Walking Heartbreak Read online

  My legs start shaking.

  I fly. I fly so high.

  After, I see the way Bo looks at me. His eyes are awed. How can his eyes be awed? We’re not married. Bo doesn’t love me. We don’t even know each other.

  “That was gorgeous,” he whispers. Gaze still fixed on me, he sits up on his knee and fumbles with something. It’s a condom.

  I bite my lip, anxious. Wriggle uncomfortably beneath him. I want to get up and run off, but…

  I also need him really deep.

  He obeys my last wish, sinking quietly over me and spreading my knees with his. Panic rises in me because—

  What about Jude?

  “Are you okay?” Bo breathes against my ear. Hard at the apex of my thighs, he glides in my sudden slickness. It feels so amazing, I can’t stop my hips from helping him. The perfection of the moment flashes through my brain. What I do might not be right, but it is good.

  “I am,” I say on a small pant, the word coinciding with a new sting of lust at the bottom of my belly. The anticipation, the dread and desire, they’re slowly destroying me. He needs to do this, or I’ll morph into something else. Yes, right now I am orange and flammable, but I can shrivel into grey remorse in seconds.

  Bo understands.

  Bo stops moving.

  Bo presses against me with pleasure-soothing hardness, and when he insists, my body cleaves open, accepting his entry.

  He’s wide, unyielding even when the impulse to flee tenses my body. I make a noise that sounds like a croak, but it doesn’t scare him off. He continues, pressing slowly into me, and then his breath hitches.

  “You’re tight,” he sighs out. “Please, I don’t want to hurt you. Tell me if I do.” He fills me completely, my walls stretching to accommodate him. I can’t really speak, because I’m bursting with the moment.

  Sinking closer, he envelops me in his arms, his breath uneven against my neck while he waits for me to be comfortable. Only I am comfortable. So very, very comfortable. Timidly, I tilt my pelvis, a quiet encouragement.

  My fingers dig into his shoulders, begging, and again he understands. We move. We both do, a synchronized, quiet dance, a wave of two bodies joined.

  He feels better than anything has in so long. Every inch of my skin reacts to him as he claims me—carries me with him to this place where the good outshines the bad. Where guilt doesn’t exist and misery has no place.

  Bo doesn’t stop until it’s too much, and I subdue a scream below him, swelling and tightening around our contact. “Is it sweet?” he asks just when I can’t think anymore, and that too adds to my pleasure.

  My muscles quiver, lasting, lasting, but in the end, they relax, landing from the flight he took me on. His movements over me turn jerky, and his breath shudders hot at my ear.

  I open my eyes, wanting to absorb how I make him feel, and in the dim light I see his bottomless ones, blind with desire, and the beauty of having caused such bliss rushes a shiver through me.

  “Ah Nadia,” he pleads, like he wants me to do something. My response is instinctive. I cup his face with my hands and make him moan out his climax against my mouth.

  I remember Bo returning to the bed with a warm washcloth and cleaning my body. I remember being patted down with a dry towel afterward, making me feel cared for in my sated state. But I don’t recall falling asleep.

  It’s light outside when I wake up. I’m in Bo’s arms, and his chin is nestled over my head. I fit in against him, and with his arm loosely around my waist, we’re in this sleep-embrace that’s so natural it stings. I swallow, letting the morning flood me with the sins of yesterday.

  “Yeah, that’s how you jack someone off,” Emil’s voice mutters through the wall.

  “Really?” Zoe asks, sounding surprised.

  “No! If you had one yourself, you’d destroy it in three seconds flat.”

  Low snickers from Zoe.

  I hear them so clearly, a flush of shame creeps up my throat and into my face. I don’t want to consider what they might have heard of Bo and me last night. He’d been quiet though. I’d been quiet.

  I’m always quiet.

  “Hey, beautiful.” Bo’s voice is morning-raspy. I tilt my head back to see his face.

  “Good morning.” There’s a smile in my voice. I hear it myself, and it’s strange.

  “Are they at it in there?” he asks, and I titter, uneasy.

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell what they’re doing.”

