming of the doors opening like I’m underwater, completely separated from the sound waves. My body’s a raging fire of need, and the fucking way Aly grinds against me? Stars erupt behind my closed lids as I assault her mouth, and she gives everything back.
I hear her get off and out of the elevator, and I move backwards out of the lift, Aly keeping her face plastered to mine as we get into the hallway and I slam her against the wall, bucking my hips into her while a meagre pride lights up my chest when she moans like she’s going to get an Oscar for it. Fuck, I believe her. And maybe she will, too.
I don’t know why I do it, but I detach my mouth from Aly and peer down the hall, watching her get her key in the lock, shifting her weight back and forth from foot to foot like Matty does when he’s gotta go pee. It’s fucking adorable, and I find myself unable to look away. She’s so approachable with that one movement. Maybe I can talk to her without showing how much of a tool I am.
“Hunter, what’s wrong?” Aly asks, putting her claws on my head and yanking me over to her mouth, where she nips and sucks on my lips with an eagerness that should be understood with extensive therapy. I pull back again, wondering if the babe has any reaction to my name. She owns a piece of me now.
“Baby, are we gonna go inside? Please?” Aly whines and starts kissing along my neck when she knows I fucking hate that. I punish her with a kiss that she ends up liking anyway. I hear the door closing next door, and ignore the way I’m imagining kissing her.
I pull away long enough to get my door unlocked and open, hating and needing the way Aly paws at my chest with her front pressed to my back, long nails snagging on my hoodie, on my shirt, skimming along the waist of my jeans.
Fuck. I’m torn between yelling at her to fuck off, and wanting to ask for more touching, more of the crazy lust she makes me feel. More to make me forget what I did to Jules, and what I’m doing to her son. I’m so fucked. When it comes to the kid, my dick comes first.
I get us inside, not bothering to lock the door. Matty knows how to lock a door anyway, so it’s not a big deal. I have the decency to check on the little guy, making sure he’s asleep in his bed after the whole craziness at the hospital. If I had any shred of humanity left, I would apologize to Matty, or buy him his own gumball machine to say I’m sorry in the only way I know how to, with bribes and gifts that are meaningless in the end. Mom taught me that.
I get my bedroom door closed, all while Aly’s hands make my dick throb with every graze and caress and I’m ready to explode. I clench my jaw, and a shot of pain spears my ear and left temple. Awesome, I’m breaking teeth to stop myself from coming.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” she says, yanking off my hoodie, and impatiently grabbing my shirt and pulling it over my head. Her impatience used to get me off, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I have half a mind to shoot my load in the condom once I’m in her and let her take care of herself after I’m done. Then I’d be the asshole I profess to be. I hold back my grin.
Aly comes to face me, practically tearing off her own clothes, scratching her pale skin until red ribbons of disturbed flesh glare at me like it’s my fault.
“Fuck me now, Hunter. Please, I need to be fucked.” My dick twitches to comply, but I’d rather she shut her mouth. There’s no need to be talking now. I kiss her
When she’s close enough, panting, moaning for more do I get a condom from my nightstand, feeling every ounce of blood rush to the pre-come coating the slit of my dick as she begins touching herself, impatient for me.
I mean, what the fuck am I here for, if you can already do it yourself?
Three strokes in and I’m fucking ready. She’s milking me enough that I know she’s about to go off, and I don’t want to wait.
“Hunter! Hunter! Hunterrrrr!” Aly moans my name, and every time she does, I’m wishing it was her doing it. Fuck, I bet she’d be sweet, maybe a little naughty since she doesn’t show it on the outside. Christ, I could teach her to be naughty.
The thought spirals in my brain as I eke out two more hard pumps and I’m done for, wishing it could go on forever, wishing I could disappear or that this becomes my reality, and I don’t have to go back to being a dad, a fuckup with a chronic disease and a murderer.
