#god the cookies were good but FUCK. we both had seven teachers that year too so it was fourteen fucking times like twenty cookies to fill | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

parisbiesanz · 6 years ago

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Paparazzi are pushed aside by a blazer, skinny jeans, and perfectly cut and straightened jet black and highlighted brown and blonde hair. Nikki bursts into the scene, berserk, flashing pictures carelessly of everyone and everything, he walks straight for her stepping out of the back seat of a black Escalade. The security who opened her door quickly stands between them with a stiff arm. The classy young man stif armed and halted glares at the supermodel. Her most loyal paparazzi is mocking himself. Two more security guards, get out of the vehicle behind them. “It’s okay,” she insists, bewildering them, “it’s him.” The security with the stiff arm looks at her suspiciously but takes a step back. Stepping forward, staring her straight in the eyes, inches from her face, one might think they’re about to kiss or that the young man is about to make headline news for hitting a female celebrity, “I can’t fucking believe you. I’m not paparazzi. I’m a musician. Twice the guitarist you’ll ever be. Fucking sell out.” Security does their job, completely disregarding her words, “Go inside,” they say and she has no choice but to comply. The entire scene is already viral. Stiff arming the gentleman, they escort her to her front steps. “I wrote a book for you. An entire fucking novel. It’s finished. Why isn’t it published? You’re selfish. I made a sacrifice. I could be touring Asia, Europe, Australia. Is that what you want? You want me to go on tour? The plan was perfect. What happened?” He starts to cry, “Where’s your ring, baby?” The security guards come to an executive decision that this man isn’t dangerous, knowing that not every detail of this girl’s life is public. It’s been suspected that she’s been doing a damn good job of hiding an unknown boyfriend, lover, or even a husband. It’s clear as day now. She’s with the photographer with the jet black crotch rocket who basically has her entire schedule somehow figured out all the time. He pays his rent selling pictures of her on her day-to-day. Of course. He’s in love with her. She’s in love with him. They’re in love. They’re a couple. It’s clear as day. Finally, her biggest secret, exposed, on her front door. She’s married. She doesn’t care what her label tells her. She never has. She knows what she’s doing. She’s a business women and a loyal wife, however secretive her marriage is, she’s loyal to her husband. She’s confident. Smiling. She doesn’t care what they say. She’s going to do what she wants. They work for her. They let him argue with her up the steps. “Selfish, selfish, selfish,” he repeats. “Don’t you dare fucking go inside. If you do, it’s over. We’re done. For good. I’m sick of you. You’re not in control. You’re a woman. You need me.” She smiles at him. She has a plan. She always does. She opens the door. Steps inside. Reaches for the envelope she’s had sitting there ever since she moved to the city, anticipating the day her husband would have the courage to make such a scene as this. Their day. Today. This is the day. Today is the day they announce their marriage. Her plan is working perfectly. Finally. It’s all over now. She can sell her apartment. They can find a place together. Wherever they want. Down the street. On an island. She doesn’t care. She’s finally with her lover. Forever. She lifts up the floor board that wobbles every time she walks down the stairs, reminding her, every day, of her longing for this day to come. She pulls the letter out from underneath and sets the wood back in place. She turns around to see her husband’s back through the window. Who is he yelling at? She reaches for the door handle… She didn’t lock it. Is it somehow locked from the outside? “Nicholas, open the door!” She stands from a couple feet back avoiding any embarrassment. She can see a sliver of her 6'1” husband with his newly cut hair. It’s a different look for him. She loved his long hair, but he looks gorgeous. What’s he doing? Giving a speech? She tries to open the door again. She takes a peak out another window. He’s holding the knob with one his hand and keeping the door shut with his foot. She tries to opening the door again. She looks again. Her security stands there with their palms facing the front door. He has a gun pointed at them with his other arm. She panics, “NIKKI, OPEN THE GOD DAMN DOOR,” she cries. “My name is Nicholas Anderson. I’m an author from Nashville, Tennessee. Olivia is a terrible wife,” he laughs as if it were all a game, “and she never would have made it without changing her last name,” She sinks to the floor sobbing, he’s stronger than she is. She feels his weight come off the door. She gets up as quickly as she can, he hops off the porch, hands up, he hands the gun to a police officer and puts his hands behind his back for another officer to cuff him. Her eye shadow is a mess. She dressed emo today, a rare occasion. Streaks of eye shadow fall to her jaw line. She watches her husband get into the back seat of the police car. She stands there. One brave little girl walks up to her and holds her hand. What the fuck just happened? The police drive off. One sunny and warm spring Sunday morning, seven year old Olivia lies on her living room floor scratching her cat’s ears a few feet from the propped open front door before she hears a metal clank against the walkway outside, “Nicholas!” The cat scurries away as she hurries up off the floor and outside, “Hi, Nicholas!” “Hi, Olivia,” six year old Nikki replies, stepping toward the porch, away from his little bike that he carelessly lets hit the cement in the same place every Sunday. Olivia didn’t start calling him Nikki until they were in middle school and she realized she was in love with her best friend, her dad’s best friend’s son. Nicholas Anderson. Skinny with brown curly hair, a nice little suit, and a neat little bike with a basket carrying his bible to her house every Sunday. Both their dads lead worship at the nicest church in the city, one of the most renown churches in the country with a worship group that toured the world before settling down and starting families. Their church happened to be on Olivia’s block, so after their parents started having bible study at her house and Nick found out where she lived, not even a detour such as this was enough to discourage his young self from seeing the most intriguing and pretty thing ever. Olivia. She’s his favorite. He knows not life without her. Nick leaves his bike in the front yard and her parents take them to church. Olivia’s a grade ahead of him so they’re in different Sunday school classes. When her teacher finishes the prayer she runs out to find her best friend. He catches up to her and taps her on her shoulder, “You ran right by me. I didn’t like class today.” “Why?” Being but six years old he can’t explain himself and he doesn’t care to so he just ignores her taking her hand as they find their way through the crowd, through the halls, the doors, and down the isle to find their dads tuning their guitars on the stage for the next service. Their mothers chat, drinking coffee within earshot. Olivia takes initiative, as usual, “Hi, dad.” “Hi, dad,” Nick follows. “Hey, squirt.” Olivia’s dad sets his guitar on its stand and walks to the extraordinarily young couple, “Is your friend walking you home, Miss Olivia?” “Dad, can I walk to Olivia’s house with her?” “You let them walk?” “It’s only a block. We drove passed them last week and they were holding hands.” “They’re six.” “She’s seven.” Nick’s dad chuckles and shakes his head setting the perfectly tuned guitar on its stand, “Sure, Nick. Walk your girlfriend home.” The dads laugh, high-five, and hop off the stage to steal their wives’ coffees. Olivia’s mom looks at the kids hugging on the stage, “We’re leaving in a minute, kids. Mrs. Anderson baked us cookies and she’s coming over for tea.” Nick and Olivia make their way back up the isle and out of the enormous room. “They’re really good,” Nick insists. “I like to have tea with a lot of sugar,” Olivia was good at saying random things. Little Nick never knew what to think of it. He just thought she was smarter than him. She always knew what to say, like the grown ups. She’s an entire year older, after all. They get to the entrance of the church and walk right out the doors, passed the greeters and people coming in for the second service. It’s too busy and they’re too short for anyone to notice that a couple of children are entering the parking lot without parental supervision. They leave the parking lot and reach the side walk and take a left, in the direction of Olivia’s high-class home. “Why didn’t you like class today, Nick?” “They always say Jesus died for our sins so we can be forgiven and have eternal life.” “Yeah!” “What if he didn’t?” “It’s in the bible, Nick.” “I know. But where would we go, if he didn’t?” “I don’t think you should ask that, Nick.” “I think I know.” Through the corner of her eyes, she looks at him suspiciously, weary that he might look back. She’s worried, but for some reason, he’s walking confidently beside her with his chin up, looking up to the partially cloudy bright baby blue skies. Young Nicholas continues, “I found a DVD in one of my dad’s boxes.” “What’s a DVD?” “They’re movies that are 100 years old.” “Wow!” “My dad said he watched them with his dad and his grandpa when he was my age. I like All Dogs Go to Heaven.” “Wow!” “I think everyone goes to heaven.” “What about the bad people?” “I think God made them, so it doesn’t matter if Jesus died. Jesus just wanted to tell us the words in red.” “I don’t think it says that in the bible, Nick.” She stares at the side walk, her jaw is dropped at the sure fact Nick lost his god damn mind. “Do you know what hell is, Olivia?” “My mom said it’s where bad people go and everybody needs Jesus to be good.” “Jesus is perfect and we need to be like him.” “He is God, silly.” “I know. But I don’t think God would make Earth for anyone to go to hell. I think God loves the bad people too