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Lo
Where do I go from here?
Sitting in my 4Runner, I cry. The tears drip out like faucets, and the sobs rack my frame like thunder in a cloudy sky. My heart just hurts, and there’s no salve, no easy fix. Actually, there’s no fix at all. I can move on, finalize my divorce, say goodbye to the man I’ve loved since knowing what love was... but will it solve anything other than my resilience as a mother?
Isn’t it the easy way out, the simple explanation for not fighting for me? Or is it the definition of fighting for me and loving myself enough to move forward?
The only problem? I still love him.
Even with everything he’s done, that love hasn’t lessened. Yes, he’s fucked up. Yes, he’s broken me. Yes, he’s given another woman what I’ve always wanted... but he’s still my Jase. My love. My life. My ending.
It’s time, though, to choose my kids, me, and my mental health. It’s well overdue, and by picking this—picking us—I’ll need to tell Toby.
With that decided, I drive over to his house. My mind immediately goes to the other day and the orgasm he gave me, the almost-sex we had, Jase barging in... As I park my car, my stomach fills with a buzzing, warning me not only of a fight to come but a heartbreak or two to match.
As I exit the car with a little less oomph than normal, my feet meet the pavement. They drag because he’s my best friend. He always has been. He’s the first love of my life, maybe not in the way he wanted or deserved, but the first nonetheless. Walking through this door and having this conversation is the last thing I want, but it’s necessary.
It’s the kind of heartbreak that will hurt but you know it’ll mend you in the end.
It gives closure on both ends, but also, it gives hope for a future, too.
It’s like seeing a caterpillar break free from its pod and become a butterfly. It died to make that possible, but the beauty and strength required for that process makes it reborn as a new entity.
Unlike with Ellie’s house, I don’t knock. I use my key and walk in. It’s quiet as I meander through his house. It’s welcoming like my own. I’ve spent so much time here and it never dulls. It always offers what I’m missing.
But I can’t string this along and give him false hope for something I’m not capable of giving him. He deserves more than that. He deserves the truth.
When I round the corner toward his bedroom, I figure he’s taken a nap. He does that on occasion. Since everything went down with Jase, I haven’t been back to work. It’s like Toby knew I needed the air to breathe because he hasn’t even given me a set schedule. And today, now, I can’t even be the chef he needs. I’m going to have to find another job.
He’s not in his room or the guest room. His car is here, so he must be somewhere. When I go back toward his bedroom, I notice the bathroom door is closed. Wanting to give him privacy, I turn to leave the room.
But then I hear him grunting.
Is he masturbating? I’m sure my mouth is open like a fool as I imagine him trying to get his need out of his system. It was only hours ago, not even a full day, that I left him to himself. With the argument and fight he and Jase must’ve had, I’m sure he’s pent-up with a barrage of emotions.
Each step that should take me away from the door only brings me closer. There’s no argument to brook for this. It’s wrong.
My hand connects with the wood, and I knock twice. On the other side of the door, a barely there fuck fills my ears.
“Lo?” he asks while shuffling ensues.
I smile, feeling like a teenager all over again. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught Toby in an awkward situation, but it’s just the lighthearted feel I needed after what happened with Jase.
“Out here,” I say over a laugh. It escapes without warning, and then I’m a fit of giggles outside his door.
It opens, and his eyes don’t look at me, the guilt in his expression only eggs me on.
“Were you really just...” I don’t finish, unable to keep the laughs at a minimum.
His eyes finally connect with mine. They’re angry, aggravated, and full of heat. Whoa. He’s staring at me like he wants to rip me apart, and suddenly, those giggles are stolen from my lungs.
“I’m sorry,” he musters, his chest rising and falling heavily like he’d just finished a run rather than got caught with his pants down. He hasn’t taken his penetrative gaze away from me, and I’m flustered for words.
