Invisible String: Chapter 22

“Come over if you want to talk.”

I read the text for the millionth time as I stood outside his all too familiar apartment door. I’d made out with him once against this door, and it was too easy to recall his trailing hands and the pressure of his lips against my skin as he worked down my body.

I’d left the school shortly after our argument, driven home in a daze, tears at the ready as soon as I stepped inside my parent’s empty house, my dad at work. I’d just crawled into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. I’d immediately regretted pushing him away, his absence entirely crushing.

I’d stayed there for a few hours, wishing for a sleep that would never come as I let the same old track play over and over in my head, the overwhelm of the last few weeks finally breaking me like a wave against a rock.

When my phone buzzed on the dresser, I’d almost ignored it. But Meatball had whined, letting me know she needed out in the yard and that had been enough to get me out of bed. I’d paused when I’d read who it was from, my heart squeezing painfully at even the sight of his name, followed by those seven words.

“Come over if you want to talk.”

And now I found myself outside his door, not sure why I’d agreed when talking sounded like my own personal hell, when all I wanted to do was apologize for being horrible and jealous and tell him I didn’t deserve him, not for a second. What I didn’t want to say was how badly I wanted to pour myself out to him, didn’t want to admit to him how I felt wrecked beyond words and now I couldn’t keep feeling all of this because it was driving me insane. All I wanted was him and his touch and his kisses, but even that made me feel overwhelmed and exhausted and so scared I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel safe without him again. I wanted silence and peace and the touch of his skin, but he deserved so much more than that.

I knocked on the door, and almost leapt back in surprise when it opened almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for me, pacing up and down like I had, wondering if asking me over was a giant mistake.

“Hi.” My voice was so quiet, so small I wasn’t even fully sure I said the word.

“Hi.” He stood in the doorway wearing a t-shirt that fit across his shoulders perfectly, the cuff of the sleeve doing things that should be illegal to his arms. His lips were pressed into a straight line and I couldn’t tell you how badly I wished for one of his bright smiles that always felt like sunshine.

“I brought pizza.” The words felt redundant as I lifted the pizza box I held in my hands. “It’s not my usual, but it’s still good.”

I hadn’t dared to go past Dad’s work for food. I couldn’t handle seeing him after this morning, our argument still too fresh to face him.

Ben stepped to the side, letting me past as he held the door open for me.

Whenever I’d imagined his apartment a few times over the years, I had expected flames, demons scurrying about, complex math problems painted in the walls in blood like a ritual sacrifice. But it was as clean and minimal as ever.

I’d never spent a huge amount outside of his bedroom, and seeing it now in the low light of the evening, the nicely appointed living room still caught me a little off guard. Even in your late twenties, it felt like you’d found a keeper if he owned a couch and not two mismatched patio chairs positioned directly in front of the latest PlayStation. But Ben’s apartment with its comfy looking couch, a soft blanket thrown over the back; a couple of tall bookcases overflowing with books, both fiction and non-fiction; and no PlayStation in sight–it hadn’t been at all what I would’ve expected. However, I still suspected if I searched his trash I’d find a dart board and a photo of myself pinned to it.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked as I placed the pizza box on his coffee table, my attention snagging on the pile of stray books that were piled beside his couch. “I’ve got some wine, if you’d like?”

Instantly, my shoulders slumped, and maybe it was rude to appear at his house after being a total asshole and drink his wine, but I desperately needed something to take the edge off. The tension between us was so uncomfortable I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle it much longer.

“Yes, please.”

I stole a second glance at the books as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaning down to shift through them. The first few were stamped with the school’s name, clearly just textbooks for the students, but it was the last book that caught my attention.

Introduction to Art: Design, Context, and Meaning

My fingers lingered over the book gently at first, scared to touch it in case it disappeared, like it was some sort of illusion or a trick to get me to read a book on algebra. But no, it was real. And better yet, there was no stamp identifying it as school property.

Ben Bennett, art hater, Master of Science and number God, owned a book on art.

The reason was not lost on me. I traced my finger down the spine, finding it cracked and showing some serious sign of use. Noting to myself to not ever lend him any of my own books, I opened it, glancing over the table of contents, then flicking through the chapters the book laid out before going into explanations of the different styles, the brief introductions to the famous artists of those times.