and he wants everyone to go to heaven so when people go to heaven they turn good and that’s why we say ‘Thy will be done.’” “Wow!” Nick continues to walk, suddenly carrying a stick he found when she wasn’t paying attention. He swings it around, careful not to hit her with it, proud of himself, “I think you’re smarter than me, but I’m really smart too.” Olivia finally turns her head to look at him, no longer intimidated, “Maybe you’re right. You are really smart, Nick. And you make me feel smart, too.” Young Nicholas tosses the stick aside and stops dead in his tracks. She takes a few steps before realizing that he fell behind. She stops to turn around. He takes a few steps in her direction, leans in, and pecks her on her lips. She’s dumbfounded, “Why did you do that?” “I love you. That’s what my dad says to my mom when he does that.” “I think that’s for grown ups, Nick.” “I want you to be my best friend forever, Olivia.” “Me too.” They stand there. He gazes at her in awe as her hair lightly picks up the soft breeze. She gazes back at his smile and medium length curly hair and sees them growing up together, becoming adults together, and walking home from church together, all grown up. Nicholas can’t seem to think that far ahead. The birds are singing from the power lines and trees all around them. A couple cars drive by. It’s a nice area. Their still within sight of the Sunday commuters. Two kids standing on the side walk is nothing out of the ordinary. A familiar car slowly creeps by, “Is everything okay?” It’s Olivia’s mother in the driver’s seat. Nick’s mom is riding shotgun, “They’re fine.” And the car accelerates. The kids pause for a second before young Nick disrupts the quiet, beautiful nature with one word, “Cookies!” Olivia’s face lights up, “And milk!” They run the rest of the way, following the car that just turned right onto her street half a block down. Nick and Olivia became the most popular couple in middle school, and then high school. The tall skinny emo kid with eyeliner and straightened long dyed jet black hair. And the tall curvy country singer with long wavy blonde hair, known for dominating the talent shows. They had a regular habit of him parking his crotch rocket behind the church and sneaking him through her window after her parents went to bed. They would quietly listen to his favorite bands, while they would kiss, and whisper until they knew they’d have to go to bed to get enough sleep to wake up for school in the morning. They’ve had sex once and agreed they shouldn’t do it again not believing in birth control and that it’s too risky. It’s finals week and Olivia’s senior year and she needs sleep but her label wants her in New York as soon as possible so they’re spending as much time together as they can before she graduates. “Put the album on repeat,” she demands, implying that she wants him to stay a while. He takes off his backpack, sets it on her comforter, having the touch screen memorized, he reaches into it and plays the greatest post-hardcore album of the 21st Century. The synth starts, the first track starts out quietly, building anticipation for the sudden drop. He taps repeat twice and turns up the volume just enough that her parents won’t wake up. “Louder,” she insists. He taps the volume up a little and steps closer to her while she sits on the edge with her skinny jeans slightly spread, welcoming her lover in so she can kiss his chest and rest her hands on his waist. The synth stops. He holds her against his chest with one arm and plays with her hair with his other. They listen. And wait for the drop. At once, djent tones and dubstep in an explosive breakdown. He stands there. Playing with her hair, fixes his posture, looking up at the ceiling. He feels the tips of her fingers slightly slide underneath his shirt teasing his abdomen. He allows her to lean back as he looks down to see her fingers curl into his jeans and under his belt. She pulls him closer. As close as she can. She squeezes his waist with the insides of her thighs and he buries her face in his chest once again, continuing to comb her long blonde hair from back to front. He lessens his grip so she can lean back allowing her hair to fall in front of her face. He surprises her with an aggressive push on both her shoulders. She falls back and lies there with a smile and her hair a mess, closed eyes and wondering what he’s doing next. He reaches down, grabs her ankles, lifts her feet off the floor and swings her around 90 degrees and jumps on her from the end of her bed. The music is roaring but quietly. He hovers above her on all fours. She’s comfortably on her back smiling with her eyes closed. He kisses both her cheeks and whispers, “Open your eyes, baby.” “You’re beautiful.” he mouths. “I love you,” she mouths back, reaching for the back of his head to pull him in for a kiss. He resists. She’s turned on by his need for control. He crawls back on his hands and knees, brushing his face down her shirt, kissing her ribs, and then her stomach on his way down. He bites the crest of her right pelvis bone. He reflexes raise her waist up an inch by her feet and shoulder blades. That turned her on. She exhales as her back returns to the bed. He reaches for the seam of her shirt with his teeth in attempt to reveal her stomach. “Need help?” She uses her feet and shoulder blades again, this time willingly, giving her just enough room between her back and the bed to pull her shirt up to and over her breasts revealing her bra and her smooth stomach that her fiance loves so much. Meanwhile he’s back at kissing her crest bones. He slowly moves up, over her stomach, to the bottom of her rib cage, then her bra, and then to the frustration of her shirt again. He surrenders and crawls back up to kiss her right cheek and rest his forehead on her pillow so they’re cheek to cheek. He moves down, kisses her shoulder through her shirt, and raises himself again to kiss her on her lips and admire her face. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open, waiting for his tongue. He moves in and gives her tongue a little lick. He feels her hands against his sides, pulling his shirt up. She patiently opens her eyes to look into his. They have making up to do. After listening to every song on the album twice, his straightened hair is wavy from the sweat as they make it back to his bike. He looks at her, “How long of a walk was that?” “Two minutes and three seconds.” "Now we know.” “Now we know,” she validates with a smile and grabs his hand as she kisses his cheek through his straightened jet black hair wavy at the ends. He grins, “You’re so perfect, baby. I want to cry.” He kisses her lips, lets go of her hand, equips his jet black full face mask, flips down the visor, hiding his bloodshot eyes. He mounts his bike. Turns the key so it clicks once, turning the battery on. He flicks on the light. She prances in front of it, spins 360 degrees on one toe and stops herself facing the light. She can’t see him. It’s too bright. She squints her eyes. He flicks on the brights. She holds up her right hand to make it more bearable. “Thanks, baby.” “You’re welcome.” Everything is quiet but the fountain in front of the building. She knows he’s checking her out. She closes her eyes and sticks her chin up and rests her right hand on her hip, posing like some kind of model. “Who do you think you are? Karlie Kloss?” He turns the key to start the engine and revs it up. “Nikki!” she shouts. He revs it up again. “NIKKI!” He keeps revving it. “NICHOLAS ANDERSON!” “God fucking dammit,” he says out loud, sniffing the snat back into his sinuses. She can’t hear him or see his face. He turns the key back into silence, “What, boo?” “Baby, were you crying?” “Move, Olivia,” he says with one breath, trying to hide the fact that he never stopped. Teenage Nicholas takes the scenic route home as he usually does after a fight with his Olivia. Only this time they weren’t fighting, but his eyes were still tearing up all the same. It wasn’t rare for him to bike on these swervy roads with teary eyes. He learned years ago that it’s best to sleep on it and talk about it the next day. “I’ll let her cry it out,” he usually thought to himself. But it seemed he was always the one doing the crying. He always leaves, like he’s mad, pretending he’s in control, but really he’s only lost all sense of control and he only leaves before he starts crying uncontrollably. Sometimes, like now, he has to pull over to scream and pray in tears. He’s about to reach their favorite spot. He speeds to nullify the tears. “I should have fucked her. What’s wrong with me? She wanted it,” he thinks before slowing down approaching his destination. Meanwhile, Olivia puts up her wet hair, throws on a bathrobe, and face-times her girl cousin the same age from a couple blocks away. “He just left. He just wants sex.” “You fucked again?” “No,” she glares at her. “Well, why not?” “I don’t know… I made him cum twice, though.” “That’s hot,” her cousin giggles Olivia rolls her eyes, "Guess what he said. I couldn’t believe it.” “What, he’s having second thoughts?” “No, not at all. He’s afraid of losing me.” She giggles again, “Are you serious?” “It was so weird. We kissed for like an hour and it was so random, he’s just like, ‘I’m afraid of losing you,’ those were his exact words. I opened my eyes and before I could say anything he started kissing me again. And I think he rode away crying. He’s probably crying at our spot right now. Should I call him?” “No. He’ll surprise you in the morning with flowers if he cares that much.” Overlooking the city from the seat of his bike, he turns the key to silence the engine. He hears himself pout. “Fuck!” He reaches into his bag to turn his stereo off mute. It’s the year 2113, portable speakers are essential. And condensed. He turns up the volume to drown out the degrading sound of his lack of self-control. He continues crying. He blasts it, completely drowning out his pouting. He gains a little control. Raises a leg over his bike to demount it. He rests his hands on his seat to slowly lower himself to his knees and rest his forearms on the seat and his face on the back of them. He cries to a breakdown consisting of mostly open chugs in drop