I wind down all too soon with enough time to pull out of her and dispose of the condom in the bathroom. I snag a pair of sweats, refusing to look at Aly, who’s catching her breath and frowning at the ceiling. I move to the kitchen to check my sugar before peeking in on Matty, feeling like an eighteen-wheeler has parked itself on my chest. Dread swirls in my gut, and I wonder if I can afford to upchuck the food I managed to get down this morning, and how badly I’m going to be fucked up if I can’t eat.
It’s just another battle, another fight I have to wage on my body. I’ve become really good at this – I know exactly how to convince myself that I’m all right when I’m anything but. All it takes is a few words, and deep breaths I have to pull in through my nose and push out of my mouth.
Sometimes it takes no more than two minutes to convince myself that I’m doing fine, and there’s no reason for me to be feeling this shaky, or thinking about what my blood sugar levels are at. Sometimes it takes longer, but always, always, I can do what I need to because I refuse to die and leave Matty all alone.
Pain helps, too, especially when I’m on the verge of passing out. Once, it happened when I was driving Matty to daycare. The little guy was singing some rock ballad in the back seat, while a curtain of darkness started to descend over my vision, and the car in front of me didn’t seem so important anymore.
All I remember is mustering up enough energy to punch my radio, gouging my knuckles on several on the buttons. Pain has a way of violently reminding you where you are, and how much you don’t want to be there. It centers you, it brings you back out of that dark place you could’ve gotten lost in.
I don’t need pain right now, or food, and convincing myself I don’t have to throw up
won’t be needed after all. I just need to kick Aly out of my life. Whatever my dick wants is not worth Matty’s welfare.
Peeking into Matty’s room, I watch him sleep. I pad into his room and close his blinds, shutting the room in an understated darkness. Crouching down, I move my hand to touch his little back.
Matty’s so breakable, fragile. I can feel his ribs, and his heart thump-thump-thumping against my hand, like it’s reminding me it exists. I swallow past the pain in my throat and watch his little face, trying to compare him to Jules.
My sister is going to be leaving his face soon, and I think I might forget what she looks like if I don’t move my ass back home and go through all her stuff and snag some pictures for myself. But for now I have a living, breathing portrait of her memory and I have to start doing a better job of taking care of him than I already am.
Matty’s going to need a mom, and I don’t see Aly fulfilling that role.
“Daddy? Are you okay?” Matty asks, sleepy eyes slowly opening to look at me. Blue eyes. Like mine. Like Jules’.
How in hell can this kid reduce me to a sack of shit with one little question? How can he ask me if I’m okay, when nothing is okay? How can he ask me if I’m okay now that his mom’s dead, and Aly’s using me for rides on my cock, and everything has turned to shit?
I clear my throat, and feel that telltale itch on my skin for a tattoo. Endorphins – the post-tattoo rush; I need it. I’m going to have to call my guy to ink me sometime soon. Maybe tomorrow. Yeah, definitely tomorrow.
“Yeah, Matty. I’m okay. Are you okay?” I notice that he doesn’t move, like he doesn’t want to remind me that my hand is on him. Shit.
“Yeah, Daddy. I feel much better now. I might be hungry.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? You might be?”
Matty nods, and uses a hand to rub his eyes into full alertness. My nephew’s so fucking cute, he’s going to destroy all the teachers’ panties in kindergarten next year.
“I’m not sure. My stomach is rumbly, but I don’t want vegetables.” Vegetables comes out like veg-a-tables. I grin, totally forgetting that Aly’s in my bed, and I can’t feed the kid right away without causing some problems.
“How about some eggs? With ketchup?” I ask.
Matty’s eyes pop at the sound of ketchup and eggs. Personally, I don’t how he can eat the stuff, but he likes it just fine, and I’d rather he eat protein than sugary cereal. Christ, I sound like a soccer mom.
“You’re the best, Daddy! Can I have some now?” The kid still hasn’t moved. I ruffle his hair, and watch his eyes slide closed and a little smile chase its way across his mouth.