“Now that I can explain,” he said from the kitchen doorway. I looked past the book, over to where he stood, two glasses of white wine in his hands, one filled slightly less, like he’d already taken a gulp.

“Taken an interest in art history, have you?” I raised an eyebrow at him, the unease in my stomach loosening slightly.

“It’s a friend’s,” he shrugged, walking over. “They left it here, annoyingly, and I was completely bored one night and thought I’d give it a go.” He sat down on the couch, placing the glasses next to the pizza box.

“Because you have absolutely no interest in art?” I gave him a small smile, the strongest I could muster.

“Absolutely none. Big waste of time, if you ask me.” He lifted the glass to his smiling lips, taking a small sip. I reached out and picked up my glass, feeling the coolness against my fingers.

“Guess I better leave then, I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” I replied with a shrug, taking a sip. Trust him to serve the nice wine.

“Well, I mean, I could be persuaded to waste some time.”

“Discussing art?”

He squinted. “I’m not sure about that. But I’d listen to you for as long as you want.”

When it felt so easy to talk to him, and like everything I’d said or done was completely forgotten, these were the moments that made my heart squeeze so painfully I wasn’t sure I’d endure the loss of it. “Don’t expect me to return the favor. I have no interest in numbers and algebra and… that other one?”

He raised an eyebrow at me, those eyes sparkling. “Trigonometry?”

“Gesundheit.”

His smile was so wide, all I wanted to do was close the inches between us and press mine to his and see if his happiness was truly infectious.

“What about string theory?” he mused. “Momentum? Maybe… magnets?”

“Magnets?” I squinted back at him, every bit enthralled by how he looked at me, those soft brown eyes, the little flick of his hair at the front that had me dying to reach out and fix it.

“You know… because you’re magnetic,” he grinned brightly and I groaned, rolling my eyes.

“That was terrible, is it supposed to be a pick-up line?”

“Is it working?” His left eyebrow twitched up as he took another sip.

I shook my head. How did I tell him he didn’t need pick-up lines? That if he said beg, I’d beg. If he said crawl, I’d get on my hands and knees and crawl. It was like his finger was a helter skelter and I had an all day pass.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it was.” He smiled again and leaned back into the couch cushions.

I looked around again, really taking in the décor now I’d managed to calm down a bit, scanning over the dark blue of the walls, the comfort of the couch, and the matched gray blankets I’d strategically placed myself next to.

“Your place is nicer than I thought,” I remarked.

He scoffed, squinting at me. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“I didn’t expect it to be so…”

“Clean?”

“Free of demon spawn.”

Ben laughed, “I guess I deserved that.”

He looked away from me then, shaking his head as his laughter melted around us. And maybe I’d never realized it, or maybe I’d always taken it for granted up until then, but I finally realized how easy it was to be around him. How he took my bad nights and turned them around until I was sitting on his couch, flirting and sharing a bottle of wine with him. He knew I needed space from everything, even when I couldn’t see it.

He sat up, leaning forward to lift his glass again and he drains the contents. “Can we talk about it now?”

I knew it wasn’t that peace couldn’t last between us, but he deserved an apology from me. He’d done nothing to deserve being on the other side of my toxic jealousy and sadness fueled chaos.

“Ben I…” I shut my eyes for a moment, seeing his face again as he’d turned around, leaving me alone in the hallway. I’d hurt him so badly. “I can’t apologize enough. I was out of line, and jealous and I really needed to be alone.”

“I understand,” he said, shuffling closer to me so our knees were pressed together. “Though…I’ve been worried about you for a while. I feel like I see you sometimes at work, and you… you just look so sad. And you’re always tired and overwhelmed. Is there something I can help you with?”

I gulped, hating how easily he could see me, see through every fake smile and layered sarcasm. He could see the cracks and how the duct tape I was using to keep myself together was peeling off. I crossed my arms, not sure what else to do with them, my fingernails leaving half moon indents where they dug into my elbows.

“No, it’s not… not like that.”

“Can we talk about that? I just… there’s some things we could talk about. I have a great recommendation for a therapist. She’s busy, but affordable and entirely worth every cent.”

“You have a therapist?”

“Well, I did. Dr Janet. I stopped seeing her a few months ago.”

