twenty-four: in which she gets an unwelcome memory

"Throw your arrows; hit her heart" –Tokio Hotel, Love Who Loves You Back

********************************

"I love him, OK?"

Luke rolled his eyes at me, moving along the aisle. "Of course, you do. I don't understand why, but of course, you do."

He gingerly handed me the Elliott Smith CD as if it were contaminated. "It's on me."

I took it from him, sticking my tongue out. "If you're going to insult my music taste, I think I'm going to take off."

Luke gestured at the rows upon rows of CDs and records around us. "We're surrounded by Marvin Gaye, Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra – musical giants – and you're gravitating towards a depressing guy with a guitar."

A woman in the R&B section of the music shop looked up from a rack, a smile on her face.

"You asked me what I thought about him and I told you," I said, tracing my finger over Elliott Smith's body on the CD cover. "He helped me get out of a very dark place."

"He was in a dark place."

That was true. This man had been a depressed alcoholic and to this day, no one knew for sure if he'd committed suicide or not. But as gloomy as his music had been, it had pulled me out of my own depression after Ella's death. Sometimes the only way to get out of a depression is to hang around other depressed people. Or, in my case, listen to the music they made.

"Anyway," I said, clearing my throat, "we're here to buy a James Brown record, right?"

"That's right. Honestly, those feral brats I teach should be reprogrammed to appreciate good fuсking music," Luke muttered, going back to perusing a stack of vinyls.

I was willing to bet that Luke was the only teacher in the world willing to buy a James Brown record to take to class because one of his students – who was ten, by the way - suggested he download his music on iTunes. Luke was also the only person I knew who owned an honest-to-God record player and had a sizeable collection of vinyls.

"Secretly, you love those quote-unquote feral brats and think of them as your children," I said, following Luke to the counter once he'd snagged an I'm Real record and we could go.

I had some laundry to do and I felt a little like I needed to bow to my toilet and give it an offering of my breakfast, so the sooner I went home, the better. Plus, my side hurt, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend I wasn't uncomfortable. It came and went, twinges of pain in my right side I could withstand. For this week, at least.

Luke snorted. "Being a teacher is enough to make me want a vasectomy."

"I think you'd make a great dad, to be honest." Because he could say what he wanted, but he loved his students.

"Shit, Maya. I can't even keep a dog. You think I'd make a good dad?" he asked once we were out of the store.

"Real talk? Yeah, I do. Heck, I still remember your family reunions and how you looked out for your little cousins."

The Barnett family was, to put it mildly, pretty freaking enormous. If they put all the Barnetts – young and old – in a straight line at one of their annual family picnics, the line would probably go once around the world and back.

The corners of Luke's mouth lifted in a smile. "I think you've forgotten the fights we had, Maya. Probably because you rarely came to those picnics, anyhow."

Probably because I'd been in awe of how many relatives Luke had. Too many to count. After Aunt Stella died, going with Luke had left a bitter taste of envy in my mouth. What did I have? Only Ella, and she'd been taken soon after. I knew that somewhere in South Africa, my mother's family was probably still alive and kicking. They'd disowned my mother for her choice of a partner and in return, she'd blanked them out of the Fenton-van Rensburg history lesson my parents had told me as a child. As a result, I had no way of knowing them, and in all likelihood, would never get to know them. But don't they say "never say never"?

***

Facebook bores me. Actually, almost all social networking seems tedious to me.

It was three weeks after Baron's big blow-up and I'd accepted his friend request on Facebook, like the good girlfriend of his brother that I was. I noticed that he still hadn't changed his relationship status, nor had he deleted all the photos of him and his ex-fiancée cluttering various albums.

Diana looked happy in most of the pictures I saw. She was a brunette with gold highlights in her hair and artfully cut bangs over her forehead above smoky brown eyes. She was smartly dressed in half the photos. Kind of like Jessica Alba in a power suit.

Baron needed to do a major clean-up.

"Facebook so early in the morning?"

I hadn't heard Jake stride into the kitchen but I definitely heard how fast all the blood in my head rushed south at the sound of his rough, just-woke-up voice. He came to stand behind my stool in front of the breakfast bar, wrapping his arms around my waist. I tilted my neck to the side when I felt his warm breath there, allowing him to kiss me. I had made up my mind the second I woke up that I would pretend. Pretend that we were good.

"You should get an account," I said, shuddering when he cupped my breast through the thin fabric of the T-shirt I'd put on before coming downstairs. His T-shirt.

"Pointless," he told me, squeezing my boob before tugging at the nipple. "But you know that."

I inhaled sharply, closing my eyes for a brief moment. "Why is it so pointless? Doesn't the big, bad Ripper want to poke people and like their statuses?"

"There's only one woman I wanna poke," he said gruffly, pushing his erection against my back, "and she's the only woman I like."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Are you naked back there?"