I’m the goddamn lowest of the low. But I mean, I survived without the whole affection thing – but I had Jules. She was always there for me, and Matty has nobody – except his asshole of an uncle. Poor kid doesn’t know how shitty his life is.
“Just wait a second, buddy. Aly’s here, and we need to be quiet for now, yeah?”
Matty closes his eyes again and nods. He stays still a long time, and I watch him, wondering if he fell back asleep. Nope. The kid pops an eye open and gives me an exaggerated wink. I wonder where he learned to do that, or how he’s using it in the right context. Little genius. He sure as fuck didn’t get it from my side of the family.
I put a finger to my mouth – the universal sign for keeping your trap shut. Walking into my bedroom, I’m not surprised to see Aly still staring up at the ceiling, still naked, and not looking like she’s going to move any time soon. My dick twitches again at the sight of her naked limbs, her legs open, her pussy still glossy from what we did minutes ago.
Maybe I should just cut off my cock; that way, she can’t blast her way through my life and shit on me, no matter how good the sex is.
“I want you out of here,” I say. I inject all the asshole in me into those six words, and fume when she doesn’t even move.
“I want rounds two and three. You owe me that,” she says, green eyes piercing me with their cattiness. How did I never see it before? Also, she’d look fucking horrible in glasses. She’d probably buy those awful eighties lookalike things because they had the brand name. Typical.
“Get someone else to get you off, Aly. I need you to leave. We’re done here.” I start following the trail of discarded clothes on my floor. Black lace thong and bra, check. Skin-tight jeans, check. Sheer blouse, check and check. I shove them all at her, stifling my laugh when she starts sputtering. She doesn’t do indignation well.
But she does sit up, long limbs arranging themselves so that she gets her clothes in order. She stares at me like I’m the problem.
“Baby, we both know I can make you feel good in another twenty minutes. You’re okay for then, right?”
“Sugars, Aly. Ask about my sugars like a real fucking person.”
Her mouths sets into a tight line, and I see her ugliness. “Give me a little while, and I’ll roll my tongue around your cock, baby. Have you spill down my throat.”
Fuck, pulling out the big guns. No. Not this time. “Stop with the sweet talk. I want you out of my home. Now. Or I will shove you out as you are, completely naked and lock you the fuck out. Decide.”
“It’s that little fuck
Something dark and dangerous spreads its wings inside my chest cavity, and blocks out rational thought.
I grab her clothes, pissed off that she got her panties and bra on quick enough that I couldn’t totally humiliate her. I manhandle her, hand wrapped around her upper arm, and shove her out into the hall. I toss her shoes out as a convenience, along with her purse. Wouldn’t want her missing her phone so she comes back.
She screams for a good twenty minutes after I lock the door. I make Matty promise me he won’t open the door for any reason while I go take a shower. When I’m done cleaning her off me, I don’t hear her screaming when I shut off the water.
I get dressed and make Matty those eggs he wants. The little guy gets the ketchup from the fridge and plops it on the scarred kitchen table. The thing’s second-hand, like everything else in here, since it’s all I could afford after I moved out. Whatever’s become of my inheritance is padlocked in an account that I’ll only use for emergencies, medical catastrophes and for Matty’s college fund.
“These are delicious!” Matty mumbles over fried egg. So easily impressed.
I smirk and grab a napkin to wipe off the red smile the ketchup has left on his face. He mops up the yolk from his plate with a piece of brown bread, and slobbers it all over himself. He’s going to need a bath, and after my little bout of sexercise, I’m fucking exhausted. I needed that nap before, and now I really need it. Shit.
“Can I have some cake now?” Matty asks. I look at him, and watch him fidget in his chair. He knows the answer, and yet he asks after almost every goddamn meal.
“No, kid. You can’t.”
I can’t tell him he’ll die if he has it and won’t let me inject him with insulin. He’s been finicky about that lately, wanting to inject himself, trying to gain a little bit of independence with the needle. He’s still too young, and he doesn’t understand that yet. Which means I’m going to get another tantrum in five seconds.
Never Been Loved by C.M. Kars / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes