AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was intended to be an entry in the Winter Holidays contest, but like a dolt, I misread the deadline. But I would love your comments anyway, since this is one of the few stories I was able to finish this year. Thanks!
*****
She was thinking about her brother and his lucky deck the moment she crashed into the bicyclist. The bicyclist was knocked off course, and tried to step down off the bike as it rolled forward, but the sidewalk had ended. The front wheel twirled and rolled off the sidewalk at an angle, and the whole bike tumbled forward into the street. There were no cars coming, because luck was on her side.
Melissa had stumbled to the ground herself, and now sat looking at the poor guy on the ground, not knowing what to think. She was more aware of the sting of embarrassment than the sharp but dim pain of her split and bleeding lip. This was all her fault.
Her concern was also greater than her shock. She always knew what to do in these situations, and always seemed to have a knack for knowing when something was serious, and when it was nothing more than a skinned knee. Like her brother taking tumbles down the stairs. This was just like that.
When she knelt beside him to examine him, she knew it wasn't serious. He was her age, but she'd never seen him in her neighborhood before. Possible concussion, but not likely. He seemed very responsive, and the lacerations mostly appeared on his arms. He was ok.
He was not pleased.
She apologized and offered to help him up, but he dismissed it. He grumbled and got to his feet, not making eye contact. When he did, he started to say something that sounded like a rebuke, but he quickly disarmed. His eyes softened, as if he was saying "what's the use in being mad." She began to feel pity, because she thought this change of temperament was more like the tired effort one makes to be angry at the end of an already-lousy day.
But then he changed his demeanor completely, and apologized for sounding ticked off. She was taken aback. She deserved a rebuke.
He made a joke, and then asked why he's never seen her around. "I'm just home for the holidays," she answered. "I live and work downtown, but my parents live up here in Lafayette." He made another joke. Her lip was throbbing.
He was hitting on her.
She thought of her childhood friend Millie. She was on the playground one day and bumped into a bigger girl. The big girl had tumbled and hit her head on one of the poles near the swings. She didn't fall, but she immediately pushed Millie down. Millie wasn't paying attention either, and her ice cream cone was now covered in sand. Melissa wanted to be Millie, but she never had the chance.
The bicyclist was checking out Melissa's body.
When she spoke, her voice was somber. He didn't notice, and she wasn't surprised. Even if she was boy-crazy like Millie, she would never find peace bouncing from one guy to the next.
She was thinking about all of this because things were too good for her. She had a growing guilt complex over the relative happiness she'd had throughout life. Everyone treated her nicely, including the guys that wanted to fuck her. Especially them.
She knew she was attractive, but she didn't use it like other girls did. Being an athlete, she was in great shape. Her dark brown hair looked healthy even when it wasn't brushed, and she prided herself on never having dyed it.
And for her petite frame, she knew that her tits were perfect.
To everyone else, she was humble about them, even taking measures to cover them up and downplay them. Sometimes she caught men staring at them, and it annoyed her most when it was men from whom she'd hoped for more friendship. She could get any guy's attention with them if she wanted it, but she rarely did. Mostly, she felt cursed by them. She felt unduly loved because of her body.
She wanted rebuke. She didn't realize that until she responded to this stranger's charm with sadness, and an oddly delightful reaction to her bleeding lip.
She was in the master bathroom later, her whole body and soul now flush with hot blood and confused feelings. Something had happened to her, and her body was tingling. She felt an exciting mix of energy, pain, and something else. She wanted to call it romance.
The bicyclist could have chewed her out, and she would have taken it, apologizing profusely. She would have invited him to dinner and he would have eaten her mother's special beef minestrone soup. He would keep quiet, still judging her silently, while she melted his tense body with a back-rub. Later, she would kiss his wounds, and his heart would beat just one beat quicker, watching her ceaseless devotion. He would finally desire her, and he might then have kissed her. Then she would take her clothes off, and let him look at her. Then, she would let him have her.
The warmth growing in her loins mixed with her sore muscles and wet tears, even as she smiled. She loved it, she decided. She loved the tangled emotions. The fantasy, and the shame, and the confusion. Something bubbled to the surface as she stared into the mirror by the door to her parents' bedroom, and it was the surprisingly erotic power of confusion.
Thoughts of the cyclist, she realized, were not the cause, but the catalyst. She didn't want him, or even the version of him she'd just invented. She wanted a version of herself that did things she would never expect. One that explored sexual territory, not to find her desires, but to get lost in the ambiguity. To experience the unknown, and stay there forever.
She caressed a bruise on her arm, and felt goosebumps. Her shirt felt heavy on her skin, and on impulse, she took all of her clothes off. She looked at all of her bruises, one at a time. She pulled the band off of her hair and let it down, and the hair slid across her sensitive skin.
She slid her fingers all over her body, and the feeling was electric. She could not believe or explain why this felt so incredible in this moment. She let out a laugh, watching it all in the mirror. It was unusual for her to feel the urge to play with her own nipples, but now she couldn't help it.
She would never be able to explain why it all happened, but it happened quickly. In moments, she was rubbing the lips of her vagina. She rarely masturbated, she realized, and had never done so in front of a mirror. But she'd never been this horny before.
And so she watched the happy girl in the mirror, while the first snowflakes of her Thanksgiving weekend gently fell outside. She enjoyed the fingers inside her, as the moment came and passed when her life changed forever.
***
Rick waited for Jenna for nearly two hours before giving up. He was only half-expecting her to show up anyway, and was only half-hoping as well.
He sat outside on a bench, waiting for her car to arrive in the passenger pickup lane. The airport was as busy as ever, and the midday sun warmed the air enough for Rick to relax with a light jacket. He was not in any hurry, so Jenna's absence was not really an inconvenience.
Nobody at home knew when he was supposed to be arriving. He liked it that way.
His relationship with Jenna was as tenuous as ever. If he didn't still have some small amount of love in his heart for her, and if he hadn't been without affection for so goddam long, he might have wished to never see her no-good, rotten face again.
He would never forgive her.
The day he'd learned of it was the hardest day. Four years ago, just after leaving for the Army, she told him. He was still in Basic. She couldn't even wait that long.
She said she loved him, but couldn't keep her damn legs closed even for him.
When he returned a year ago, that was when she came to him. She wanted to rekindle their relationship. She was lonely, and confessed to being depressed. She begged him for sex, and it all just made him more sad than angry.
