Page 127 of Demo
We polished off the whiskey about a half-hour ago, and we’ve moved onto throwing back beers. From the bottles accumulated before us, it seems we’re not holding back tonight.
Kennedy got sick of one of us constantly getting up to get another drink, or to pee, so he hopped off the couch and, after scratching some more at the foot of the refrigerator, settled into a space on the carpet a while ago, snoring. At some point, Lizzie and I drifted closer together.
“Well,” Lizzie says, “I don’t mish your terrible taste in television.” She hiccups.
I laugh, “Yeah, becauseReal Housewifesis Emmy worthy.”
“I don’t watchReal Housewives. It wasDesperate Housewifes, and it ended like years ago, asshole!” She knocks my crossed ankles off the coffee table with a foot and lunges for the remote in my hand, which I hold high above me.
“No, we are not watching that crap!” I say as she practically climbs me.
“Well, we’re not watching this, either!” she says, reaching for the remote in my outstretched hand. Her chest is in my face, and I’ve wrapped my free arm around her to steady her. We freeze for a moment, realizing the position we’re in, and she starts to pull away.
“No,” I say, but she pulls out of my arms.
I’ve had enough alcohol that the blood coursing through my veins is hot and my breath is heavy, my eyes dry and my mind running.
“Hey, come back here,” I say softly, as I sit slouched on the couch, reaching for her hand that she tugs away as she goes to stand. As she turns to walk away, I grab her arm, spin her around, and pull her onto my lap, straddling me.
“Knox, no,” she protests, but she’s intoxicated to the point that she’s not strong enough or coordinated enough to dismount me.
“Hey, hey,” I say softly, securing my arms around her to keep her on my lap. “Let’s just have a conversation.”
“Why does it hafto be like this?” she asks, still trying lamely to squirm out from my arms, which only stirs my cock.
“Because otherwise you won’t talk to me,” I reply.
Sheharrumphsand sits back on my legs, letting her weight settle in as I loosen my arms a little. After a beat, she gestures outside. “Some weather we’re having here, huh?” And I laugh at her attempt at casualness.
“Baby, look at me,” I say, as she keeps her head down. I take her chin in my hand and tip her head up, but she pulls out of my grip.
“Don’t call me that,” she says.
“OK,” I concede. “I’m sorry, I just … Shit, Lizzie. What are we doing?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and grinds her jaw in frustration. “Why is that question always left up to me?”
“OK, fine. I’ll start. I still love you. I’m still madly in love with you. Every day I’m not with you is a day of wasted oxygen and nutrients because it’s fucking meaningless. How’s that for a start?”
Lizzie says nothing.
“Still my turn? OK. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, and I wake up every day and regret the same moment, moments, in my life. And I go to bed at night regretting the man I’ve been in the past. And periodically throughout the day I regret all the ways I haven’t yet been able to make it right because, Lizzie, it’s been too long, and it needs to end. Now.”
“Knox—”
“Nope, it’s still my turn,” I interrupt. Grabbing her ass and pulling her further onto me, nose-to-nose. “I want back in here, in this apartment.” I gesture around the room. “I want back here.” I point to her head. “And here.” I point to her heart. “I want back on your finger.” I grip her left hand. “I want it all back. And I’m not going to stop until I get it.”
I grab the back of her neck and pull her forehead to mine. Our breaths are heavy against each other’s. “Now it’s your turn.”
Her lower lip quivers as she mumbles something. I heard it, but I need her to speak up. She needs to say it.
“Louder,” I say, gliding my nose along hers. “Say it louder.”
“I hate you,” she grits out. “I fucking hate you so much I can’t stand it. You wake up with regret? I wake up with shame. I wake up embarrassed that you were able to fool me, made me think you were someone better than you are. And that everyone knows it. I wake up ashamed I miss you. Ashamed I need you. I go to bed feeling guilty that I want to find a way to hurt you back.”
As much as the words cut, they also bring my body to life. We’re finally getting somewhere.
“What else?” I ask, running my arms up her back, cupping her shoulders, and pulling her down onto me, wondering if she can feel me responding between her legs.