If this was before we fooled around, I would tease him. If this was before he touched me in places only Jase has ever touched, I would laugh some more. If this was before my release coated his lips, before his cock almost entered me, before I allowed him to have a piece of me, I would shrug this entire thing off.
The problem is that it’s no longer before. It’s after. It’s different. We are different.
“Loren,” he huskily calls out to me. My name is thick in his throat, as if it’s something to overcome, something to fight and win and defeat in the next swallow, but he can’t.
In the entirety of our friendship, he’s only called me Loren a handful of times. He reserves it for when he’s angry, serious, or in this case, exasperated. What is he trying to say? What is he trying to tell me with that word?
“Tobias,” I tease, attempting to lighten the mood and make it less frenetic with energy that won’t stop zipping up and down my skin.
He pushes closer, his body large and hovering. He’s both protective and aggressive, both tempting and anxiety-inducing, both welcoming and a painful reminder.
I place my palm on his chest, halting his closeness, knowing we need distance. I’m hurting, and he’s jealous. We can’t do this.
“Toby,” I try again, his face close to mine, so close that his breath hovers on my forehead, warm and erratic.
“Sparkle,” he imitates.
His mouth descends. And as much as I need to, as much as it’s a necessity rather than a want, I don’t pull away. I allow his lips to connect with mine. It’s not frantic like yesterday. It’s soft and bereft. His lips barely touch my own and neither of us move. We breathe in this shared air, just standing here. My eyes are closed as I absorb this moment.
His hand snakes up my waist, sending shivers and goosebumps to caress my skin. His palm continues its trail up. It rests on my left breast, not stroking, not squeezing, or even fondling. It continues its slow ascent to where my heart rises.
My breaths patter out of me, uneven and nervous. His hand is warm on my skin, almost scorching me with the touch. He’s being direct yet not frazzling me with words to further confuse me. My heart thumps. The beat must be felt on his skin. It feels too strong beneath my bones, too fast, too much.
His lips pull away from mine, but my eyes stay closed. They’re unwilling to see what has changed. What I’ve done to this man. What I’ve ruined without realizing it.
I inhale, my nose smelling the faint scent of coffee and Toby’s deodorant. It’s a welcoming breath of sweetness.
It’s wrong, though. It’s not the mint and musky scent of the man I married and love. It brings me comfort but not the same kind.
There are two kinds of comfort. The one that brings you hope, happiness, and warmth. Then there’s the all-consuming one. The one that takes away your oxygen while giving you a new source, steals your heartbeat but sends you a new flutter that it has never felt before, breaks you piece by piece just to put you back together strong. Toby isn’t the latter.
His hand stays on my chest, warming me from the inside out, healing me in some way, fixing something I never knew could be fixed by another. It gives a certain kind of euphoria, a break from the mold of sadness, a distraction from all the wrongs.
“Loren,” he tries again, attempting to coax my gaze to his.
If I give in, if I open my eyes, we can’t return. We can no longer be best friends. We can no longer be. Whatever leaves this room will ruin us both—our family and his brother.
Tears burn behind my eyelids, forcing me to squeeze them tighter, begging me for a little bit of strength to avoid the madness that is us—the us that will lead to our undoing.
It’s inevitable, him and I.
It’s as if it was here since the beginning. A foreboding almost. As teens, when he flirted shamelessly, I let him. When we were in college and I was hurt, I sought him out for the sake of my own heart. My safe haven, my best friend, my Tobe. This moment was bound to happen. It was bound to rip us apart, and it was bound to end whatever sanctity we found in one another.
And here we are.
The end.
The very last time.
Whether this beautiful man I’ve loved most of my life knows it or not, it’s done.
My body shudders with awareness as my heart claws its way out of my chest. The tears spill freely, landing like bullets on my chest, furthering the pain, making me more aware of this choice. Because that’s what this is. The choice to pick my children and myself, to move forward and be free. It’s the finality of allowing him to find love and be loved the way I can’t offer. No matter how much and how deep I feel for this man, he deserves more. He must know it, too. Tobe can’t always play second string, and I can’t allow him to do it willingly anymore.