c. His favorite tuning. The only tuning. He listens, slightly sobbing, waiting for it to drop into dubstep. He cries as a crash cymbal rings with an open palm mute fading into silence. He hears himself crying louder than ever now. It drops into the most orgasmic breakdown he’s ever heard. His favorite part of his favorite album plays as he cries in denial of his soon-to-be wife moving all the way to New York… without him… Not even his favorite breakdown can cheer him up tonight. In fact, it only seems to make it worse. “Dear God,” he cries again. “I don’t want her to go. Why, God? I’ll do anything. I’ll fucking die. I’ll die a long, painful death. I’ll get tortured in the middle east. I’m joining the Marines infantry. Tomorrow. I’ll be in bootcamp before she even leaves. And she’ll be the one watching me fly away. I’m not watching her fly off to New York. Fuck no.” He stops crying. He feels empowered. Anything is possible. He has to re-invent himself. He has to bring Olivia back to Tennessee. He has to do this. He’s going to do this. He is doing this. He lifts up his head. Lifts up a leg to get of his knees and uses it to fight against the gravity suffocating his other leg, then using his arms and the seat to stand up and out of his misery. He’s on his feet, but he loves the feeling of the seat on his bike. He keeps his hands there. He pats it like he would his dog and lets his arms fall to his side as he straightens his posture and flips his bangs aside. He looks to the stars and takes a few steps back. He extends both arms, leans back, standing as tall as possible, smiles as his tears dry, he slowly makes a 360, getting a good look at thousands of suns light years away. “How many of them are still there?” he asks himself. He feels the power. He’s going to be a Marine. An infantryman. He’s not only going to bring her back, he’s going to be her security guard when he does. “I’ll write a book, too.” He hops on a rock and crouches, almost feeling possessed. His knees are bent as they support his arms and upper half. “God, I’m a fucking monster. I can’t wait to go to bootcamp.” The city lights are beautiful. He can see his porch light on about a mile awa. His parents are either fighting or cuddling on the couch to a movie. They fight so much and are kissing all the time, he stopped caring about what they were doing a long time ago. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to worry about making noise in the kitchen. He parks his bike in the drive way and checks the window on his way to the porch to see if Spock heard the door. It surprises him every time. It’s so quiet. Maybe he feels the vibrations. Or maybe he’s been waiting there for a while. Walking up the front steps he sees Spock leap down from the back of the sofa that they have against the window, “Spock Dog!” he shouts as he opens the door, picks him up exchanging kisses for licks, “Ya’ll can’t even watch a damn movie without arguing?” “She’s always right!” “Mom, you’re always wrong!” “Oh, boys. They made a sequal, I saw the trailer this afternoon.” Nick steps into the room. “No, THAT is the sequal. They made a prequel.” “That’s what I told her! Two against one, Meredith!” Nick rolls his eyes and carries his dog into the kitchen and sets him down on the floor. Spock knows what this means. Nick busts out the lunch meat for the dog and tosses the packaging on the counter. Spock trots in place. He busts out the bread, bacon, lettuce, and tomato for himself. Spock woofs. Nick rawrs. Spock woofs again. Nick growls. Spock growls back with his tail up, prepared for action. Nick leaps toward him. Spock retaliates and turns the corner, Nick waits. Sure enough, Spock returns with his chew toy to challenge his master to a fair duel. His master accepts the challenge and runs to the front door. Spock follows, stumbles over his chew toy, drops it, recovers it, and meets Nick on the front lawn lit by the porch light. “Close the damn door!” his father yells. “Spock, close the fucking god damn door!” His mother yells back, “Nicholas!” Nick leaps up the five stair, reaches for the door, pulls it shut and hops back down, “Where’d you go! Coward!” He hears a ferocious growl from out of the darkness. Game on. Who will walk back inside with the chew toy in the end? Spock. Spock always wins. Always. Exhausted, the master and his pupil lie in the grass, looking up at the stars. “She loves me, Spock. She really does. I’ll take you to New York with me. I promise. I won’t leave you. Not like she’s leaving me. Belly rubbins?” Nick hears his dog catching his breath rolling onto his back. Nick finds his dog’s belly and rewards him on his victory. “Your skills will soon surpass mine, young grass hopper. You fought well tonight. I shall reward your improvements with supreme belly rubbings.” Nick laughs at himself. He finally stops thinking about his fiancee. They lie in the grass a little longer. Before too long, they’re disturbed by a sliver of light and he hears Olivia’s voice from the living room. “God dammit. Not her. Not now.” “Nick, did you know they used your girlfriend’s–” “FIANCEE, MOTHER. WE’RE ENGAGED.” “Did you know they used Olivia’s song in the credits?” “Yes, mom.” “And clean the kitchen!” “Meredith, she’s moving. Don’t do that to him.” “Sorry, sweetie! You’ll be in New York with your wife very soon, honey!” Nick spaces out scratching his dog’s ears. The door closes. “I’m not even hungry. How about you?” Spock gets up, steps right on his master to use his chest for an extra boost to get to the stairs. Dominated. The dog hastily runs up the steps and sits by the door with a smile. Waiting by the window is paying off tonight. It usually does. Nick meets him by the door, opens it, steps inside, closes it, and follows his pompous dog into the kitchen, grabs a slice of lunch meat, makes it into bite size pieces and drops them in the dog dish. “I’ll be in my room, buddy.” He leaves the bacon on the counter to go bad. He’ll probably cook it in the morning anyway. He lays on his bed for a few minutes. His eyes water as he thinks about the song his mother regretfully reminded him of. He kicks off his shoes. He wishes he were still kissing Olivia. Why can’t he just cry on her? His fear of showing his weakness makes him feel even more weak. Maybe males still need a woman to cry on after they’re too old to cry on their mothers. He realizes how late it is and that if he’d stayed the night with her, they’d be passed out in each other’s arms by now. That was usually the case after making out all afternoon and making a couple of messes on a couple of her old t-shirts. He loves seeing his dog waiting for him by the window, but even more so, he needs to watch his woman smile in her sleep. He longs for her, weighed down by his heavy, longing heart. He gets up, walks to his door, reaches outside and flicks the hallway light off, then his bedroom light, picks his pajama pants off the floor, switches them with his skinny jeans and jumps in bed. Exhausted. Minutes later, he’s falling asleep. He feels small paws crawl over his side and something furry curling against his stomach. It rests. Nick holds it close. He always leaves his door cracked open just in case his dog needs some cuddles. “Oh, Spock. You’re a good dog. I’m never leaving you, buddy. He rakes the dog into his chest. The dog gets up and licks his master’s face. "Lie down. Good boy.” He kisses the top of his head and pats his little rib cage. The besties then fall asleep without delay. "Please don’t do it, Nikki. I’m begging you.” Her make up looks the same as it did when he pinned her down on her bed. “I won’t let you. You’re staying in the coffee shop and writing a book. It’s going to be enough, I promise. Please, Nikki. You’ll fucking die out there. You read the book my grandpa wrote. I can’t lose you.” She cries harder either of them ever have. He wakes up. “That was fucking weird.” He gets up despite how early it is, makes a BLT and minutes later, he’s knocking on her front door with flowers he picked on his way. “Why didn’t you call?” she asks, clearly having just woken up. "I missed you. Come here.” he says pulling her onto the porch. “What?” “I cried so hard at our spot last night.” he holds her tight, about to cry just thinking about it.” "I’m sorry I left. I don’t think God wants me to join the Marines.” “I don’t want you to join the military, sweetie. My parents are gone, come in,” she takes his hand as he lessens his grip and sucks up his watering eyes. He talks to her over the bar from the dining room as she French presses coffee in the kitchen. “I’m not joining the military. I’m writing a book. I had a dream about you last night. You begged me not to enlist and your make up looked the way it did last night. It’s a good look for you.” “Oh, shut up. Come get your coffee.” She sets her cup down as he enters the kitchen and becomes one with him, holding him from behind feeling his chest and abs as he picks up the pot and pours a cup. “You’re so amazing,” he reminds her. “I know.” He nukes it up with cream and sugar before she lessens her grip, picks up her cup and follows him back into the dining room. They sit down, a truly sophisticated young couple, as is nature’s design for a couple that can love in such a promiscuous society. Nicholas takes the chair on the end of the fancy dining room table. Olivia sits the one nearest him between the table and the classy wooden bar stools. They look into each other’s eyes. He takes a sip and sets the cup down to scoot his chair right beside hers to put an arm around her and give her a kiss on her cheek. She kisses him on the lips in return. He twists her long hair with his left hand taking another sip of coffee with his right. She waits patiently knowing that he needs her to listen. She’s there for him. With his left hand tangled in her long hair, he sets his coffee down to free his right hand and feel her left cheek bone, then her jaw line to make intimate eye contact. They smile. “Can we finish that album? It was just about to drop.” “I finished it at our spot when I cried my eyes out and thought I heard God telling me to sell my soul to the government.” “Oh, boo… Come back to bed with me, it’s so early, you’re so weird…” They fall back asleep