"You wanna open your eyes and find out?" he said, spinning me around on the swivel stool.

So I did. Much to my disappointment, Jake was only half-naked. Navy-blue cotton boxers covered his lower half.

I smiled, tracing the waistband. "You should get dressed before Iris comes out and suffers a heart attack."

"Oh, I don't think Iris'll be coming out anytime soon," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Coming? Probably. Not coming out."

I arched a brow and Jake said, "Ssh. Listen."

I closed my mouth and strained to hear what Jake was obviously hearing. Moans. Soft ones, yes, but the instantly recognizable sound of female pleasure. The bedrooms were down the hallway from the open-plan kitchen. We shouldn't have been able to hear her doing that to herself. But then...well, the deep, masculine grunts that blended together with Iris' voice obviously belonged to her boyfriend, Max.

"Jesus," I said, when they got louder, "let me go take a shower."

Jake grinned. "Good idea."

I took his hand in mine and hopped off the stool. As we passed Iris' room and the sound of their lovemaking reached impossible levels, I noticed that the door was ajar. Like, so ajar that one glance through the gap burned the image of Iris bouncing away on Max's penis onto my poor eyeballs. I felt heat creep up my neck, and I gently pulled the door closed. It soundlessly clicked shut.

Silence. Absolute, blissful silence. Just like that.

"Huh. Thick walls," Jake remarked, turning me around and shoving my back against the wall beside Iris' door.

"What are you... Oh, God," I exclaimed, slamming my hands down on Jake's shoulders. In the blink of an eye, he had slid a hand under my top, pushed my panties aside so roughly I felt how loose they became, and pushed two fingers inside me, gauging my wetness.

"I think it turned you on to watch them, even for a second," he said with a heated stare, thrusting his fingers in and out of me.

I pushed against him, biting down on my lip to keep from moaning. Jake's eyes clouded over. With his other hand, he pushed my lips apart.

"Fuсking scream, love," he said, scissoring his fingers inside me. This made me cry out, more so when he pressed the pad of his thumb against my сlit.

The thought that Iris, or Max, or the pair of them could come out at any second and find Jake fingering me in the hallway made my heart pound fast. I heard my heavy breathing, smelled the scent of my own juices between my thighs, felt my clit throb achingly as Jake rubbed at it.

At some point, while I was blissfully nearing orgasm, Jake had taken his cock out and, lifting me slightly onto the tips of my toes, aligned it with my entrance. My legs were parted and, when he lifted my leg so that it hung over his arm, cold air blasted my pusѕy. He took himself in his hand. The first slide of his cock into my entrance sent a shudder down my spine and my fingernails bit into the smooth skin of Jake's shoulders.

He breathed a heavy sigh, like being inside me was paradise.

He went slow, feeding every inch of his cock into me until he filled me completely.

"God, yes," I uttered breathlessly, when he found a quicker pace.

Jake's teeth nipped at my neck. "That ain't my name, babe," he said in a low growl, hoisting up my other leg so that he was carrying me now, holding me up.

A retort died on my mouth. It was reincarnated as a sharp cry of Jake's name, and died down again into a whimper. Pressure built up deep in my gut. I met every single one of Jake's deep, probing thrusts, pushing against him like I was feral. At any moment, my roommate or her boyfriend could peek outside and find us. The thrill of getting caught made me hot. Strands of my dark hair clung to my forehead with sweat.

Harder. Faster. Deeper. It became too much.

Jake's eyes caught mine. They were almost a dark amber, so beautiful. I pitched forward, kissed him on the mouth, sucked his lower lip into my mouth. He groaned, his thrusts becoming frenzied.

"Maya. Fuсk," he bit out. "Come. Cream on my coсk. Yeah, babe. Fuсk me."

I ground myself on him, throwing my head back that it hit the wall. The pain didn't register until I was coming, creaming all over Jake's diсk, saying his name on a breathless sigh. The spasms continued and my pusѕy clenched around Jake's hard length, again and again, until finally, I felt the warm jet of liquid fill my insides.

Maybe minutes passed before Jake walked us to my bedroom and kicked the door closed behind him. A strange awkwardness made me want to bury my face in the crook of his neck, where his skin was damp with sweat and his pulse was kicking frantically. I inhaled him, closing my eyes for a second and just...I don't know. I didn't know what I was doing anymore where Jake was concerned.

Eventually, he pulled out of me and put me on my unmade bed. I tugged his T-shirt down, until the hem was at my thighs, and watched him put himself back into his boxers.

"Shower?" He was already heading to my bathroom.

"No. Later." When you're done, I didn't add.

He paused in the doorway, back to me. I watched him roll his shoulders, and it looked like the black angel wings on his back were fluttering.

"Babe, what is it?" He turned around.

"Nothing. Okay, fine," I conceded, when he narrowed his eyes at me. Clearly I was terrible at pretending. "It's about last night. Before bed."