  “‘Jack off?’ Nah, it’s pretty clear. As far as I know, it means—”

  “Shhh,” I cut him off instinctively, and he raises an eyebrow at me. “Dirty word?”

  He retracts to better study me, but I hide quickly against his neck.

  “Hmm. Nadia’s blushing,” he explains to himself. “You’re even prettier when you blush, like last night when you—”

  “Please!” I never raise my voice, but he can’t say that word.

  “Came?” His voice is silky and teasing and a bit merciless.

  “You’re mean,” I mumble, my cheeks so hot I’m dying.

  Lean arms cage me in and tighten around me. “You were perfect.”

  I don’t reply because I’m embarrassed. Why would he mention something that personal? I don’t know this man. And… I don’t do this stuff.

  Shame is a friend, a family member. She has returned full force, and now I fight her sister too: guilt. Guilt is never far behind.

  Hard raps on the door interrupt us. “Nadia? You there?”

  “Yeah,” I start, then rinse my voice with a small cough and repeat it louder. I expect Zoe to open, not giving me privacy to get into my clothes. I even expect a few clever comments. I don’t get either.

  “We’re heading out for breakfast. You coming?” she asks.

  No. I need to go home.

  “Sure, give us five,” Bo replies.

  “’Kay!” my friend sings out.

  “I can’t,” I tell Bo.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” He brushes hair from my face the way he did last night when he comforted me. He pulls on a lock and tucks it between my shoulder and the pillow. Silly.

  “Yeah, but…”

  “He’s waiting for you?”

  I shut my eyes and taste the metallic flavor of guilt in my mouth. “Not waiting—”

  “He’s there though, right? Or is he deployed or something?”

  Bo should be repulsed by my actions—he knows I’m married. My hands go up on their own, and the goal is to cover my face and black out his expression. Just… he doesn’t look repulsed. He looks concerned.

  Last night, the booze talked for me. This morning, I’m not an open book anymore.

  “Ah no. I’m not an army wife,” I say. I force myself to relax, and I say the only thing I can think of that will stop his questions.

  “Okay, I’ll do breakfast.”

  NADIA

  I’m not in our bedroom. I can’t take it right now. My intestines rebel—they’re rebelling and cracking open from the inside out. It’s my heart and my stomach fracturing and bleeding out pain and sorrow and guilt, and I barely hold back the scream trapped at the back of my throat.

  I’m face down on the sectional Jude and I bought at a yard sale nineteen months ago. We were so excited. I kept shushing him, mortified as he lipped off under his breath about all we could do on such a beauty in the right place. On the way home, he’d whispered details against my ear even though I’d told him it was too much. To commit these deeds was one thing, but to talk about them? He laughed. He was sweet, funny, and adorable. My beautiful husband that I’d do anything to make happy.

  But now I’m face down. Just.

  Face down.

  Jude isn’t here. I need him to hold me and forgive me over last night. I bawl into the pillow.

  Zoe
’s at the door, banging, but I’m not opening. How can I? I’m a mess. I hate myself. I hate what I did. Me. All I want is Jude’s embrace so tight around me I can’t move a muscle.

  I can smell him even when he’s not here. It’s a crazy, symbiotic thing where I need him so much, I—

  Zoe says it’s not healthy. My parents would agree if they’d remained around after the excommunication. After I disobeyed them. After we eloped.

  Work. Do I have work today?

  “Nadia. Open the damn door. I hear you in there.”

  I don’t care— I don’t care— Let her… whatever she’s doing.

  My Jude.

  “I’m demolishing your front door, babe.” Zoe’s voice flutters through, china-doll squealy and hyper-feminine. I’m lost in a misery I don’t want to hold back because it’s what I need and what I deserve.

  “How can you understand?” I yell, replying to a question no one asked, but she hears and pleads and croons and lures.

  I autopilot to her. Open. I’m back on our big couch. I want to suffocate in the depths of fabric-covered stuffing.

  “Sweetie, Nadia-baby. It’s okay.” The compassion in her tone verges on pity, but I can’t ponder the difference.

  “It’s not,” I manage. “Who does what I did?”