“What did you need a therapist for?” The thought was verbalized before I had time to consider the boundaries, to really think through whether it was appropriate to ask. If it was a problem, he didn’t show it.

“My wife left me,” he said, so casually I almost didn’t catch it. But boy, it was like the earth ground to a halt. My sole focus was his face, looking for any sign he was joking.

“Your wife?” I repeated, the sound almost a gasp. I felt unhinged, completely and utterly lost as I tried to think back over every single detail I knew about Ben, everything I’d learned, every nugget of information he’d given me these past months and came up blank. “You’ve never once told me you were married.”

“I’ve not been married since I’ve known you. The divorce was final the summer before I joined the school,” he explained, a slight shrug of his shoulders like this was normal.

I’d told him so much, shown so much of myself that I had tried to keep hidden away and he hadn’t bothered to tell me he was once married?

“And you’ve never thought to mention it before now?”

“It’s not something I need to talk about Olive.” His voice was firm, still holding onto the edge of calm that I felt a million miles away from.

“You were married.”

I couldn’t understand it, and wished he’d told me before. It changed nothing between us, I knew that. But somehow, it felt like a secret he’d been keeping from me. All the while he’d been trying to get under my skin, trying to wriggle his way into my life, finding out every single detail but he’d held this back? What else had he not told me? Were there kids? What had happened? When? Who?!

“And now I’m not, I went to therapy and talked about it for a really long time and I’m sure it would’ve come up eventually. But I’m also sure there’s things you’ve haven’t told me, and I won’t get mad and defensive when they come up.” His demeanor cracked for a second. I could see it then, the vulnerability in between the cracks, and how I was doing everything I hated people doing to me. He was right.

“It’s okay, I get it. I do,” he said, collecting himself. “But I do think you could talk to Janet. She’s great and can really advise with medication if you choose to go down that route.”

“I already got some from the doctor a while back. They’re not helping.” I shook my head, deciding not to tell him I’d also missed the last few days and still needed to pick up a refill of the prescription. What did it matter anyway? It was only making me worse.

“Oh, I assumed because you were drinking you weren’t on any medication,” he said.

I turned my head sharply to him and narrowed my eyes, lips pressing together. “Why would that matter?”

“Well,” he said, exhaling. “Eventually I got better, but I couldn’t drink for the longest time. It just made everything worse.” He leaned his head to the side, his gaze soft on me, but I couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Well, it doesn’t matter because they don’t work,” I snipped, those defenses going back right up. He stiffened, his body going rigid again and I realized what I’d done. “I’m sorry, you’re just trying to help. But I promise Ben, I’m trying to get better. I need to do it on my own.”

“But you don’t,” he said, exasperated. “This isn’t just on you.” His voice was soft and caring but I hung my head, my fingers digging into my elbows a little harder. Why couldn’t he let this go?

“I don’t want to be a burden, and it’s private and mine and I’ll deal with it my way.”

I felt like begging for him to stop, to let it go, let me go and see this was for his own good more than anything. He paused for a moment, his mouth opening and closing again as he visibly stopped himself from speaking, and I saw my opportunity.

“Say it.” I was suddenly seething, somehow knowing whatever he’d managed to stop himself from saying would be it, the sharp exit turn.

“Olive,” he said my name like a purr, and I shook my head, no longer willing to melt at the sound of his voice.

“Say what you were going to say.”

Ben stiffened, and I took a deep breath.

“You aren’t getting better on your own,” he said quietly. “I’ve been letting you keep me at arms length for weeks, letting yourself slowly fade away. But I see you, every day, and sometimes… sometimes it’s like you’ve given up,.”

“Given up?” I repeated. The words were vicious and unforgiving.

He shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do, Ben. How the fuck have I given up? I show up every day–”

“You show up, but that’s it,” he exploded. “Can you really say you’re putting in the same effort as last year?”

“That’s not fair,” I said quietly, rolling my shoulders, my grip on my self-control almost completely gone. Was he really throwing that in my face? Like I needed the reminder.

“I don’t mean you should be,” he explained. “I know you’re going through a lot.”

I laughed at the understatement.

“But you pretend like you’re not struggling, and I just want to help.”

