The Best Friend Page 6

  My phone rings, buzzing and dancing on the coffee table. I snatch it up to stop its startling vibrations.

  “Hello?” I say feeling ridiculous for answering before looking at the caller ID.

  “Mike?” It’s a smaller, softer voice. “It’s Aimee. Aubry’s sister.”

  “Hi,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “I can’t find Aubry’s favorite hoodie. You know the yellow one with Brunch Bitch on the front? I know she’d really want it, but I can’t find it. Did she leave it with you?”

  I smile despite the desperation in Aimee’s voice. Aubry did love that sweatshirt and Aimee is a stellar sister for wanting to collect all of Aub’s favorite things. “Let me look around. Did you check her car? She usually had it with her wherever she went.”

  “Oh!” The squeal is ear piercing. “I didn’t think about her car! I bet you’re right. Thanks Mike.” The line goes dead and for a moment I feel important. Like I can contribute something—help. But it’s only a moment.

  9

  Aubry

  Rain assails the tent again. The sound is soothing; not quite a plop or thwack but more of a plapping sound. My heart pounds with the knowledge of a secret world. The thrilling fear that all this throbbing chaos could crash down on me at any second. I close my eyes half-grateful to be somewhat safe, and half-enraged that I’m not home in my own apartment, and drift in and out of sleep. I feel like all I do is sleep while he’s away.

  The first day alone I cried for hours. I cursed his name and the Russians and myself. I just needed to bleed my anger out. I didn’t bother eating that day. I didn’t want to leave the tent. I read through the magazines he left, then I ripped them all up because he left. Then I cried for him to come back because when I see him I feel safe. When he’s here I’m not alone. It’s a strange thing to want and detest someone at the same time.

  I’m too chicken-shit to explore much. There are bugs and noises that I’m not accustomed to that are scary. The jungle is beautiful, but it comes with raw savage creatures. I barely cook for myself. I don’t like having to figure out what to make or prepping the fire. The clean up afterward. It all tires me. The longer I’m here without him, the more I begin to wonder if I’m being irrational. I am alive right now because of Mike, because of his logic and cunningness. It is easy to second guess yourself when there is no one around to challenge your beliefs.

  On a makeshift bed that isn't mine, I'm trapped in darkness. I want to reach out and feel Mike next to me but he was just here and I know I’m alone for the next day or two. Anger claws at me until that drip, drip, drip of he is keeping you alive trickles into my brain. "Break through the dark, baby. Find me. Listen to my voice.” I hear his voice. I can feel him all around me, like the wind rushing through the trees. I hear the sound of a barely beating heart.

  I jolt awake. Certain I heard classical piano playing nearby. My heavy breaths drown out any sound I might have heard. I look around, but it's pitch black and I don't want to make any noise rummaging around for the flashlight Mike left me, in case there’s something out there. Scouring the jungle surrounding me I find nothing near me. I'm alone except for the creepy wildlife. Prehistoric looking insects I have to use a stick to shoo off my supplies. Curious monkeys in trees glaring at me. Snakes that slither so close to the tent at night that I swear they’re inside. And spiders the size of my palm.

  I’m okay. That’s what I tell myself anyhow. I’m mixed up in something I don’t truly understand. The world Mike took me from is vulgar and I can’t imagine him being a part of it. I can’t reconcile him wanting me to be a part of it either. I can’t walk away now that he has me. If they find out I’m alive, they won’t let me live. I’m a loose end. And Mike is involved now too. A bigger liability than I am if they make the connection between us. There’s only one way out if they figure out we’re connected and that’s in a wooden box. If I want my freedom and my life, I have to be cunning and smart—like Mike. As the brain fog of being junk sick lifts, I’m beginning to understand that keeping me here, which I thought was the worst thing to do, might very well be the only reason I’m still alive. I have to take down the Russians so I can sit back and watch all the ants scatter without their leaders. I need a plan. And I need it quick.