Jake's lips curved into a smile. "On the window sill?"

Must... Not... Blush... Oh, whatever. "No. Not that. After that. Way after. When Catalina called."

"Yeah?"

I got to my feet, knowing that we had to have this conversation standing. "She talks a lot and I really like her and all, but then she mentioned how it was nice to have you riding for the Phantoms again –" I took a deep breath "–which is kind of funny because you never told me you were back with them. Like officially."

A shutter came over Jake's eyes. "It's not official."

"So you haven't resumed your duties as...as sergeant-at-arms?"

"Wipe that disapproving look off your face, Maya. I never left. I retired. There's a huge fuсking difference. I was miserable pretending to be so fuсking ordinary," he said in a menacing voice as he advanced. "Do you have a problem with me being a Phantom? With me being who I am?"

"No. But I have a problem with you keeping it from me. I have a problem with you talking to me like you are just now. So get out."

Surprise registered in his hazel eyes. He didn't say a word to me again, and maybe five minutes later, when he was all dressed up in yet another of the T-shirts he'd left at my place, he left.

***

Three things happened that night: I received a friend request from a woman named Aimee Hendricks, I got my first ever text from Jake Ford, and only realized I hadn't eaten anything the whole day when I took my temperature and found that it was sky-high.

I swear, each of those things was significant.

Firstly, Aimee Hendricks lived in Pretoria, South Africa, and her profile picture was of my mother – if she'd been alive to age that much. So it was kind of obvious that Aimee Hendricks had been born Aimee van Rensburg and that she was my aunt. I was too stunned to process that, sitting in my room beneath the covers of my bed with Jake's laptop – now mine – propped up on my knees and a glass of milk on the nightstand.

My phone pinged with a message and when I looked and saw Jake's name, curiosity got the better of me.

Jake: Sorry.

Just that one word.

Baby steps, Maya.

Maya: OK.

The instant my message was sent, my phone rang in my hands.

"I wanted to say more, but I hate texting and I hate autocorrect," Jake muttered.

"I get that. Is that why you don't ever reply to texts?"

"I take forever. My screen is too small, so the letters are small and it just ain't worth the torture." He let out a breath. "Fuсking technology."

I smiled, although he couldn't see it. It had been a stupid question, when I already knew he had issues when it came to words. "I prefer calls, anyway."

"I would'a called first if I thought you'd pick up," he said. "Babe, I screwed up by not telling you I'm riding again. I just didn't wanna..."

"Didn't want to what?" I asked, when it was obvious he wasn't going to finish his sentence.

"Screw us up."

I stared at my laptop screen, at the pictures of Aimee's life organized neatly into dated albums. Yet another person who needed to change her privacy settings. "I don't like secrets between us, Jacob. Just promise me you won't...get hurt." It had been on the tip of my tongue to say 'won't do anything illegal'. That was just pushing it.

"I promise."

I knew he was lying.

"Where are you now?"

A telling silence. Then, "Mexico."

I didn't pry. "Be safe. In Mexico."

"Sure. We good?"

"Yeah. We are."

"You know I hate it when we fight."

"I hate it, too."

"I owe you a real apology when I get back, Silver Eyes."

I swallowed, realizing that I was hot all over. And not in a sexy way. "'Bye, Jake."

"'Bye, babe."

I hung up. Then, deciding to deal with the internet in the near future, I closed my laptop and set it on the nightstand.

That was the moment I put my hand to my forehead and felt how hot it was, despite how cold I felt. I mean, I was shivering, bundled up under all my blankets. Maya Fenton did not get sick, but obviously my immune system was being a little slow to get the memo tonight. I dug in the drawer for a thermometer and took my temperature. The numbers made me groan.

Iris was in the living room curled up with Max on the couch when I stomped over and asked for painkillers. She looked concerned, but really, it was a wonder I could look her in the eye when I'd witnessed her doing the nasty in the morning.

"You look terrible, Maya," she said, taking me to her bedroom so she could grab the meds from her bathroom cabinet. "You sure you don't need to go see a doctor?"

The funny thing about people in the medical field is that they always think they know best. Me, included.

"No. Coming down with a cold," I told her, which was redundant when I turned and went for her toilet bowl, emptying what little was left in my stomach.

Iris was there for me, holding my hair back, telling me that we were going to the doctor's. She was yelling for Max, despite my weak protests. I was still trying to protest when Max lifted me into his arms, Cinderella–style, and carried me to the elevator with Iris trailing behind me with my medical information.

Jesus Christ, the pain was horrible.

By the time I saw Dr. Webber and my blood work could be taken, I was probably at a tearful-frowning-round-face on the Wong-Baker pain scale. Iris, who was definitely my guardian angel, was the one who demanded the CT scan.

Useless. Fuсking. Appendix.