“I don’t need help. How many times do I have to say it?” I pushed myself up from the couch and began to pace the room. I wanted to leave, I needed to run. “For fuck’s sake I’ve got you and Dad and you both can’t see this is the best I can fucking do right now. I’m trying, Ben. Every day I’m trying. Why isn’t it enough? Just… just–”

He got up from the couch, and I tried to move away as he closed the distance, but at the first feel of his touch I went from a raging boil to still waters, allowing his arms to wrap smoothly around me. I didn’t fight him either as he pulled me into his body, pressing me close and surrounding me. He leaned his head on mine, and I realized I was shaking and I couldn’t stop.

“I’m trying, Ben. I’m trying and I’m so empty.” My voice sounded miles away. I could’ve been crying but I was too far gone to know. All I knew was the sinking feeling that was swallowing me whole and the single Ben-sized life raft I was clinging onto for dear life.

He stroked my hair, the pressure grounding me to him.

“I know.” His voice cracked and he lifted his head to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “But we can help. We can make it easier for you.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to pull away. “I don’t want help.”

Help meant moving on. Forgetting her. Forgetting this pain that burned like I’d pressed my palm to a hot stove and kept it there until I was screaming. But it served as a reminder that she had been here. And no matter how painful that reminder, I needed it, needed to hold onto it with both hands and never ever forget.

“Then… let me be here for you,” he resolved after a moment.

All the air in my lungs pushed out in relief as I finally relaxed into his embrace, trying to enjoy the tightness of his arms around me, drawing support from his body against mine. The shaking slowly began to subside, and I closed my eyes. I don’t know how long he held me like that, with his hand stroking down my back in comfort, his head resting on the top of mine, before he moved his head to rest on my shoulder.

“I wish I could read your mind sometimes,” he confessed, his breath hot against my neck. His hand pressed softly on the other side of my throat, my head tilting into the grip.

“Maybe you could read mine too.” He said the words against my skin, his lips threatening to press against me.

“It might make things easier.” My voice was breathless, heart hammering against my chest as his lips started to press a trail of tiny kisses down my neck. All tangible thoughts were long forgotten.

“It’s like you disappeared from my life these few weeks,” he murmured, lifting his mouth from my skin. “You’ve been… there, right across the hall but out of my reach. And I just wanted to be there for you.” His hand moved from my neck, his fingers pressing under my jaw, tilting my head up until I was looking straight up at him. “Everything started to remind me of you, Olive. I felt sick without being able to touch you like this.”

I dug my fingers into his back trying to hold him against me, terrified of an inch of space between us.

“Tell me what you need,” he said. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

His touch was electric. Being pressed up against him was a drug they hadn’t found a name for yet, and it was almost entirely involuntary when I pushed up onto my toes to meet his lips. Softly, I kissed him, waiting for him to respond, for him to read what I was telling him I needed. He reacted immediately, his lips moving against mine and the urgency increased, my need for him exploding.

I was lost in him as we kissed, and in his taste as his hand wrapped around my neck, the other arm settling on the small of my back keeping me pressed into him. My hands were on his face, his back, his neck, scrambling to touch him, like he’d disappear if I didn’t keep him close.

“You don’t know how much I need you, Olive,” he breathed, his fingers pressed into my skin, and I stifled a moan at the intense pleasure it created.

“You don’t see how fucking sick I am for you,” he said between kisses, and then he broke entirely.

He lowered me to the couch, hovering over me as he kissed me, starting at the sensitive skin at the side of my neck and trailing down to the neckline of the wrap dress I’d thrown back on, dipping down into the center of my breasts, every kiss hungry for more. He kneeled down in front of me, his gaze catching mine, looking for permission, as he pulled at where my dress was tied together. I nodded, knowing I could say no, could stop this before I led him further down this dead end track.

But he made it impossible not to want him entirely.

His fingers pulled at the tie, the material so easily undone, and opened the dress up. Mismatched panties and bra, but I knew he didn’t give a shit.

“How do you not see what you do to me?” he asked, his gaze fixated on me, taking in every single inch of bare skin as I sat exposed to him. He slid his hands behind my knees and slowly pulled me towards the end of the couch, my back landing against the seat as he pulled my legs over his knees. I shivered at the touch, his fingers trailing lightly over my skin.

He looked at me once more, his gaze entirely consumed with hunger, eyes practically animal and black. Then he leaned in, fingers moving the thin material to the side, his tongue instantly on my clit.