  Here I am. Miles away from civilization, in a place where basic needs are the only concern and all I can do is think of all the things I want to be doing at home. The tent is dark, the rain loud. I stare up at the ceiling and breathe. I need to eat. I need to distract myself until Mike comes back. I reach over and turn the knob on the lantern, then rub the sleep from my eyes. My stomach growls but I’m not ready to get up. To try and make a fire. To cook something for myself. Instead I twist the cap off a bottle of water and take long gulps. I pick up one of the magazines Mike left me that I didn’t destroy in a fit of rage and casually leaf through. Pictures of one of the Princes of England and his new fiancé would normally interest me, but now, I can’t find the value in the mundane gossip of the world. The famous? What do they know? Who cares what they’re doing? I’m here. Removed from society, from normal life. Tossing the magazine to the side, I sit up and stretch. The tent is quiet as I pull my hair into a ponytail, the rain subsided. I wiggle into shorts then pull on a tank and unzip the door. The ground is muddy. Stepping out, it squishes between my toes. I collect some wood from the pile Mike stacked under a small tarp to keep dry and stare at the fire pit. I’ve never started a fire from nothing before. I’ve never done much of anything in a survivalist sense.

  It takes three tries but the fire finally catches and I’m able to boil water. I’m not a huge fan of oatmeal, but Mike said it’s easy and good for me.

  “This sucks,” I say while taking a bite. A bug with too many legs to be natural scurries over my bare foot. The bowl drops from my hands with my scream. A shiver runs down my spine. Gross. Groaning at the mud laden oatmeal I curse at my lack of bravery. If a bug elicits that reaction, how am I supposed to bring down an entire underworld?

  “Fuck this,” I grumble and grab a banana.

  Mike arrives in the late afternoon sun. The crunch of his boots on wet leaves makes me jump. He’s carrying two plastic grocery bags.

  “What the hell were you planning on doing?” He says nodding to the stick I’m wielding.

  I pout and drop my weapon. “I thought you were an animal. I was defending myself.”

  Mike lets out a loud, hearty laugh at my expense as he brushes past me and empties the bags into the cooler.

  “What’s so funny? I don’t intend on letting something get close enough for me to use a knife on and that’s all you left me with.”

  His eyes are on my hands which are planted firmly on my hips. His smile is devious. He walks right up to me. Reaching out his thumb grazes my bottom lip.

  “You’re hot when you’re pissy.”

  Jerking my head away from his touch I say, “I’m not pissy. Just bored. Cranky. Lonely.” Dejection flashes in his eyes.

  “What else do you need?” he asks. “I’ll see what I can bring next time.”

  I snort. “My laptop, a phone. Internet?” I cock my head to the side and stare at him.

  “That might be a little tough. There’s no cell service out here. Or internet.”

  “Then … you. I want you. Company. Someone to talk to. I nearly starved this morning because a disgusting freakishly ugly, prehistoric bug attacked my foot and made me spill my oatmeal.”

  “Are you admitting you missed me?” he asks.

  “Hardly. I’d take any old monkey’s company at this point.” It’s a familiar game, to make light of our feelings for each other. We play; or played before. I’m not sure we can afford to play games with each other’s emotions anymore.

  “Ouch. But I guess I deserve that.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “It’s been days. Do you know what it’s like out here alone? No. Nope. You don’t, because you haven’t been here. I have. By. My. Self.” I point at him. “You can’t leave me here o
n my own for days on end because—”

  “You seem better.” His gaze is boring a hole in my forehead.

  “What?” I squawk.

  “Spunky, like normal.” His expression morphs into something that’s definitely not a game or playful and fear grips my insides, but only for a second.

  “It’s not spunk, you dick. It’s anger … at you and this situation.” He rushes me and pushes me down on the ground. The mud beneath me produces a strange sensation. He’s hovering above me, breathing hard. Losing control. I can’t help but smirk.

