Jade Awakening

We Need to Have a Talk

Ryder stood still for a moment and continued to breathe heavily after he finished. He looked at me and gave me a toothy grin of accomplishment. The rest of his face had a light sheen on it.

"That was good. Did I get you to cum, too?"

I had a feeling that if I told him the truth, it would hurt him. It was my fault for not being prepared enough and for pretending that I was. I felt as though it would be unfair to say that this venture wasn't exactly pleasurable to me -- especially after giving a vocal performance that implied the contrary. So I saved face.

"Yeah, twice actually."

"Nice!" he said as if he were actually congratulating himself.

He didn't say anything else as he got off the bed to fetch a rag to wipe the mess off of my stomach. I didn't say anything either — I didn't know what to say. I just laid still, looking absently at the ceiling as if I were trying to study it. Anything to ignore the raw feeling between my legs and the heaviness of my heart. And anything to take my mind away from this wretched scene.

Barely a moment passed when he broke my concentration by wiping his now cold and sticky specimen off of me. Once he got pretty much all of it off, he threw the towel carelessly on the floor and dropped down next to me on the bed.

"Man, I could really use a nap right now," he said tiredly.

I didn't know what to say. Did he mean to nap by himself; have me stay to sleep with him? But with the small time between the act and now, I was finally able to think about other things. My lips felt sealed shut and had to force them apart to respond.

"Shouldn't we get to work on our script for screenwriting class?" I asked almost under my breath.

When he didn't respond right away, I turned to find him with his eyes already shut and his mouth ajar. So much for that.

I moved as slowly and as lightly as I could to not wake him up. The raw feeling within my inner walls and the threshold to them caused some discomfort when moving, but it wasn't unbearable. I just tried to ignore it as I fumbled to find my things on the floor. When I found my underwear, all the wetness I had produced now made the fabric stiff. I can't believe I wanted this so badly.

Once I had all of my things collected, I snuck out of the room making as little noise as possible. As I closed the door softly behind me, I let myself cry in silence. The tears felt good to finally be released, but now my chest and throat felt incredibly tight. I allowed myself to weep quietly as I walked out of his house and to my bike. The tears rolled out continuously, probably dragging mascara down with them — I didn't care.

The bike seat certainly did not do me any favors in my repression of the sore feeling between my legs, but the burning sensation couldn't be avoided. Once I pedalled far enough away from the house, I let myself cry out loud.

"God, Jade! What was that?!" In between sobs, I cursed at myself. "Why did you have to be so stupid?... Jesus, why?... Why did you say yes?... Stupid!"

I couldn't care less that other pedestrians occasionally looked in my direction as I biked past. I needed to let it all out of my system before I arrived home. With my mind racing, I wanted to match the pace with my pedalling -- I had to consciously force myself to slow a little so that I had more time to let my thoughts race.

Soon enough, though, I neared the familiar front yard and had to reel in my lamentations. As I pulled up my driveway, I wiped away my tears and tried to regain composure before I walked into my house. My family would be home and I didn't want them to see the state that I was in. After a few sniffs, eye-batting, and forceful smiles I gathered my things and walked inside. I just want to lock myself in my room and get this stupid script done for tomorrow.

As soon as I walked through the door —

"Oh good, Jade, you're home," my dad said from the living room couch — the top of his head peering over a newspaper. "Come over here."

I reluctantly walked toward him and suppressed the memories of the day's earlier event. Jasper was sitting on the floor messing with toys. Dad folded the newspaper up and set it on the couch next to him and adjusted the way he was sitting, as if mentally preparing for the conversation he was about to start.

"Jasper, why don't you go play upstairs? I'd like to speak with your sister alone for a moment," he said.

"Hold on! My Lego tower isn't finished yet!" he whined.

"Now, Jasper," he said more sternly.

I got scared all of a sudden. Am I in trouble? What did I do? Why does he need to talk to me alone? Does he know what I did?

My brother marched out of the room, stomping with every step he took to make sure everyone could hear how unfair it was that he had to go upstairs. Once he could hear the 7-year-old's door slam shut, Dad turned to me.

"We need to have a talk, Jade," he said. I don't think I like where this is headed.

"About what?" I asked coyly.

"Sit down," he said and gestured toward the chair adjacent to the couch he was on. He didn't sound angry — just serious, but that didn't subside my nerves.

"About two years ago, you begged your mother and I to let you attend Hollywood Arts, remember?" Huh?

"Uh, yeah," I said. I went to sit in a chair, but was careful to not sit too close to Dad. I was afraid that there may be a scent lingering on me that would give away what I did earlier today.

"And I tried to talk some sense into you, remember? You had -- have -- potential to pursue something in a scientific field or something. Anything more practical. But instead, you insisted that this is where you wanted to be -- a clown school in disguise. These next four years are going to be the most important for when you get ready to go to college and this school is not going to give you the education that any other place will ," he said matter of factly. "I'm worried about your future, Jade. You can't exactly sing yourself through a job interview."

"Wha- dad where is this coming from? I only just started going to Hollywood Arts this year," I said defensively. "And I've told you before, I don't want a job that's boring like you and mom do. I want to keep singing, maybe dancing, or playwriting, and Hollywood Arts will teach me that, not... chemistry."

"But what have they really taught you at that school? Honestly. They can put big dreams in your head all day, but they can't teach talent."

"What? You don't think I'm talented?" I asked with tears wanting to come back, "And why are you bringing this up now?"

"It doesn't matter if I think you're talented or not. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have let you even audition to get in, but your mom thought she knew better. Both of you need your heads checked out," he leaned toward the coffee table to grab a pamphlet. "Unless some miracle happens by the end of the semester, you can say hello to your new school."

He handed the pamphlet to me. I couldn't believe he was actually suggesting this.

"Northridge high school?"