When the decision is finalized, when my heart is completely detached from me, my eyes open. They are welcomed to a glossy-gazed Tobe, one I haven’t seen since my mom died, one who hasn’t greeted me since he saw me the first time after my suicide attempt.
It kills me.
He, like Jase, hides his emotions well. They don’t bubble up or explode. They just don’t come forward unless he’s alone.
His hazels shine with tears, making mine burn hotter. I hate this—what I’ve done, what we’ve done. It’s all there in his expression. He knows I’m walking away. It’s as apparent in his tears as it is in the tenseness of his shoulders. He’s rigid with each breath, but his gaze isn’t any less penetrating.
“I love you,” he admits.
The words are as harsh as they are beautiful, as heartbreaking as they are kind, as loving as they are hateful. He’s admitting it. It’s been twenty years, and this boy, the one who tried to steal my heart, finally gives into the fact that he gave his to me a long time ago.
“I’ve always loved you, Lo, from the very first day we met and you bumped into me. The sparkle of hate in your eyes, the anger and annoyance in your posture all class... It’s always been you.” He takes a tentative step back. “Even when you and Jase got together, I knew it was too late for me. By then, my heart only existed to make you happy. But it’s him. I know it’s him. When you’d just met, I could see it. We were first friends and I dragged you to that drive-in, he saw you with me. Before you even knew him, he already had his eyes set on you.”
I close my eyes again. The feeling of hopelessness overwhelms my senses. It hurts hearing his declaration, knowing that for the past two decades I’ve broken this man.
When I brave looking at him again, it’s only momentarily before his mouth meets mine. It’s cruel and mean and punishing. He grips my chin, holding it reverently while attacking my lips with a hateful kind of love. I sink into him, allowing him to have this—the control, the power, the intimacy he can’t have with me after today.
He takes the palm that rested on my heart and cups my jaw. I moan as he bites my lip. There’s no denying my attraction and affection for him. There’s no denying my steady heartbeat when he hugs me or my rampant one when his lips touch me.
But this is all we’ll have.
This moment.
Today.
History.
Nothing more can ever come of it.
Tobe leads me to his bed, the backs of my knees bending when they hit the mattress. The soft fabric of the comforter abrades at my skin, my flesh so sensitive that something this soft brings a sting.
He widens my legs, his mouth not leaving mine while he settles between my thighs. His hands grip my bare thighs, squeezing, punishing, digging into my flesh with meaning.
There’s no words spoken. There isn’t a need. Everything we can possibly say is conveyed in the way that our skin touches. It’s in the way our mouths connect, the bites we take, and groans we make.
We kiss and kiss and kiss until the clothing I have becomes claustrophobic. We groan and grind until skin to skin is all we can accept. We breathe heavier and heavier until our bodies are entirely connected.
His hands dip down to my panties, rubbing slow circles over my clit. My back arches, bowing into him. The shame from yesterday is gone. The ring is gone. My marriage is also gone.
The breath that’s stolen from me when he dips a finger into me makes me cry out. His lips take a nipple into his mouth, nibbling on the flesh while he enters me savagely. When I snake down his body and unbuckle his pants, he groans.
“Did you finish earlier?” I question breathlessly.
He shakes his head quickly, sharply, like he needs me to know.
“Then let me take care of that.”
My hand wraps around his length, hot and heavy in my palm, and I stroke. Now he’s the one arching and panting.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes hardened with lust.
The bite of his thumb on my clit has me squeezing his length in return. He growls, forcing my hand away as moves me on my back. The bite of his teeth as he takes my center with his mouth has me crying out. I squirm restlessly as his tongue flicks cruelly against me. He bites down, making me writhe all while his fingers curl inside me.
My body feels free. It feels warmth. It feels an escape it’s needed.
He continues his despotic torture with his tongue and I’m a mess. In moments, I’m coming, and it’s his name that leaves my lips. Not Jase’s. Not simple moans. Just Toby.