for an hour before her alarm goes off and they tackle finals week together. She graduates at the end of the week. She waits for her fiance’s birthday before moving. Late June, Nicholas turns 18. Olivia surprises him on his front porch with her cousin and her cousin’s boyfriend with a carton of cigarettes. “What the fuck? We don’t smoke.” “We do. And you do when you’re drunk. And we got this, too,” he reveals a gallon of whiskey from under his coat. “I was wondering why you were wearing that. It’s hot as fuck. Race you there?” Nick and Olivia hop on his bike and zip passed the car backing out of his driveway. Nick yells, “I’m not driving you home.” She laughs, “Just take a couple shots. We’ll drink at my house after my parents leave.” They take a seat on their rock waiting for the car after they get to the spot. Finally, they pull in, smoking Nick and Olivia’s cigarettes. “I didn’t say you could have one!” Nick says angrily. “Dude, there’s like 20 x 20, dude, there’s like 200 cigarettes and we bought them for you.” Nick laughs, “You bought those for yourselves.” “So. We’re family. We do shit like that.” “Where’s the whiskey?” “Right here!” Olivia’s cousin gets out of the shotgun. “Cops drive by here, rarely, but they do. Sit over here.” They sit on the rock with their backs to the road, looking over the city. Olivia pulls a shot glass out of her purse. Her cousin pulls one out of hers. “Girls and their shot glasses,” Olivia’s cousin’s boyfriend says unimpressed. “It’s a gallon!” the girls argue with him. Nick shakes his head, “Give me a pack of cigarettes,” Olivia’s cousin’s boyfriend hands him a pack. Nick unwraps the cellophane, flips the lid open, pulls out a cigarette, hands it to Olivia, pulls out another one for himself and sticks it his mouth. She follows and hands him a shot glass. He walks to her, holds out the glass for her to pour it and he takes his shot. “One more,” he holds the glass out. She gets up to pour it, and gets pulled back down by her cousin saying, “Hide the glass, Nikki!” Olivia spills whiskey all over herself and Nikki’s hand, both of them laughing. He closes his fingers over the glass and stretches as if he were yawning, watching the cop drive by staring at them suspiciously. “Nice pig eye.” “Thank you.” “Shit, he flipped a bitch. Fuck,” Nick screws the lid back on and rolls it down the hill. “What the fuck!!!” Olivia’s cousin boyfriend freaks out watching it roll. “I’ve done it before, that bush is going to catch it,” he laughs hysterically. “And we’re all over 18. We’re golden.” They watch the glass gallon of whiskey roll into the shrub without making a sound. The cop steps out of his car and walks to the kids as they’re all trying not to laugh. Nick takes a lighter from his cousin-in-law and holds it up to his cigarette to light it but starts to laugh extinguishing the flame. “What’s so funny?” the cop asks. “A joke he just told.” “What’s the joke? I’d love to hear it,” he looks at the cousin’s boyfriend. “Uh… it’s really long I just spent like 10 minutes telling it…” “Yeah,” they all agree. He looks at Olivia, “what the fuck happened to you? Did you piss yourself?” “Don’t talk to my fiancée like that you fucking pig.” “What did you say to me? I’m a police officer.” “And you’re harassing my wife.” “It smells like whiskey over here. Did you spill a bunch of whiskey on yourself, little girl?” “Look, man. So what if she did. So what if we rolled a glass bottle of whiskey down this slope after you flipped a bitch to pick on some kids trying to enjoy summer after finals week. Why don’t you keep driving by to see if we’re up to no good?” “I’ve got shit to do.” “Sure you do.” The cop leaves while Olivia, her cousin and her cousin’s boyfriend sit there dead silent, shocked, and trying not to laugh. “That was fucking epic, Nick,” Olivia whispers. She gets up and kisses him. “You’re soaked in whiskey.” “And now so are you.” “Trade me shirts.” Olivia takes off her shirt revealing her bra and hands it to Nick. He takes off his and hands it to her. She puts it on happily. He rings out her shirt and puts it on. The cousin smacks her boyfriend for staring at Olivia. “Oh, whatever. You were checking out Nikki.” “Shut up, guys,” Nick says sliding down the dirt hill. “Careful, baby!” “This is why I traded you shirts.” “I thought you didn’t want your lady to be covered in alcohol.” “That too, baby.” He grabs the glass bottle out of the bush and walks carefully back up the slope. “Now about that other shot,” he says in a damp, dusty baby blue shirt. “Baby blue looks nice on you, Nikki.” “Shut up, Olivia.” “Why are you so emo?” she pours his shot with both hands because the bottle’s still heavy. He takes the shot. Lights his cigarette and holds it with his mouth while he pours shots for Olivia and her cousin. The guys laugh at the girl’s reactions. The cousin’s boyfriend takes three shots in a row and give’s Nikki a third, giving the girls time to catch their breath. They pour a couple more shots for the girls, the girls take those too and their guys light their cigarettes for them. The couples smoke and make out over the city. Meanwhile, a secretary answers the phone in a record label’s office in Raleigh, North Carolina, “This is Katelyn.” “Shawn, please.” “I’m sorry, who is this?” “I’m his son, I’m calling from Sydney.” “His children are in school, they’re very young… Who is this?” “Transfer me to my father, God dammit. My name’s Noel, I was adopted.” “I’m going to have to verify that.” “Noel?” “Hey, mum.” “Noel, we were so young. Your father and I were only fifteen.” “I want to meet my brother.” “He lives in Nashville.” “Can I talk to Shawn?” The young CEO of an Indie label from Raleigh answers the phone, “One second, Ryan. Hello?” Back at the spot, Nick stops kissing his fiancée to look at his phone. She puts his hand down and keeps kissing him. “It’s from Australia, Olivia.” “What?” she backs off and looks at his phone curiously and so does he. He answers it, “Hello?” “… Nicholas…?” “Who is this?” “We’re 15 hours ahead of you… uh… Your parents didn’t tell you? Mine told me this morning… but the time difference…” “Who is this?” “It’s your brother, mate,” Noel says crying. Nick hangs up. He throws his phone down the slope and into the bush. “I HAVE A TWIN BROTHER! YES!!!” “Boo?” Olivia stands up. Are you serious!? He’s Australian? Oh, my God! Happy birthday, boo!!” She gets up to hug him trying not to aggravate him because he’s obviously angry but happy at the same time. He’s just mad his parents didn’t tell him sooner. But he understands. He’s just happy to receive the news. He’s amazed. He asked his parents if he had any siblings once. They lied. Buzzed and enraged, Nick gets home after leaving the gang behind at their spot. “We were going to tell you this afternoon… which is now… Happy birthday, sweetie…” Nick starts the school year and finishes having saved up enough to make a down payment in New York. He flies there without delay after graduating. Finally, he can have his brother over at his own place. Nick was transferred to another café and quickly got another job learning how to bartend. Nick and Noel made plans to meet before closing the café. "Prove it.” Nikki flips his brother off with his ring finger, “You know that not a photographer such as myself, and especially not a barista or a bartender in training, could afford this ring.” “Bloody hell.” “I know.” “I thought you said you worked together in Nashville?” “We replaced our first rings. She bought me this as a gift when she got back from her first tour.” “How long ago was that?” “Four years ago.” “Jesus Christ… you’ve been dating the hottest country singer on Earth since you were in middle school and you’ve been married for over a year… and you’ve never told anyone?” “Never. Just the mirror. And I feel like you’re framed and if I reach out to touch your face, my hand is going to hit the glass halfway there.” Nikki reaches for his brother’s face as if he would his wife before giving her a kiss. “But you’re not me. I’m not looking into a mirror. This is so weird.” “Not as weird as finding out my brother is an artist too.” “I’m not an artist. Don’t insult yourself.” “Look, mate. If you’re married to that girl, and somehow demanding loyalty out of her, and getting it, I’d say you’re not a pick-up artist, you’ve surpassed that, you’re, like, the greatest pick-up artist who ever lived, the one who found the one. You succeeded. Me? I’m just a painter. I’m an elusive psychopath who just happens to be good-looking and mastered the art of one night stands. I’m high on heroine right now. I got laid last night. I don’t remember the last night I didn’t get laid. And there’s only one girl I’ve slept with for more than a week. I was depressed and couldn’t work. I’m high as fuck, mate. I’m a junkie. I can’t quit or I’ll get sick. I’m finished. I’m running out of inspiration. I think the only thing keeping me alive is you, little brother.” “How do you know you were born first?” “I don’t.” Nikki looks at him curiously. Noel continues, “I could have a wife and kids, a nice house with a nice lawn and a nice fence, dogs, everything. Days before my first painting sold for a good price, I got hooked on this shit. That was a year ago. An entire year. If only I’d have delayed gratification for another week, believed in myself for one more week, I could have bought some herb, chilled out, celebrated, went bar-hopping, found Dad, but I gave up. I thought my paintings would never sell and I found myself high as fuck in a bathroom stall at the same bus station I got dropped off at in L.A. I shot up. It was a $10 hit that I bought with my last 20. One week later, I’m rich and famous. As well as an addict. So, what do I do? Keep getting high. And I never stopped. If you’re like me as much as you look, we both have addictive personalities. Sure, getting high and painting and kicking a different woman out of my over-priced apartment every morning is great. It made me even more money. Sometimes I think the only reason I was able to paint so well for so long was because I was always high. And I could afford it.” “That’s not true.” “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I can’t justify my habit… I’m a fucking junkie… And I hate myself for it… I’m going to be an uncle soon and I won’t even be able to be there.” “You’re going to be a great uncle.” “If I manage to stay alive.” “You look great. I’d have never guessed.” “Well, when the press is always asking questions, you learn the tricks of the trade.” “Fame? A secret life?” “Yes, mate. Precisely. You’re a celebrity yourself. Just waiting to be announced. I know. I can feel it. The biggest country singer on Earth is your biggest fan. It’s only going to take one tag for her to pull you out of obscurity. It’s going to happen over night. You better have an album ready. Record sales, mate. Independence. Keep your bank account. You don’t want her to be buying you everything. Trust me. Use her to promote your work. I suppose… it’s not really using her if you’re married… It’s to be expected, really… It’s one of the benefits of marrying up. Cherish it. And always show her how thankful you are. Gratitude is never a guilty pleasure. Anyway, you’re going to be far more famous than I am or ever will be. Painting only goes so far. You’re dabbling in music industry. And you write like a mad man. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. Maybe it’s better that way. Keep your innocence for as long as you can. You’re going to be a fucking rock star and she’s going to force it upon you. Keep being yourself, let the bricks fall into place. You’re not going to have any control anyway. You’re already in too deep. Let your marriage and your career consume you. You’ll enjoy the ride. Just be thankful. Never complain.” “I never do.” “Yes… I see that… I don’t get it…” “She’s a goddess. I will die for her.” “And I for you, but you’re not a God. Perhaps a demi-God if that’s what you Christians believe you are. God’s chosen people. I suppose you are some sort of a God if you really believe the Lord is in control of your life and you’re allowing it.” “I’m a servant. God told me when I was young that this girl was going to be my wife. If I were any kind of God, I’d be the one with a 20 million dollar apartment. I’m just a servant.” “You’re not only a better pick-up artist than I am a painter, but you’re a better man. Your woman is far more beautiful than all my paintings combined. I walked by her once, you know. I never felt so small in my life. Nobody recognized me. They were all focused on her. My sister-in-law. God, that’s fucking hilarious. You deserve her, mate. I think keeping a woman happy is far more difficult than selling a painting. Especially when all I do is get high. Who do I remind you of?” “Kurt Cobain.” “Fuck yeah. He could draw too, you know. I wish he never killed himself. He could have been anything he wanted. He could have been a painter. He could have been my greatest competition.” “There’s no evidence supporting that it was suicide. Quite the contrary, actually.” “Yeah, whatever. He’s gone. It’s a tragedy. Thanks, though. I’ve always compared myself to him in some selfish way. Have you read his journals?” “I try not to. He probably would have burned them had he been allowed to live a full life. Or at least typed them.” “That’s my twin brother. Fuck. I don’t know how you do it, mate. All I’ve ever done is shoot up and let my canvas possess me. I shoot up, paint, come down, suffer, shoot up again, love life, detox a little, jog, fuck some models in a sauna, take a break from getting high for a day, or two, if I’m really feeling the Lord.” “All I’ve ever done myself is indulge. That’s all Olivia is to me. Indulgence. She’s my heroine.” “No. You haven’t been indulging. You don’t get it. Loyalty, especially loyalty like yours, that’s the complete opposite of indulgence. That’s abstinence. Your indulgence has yet to surface. I feel like I’m a grandfather talking to a grandson. I’ve indulged. I’ve lived fast. I’ve lived a good life. You’ve practiced abstinence. Your peak is yet to come. I’m peaking right now. I’ve about had enough. You’re going to make me an uncle very soon, mate. We’re going to have the family I’ve always dreamed of.” “And I… Mate!” “Now you’re gettin’ it!” “It’s nice to finally meet you, Noel…” “Finally? You’ve only found I exist this morning.” “I’ve actually wondered, what if I have a twin.” Noel laughs at Nick and smacks the table, “Me too!” he laughs hysterically. “What if! What if we were wondering that at the same time!” “And staring at a full moon?” “Actually, I have indeed wondered that staring at a full moon. I remember.” Nick grins, “Was it on your eighteenth birthday, smoking your first legal cigarette outside a 711 a minute after midnight?” “OUR eighteenth birthday. And yeah. I remember that. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t a 711 for me, though. But I remember vividly, I had a California state I.D. I just bought my first legal pack of cigarettes. High as fuck. Smoking. Staring at the moon. Standing in front of some store. My agent was driving me around. He’s chilling in the driver seat with his window rolled down. I remember looking at the moon, and turning to him, and asking, "You know I was adopted, right?” He’s like, “Yeah?” I’m just like, “Do you think I could have a twin?” He puts his phone against is ear, says, “Sure, why not,” and I stare at the moon as he talks in the distant background. I don’t even remember what city we were in… Oh, yeah… It was San Francisco. I remember because we just saw Emery in Portland and I was too young to go to the bar with them. We caught up in Seattle a couple years later. I was so rich by then six months didn’t really matter to a doorman that just attended my art show. God, I got hooked before I turned eighteen. That’s kind of fucked up. Then I remember wondering, if I had a twin, if he, or you, were wondering the same thing. And you were. At the same time. Looking at the same moon. Do you think God is real?“ "Of course. We talked about me being a Christian.” “Oh, yeah.” “Olivia and I grew up holding hands on our way to church. We were raised Christians, then we started smoking weed and reading my uncle in law’s books on Falun Gong, then we experienced God for ourselves, rather than having verses shoved down our throats by hypocrites. We don’t talk about it, our faith, publicly. Most people assume that if you’re a Christian you think everyone is going to hell.” “Do you?” “No. We decided when we were kids that we didn’t believe in hell.” “Then you’re not a Christian.” “Why would God create us to send us to hell?” “Because he’s actually the devil.” Nick glares at him. “I’m joking. No, you have a good point. I think I’m a Christian too.” “You think?” “I was raised going to church as well.” “Nice.” “I guess it’s God’s grace that kept me alive for so long and made me so successful. I sure as fuck didn’t do it myself.” “Her fans and their parents won’t understand. It’s music industry, after all. Everything we say is held against us. People will take one quote and turn it into an article. I lost respect for reporters and journalists a long time ago.” “Me too! Ha, I told you, you’re a celebrity.” “… Thanks…” “I completely understand. I’ve avoided the topic of religion myself. I painted Jesus once. I gave him really cool emo hair and a blazer with skinny jeans. The exact outfit you’re wearing right now. Are you God?” Nick laughs his ass off. Noel continues, “Well, you’ve convinced me. God is love, right? He must be working through you if you’ve been able to love that girl the way you do. I can see it. You’re a devout man of God. It’s clear as day. I envy you. I give my life to Christ. Right now. Take me away, O Lord! Rid me of this Earth! Let my paintings glorify Your name! For I am nothing!” Noel laughs at himself, shakes his head, nervously taps the table with his finger nails, fixes his glasses, looks around. He’s ready for another hit. “Easy, now. It’s not going to happen over night.” “We’ll see about that. Do you have an old I.D.?” Nick finds it strange, like his brother is psychic. “Yes, actually. I just happen to have my I.D. from North Carolina right here. We can just take a selfie, though.” “Fuck that, I want your I.D. That’s way cooler.” “Don’t do anything funny with it…” “You tell me what’s cooler, walking into a party of millionaires with a selfie, or my fucking long-lost twin brother’s North Carolina state I.D.! If you think I’m showing off a selfie at a cocktail party, you’re sadly mistaken.” “Yeah, you have a point. Sure, here.” Nick hands it to him, Noel looks at it, “Raleigh, huh! What the fuck were you doing there?” “Olivia and I broke up for a weekend so I went there right after our fight to work with a label that had been trying to sign me for years. I came back with my tail between my legs after they tried telling me how to sing.” “Good man. Did you take that golden opportunity to get laid?” “She was texting me non-stop.” “Cute.” “Do you have collateral?” “What? Oh! Ha ha. Sure. You can have the check from my next painting. Which just got put up and should sell first thing in the morning. It’s only a few grand. They sell fast. I’ll paint another one tomorrow and sell it the next day. Easy. It’s too easy. Once your name has value, people will buy the fucking Starbucks cup you just threw into the street. That’s why Taylor Swift likes to go by Jenny.” “Oh, my God, ha ha ha. She reminds me so much of my wife.” “I know, right? Competition.” “Jealousy. You wouldn’t believe it.” “Girls.” “Women.” “Thanks, I’ll fucking frame this after the party. I’d invite you, but you won’t be able to make it after you make me this promise.” “What? You think I can’t handle a shot of heroine?” “I’m not asking you to shoot up with me. That’s funny, though. And your not invited. Millionaires only.” “We share a sense of humor.” “Nah.” They laugh and cheers their drinks. “I want you to get laid.” “My wife and I make love occasionally,” Nick smiles, proud of himself that they’ve kept it a secret for so long. Noel looks at him, disgusted, slams his hand on the table as he gets up, enraged. “OCCASIONALLY? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ON A BLOODY UPSIDE DOWN CROSS!” “Shut the fuck up, sit down.” “OCCASIONALLY? You’re married! MARRIED! Morning sex! MORNING SEX, MATE!” Nick has never been around someone so insane. But so funny and charming and somehow getting away with it. What kind of charisma is this? “YOU’RE NOT GETTING IT, SIR NICHOLAS!” The few parties scattered around the cafe are staring at them, almost amused, hardly bothered. Nick realizes Noel is much more than a painter. “Sit down. Why aren’t you a movie star?” The twin sits down calmly with a grin. “Because movie stars are twats.” Nikki smirks. Noel continues his preaching, “You’re married. You’re unhappy. You need a vacation. It’s only two days. The first promise I want you to make me is that you’ll go.” “Go where?” “Have you seen Pirates of the Caribbean?” “The Caribbeans?” “BRING ME THE HORIZON! YES, MATE! The Caribbeans! The second promise I want you to make me is that you’ll spend all the money I give you. Okay?” “Why not?” “Good boy. Well, now that we’re friends, let’s go get sloshed. The night is still young. I’ll show you how we do it in Australia.” “You’re in New York.” “And I brought Australia with me. Can you believe we have matching bikes? Jesus Christ. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Are you going to finish your coffee?” “It’s cold.” Noel downs it like he would a shot. “I gotta bang out real quick, but I’m a professional at getting fucked up. I’ll only be a minute.” He slides out of the booth, stands up, “Smoke a cig.” He tosses his brother a cigarette. Nick fumbles and starts reaching down to pick it up off the floor. Noel pounces on it with one of his Black Authentic Vans and rubs it into the carpet as you would to put it out. A broken cigarette sits on the floor of the cafe surrounded by a mess of tobacco and shredded paper. Nick rolls his eyes as he straightens up, shaking his head as his brother laughs, “Here, this might be easier to catch,” he tosses Nick a new pack of Marlb reds from his inside coat pocket. “Cowboy killers.” “Outback rancher killers.” “You were adopted by ranchers?” “You better believe it.” “I have the most authentic accent there is in Queensland.” “I’m jealous.” “Don’t be.” Noel smiles, bows, turns around, starts humming. Nick stares at him in awe. 'There’s something magical about him,’ he thinks to himself, right when Noel nonchalantly throws a bic over his shoulders with perfect aim, continuing to hum on his way down the hallway, turning right, into the men’s room. 'He can sing,“ Nikki thinks to himself and envisions them on the small stage with acoustic guitars. The Race "Can you drink, Saint Nicholas?“ "What!?” “SAINT NICHOLAS,” Noel speads in front of Nick’s left and rides in front of him for a second before slowing down to Nick’s left as Nick slightly speeds up to meet him. “Having fun?” Noel is laughing hysterically. “That’s not funny. I didn’t ask to be born on Christmas Eve.” “Neither did I, mate! I said, can you DRINK? SAINT. NICHOLAS.” “Only slightly better than the average heroine addict!” “Good!” Noel speeds up, unworried about being pulled over. He is famous, after all. The race is clearly on. [racing scene] The Cancer They slowly disperse as the traffic builds up. They’re closing in on the busier area. Noel slows down giving his brother the authority of the caption of the ship. With traffic lights ahead, Nick slows down after seeing the light change from green to yellow. Noel revs his engine and speeds by him. “Why aren’t I more like that?” Nick mutters to himself. He stops at the light. Waits for it to turn back to green. And takes a left. He steers slowly against the parked cars, finds a gap, and pulls in. Turns the key. Hops off. Wheels his bike up to the doorman who is also his co-worker. Flips his kick stand and waits for the phone call. He sees a Nashville area code and answers it before it even rings. “Nashville? Why’d you get a Nashville area code?” “Because we’re fucking moving there, son! This place sucks!” Nick cracks up. “Did you take a right or a left?” “Left,” Nikki smirks. “This is why I do stupid shit. Technology allows it.” Nick lights a cigarette and exhales once while he sees Noel speed back around the corner. The resemblence is uncanny how similarly they demount their bikes and ride up the bar. The doorman is bedazzled and laughing. “I didn’t know I had a twin either, mate.” “How’s it going, mate?” Noel says as they walk passed him and into the stairwell as the bar blairs heavy metal from the basement. “Fancy. I was expecting something a little more posh.” “You should hear me scream.” “I had a feeling you were a musician. But you pretend you’re an author for your wife.” he says, walking down the stairs, “Good man,” as he pulls the door open allowing the low distorted guitars to roar into the stairwell and out onto the street above. “Good man" Nick repeats back as the door is opened for him. "It’s in my blood.” Noel validates as he follows Nick into the crowded smoking, noisy, popping bar. Every bar stool is taken. It’s packed. “I didn’t know the emo scene was so prevailent.” “It’s 2117.” “True. Is anyone here NOT wearing black skinny jeans?” “I don’t think so.” “They stopped seperating men’s jeans from women’s jeans at Hot Topic a couple years ago. I think Olivia had something to do with it. (It was my idea,)” he whispers. Everything is unisex now.“ "That’s rad. I got these at a Nordstrom in Seattle.” “Of course you did.” “They’re mens.” “Of course they are.” “Let’s take a few shots, yeah?” “Yeah.” They smile and high five. Nick turns around to wave down his boss Rudolf who is bartending for fun and maybe some tips because why not? Rudolf sees Noel spin Nick back around to give him a big bear hug. “What’s it gonna be? And since when did you have a twin?” “Since we were born.” “Obviously.” Noel spits out. “Give us each four shots of our hardest whiskey.” “That’s hella expensive," Rudolf laughs. "But all right. He's that painter. I always thought he looked like you. He’s loaded. Got ya.” “Yeah, actually.” Noel punches Nick’s shoulder and puts an arm around him as they watch the bartender pour their shots with incredible muscle memory. Within seconds, eight shots lie before them. “Oh, Gloria,” says Noel. “This is glorious indeed,” Nick agrees. A tall, lean, well-cut man of Nigerian descent with long natural dreadlocks approaches their booth, “Sir Nicholas!” “What’s up, Rudolf? Noel, this is my boss. He made me a cook and if it weren’t for him, I don’t think I’d have been hired at the Hard Rock, where I first met Olivia publicly after she became famous.” “Her fans know you exist?” Noel grins behind his aviators. “You have a twin? William Rudolf, awaiting orders, sire…” he says with a sophisticated bow. “Pleasure, mate.” Noel stretches his arm out towards the owner. Rudolf responds by straightening up and returning the handshake. “Nice, but I was shooting for something more renaissance-ish.” “He’s Aussie.” “You are adopted, after all. That’s amazing. What brings you here?” “I was diagnosed with cancer, so–” “What?” Nick stands up in the small space between the booth’s cushion and the table. “You’re not joking.” Nick stands there with a racing heart, too shocked to be bothered by the awkwardly tight space. “A barista in Sydney always wrote a Bruce Lee quote on our cups whenever we’d just get waters. I think that’s what kept us going back to that place. ‘Be like water.’ I was waiting for the right time to say this… Cigarettes caught up with me. Rancher killers indeed…” “They’re not going to kill you. We’ll fight it. Together.” Nick stands there even more awkwardly than Rudolf. “I’m not fighting it. If I go in for treatment now it’ll only get worse with the withdrawals.” Rudolf awkwardly pulls his rolled up sleeves up a couple of inches to show Noel the fresh needle marks. “Let’s go out back, I’m running out. Spare me.” “I don’t think Nikki will approve. Sit down, Nick. Talk to your brother. Drinks on the house? The usual?” he walks away scratching his effortlessly-made Nigerian locks. “Nice friend you have there.” “Not one more hit, Noel. And put your cigarette out. Put it out, Noel,” he says from behind his aviators, putting out his cigarette in the ash tray, without taking his eyes off his brother. Straight face. “You’re quitting. And so am I.” Noel exhales into the dimly lit raging screamo restaurant-style bar. “One more drag to say goodbye.” “Not one more for either of us.” He watches his brother put out his cigarette, staring, more seriously than he did at Olivia proposing to her. “Good boy.” “I thought I was the dominant one. Are you all right?” “I’m not going to watch my big brother smoke himself to death. We’re getting you on morphine and you’re starting treatment when the withdrawals slow down.” “How do you know I was born first?” “I don’t. It’s time to pretend. Forget you have cancer. You’re going to live a normal life with your little brother. Forget aout the fame, the models, the money. We’re getting a two bedroom apartment in Nashville. I’m sick of it here anyway.” “What about the wife?” “It makes no difference.” “I see. When do we fly out?” “Right now. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” There’s a little league team walking into a pizza place across the street. Trophies on a table. “Everyone’s a winner. Miss those days.” “They’re not over yet.” Nick runs across the street. “Give me your bat, coach. That’s my brother. He’s a millionaire. I’m going to destroy that crotch rocket to cheer him up. It’s mine. His ex cheated on him.” Nick hops off the back of Noel’s bike. Noel turns the engine off. “This parking garage is fuckin’ sweet,” he says kicking the kick stand down and raising one leg over the bike to demount it. “I can’t believe you did that. That was awesome.” “Marriage.” “Aye. Built up anger, much? That’s what brothers are for.” They walk to the elevator door, shoulder to shoulder, wasted, right arm over left shoulder, left arm over right. Nikki presses the elevator button. They wait. “I told him your ex cheated on you.” Noel laughs hard as they walk each other into the elevator, “Well,” he can’t stop laughing, “I feel better now!” Noel watches Nick roll a joint in awe. “I thought you said we quit smoking.” “This isn’t smoking. This is toking.” Nick says, licking the rolling paper. “Damn,” you seemed so square in that cafe this afternoon. Unhealthly obssessed with marriage. You just keep surprising me. You’re actually pretty cool, little brother.