  His body is slightly chilled with evening air, but his fingers and lips on my skin are flames. I lose control of my body, lust and unrequited desire taking over. My arms are around his neck, and I’m pressing my body into his, craning my neck so I can catch more of his kisses. I have not felt this alive in a long time. It’s making me woozy. Lust drunk. He cradles my chin in one hand. His gaze is long and deliberate enough to assure me that he knows exactly what he’s going to do. I release a stuttering breath.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. I want to know, but also am scared of the answer.

  If I look away now, if I stop this, it will still be OK, almost like it never happened. But he leans down to kiss me again, and I am adrift.

  “Showing you, I missed you too.”

  A warm seed of pleasure blooms in my gut at his words. He missed me.

  I want this carnal dance on the jungle floor to continue. His hands are under my tank and sliding up my back. We’re slick from the mud and dirty. I don’t protest when he lifts me and carries me to the tent. Inside, I wrap my legs around his waist. He strips off my tank. His clothes. We are entwined, like people who have made love to each other thousands of times. I close my eyes.

  “Aub, you’re beautiful,” he groans, his breath hot on my neck. “You drive me crazy. Always have.” Oh God, that groan, the need conveyed in it. Crazy. Maybe a last-ditch appeal for one of us to come to our senses. But I won’t. Not this time. I’m taking every moment, every opportunity that comes my way. I am never passing something up again. And it feels like Mike is done playing games as well. His hands pull the elastic from my hair, sending it cascading over my shoulders.

  He groans as we crash to the pile of bedding together. My legs willingly open and Mike rubs across my aching clit. All my prior agitation flies out the door as I arch my back and press my hips into his hand harder. His lips make their way to my neck and he issues a series of soft kisses from my earlobe to my breast. He puts his knee beside me, then the other, until he’s straddling my hips. I watch his head lower, then take my swollen bud into his mouth. Again, he moves his tongue back and forth and the sensation forces me to arch against his mouth, nearly rendering me breathless. It’s a tongue lashing. I giggle inappropriately because it is a lashing. I’m angry, he’s frustrated and we’re taking it out the only way we know how.

  The speed of his movement increases and the quick playful flicker of his tongue brings excruciating pleasure that holds me on the brink of climax. My breathing changes and my thrusts against him have a familiar rhythm that make him stop before it’s too late. His fingers move between my legs, trailing through the wetness. Mike slides his middle finger into my hot opening, I push my body against his hand, and force more penetration. My body takes over, and I arch my back to allow him to go even deeper. His gaze never leaves mine. Intense and direct; matching my own.

  Mike pulls his finger back, then inserts two on his next thrust. I buck in pleasure. He changes tactics before I can climax and when his cock plunges inside me I scream out. In the silence of the jungle and tent, it rings out so loudly that it shocks even me. Each thrust fills me completely. Angry sex is better than make-up sex. It’s feral and wild and purposeful and I covet every fucking moment of it. I feel his desire jerk between my legs and a quiet moan escapes my lips. My heart accelerates, thudding wildly in my chest. My pulse beats rhythmically between my legs. It feels natural, spontaneous, almost like something that happens, not something we create. It starts to wash over me, the heat that I know so well, that I crave so often. It’s bliss. I feel the arm supporting him start to shake. I bite down hard on his lip to stop myself from crying out while I orgasm. He grunts, his body shuddering uncontrollably as he climaxes.

  I watch the flex of his jaw as he lowers himself next to me. I roll into him, playfully banging his shoulder with my own.

  “That was… ” his voice trails off.

  “Unexpected.”

  “Yes. But, not unwanted.”

  I grin at him and run a hand down his torso. The tent is covered in condensation from our physical activity. Rolling on to my side, I lob an arm over him and press my face to his chest. A steady heartbeat thumps in my ear. Warm skin against mine calms my nerves. We’re dirty from the mud, I’ll have to wash the bedding in the river tomorrow, there’s not enough time to let them dry for tonight.

  “Want to make dinner? I’m pretty hungry.” I prop myself on my elbows and take him in. His furrowed brows, down turned lips.

