Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part Two

  shooting straight to my pussy. “I can still fucking hear it now.”

  So can I.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “What are you doing?” I asked, trying to step out from under him, but he moved his arms and pressed his hands against the wall, caging me in. The warmth of his chest radiated onto mine and I tried to look anywhere but into his eyes, afraid of what I might see but there wasn’t anywhere else to look. Especially when his face moved closer to mine.

  He pressed his knee between my thighs, parting my legs. “Me?” he asked, with mock innocence. “I’m just reminiscing with an old friend.”

  “This doesn’t feel like just reminiscing,” I panted.

  He stared deeply into my eyes. “No, not YET it doesn’t.” He grinned. “But it fucking will. Soon.”

  “I...I can’t,” I stammered. I pulled my face from his hand but he turned me back by my chin.

  “Oh Doc, you remember how much I love it when you tell me no.” He lowered himself until his lips were a hair away from mine. My nipples peaked at the anticipation of feeling his lips against mine.

  Maybe, just this once. I lied to myself. One more time just to remember how he felt when we...

  A car door slammed in the driveway, throwing a bucket of cold water on the sizzling heat between us.

  Preppy looked up and I jumped under his arm and away from him, again busying myself with folding towels. I cleared my throat and adjusted my shirt, trying to hide my hardened nipples underneath my thin tank top. “That would be the realtor,” I said, as casually as possible.

  “Great,” Preppy said, blowing out a breath.

  “And when he leaves we need to talk,” I said, trying not to sound affected by him.

  “About what?” Preppy asked. The doorbell rang.

  I adjusted my hair and right before I opened the door to let in the realtor and his clients I turned back to Preppy and swallowed hard.

  “Our divorce.”

  DRE

  We never did have a conversation about a divorce although we needed to have it at some point. Or maybe an annulment instead, but I was pretty sure if there were time restrictions on those type of things that we’d long surpassed it. We didn’t talk about what happened to him either.

  Or much of anything else for that matter.

  It had been a little over a week since Preppy moved in. He rarely came out of Mirna’s old room and I noticed when he did it was only at night. If he ever was up and about during the day the first thing he would do was shut the blinds and put his sunglasses on. I knew he was having trouble with light and I saw at the party what happened to him when the volume of life around him got too loud.

  There were flashes of the old Preppy from time to time. A snide remark. Innuendo about my short skirts. The burning glare of desire in his sad eyes that made my knees weak and my heart want to burst inside my chest.

  Several times a night he’d scream through his nightmares and when I tried to go in to help him I couldn’t. The door was always locked. I’d sit in the hallway with my back on the other side of the door and listen to him battle whatever demons he fought off in his dreams until the screams subsided.

  When I couldn’t sleep I’d fire up my laptop and research conditions of people who’d gone through traumatic situations. Counseling and medication were the two recommendations although Preppy would NEVER agree to counseling and self medicating was more his thing.

  I sighed and bookmarked the page, clicking over to the Logan’s Beach realty site to see if anything else had recently sold in the area and I was surprised that several homes in need of more repair and priced much higher had recently sold. I made a note to call East if there was something wrong with our listing, especially since the potential buyers the realtor showed the house to never came back with an offer and there hadn’t been a single interested buyer since then. Although part of me was relieved it hadn’t sold yet, part of me was frantic to make it happen. With the auction date approaching time was running out for my dad. I had to think of another creative way to either sell the house or make a substantial amount of money and FAST.

  “Dad?” I asked when my phone rang. “Dad is everything okay? It’s late.”

  “Everything’s fine here. I was just checking to make sure everything is okay there. Brandon told me what happened with that boy and I was concerned that...” He paused and I heard his guilt dripping into the phone.

  “You wanted to know if I was using again.”

  “Yes,” my dad answered honestly.

  “No, dad. I’m not. I haven’t thought about it,” I said, and with that statement I was proud. “Although I had two glasses of wine with a friend the other night and guess what happened...” I said.

  “What?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I whispered. “Except maybe a lot of laughter and me falling asleep before eight pm.”

  My dad laughed softly. “I’m so proud of you, Andrea.”

  I stood up and walked out into the backyard. The cool night air felt like heaven against my damp skin. After I slid the door shut I turned around and jumped back against the door, dropping my phone.

  “Hello?” I heard my dad saying. I leaned down and picked up the phone. “Hey dad. Everything is fine, but I have to go. I’ll call you back in the morning.” I clicked the phone shut and slowly descended the steps. My eyes focused on Preppy who was sitting in the backyard under the light of the moon with his face tilted up toward the sky, moaning and rocking from side to side as if he were in pain.

  Naked.

  Very VERY naked.

  The brutal red and white scars slashing through his once beautiful tattoos made me want to run my hands over them as if I could heal him. I wanted to weep for him and kill the fucker who did this to him.

  I stepped around him and crouched down so we were at eye level. His eyes shot open. His bloodshot and unfocused gaze met mine.

  “Help me.”

  ****

  “How do you want me to help you?” I whispered. I didn’t know what kind of episode he was having. Fuck, I didn’t even know if he was awake so I didn’t want to scare him by talking too loud.

  He reached out and pushed the string of my tank top off my shoulder. His touch made my body shudder. He pushed off the other strap and then tugged at the hem of my shirt. “Please,” he begged softly, but there was nothing sexual about what he was asking. There was no desire in his eyes. Only pain.

  I slowly undressed, pulling down my panties and stepping out of them before kneeling down before him. “Come here,” he whispered, tugging me by the shoulders until I was straddling him. He was partially hard, just feeling him against me made me want to throw caution to the wind and put him inside of my body but this wasn’t about me.

  I wasn’t even really sure what it was really about but whatever it was, he needed it so I was going to do my best to give it to him.

  He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his head against my naked chest. He breathed in and out slowly like he was trying to steady himself and then I realized he was trying not to cry. A few moments later his shoulders shook.

  “Let go,” I whispered, holding him tighter against me. “Let it all go,”

  Preppy’s shoulders shook harder and I felt his warm tears against my skin. I felt my own tears start and once they did I couldn’t stop them.

  So there we sat. In the backyard. Naked. Wrapped in each other’s arms until the sun came up.

  I woke up in the grass, covered by a blanket.

  Preppy was gone.

  I trudged back up to the house and thought back to when I first met Preppy. I was vulnerable. Weak. Everyone in my life had tried to tip-toe around me while they worked their asses off to save me.

  Not Preppy.

  It pained me that I had to leave Logan’s Beach when the house sold. It broke my heart that Preppy and I could never have a shot at anything real, not once he learned about the secret I was keeping from him. But I smiled to myself anyway, because wh
en I was weak Preppy saved me by giving me his strength.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PREPPY

  “Did we fuck?” I asked Dre who dropped a fork. I knew we didn’t but I loved getting a reaction out of her. “I mean I don’t think we did. But I woke up naked on the porch. Wasn’t the first time I’ve slept outside, but I don’t remember actually going out there.”

  “No we didn’t fuck,” Dre said. My dick twitched when she said FUCK and I made a note to make her swear more at me from now on because it was the first sign that my cock wasn’t useless after all. “I think you were sleepwalking.” She was irritated which made me believe that me naked on the porch was more than a simple case of sleepwalking.

  “You have to be nice to me, Doc,” I said, scraping a chair against the tile as I pulled it out from the table. I pulled the other one out as well. I sat on one, propping my legs up on the other, crossing my feet at the ankles. I opened her laptop and pulled up the page she had bookmarked and pointed to it. “I have post pardum depression.”

  Dre snorted through a burst of laughter, wrinkling her nose. I’m instantly hit with an ache to my balls but it’s not an ache I mind. Not at all. Actually it’s the first even remotely pleasurable sensation in that region of my body I’d had since I came back from the brink. “Um...Preppy?” she asked, not waiting for me to answer. “Postpartum depression is what happens to some women after...after having babies. What I think you mean is something called post traumatic stress disorder.”

  I waved her off. “Listen just because I call you Doc doesn’t mean you’re a medical expert,” I said, eliciting another small burst of laughter as she rolled and uncovered a ball of dough that had been rising in a bowl on the counter. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what the fuck it’s called, what matters is that I have it, so what I’m saying is that I’ll need to be taken care of. WELL taken care of. Mmmmmmkay?” I asked and when she flashed me a ‘what the fuck ever’ look I stuck out my lower lip in an exaggerated and what I could only imagine was a very pathetic looking pout.

  “Oh yeah? Is that so?” Dre asked, turning around with one hand on her jutted out hip, one perfectly arched eyebrow craning upward toward her hairline, and her deep red fuckable lips quirked to the side. “And what kind of HELP is it that you’re in so much desperate need of?”

  I opened my mouth to say my usual something sarcastic but at the last second I cleared my throat and even I didn’t expect what poured from my lips. My voice was much lower and raspier than a moment before. An almost-whisper. “All of it. I need all of the help.” There was no trace of any kind of humor in my words. What was I even trying to tell her?

  Dre seemed to be mulling over what I’d just said. Her lips flattening into a straight line. She looked over the sink through the window into the neglected back yard. The sun shifted out from behind a cloud and her face brightened instantly, illuminated by the early morning rays. She paused there for what seemed like a motherfucking eternity, closing her eyes and soaking up the warm light.

  The clock above the stove ticked louder and louder as it announced each passing second until it turned into tick-ticking insanity pounding within my ear drums. TICK-TOCK TICK-TOCK.

  Finally, Dre broke through my impatience when she turned to me again and wiped her flowery hands on her apron. Her lips turned upward in a bright white, full-toothed smile that covered her entire face. My heart sped up like it had been hit with electric paddles, so much so it skipped a beat and I coughed into the crook of my elbow. “Okay, then.”

  “Okay then...what?” I asked, casually looking down at my hands and turning them over as if I was inspecting my own tattoos.

  “Okay then if you need help, I’ll give it to you.” She paused and I hadn’t realized she’d crossed the kitchen until I looked up from my hands and found her standing over me, so close her knee was pressed against my thigh. I craned my neck to look up at her face. “But my help is conditional.”

  “What kind of conditions?” I asked, she stepped away.

  “Why are you pushing me away, Doc?” I asked, hating the feeling of space between us.

  She turned suddenly, her face serious. “Because you hurt me! Because you fucking destroyed me! Because when you pushed me away last time I might as well have died with you. And I went to rehab and school and there were a million times when I wanted to call you and talk to you and tell you about my day and I couldn’t because you decided that we shouldn’t be together. YOU. Not us, YOU. Then you fucking died on me and I fucking hated you for it. All of it!”

  “You’re mad at me because...I died?”

  “Yes, and because you never knew the truth. There are so many things you need to know that I never told you.”

  “So tell me, Doc,” I said. She shook her head.

  “Please, everyone else spares me from the truth because they’re afraid I’ll fall apart. That’s what’s driving me more crazy than any of the other shit. Just tell me the fucking truth!”

  “You might hate me.”

  “I might.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, with a small nod. She straightened her spine. “Then come on,” she said, checking the clock on the stove. “We have time to make it.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked, confused why this conversation needed a field trip.

  “To the truth.”

  DRE

  “So that’s how this all works?” Preppy asked, pointing to the man at the podium. “You just get up there and tell a shit load of strangers about all your fuck ups?”

  My lips curved up into a smile at Preppy’s choice of wording. “Pretty much, it’s supposed to unburden the soul and remind you that you’re not alone. You should try it sometime. It’s very freeing.” I scrunched my nose in thought. “Well, not right away, but eventually it feels very freeing,” I amended. “Sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I get all that, but who the fuck has that much time?” I swatted him with the pamphlet they’d given me on the way in which is what I assume they give out at most of the NA meetings. A schedule of meetings and a list of people you can call if you feel like using again.

  “Why are you all the way back here?” Preppy asked in a loud whisper, scooting closer to me in the pew. “Isn’t the meeting in the front where all those other people are?”

  “I just...don’t feel like I need to be up there right now,” I explained, although not really explaining anything at all.

  “I don’t get it,” Preppy said, forgetting to whisper. Several heads turned around to see where the commotion was coming from and I flashed them an apologetic smile although I really wasn’t sorry. Preppy wasn’t a conformist. Being quiet, especially in a setting like a church was a huge undertaking for him. I was actually kind of impressed he wasn’t doing cartwheels up and down the isles. “I don’t always sit in the back. It just depends on...on how I’m doing.”

  “I still don’t get it, Doc, use small words if you have to but explain it to me.”

  “Okay, so like right now I’m sitting in the back pew by the door, just listening. It’s like being back here makes me feel like I’m straddling this invisible line separating the meeting going on up there and the outside world, which is how I feel most of the time. Like I don’t quite belong up there, but I know I need to be here in some way.”

  “What about on other days?” Preppy asked, seeming genuinely interested in what I was about to say.

  “There are some days that are a little harder,” I admitted. “Days when I’m up there with the others, participating, telling my story, because I feel like the outside world doesn’t get it and I need to be up there with people who do.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve been up there?” Preppy asked, just as Steve, the meeting leader, called out my name.

  “Andrea, are you ready?” Steve asked, gesturing to the empty `podium with a smile.

  I nodded to Steve and stood. “I’ll be up there in about three seconds.” My heart hammered in my chest as I shuffled sideways out of the pew. “I�
�ll understand if you want to leave before I’m done,” I added, looking him over one last time.

  He wanted the truth and I was about to give it to him in a big way.

  The BIGGEST way.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured me, although there was no way he knew what exactly he was agreeing to. I made my way to the front of the church where the small wooden podium was positioned directly in front of the pews in the center of the aisle. I looked over the crowd of a dozen or so other men and women, a few teenagers in the crowd and I took a deep breath.

  Preppy flashed me one last reassuring smile from the back pew and I hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

  “My name is Andrea,” I started, my voice shaky. “But everyone calls me Dre. I’m an addict. Heroin was my weapon of choice if you’re interested in knowing.” I looked over the crowed. “And I’ve