It took everything for me not to lose my fucking mind, my spine arching up as I leaned back, giving him better access to me as he kept working his tongue hungrily.

I was lost to the world, lost to pleasure, to my bucking hips against his filthy mouth. His fingers moved, slowly pressing to my entrance before sliding inside, stretching me to fit them. He took his time, allowing me to adjust to the pressure before beginning to move, his fingers picking up pace as his mouth continued to suck and lick. Breathy moans escaped me as my spine arched away from the cushions, my hands clutching onto his hair, pulling him closer. I wrapped my legs around his neck, greedily using him for my own pleasure.

He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes black with need and a satisfied grin spread wide on his lips. His head dipped as he pressed a third finger into me, his eyes watching as his fingers worked me, as my hips bucked against his hand, urging him to speed the fuck up.

Ben grinned. “That’s my girl. Ride my hand, show me how you want it.”

I fucking lost it, completely unraveled as I came on his fingers. His mouth returned, changing his movement so he could work around how sensitive I’d turned as wave after wave crashed into me. I don’t know how I gathered enough strength to pull away from him finally, to stop him, and create enough space to allow my legs to relax against his shoulders.

“Have you got a condom?” I asked in between deep breaths, my back still against the couch. I opened an eye to see him grinning over me. Ben nodded, and pushed himself up to lean over me, pressing a kiss to my lips.

“Stay here,” he whispered. I watched him go, my eyes watching his perfect ass as he left. Closing my eyes again, I laid back and tried to pull myself together, my heart still wild in my chest. How had we even gotten here?

He returned moments later, his t-shirt and pants removed. I bit my lip as I took in his perfect chest, the skin glistening slightly with sweat from the work he’d put in already. I wanted to run my tongue around down the trail that led under his briefs, wanted to taste him again. Judging from the smirk on his lips, he knew exactly what I wanted to do to him.

His free hands went to his briefs, thumb pushing under the elastic and removing them entirely. My throat went dry at the sight of his dick, and I must’ve been completely unabashedly eye-fucking him as he stepped closer to me, giving me the access I was craving.

“Sit down,” I instructed, finally managing to look him in the eye again. Ben didn’t argue, sitting down on the couch next to me. Without another word, he opened the square foil package and rolled the condom on.

Seconds later I was on top of him, sliding him into me so slowly, losing myself in how it felt to stretch for him, the intense pleasure from working every inch of him inside. He gripped my hips, like he was trying to pull me even deeper, my name leaving his lips like a curse. I never wanted to hear it said another way.

I worked him, pressing a hand to his chest, and the other behind me on his leg, as I rode his length. I took in every single groan and moan and noise that left him, fueled by his endless dirty taunts, telling me to keep fucking riding him, telling me I was his and he was mine and begging me, begging me not to stop for a minute.

He pressed his hand against my clit, his fingers knowing exactly how to get me off again and moments later another orgasm was crashing into me, my pussy tightening around his cock.

“Fuck,” he said involuntarily, his eyes rolling backwards, and I knew he was close. His hands on my hips kept me going, kept me riding him even though I was spent, completely and utterly losing myself in every motion.

We crashed into the next orgasm together, and I melted down onto his chest, completely spent, muscles aching. I stayed there for a moment, our sweaty bodies pressed together, as I listened to his shaky breath escape him, and enjoyed that delicious post sex warmth of his body.

We made it to bed eventually, sleep coming easy as he held me in his arms. I was about to drift off when his body moved behind me.

“I want you to be mine, Olive,” he murmured, the words so quiet I thought I’d hallucinated them, right up to the moment he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin behind my ear, kissing softly again. “I want to be the only one who gets to hold you, gets to keep you.”

I stayed still, eyes shut like I was already asleep. Maybe he was testing out the words, hearing how they sounded. And maybe by morning, he’d forget what he’d said. Maybe he’d realized what he’d asked for was entirely too much pressure and that answering him would be impossible.

He settled again behind me, his arms pulling me into his body as he drifted softly back to sleep.

This is love, sang my aching, shattered heart. The realization was clear as I tried to figure out a way out of this tangled mess, find a way that didn’t have me breaking this person who’d give me everything I asked for without question.