  He looks at me, takes my face and says sorry. I frown not understanding as he rolls out of bed. He’s zipping up his jeans at this point, balancing on one foot as she slides on a boot.

  I yank my hair into a ponytail, every movement angry.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home, Aub. I can’t stay. I hate leaving you alone. I do. But there’s no other way right now. I came to bring you some more food and water.”

  Mike reaches out to touch me. I crave his embrace but I’m scared he’s not really the good guy as red hot anger whooshes through me.

  “Don't,” I snap and smack his hand away.

  “Don’t be like that,” he pleads. He stares me down. I stare right back, refusing to back down. Undeniable heat passes between us—and between my legs. He licks his lips and I realize I’m mimicking him. Angry bursts of air puff out between us in our standoff. I reach out and he flinches. I cackle at his response. My anger dissipating slightly. Don’t be like that. Ha! Might as well send the fucker off with a smile on his stupid, abandoning face. I pull his face to mine and kiss him deeply. Because I can, because it’s my form of control, because I want to.

  “Whoa,” he breathes when I break the kiss, eyes wide and confused. The amount of times I daydreamed about doing this in the past, before, is uncountable.

  I wipe the dirt from my hands and tuck my soul out of reach while furiously pulling on clothes.

  Dinner is a hamburger—not burnt, thank-you-very-much. I bathe in the river then after turn all the bedding inside out so I’m not sleeping in mud-caked grime. I lie awake for hours, replaying every detail of Mike’s lovemaking. It’s almost as if there is a ghost in the tent with me. I can feel his caresses. Taste his lips. One half of me is irritated with him, the other—enamored. I feel used every time he leaves and confused every time he’s near. I guess not much has changed in that regard. Mike and I upheld a delicate game of cat and mouse for so long that I’m not sure either of us is capable of relinquishing our roles any time soon. I desperately want to cave and give in to him but there is a compartmentalized box of distrust locked tightly in my heart that won’t let me fully embrace him.

  I wake up with the sun in my eyes, the smell of Mike all around. It’s in the sleeping bag, on my body, and pillow. The sense of him is everywhere. I throw an arm over my eyes for a second, and then roll onto my side. I have a deep, persistent need to run, to sweat out every bit of poison. Which sucks because I’m in the goddamned jungle and I don’t have running shoes to boot. And, he left me here.

  Again.

  My blood boils in my veins.

  10

  Mike

  When I walk into Eve’s house for family dinner night all eyes are on me. I don’t like being scrutinized; it makes me nervous. It’s a somber moment. The kitchen is silent, the usual playful banter—nonexistent. No one wants to break the silence yet everyone’s dying to ask the question. I swear I can still feel Aubry’s hand in mine. The sof
tness of her skin against mine. I can still see that raven black hair contrasted against pearly white skin. I bared my secret, one not even Liam, my most trusted friend knows. But an hour with Aubry and I spilled it all to her. I gave her my burden to carry and now I’m regretting it. I should have given her hope and encouragement. Should haves are a deadly road to travel.

  “Well?” Nora finally asks, “Any news?” Liam’s got a hold of her hand, he gives it a squeeze. She’s not handling this well. Her eyes are rimmed red. Liam looks no better. They might as well be Aubry. I think about how she’s slim to the point that she has none of the womanly curves any more that many men desire. How her skin is sallow and those bright eyes I liked so much have no sparkle at the moment. This dinner we all attend doesn’t sparkle without Aubry here. She’s the life of the party.

  I swallow hard and shake my head. “Nothing to report.”

  Her shoulders slump. Charlotte tucks herself into Nora’s side, both arms wrapped around her middle as if she’s trying to hold Nora together. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “She’ll be fine,” Lotte says. “You’ll see.” The room fills with pathetic mumbles of forced agreement. We all know there are no guarantees in life.

  Dinner is a symphony of forks clinking plates and drinks sloshing in glasses. It’s dismal and grim. Nora looks to me and opens her mouth but snaps it shut again and glances away.