Page 13 of I Hear You

With Taylor secured on Jesse’s back, we all start walking toward my truck. I feel a sudden pang of jealousy watching them. This is a new feeling and I can’t help but wonder if today's events brought it on. Meeting Mads, without even realizing it at the time, has me longing for everything I wanted with her. Everything I still want with her.

Chapter five

Madison

Iwashavinganothernightmare about sleeping in an alcove of the mall parking lot when I’m startled awake by noises. I don’t move, but crack open my eyes, terrified of who might be there. Quickly remembering I’m in my new dorm room–I realize it’s Taylor’s giggling I’m hearing and a man's voice shushing her and ushering her toward her bed.

“Shhh. Babe. You have a roommate, remember?” he says.

Not being quiet at all, Taylor says, “Oh, yeah! She seems awesome. I can’t wait for you to meet her!”

“Well, she won’t think we’re awesome if you wake her up on your first night as roommates!”

They both climb up into her bed and settle down. Guests in the dorm room wasn’t part of a conversation we got to have earlier. Honestly, I don’t care if Taylor brings her boyfriend back here. Not much can sour the comfort I’m enjoying in this bed, with my new sheets.

I start to drift off to sleep again, but hear something. Am I hearing–Oh my God. I am. It’s Taylor moaning. I’m laying facing her side of the room. Being careful not to move too much, I slowly open my eyes. The room is dark, but just enough moonlight is creeping through the blinds I can make out the shapes of Taylor and her boyfriend in the bed next to me. It is very clear her boyfriend is under the blanket, while Taylor is not. My imagination runs wild instantly, and I can’t help but imagine his face is buried between her legs by the way her breathing and moans are getting louder.

He shushes her and his hand comes out from under the blankets and goes to cover her mouth. Taylor wraps one hand over his and uses her other to push what I assume is his head back down. I shouldn’t be watching this. I should close my eyes and go back to sleep, but I can’t seem to make myself. And, yup, I am definitely getting turned on.

Taylor arches her back and I can see her hands are now clenching the blankets and I can hear her moans reaching a peak just as she does. The boyfriend comes crawling out from under the covers and slides in behind her just as she turns toward me, and I snap my eyes shut.

I hear Taylor whisper, “Amazing. I owe you in the morning.”

She’s clearly had a few drinks, and she’s snoring before her boyfriend can even respond. The boyfriend giggles and I can hear him getting settled and soon he’s snoring, too.

What just happened still has me stunned. Is this going to be a regular occurrence? Do I care if it is? I’m not a prude and it’s not the first time I’ve been in a room where people are getting it on without a care in the world about who sees or hears.

Silently, I turn over to face the wall and let thoughts of what I just saw and heard consume me. Soon I’m imagining it’s me with a guy between my legs making me moan. I didn’t see Taylor’s boyfriend’s face, so he isn’t who I’m imagining. The helpful guy who gave me a ride home easily creeps into my mind. Henry's face becomes clear, and I imagine him licking up my thighs and nibbling at them as he makes his way up. An imaginary warm breath rolling over me, before he slides his hand up to rub the most sensitive part of me.

As the fantasy plays out, I find myself slipping my hand slowly and quietly into my pajama shorts and finding the part of me that’s hardly been touched by anyone else. I roll my clit between two fingers, slowly at first, but pick up my pace as the fantasy evolves in my mind. The mind movie has Henry dipping his tongue between my legs and running it from the very top of my folds down until he pushes his face up against me and his tongue into me as far as he can.

Soon I’m breathing harder and forcing myself to be as quiet as possible. My free hand pinches and pulls at my nipple and that does it. The release I was after crashes over me in a tremendous wave and I bite my lip to keep myself from audibly moaning, holding my breath to trap the sounds of my orgasm in my throat.

As the waves of pleasure slow and I come down from the high, I realize just how long it’s been since I’d done that and just how badly I needed release. I fall asleep in seconds and have nothing but pleasant dreams for the rest of the night. Dreams filled with a sweet guy with hazel-colored eyes who helps desperate girls find lost luggage and give them rides so they don’t have to wait in the heat for the bus.