  “No-no. Baby girl. You were happy. Bo made you happy. I saw you.” She wedges herself into the cushion, sinks down far enough to have my body slide into her lap. Light elbows nudge my thighs before she makes herself comfortable.

  “You’re so scared, Nadia. Don’t be that, you know?” she murmurs. “Sometimes I wish I could pull you out of yourself and make you watch someone like you—but not really you—on a film or something. It’d all be so clear to you.”

  I don’t say anything. I’m too busy controlling the blood splattering in a nonexistent carnage of my entrails. God, it hurts so much. I wouldn’t wish this upon anybody.

  There’s a tremble in Zoe’s voice too. “You deserve happiness. Can I ask you a question? Not if it makes you more upset though.”

  I can’t think straight. The destruction beneath my ribcage roars. All I want is to fall to my side and heave my knees up beneath my chin. Curve my body into a ball.

  Later, she makes me tea. My gaze keeps going to the door, looking, waiting, and when I do, Zoe’s eyes blink quickly, forcing back moisture. “You’re killing me, bitch, all right?” she says.

  She doesn’t ask her question until I’ve accepted cream and sugar in my tea. Until she has stirred it in. Until I take sips bigger than the initial, symbolic one to make her stop insisting. But when I’ve held the cup, drinking for a few minutes without coiling in over myself in pain, she stabs me with it.

  “Have you thought about moving?”

  “Moving? From where, our apartment?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you think it would be better to sell this place and get something new, a fresh start without the reminder of—”

  “Of what, Zoe?” My question is a shriek, clumsy and harsh.

  “Nadia, please.” Zoe whizzes out a breath before she continues. “These last days have been difficult for you. I see that, and I— Whatever. I’m just gonna say it again: I need you to remember that you’re my best friend. I love you so much, and there’s nothing in the world I want more than for you to be truly happy.

  “My grandma, a very smart lady, used to say that happiness is a fleeting thing. It’s not a constant you achieve once and for all and then you’re set. Well, I saw you happy for a long time yesterday. You even seemed happy for a sec at breakfast this morning.”

  “No, because I felt guilty. And there’s no moving anywhere. Our apartment is perfect for us, with everything I’ve done to it. Perfect.”

  Zoe’s chin quivers. It’s the weirdest thing because she’s usually unhampered by others’ crazies. She’s the kind of person who thrusts her head up and takes life on with a tilted smirk. If she were me, she’d own the pain instead of burying herself in it.

  “Time,” she whispers. “I wish you didn’t need so much of it.”

  Zoe leaves a few hours later. She wants me to come along; Emil and she are going to a movie. Bo has tried to call me, she says, but my phone is off. That’s the way it’ll remain. Tomorrow, work will keep me busy. I have the early shift, and if Scott needs me, I might do a double.

  I go to bed early. Wake up a couple of times throughout the night, soaking in my husband next to me. No words of reproach reach me like they should have from my vehement, fierce man. There’s no grabbing my wrists and staring into my eyes, demanding to know, “What the fuck?”

  I need his forgiveness or his anger hard. I drift off, and what I dream, I don’t deserve. It’s too good, the exact rerun of Jude’s and my first time together.

  “Are you afraid?” Jude whispers, blue eyes wide with concern for me. He cups my face with both of his slim, young, unfinished fourteen-year-old hands and kisses me before I can answer.

  He wants me to be ready. His body trembles because it’s not easy for a teenaged boy who visits his girlfriend nightly to stop at holding her close.

  Jude’s hair is too long. It tickles. He’s less clumsy than a year ago when he first kissed me behind the church. I’m oversensitive and trembling like he is when his mouth finds my throat.

  We’ve thought about this for months. It’s serious, the ultimate rebellion against Mother, against Elder Rafael’s dogmas. Yes, our union tonight is premeditated, and I probably wouldn’t have done it if my boyfriend weren’t Jude.

  I need Jude closer than Mother. I need him under my skin. Once we consummate our love, the sensation of him will last through the day when he’s not with me. I’ll carry his memory within me stronger. For longer.