Tobe kisses up my body, nibbling on my knees before biting at my thighs. Then, he’s moving us to the center of his bed.
His cock is leveled with my opening, waiting to take the plunge, wanting nothing more than to have me. “Is this okay?” he asks, his eyes heavy with lust and anticipation but still the caring man I’ve always known, the one who will always take my feelings into consideration before anything else.
“Yes,” I whisper, barely getting out the word. I’m no longer a part of my conscious. I’ve allowed the carnal need to devour me and take the last piece of my sanity that tells me this is a mistake.
He starts unbuttoning his shirt, but I tear at it with impatience, making the buttons fly off and hit his linoleum floor. His smirk lights up his whole face, and it takes everything in me not to giggle. At the end of the day, I’m still unsure what the fuck I’ve brought myself to do, what I’ve chosen to do despite my knowledge of the repercussions.
Toby hovers over me, hesitates outside of my entrance, and watches me intently as he thrusts in. My gaze connects with his and I let out a long sigh. My body welcomes him in a way I didn’t think it would. It molds to him, allowing for him to seek comfort in me like I’ve done to him for as long as I can recall.
“I love you, Sparkle, so fucking much,” he rasps, his eyes moist at the edges.
My heart constricts while he continues his methodic fucking. His hips buck, rubbing me perfectly. Tears come from me soon after, enjoying the end of the chapter that is us.
He sinks deeper, his hips hitting mine, more frantic in their pursuit. Rolling us over so I’m on top, he grips me tightly, assisting my rotating movements. I nearly scream when his thumb connects with my clit again. He works me over, rubbing, pressing, and pinching with fierce determination.
When I come the second time, he lifts me, taking me to the kitchen, carrying my body while he’s still nestled inside of me. He lays me atop the cold counter, the one we’ve prepared food and cooked on during various occasions.
“Always wanted to fuck you here,” he admits before he’s pounding into me.
My ass slides across the marble as he thrusts into me unapologetically. His cock drives into me with our every moan and groan. After taking his fingers into his mouth, the ones that have rubbed me and entered me, he slides them down my stomach, leaving a wet trail before hitting my clit again.
I bow, the flesh sensitive from his brutality, but I also buck into the touch, feeling him get frantic inside me with each swipe of his fingers.
“Fuck, Sparkle. I’m going to come.”
Moments later, he does, me following after him. He calls out my name, groaning with a strong and aggressive release that has me exhausted. His seed releases inside me, filling me with disappointment in the choices I’ve made.
Between Jase taking me over and over last night to giving myself over to Toby right now, I immediately feel disgusted and defeated.
Toby must see it. He carries me wedding-style into his huge shower. He sets me down and washes me with the highest level of care. When he puts shampoo on my hair and begins caressing me, I bawl. When he lathers me with soap, making sure I’m clean, I nearly fall to my knees. When he rinses my skin of sins, the reality of everything hits me and makes me shake. He helps me out of the shower, drying me off. We haven’t said a word, and he isn’t prodding.
After laying me on the bed, he brushes the hair out of my eyes and rubs gentle circles on my scalp. The care he gives while tending to the anxiety I’ve had for years is too kind. Right now, while my husband is a mess, I shouldn’t be getting the nice treatment. I shouldn’t be fucking my brother-in-law because I needed to say goodbye, and I sure as hell shouldn’t lean into his body for comfort when I don’t plan on staying here.
“I’ll always love you, Tobe,” I admit, tears racing down my face again.
You’d think I couldn’t shed another one, that I couldn’t possibly cry any more, but you’d be wrong. That’s the only thing my body allows. All the feelings piled up from hiding with my emotions after their deaths just comes spilling out. Tears wrench out from me, exorcising themselves with a new cut per droplet.
Tobe just holds me as I fall apart. He doesn’t ask for a thing, he doesn’t push for more. He only holds me together until I can find my own strength.