My alarm is sounding next to me and I quickly shut it off, unsure if my roommate and her boyfriend are still sleeping. It feels like I just fell asleep, but I promised myself I’d get up early and start the job hunt. I look across the room to find Taylor and her boyfriend still sound asleep–him pushed up against the wall and her cuddling to his back. Slowly, I creep down from my bed, careful not to wake them. I grab my backpack and shove my nicest pair of black leggings, a white button-up shirt, and my toiletry bag into it. Gently throwing it over my shoulder, I hook my fingers through my sandals and slip out of the room, heading toward the bathrooms to shower.

It’s early enough on a Saturday morning, the whole place is empty. Pulling my shirt out of my backpack, I drape it over one of the shower stalls, hoping the steam from my shower will get most of the wrinkles out. I take a quick shower and apply a little mascara, concealer, and lipstick after brushing my teeth. Most of the wrinkles are out of my shirt now. I put it on, then shove all my things into my backpack.

One advantage I have when job hunting is how many places I’ve worked. Over the past few years I’ve waitressed, answered phones at a veterinary office and worked retail. It wasn’t easy keeping a job while still focusing on school and being back and forth between Mom's house and wherever else I could find to sleep when she was on a bender.

Mom wasn’t always such a mess. It started with one too many glasses of wine at night after Dad passed. Then progressed to going out to the bars most nights by the time I was fifteen. At least by then I was able to ride the bus on my own. Before I knew it, she was bringing home strange men. And those strange men were bringing in the drugs.

I wasn’t even mad at first. I felt sorry for her. She got pregnant with me when she was seventeen years old and her parents kicked her out. My dad was around and stepped up even with only being eighteen himself when I was born. But he died in a freak accident at work when I was twelve. By the time he passed away, they’d both been working steadily and had their lives together. They’d saved and bought a small house in a friendly neighborhood the year before Dad died. Mom got some money as a death benefit from Dad’s accident, but I’m sure it’s long gone now. The last time I was at her house I noticed collection notices, and a lot of them. I guess drugs are expensive and they are even more expensive when you’re buying them for whatever piece of crap boyfriend you’re housing that month.

By the time I was sixteen, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I started crashing on friends’ couches, really anywhere else I could, most of the time. When things got diabolical, or the guy she was on a bender with was a little too friendly, I got desperate and spent a few nights sleeping on the streets. I knew if I could hold out and make it through high school, I’d be able to move away and start over at college.

I remember from the ride over to campus from the bus stop that it’s only about two miles to downtown. I’ll have the most luck finding a job there, so instead of waiting for the local bus, I decide to just walk. I make it to Main Street quicker than I expected. Most shops are just starting to open. I make my way into every store, asking if they’re hiring and if I could have an application. After almost twenty places, I’ve only managed to get one application. There’s the diner up ahead and my stomach reacts audibly to the scents of bacon and coffee wafting out of it. I shouldn’t be spending money, especially when I have a free meal plan at school, but I won’t last any longer on the job hunt if I don’t eat something.

A flurry of chimes sound when I open the door to the diner and I smile at the 1950s-style decor. The place has black-and-white checkered floors, red and white vinyl booths, and a big jukebox on one wall playing Earth Angel by The Penguins. The walls are covered in framed photos of everyone from Marilyn Monroe to James Dean. Taking a closer look, I realize most of them are signed and some even have personal messages on them.

It’s noisy, but I like it. People are chatting and laughing in their booths, forks and knives are clinking against plates. I love places like this where they lean into a theme and Dad loved 50s music. We used to have a daddy-daughter date night once a month at a local diner just like this. He would give me extra quarters to play all our favorite songs by Elvis and Patsy Cline on the jukebox. I have to suppress a squeal when I see the waitress behind the counter is wearing a vintage diner uniform, just like the ones where Dad and I went. I take an empty red barstool at the almost full breakfast bar and an older woman with a cheery smile hands me a menu.

“Coffee dear?” She questions, nodding at the waiting coffee mug.

“Yes, please. And I’ll just have some pancakes with a side of the delicious smelling bacon, please.”

“Coming right up, sweetie.” And she’s off to top off everyone’s coffees.

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