  I wish he’d remained at the Heavenly Harbor School. It’s closer to our house than his public school. I’d see him from my window, and his family would still be a part of our lives. Thank God no one stops outsiders from attending our sermons. My Jude is clockwork, showing up every Sunday. He seats himself in the pew behind me, infuriating Mother, and during the sermon his eyes keep my back and my heart warm.

  Sometimes, I sneak off to the bathroom afterward, and if I’m lucky, I get a moment with him in the hallway. Last Sunday we lucked out. He caught my arms and hiked me up against the wall and kissed me deep with the fervor of someone drowning.

  “You don’t understand how much I love you, Nadia,” he rasped.

  But I do know. Because it’s as much as I love him.

  Now, his breath stumbles over the urge to groan out loud, and I let him remove my nightgown. “I brought protection,” he whispers, fumbling down my stomach until he finds my mound. I shut my eyes when his fingers trace lower and locate my secret place.

  The shame sits in my throat, wanting to stop me. My body tells me it’s all sin, but my heart remains on Jude’s side and it’s stubborn.

  My knee falls to the side, making things easier. We’re not good at this though. “I think I need some light,” he apologizes and turns it on. It’s so much brighter than I can take. I cover my face with my hands.

  “I’m sorry I’m not a pro yet,” Jude chuckles, and despite it all, he makes me smile. This is Jude—my Jude—and he’s pieces of funny, of wicked, of fierce, of sweet, the reason why I don’t get up and scamper off.

  The crinkling of a bag startles me. I close my legs, making them teepee between us and shutting me off from his actions. Intent on his work, he doesn’t object. “Damn condom. I bet it’s defective. They can’t all be this difficult, right? Geez, big rubber factories, how ’bout you make something that works?” he mutters.

  I roll to my side, knees up under my chin. Try to cover my butt with a part of the sheet.

  “It broke. Hold on—I bought plenty. I figured I’d leave them here on your nightstand after,” he jokes.

  But then he’s over me, all heavy boy, nuzzling
my cheek and kissing my neck. “It’s on. We can do it! You want me to make love to you, baby?” he asks.

  “Dunno,” I muffle into my pillow.

  Jude turns me so I’m flat on my back and peeking at him from between my lashes. His eyes are so full of love my heart is about to explode. His body, naked like God put him on Earth. His member, latex-wrapped and pointing at me.

  “You can always say no. I love you so much, Nadia. If you want to sleep instead, we will.”

  I hesitate. Seeing Jude like this, so gentle and soft and wanting me, makes me want to give myself to him. In my mind, the black smog of Elder Rafael’s creed wavers, receding slowly with all its negativity. “I love you too. Come,” I sigh out.

  When he slumps down over me, he’s eager and clumsy, and kisses I thought we’d perfected revert to ungainly. Teeth clack between our lips, and I giggle without a sound while he searches for me with a hand.

  “Remember it will hurt at first,” he says breathlessly. “I have to rupture something in you. The hymen.”

  “Okay…” My pulse quickens. What if I can’t hold back? What if I cry out from the pain? Oh Lord please don’t let my parents hear me. No, God—please don’t watch us do this.

  I hope He is far away, busy with someone else’s wrongdoings while Jude and I love and sin. Or maybe Jude is right and God isn’t revengeful. Maybe he’s not the implacable god my family believes in.

  Jude’s mouth has turned hot against mine, hips grinding hard where I suddenly need him so much. Love is bright and shiny, sweet like my lover. He pushes me open between us with awkward tenderness.

  “I’m going in now,” he warns me, pitch breaking.

  “Okay,” I whisper because I can’t take the suspense any longer.

  “Okay… Putting it in,” he pants, and from the sound, he almost doesn’t need to be inside of me.

  I’m anxious. I want the pain to be over. I want to be beyond the fear of waking my parents up. Please, get it over with.

  “Stop if I start screaming,” I say, and he freezes on top of me.

  “You won’t hurt that bad?” He wants to reassure me, but his words are a question. Jude’s the one who told me how I’d feel. He researched it on the Internet, while I rarely have access to Father’s computer. All I could do was believe him.