Four Letter Word
Page 40

She saw my face when I got back under the pavilion, heard what Marcus did from my lips pressed to her ear, and ended our night.
Best friends knew when it was time to leave.
I told her I just wanted to be alone, that I needed the quiet of my bedroom and the warmth of my bed, promising we’d talk about everything tomorrow.
She agreed only after my promise, kissed my cheek, and cued up HBO after stretching out on the couch.
Bedroom door closed and best friend occupied, I pulled my phone out of my purse and dialed Brian’s number.
There were several things motivating what I was about to do, but one thing stood out and rippled awareness over and under my skin. I couldn’t ignore it.
This was going to suck. Bad. There was no doubt in my mind. It was going to hurt, too.
Really bad.
But it had to be done.
“Wild,” Brian answered gently.
That was all I could take of his voice.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I said, lip quivering.
I heard his pull of breath and knew he was about to speak, protest, plea, and I couldn’t hear it so I kept going.
“I can’t keep hoping and holding out, waiting for you to give me what I need, Brian, because I’ll never stop waiting. You know? You said it yourself. You’re just a voice and that’s all you’ll ever be to me and I can’t, I’m not okay with that. I’ll never be okay with that little of you.”
“Send me pictures, Syd,” he begged urgently. “Okay? You wanna send me pictures, send them. Send one right now. I wanna see you.”
“This isn’t about the picture,” I stressed. “How many times have I asked where you live? Or if we could meet up? That’s what I want, Brian. I want to see you. I want to see how you smile and feel your hands against mine. I want to lie next to you and dream with you and I can’t. I’ll …I’ll never have that.”
“I lie next to you every night. Don’t you know that?”
I sobbed hard into my hand. My devoured heart reached for him.
“You got me, babe. Fuck …you’ve had me. When I was Wes, you had me.”
When he was Wes …
I wiped tears away and spoke through broken breaths.
“Tonight, you know what I did?” I asked. “I let some stranger hold me and comfort me and I let myself think it was you. I imagined your arms and your breath in my hair and it was perfect, it was exactly what I needed because I needed it to be you, Brian. But it wasn’t. It will never be you holding me or catching me. I’m gonna fall and you’re not gonna be there.”
“Syd …”
“No …No!” I dug my nails into my palm and held it at my side. “This is over. It’s over, Brian. Don’t call me again. Don’t text me. I won’t answer. I swear, I won’t.”
“Don’t do this,” he shot in, quiet and quick. “Please, Wild, don’t …don’t do this to me. To us.”
“You did this, Brian,” I shot back. “You did it, because I’m here. I’m right here, waiting, asking you for more like I’ve always asked you and I’m not gonna wait anymore.”
“Sydney …”
“Good-bye, Brian.”
“It was me!”
I blinked at the wall.
“What?”
“Holding you tonight,” he explained, voice tight and anxious and filled with desperate, lying words. “It was me. Okay? It was me. No one else holds you.”
I shook my head.
He wanted to believe it, too. Too bad that wasn’t enough.
“Don’t call me again,” I whispered.
I held the power button down until the phone went black, let it drop out of my hand, and hit the floor, breaking, I hoped. I didn’t want it anymore. Then I crawled in heels and washed-away makeup onto my bed and collapsed on my side, face pressed to the pillow and hand over my mouth.
It was over.
I didn’t stop crying until morning.
 
 
Chapter Eleven

BRIAN
Hand moving furiously over my dick, knees bent and spread with muscles strung tight, I arched my back off the bed and came in four shots onto my stomach, grunting with jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. Eyes closed and mind focused on one person. One image.
Wild.
She was beautiful, a chaos of crazy red and pale skin disguised.
Perfection that tortured and teased me.
My girl.
My fucking girl.
“Cut!”
My eyes opened. I exhaled irritation and hatred for this place.
Fuck them all. I wanted to burn this building to the fucking ground.
“Nice work, Dash,” someone commented. It sounded like Eddie, the cameraman.
Slimeball. He’d jerk off half the time while filming, didn’t care no one wanted to see that shit.
Fucking degenerate.
I ignored him and pushed my legs out, stretched, sat up, and wiped off with a towel someone had thrown on the bed, then swiped my clothes off the floor and tugged boxers, shorts, and tee on, arms sliding through the sleeves as I shoved through the crew hanging back to wrap up.
I never stuck around.
I came, collected, and got the fuck out of there.
Not bothering to knock on Mike’s door this time ’cause I was on day two of no Wild and I was losing my goddamned mind over it, I pushed the door open and stepped into the office, ignored his whining protest of my disturbance and whoever the fuck else was in the room with him, snatched the cash he had laid out for me on the corner of his desk, counted it, turned without a glance in his immoral direction, and made for the door.
“Don’t gotta be a dick about it, Dash,” Mike tossed out at my back.
“Fuck off,” I growled, slammed the door shut behind me, and crossed the room to get to the exit.
Demetrius was headed to the office, caught my eyes as we passed, and tipped his chin.
“Didn’t think that shit was going to cut it, but you’re killing it on the site, man. People love watching you whack off.”
I ignored him, too. Didn’t give a shit about hits on the site or anything else Demetrius had to tell me.
Didn’t give a shit about anything except getting gone.
“Dash, you hear what I said?” he called when I reached the door.
I shoved it open and stalked outside, silent, exchanged the phone in my pocket for the wad of cash and scrolled to my recent calls, hitting Dial as I got to my Jeep.
My ass hit the leather the same time Sydney’s voice mail kicked on.
Her phone was off. Knew it was and had been since Thursday night. I’d called it enough to know. Left plenty of messages for her, not knowing if she was getting them but figuring not, doubting she wanted to hear my voice if she was refusing to hear direct from me.
I was in hell.
Worse off than I was a month ago because I’d gotten a taste of something good and I’d forgotten what good tasted like, and worse, the good Sydney gave me was better than everything I’d had stripped away the night I fucked up.
Sydney’s good filled my head and my heart. Blood warming and soul soothing. It pushed the deserving bad into a place I couldn’t focus on or feel because she held my attention in the tips of her fingers and the ridges on her tongue. She made things sweet and right with her laughter and sleepy sighs, her stories through those stupid emojis she somehow made cute and charming and the way she’d whisper my name and pleas to God when her hand moved between her legs.