“ "ACTUALLY? Noel, look at this hair.” “Yeah, you do have nice hair.” “Yours is ACTUALLY pretty nice, too.” He grins, scanning the joint before lighting it and blowing a perfect smoke ring.“ "Toking indeed.” “You’ll be fine tonight. Get stoned. We’ll go see a doctor tomorrow, in just a few hours, actually.” “Nick. I need a hit. One more.” “Give it to me. You think I wanted to put out my last cigarette ever? I just quit for the hundredth time a week ago. Then you came along.” “Oh, blame your innocent junky brother!” “I can and I will. But we’re done. Watch your last hits go down the toilet. Olivia made me flush my last eight ball a couple months ago and I didn’t even get a single bump. God, that was really unlucky. I always forget she uses my dresser.” “She lives here?” “No. But anyway, it was lucky, too. I’d have only kept buying more and dug a deeper hole. Women do those things for us. I’m your brother.” He passes Noel the joint. “It’s degrading and it’s going to make you feel weak if you let me have that control over you. But it’s going to be empowering for you all the same. Trust me.” “Where’s the restroom? OH, PLEASE, NIKKI, ONE MORE.” They laugh and take the joint down the hall. “You sound like Olivia when it’s time for me to go to work, 'CALL IN SICK. QUIT YOUR JOB. STAY IN BED, I’LL PAY YOUR RENT,’ he mocks his wife’s begging, exaggerating. They both stand over the toilet. "Nick.” “Yes, brother?” “I’m sorry we didn’t get to piss together growing up.” “This will make up for it.” “I can’t do it. You do it.” “The ring of power.” “This burden is my own. I will cast it into the flames of Mount Doom.” They’re as sarcastic and serious as ever looking into each other’s eyes. Nick nods. He watches his brother look down. He hears a splash. “Good boy. Now flush it, mother fucker.” He hears a flush. They watch it go down. “NOOOOOOOO!! …” Noel dramatically holds his arm out to the flushing water as the black disappears into the pipes. Nick rests his hand on Noel’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, little brother.” “Oh, now you were born first? How are you so sure?” “Just a feeling.” “Dude, I’m fuckin’ baked. Take your joint back. But we should light up another one and watch a movie.” “I’m so down. But all I have are chick flicks for the wife.” They walk back into the small living room. “It’s the 22nd century, mate. You’re so old school. Who the fuck has Blue-Ray anymore? That’s like 90 years ago. I have a phone and you have a white wall. Move that book shelf and we can watch anything you want. See this?” “I know. It can project videos. Olivia has one.” “Then why do you have a Blue-Ray collection?” “It’s hers. I don’t typically watch movies.” “Why do you work so much?” “I like to afford a nice apartment so I don’t get her dirty when she sneaks in.” “Why doesn’t she just pay it… ?” “We’re men.” “Heard that.” “Did you know they made a cartoon for The Hobbit in the 80’s? "It’s over 30 years old!?” “130.” “Bloody fucking– the fuck? I’m too high for this.” “You’re not high enough for this.” Nikki busts out the four foot bong. “I can’t reach the bowl without my wife. I don’t need a wife now. I have a brother.” They crack up. “And I don’t need excuses. I have you.” “Damn straight, son.” 10 minutes later, they’re in the back smoking cigarettes, standing, being rockstars. Just being super hott. Being themselves. “You’re good at this, Nick.” “It’s not that hard to be super cool.” he brushes his chest, exaggerating his drunkess, but also not really. They laugh. “I know. Trying to bee cool is so over-rated. I just decided I’d quit trying.” “Yup.” “You’re so cool, Nick.” “Not as cool as you, Noel.” “I say it’s a tie. But I might be slightly more cool because I’m actually famous and I don’t let a women get between me and my artwork.” “All right. That’s fair.” They laugh and light up a couple cigarettes as countless emo girls walk by them laughing going in and out of the bar. They each chug half their beers, grin, and hit their cigarettes. “I don’t really smoking anymore, but it’s cool.” “That’s cool. Thank you for joining me.” “My pleasure.” “I’m usually here by myself. Girls check me out a lot, but I usually don’t stand around like this so maybe it’s even more often than I thought.” “They’re checking me out like crazy. Look at those girl’s boyfriends. They’re so jealous. I just caught a guy catching his girl staring at us.” They laugh. “Nicholas.” “What’s up, mate?” “Are you drunk?” “Four expensive shots of whiskey in ten minutes gets me drunk, yeah.” “Me too!” They laugh. “Let’s get fucked up!” “Yeah!” “I need to convince you to stay in the Caribbeans for a week without your phone or your ring.” “Let’s get fucked up!” “Yes!” They flick their cigarettes at the ground towards the other men and walk back inside, out of the dungeon-like back of the bar that’s supposed to represent being outside. “This music is live?” “Yeah. I fill in for that vocalist sometimes.” “Sick.” “Sometimes we disguise Olivia as an emo chick and she moshes with me.” “It’s super busy, let’s order, like, a few rounds, get some food and a table. Quick! There! They’re leaving!” Noel runs and slides into a booth, almost knocking over a tall brunette model. “Sorry, baby,” he says with a super Australian accent. She gives him a nasty look but he smiles at her, she returns it, rolls her eyes and walks away with her posse. “God damn,” he says to Nick as he slides into the booth. “Look at that ass. If she’s still here in an hour, I’m picking her up, and leaving you.” “Fine by me.” “Why don’t you have Olivia’s number?” “Well, we hand-write each other every day.” “I see. But how are you going to explain to everyone that you were hand-writing each other while you were married? That’s ridiculous. You two are insane.” “I have no idea. We don’t really need phones. She just surprises me sometimes. She kind of does as she pleases. Plus he schedule is so tight, she really does put in a great effort to come see me.” “Phones are gay anyway.” “I’m like a fan with benefits.” “That’s terrible. You’re married.” “It’s her publicist. She thinks she’s so smart.” “Of course she does. Sleezy music industry leeches.” Nick sighs. “Pretty much. So, what’s this about a vacation?” A super fine female bartender lays a couple of rounds on the table for the gents. “Welcome to New York. Hi, Nikki.” “Thank you, sweetie.” “Nick! She wants you so bad!” “She thinks I’m engaged t o some model from Tennessee that hasn’t quite made it yet.” “Well, that’s sort of true.” They laugh. “Olivia’s hott, mate. You have this cover-up thing down. It makes me sad. That’s all. I just want you to get away. I can’t bear to let you live like this. I know we’ve just met, but I want to have an impact. You’ve changed me more than you know in just these last few hours. Please. Give me your phone. And your ring. You can have them when you get back. I want you to leave tomorrow. No technology. No Olivia. Just you, the islands, and a sexy young Latina. Please, she’s living the life of the rich and the famous. As loyal as she might be, it’s not fair to you. Don’t do this for me. Just do it for yourself.” “I literally stalk her for a living. She’ll be worried sick if she doesn’t see me taking pictures of her tomorrow night.” “Send her a letter and tell her you’re sick. Sick of her.” “Oh, my God.” “Go on, start writing.” “Now?” “You’re leaving in the morning, are you not?” “Yeah, I guess��” Nikki resently pulls out a small notebook and a pen.“ "That’s almost attracive in some way. Sophisticated.” “I try to keep in touch with my nature as a human being. We’re designed to write in dirt with sticks and map out our plan of attack.” “Then it’s about time you do.” “Right.” ‘Olivia baby,’ “I like it already,” says Noel from over his shoulder. “I’m gonna find that model. I’ve only made love to a couple emo girls and I don’t even think they were of age.” He slams down his empty glass, picks up two more and disappears into the crowd with a beer in each hand. Nick finishes his letter after taking a sip of the only full glass on the table. 'I’m going to try to keep this short and sweet. I need a break. Pictures of you sell for way more than they’re worth. I’m over-payed. I’ve never taken a day off because I can’t go long with out seeing your pretty, pretty face. But I think it’s best for me, and maybe for you too if I just take a few days off. I have my rent covered. I have thousands saved up. We’re going public soon. I can feel it. I’m not sure why you’re not finding a publisher for my book. It’s finished. You’ve read it. Everybody who has, loves it. It will sell, that’s certain. So, I don’t know what you’re waiting for. I figure that once your album drops and a month or two goes by, that’ll be the right time. I hope. I’m leaving it up to you, okay? You can get my novel published and promoted with the snap of your fingers, so do it when you’re ready, okay? I’m just trying to take a break from the world. I won’t be checking my mail, either. I just need some me time. It’s long over-due. I love you, baby. Know that you know that.’ “Is he crazy?” her cat meows. “It’s Nikki. I knew he was crazy the moment I realized we were in love. The moment we kissed his first day in middle school. Oh, Nikki.” She lays down holding the pieces of paper torn out of his pocket book up to her chest. She quietly cries as the younger cat leaps onto the bed and needily brushes against her arm. Noel walks by Nikki raising devil horns. Nikki raises them back as he watches his brother leave the bar with his hand in the back pocket of the model’s black skinny jeans. Nicholas Anderson never saw his brother alive again. “Olivia,” he writes. We’re going home. I’ve had every intention of buying a house in Nashville since we were young. I made a terrible mistake moving here. And I think, so did you. It’s not always about what you want. And most certainly not what your label wants. In order for us to be happy, I have to fulfill my needs. And that’s not happening here. I don’t need the Marines to buy a house. I’m a musician just like you. Tourists aren’t expecting acoustic punk rock on Broadway. It’s the element of surprise that you love so much. I’m not going to follow you around. I’m going back with nothing and I’m not asking my parents for help. My dad said he’d send me money for a guitar, but he sure is taking his sweet god damn time to send it. I’ve had time to conclude that I’m about to fly up a sign that reads, “GOING HOME.” This tea is great, by the way. I’m at a Starbucks. It’s about 8:30pm. I’m hoping they’ll surprise me with a bag of pastries when they close. The Spaniard and the blonde aren’t working tonight, so chances are low. Those two hook it up. Anyway, I’m literally begging for a bus ticket, and then a gym membership, so I can get in shape once I’m there. I miss jogging to Centennial. It makes me feel alive. I feel dead. I miss life. Do you think I should beg for clothes and a guitar case? Definitely. I love you, baby. I know you understand. I think you’re as excited to move back as I am. I know you don’t like it here. I get why you moved here, though. Karlie and parties, right? Well, we’re grown up now. Let’s retire. Relax. I want to be with you and moving back home will better allow us to be together. The things that I want that will bring us closer together, will make you just as happy as they make me… How do I say this… I want to be with you and you want to be with me. Right? So if moving to Nashville is best for us, then that’s what I want, so it’s also what you want, because it supports what we’re really after. We might miss out on a lot that’s going on. But honestly, I don’t care what other people are doing. Just you. I love you, sweetie. Trust your husband and have faith. If anybody believes in true love it’s us. I’m never leaving you. I want to be by your side at all times. Just let me work for it. yours forever, your nikki P.S. Maybe I’ll get my job back. Olivia baby, While you were performing in Japan last night, my brother informed me that he’s my twin brother. Hours later at my work, the bar, not the restaurant, he informed Rudolf and I that he was diagnosed with cancer. He’s a famous painter, by the way. And a heroine addict. I still have a few months left on my lease, but I don’t really give a fuck about that. He’ll pay for it. He’s from a ranch eight hours east of Brisbane but he’s currently a Sydney resident. He has no desire to go back. He’s seeing a doctor right now. I’m waiting for him at a café across the street. He needs morphine bad. I got him stoned but it just doesn’t make the cut. He needed morphine bad so we’re getting him on that before we leave town. Once we’re in Nashville we’re getting an apartment together and living normal lives as brothers should. I’m not going to let him die. You don’t need this fucking city, Olivia, the city of dreams… and extreme disappointment… I’m always just a letter away. I love you. Your husband of 4 years, Nikki P,S. I’m writing a book about this. It’s going to be fiction. It’s going to be about an author who is secretly married to an American pop-icon who writes a book about it but with a twist. It’s going to be like holding two cracked mirrors facing each other. Have you ever done that? I wouldn’t recommend it. Not without me, because it’s really, really scary. I’ll get my own apartment when the cancer is cured. We’ve been the most miserable couple in Hollywood for how long? What’s a few more months? P.P.S. I’ve hand-written most of it already. Let me type it and edit it for you today and tonight and tomorrow morning and I’ll send it to your label in the afternoon. I’d drop it off myself but there’s no way that ex-Navy security guard is going to be very happy I haven’t been in boot camp the last few months. I sure wish I had been, I could have used a bed and personal trainers. I’ll use the Hard Rock’s address. I want that to be our first public kiss. The Departure "Thanks, you too.“ Nick waves good bye to his acquaintance who is also his favorite bartender and first employer in the city of dreams. He figured his brother would have slipped a check somewhere on his bike, seeing as he expected him to leave bright and early and Nick wasn’t given directions to the gallery. He was a little offended, but after equiping his full face mask, taking pride in his appearance, he realized it’s nto very common, or even acceptable, for a 22 year old emo kid to try to blend in with millionaires at an art show. "I don’t wanna look at a bunch of over priced paintings bought by a bunch of fruit cakes anyway.” He wheels his bike to the street as he hears a rock hit the side walk. He looks down to check his feet. “Clever.” He picks it up, flips up his visor. “The fuck? 10 grand? That’s it? Cheap bastard.” He folds the check and slips it into his blazer pocket, laughing a little. Yesterday, he had no idea he had a twin brother. Yesterday, he had no idea he was going to come across 10 grand. He starts his bike. Blasts the stero. It’s late. He’s usually more respectul, but tonight is different. “Welcome to New York, mother fuckers.” He speeds off, taking a quick right back down the street he and his brother came up. He laughs, stoked, as he accelerates. Yesterday, he had never left the country. He steps into his studio apartment. Drunk. Takes five steps. Turns around, falls to his back, and passes out with his feet on the floor. "Spock. No. Get down.“ He pushes his black and white Shih Tzu off the bed. Spock barks and jumps back up and continues to lick his face. All right, all right, mate. Oh, God. I’m turning Australian. I guess you really are who you hang out with. I just don’t hang out with anyone but you. Huh, little brother. Nick gets up, SPock jumps down and runs toward the door. "Well, I’m already dressed. That’s convenient.” They smile at each other as Spock impatiently waits by the door while Nick reaches for the door knob. They walk down the hall, enter the stairwell, go down a couple of floors, pop out of the stairwell into another hallway, walk down that, and pop out onto the street. It’s drizzling. They cross the street, Nick busts out his keycard and they go into the residential park. Spock finds his favorite corner of grass and lifts up one leg. “Have you no shame?” Spock snarls and shakes his head. that thing that dogs do, like a sneeze, as if he were to say, “None. None at all, mate.” Spock started having second thoughts about taking a walk and demanded that the gate be opened. “Nope, we’re flying today. We need to exert some energy so we’re not restless on the plane. You will soon learn, young grass hopper.” Spock snarls again as Nick lights a cigarette underneath a tree. Spock doesn’t need a leashe so his free hand holds an umbrella. He carries the cigarette between his teeth as they leave the small park and start their walk. Spock gets distracted by a female dog, Nick walks, taking no notice. He looks bad, proud of his alpha male Shih Tzu. He knows he’ll catch up so he keeps walking and gets some good looks at some females himself. The dog catches up and they walk side by side. Classy. “I need to get you a kennel for the trip. Lightspeed to pet-co, Spock. ‘That is not logical, Captian Kirk. Pet-co is only a mile away.’ I didn’t ask for your opinion, Vulcan.” Nick laughs at himself. His dog looks up and smiles at his master’s irreverence trotting alongside him tail up pompously. Onward they march each with a nice grin. Nick equips his aviators and busts out the iPhone X7. It’s outdated. The Island “I don’t speak your language.” “Si,” she says, as they lie face to face. His eyes are closed, she’s playing with his hair, “Your hair. Why?” “It’s 2117.” “True,” and she continues to speak in Spanish. “Isabel. I do not speak your language.” “Si, silly boy. I say you are welcome. And are you virgin?” “I’m not going to say thank you for that. And no. I’m married.” “You are fighting?” “She is very beautiful. We’re kind of always fighting. It’s been a non-stop fight, or more of a battle, or a war, since she moved to New York when she turned 18.” “Why did you not bring her?” “My brother sent me here to give me a break. He wanted me to get away from my wife for a week.” “I did not know you were married. Then again, I didn’t know my favorite singer is married.” “Who is that?” “Olivia, country singer, do you know?” Is he in pergatory? What is this? How does she know that? What are the odds? Is this a set up? A test? Some kind of sick joke? “That’s impossible. I know her. Very well. Better than anyone. Who told you that?” “It is everywhere.” “Excuse me? You’re joking.” “Nicholas, why are you so concerned? Enough about celebrities, show me a picture of your wife.” Shaking, Nick reaches for his blazer before remembering he left his phone in New York to respect his brother’s wish. “I didn’t bring one.” “Your phone?” “I didn’t bring it.” “You are strange. You bring a hair straightener but you do not bring a phone. You are funny. You’re very cute.” “I’ll show you my wife, she should be on your homepage.” “My homepage is msn news. It’s all about the singer and her secret suicidal husband. He died before anyone even knew about him. Shot himself on her porch.” Nikki’s heart sinks. It’s true. He knows it is. But how? Why? He’s hardly surprised. But still shocked. And shattered. His I.D. His X7. He knew he shouldn’t have handed it over at the cafe. She reaches for her phone, sitting up, revealing her bare chest, “I guess he couldn’t keep it a secret any longer.” “Go to it.” The girl finds her phone on the floor by the night stand. Nick feels the worst guilty pleasure of his life being turned on by her bare back as she reaches for it. He remembers his brother. He remembers his wife. He never knew such feelings existed as he sees her naked back as she feels the floor while the reality of his brother’s death has yet to surface. Nick straights up with his back against the wall. She comes back to him with her phone and hands it to him as she covers her breasts and the ends of her long dark brown hair with the comforter, resting her head on his chest. She rubs his leg, from his knee to his inner thigh. She feels his cock getting hard. “Not now,” he tells her as he taps the browser icon. Sure enough, Nicholas and Olivia Anderson are headline news. He feels sick to his stomach. But for some reason, he’s happy. He’s waited years for their marriage to be announced. Only not like this… “Not like this…” “What? Nicholas… That is your wife? Really? You have a twin? You had a twin? Oh, Nicholas… I am so sorry… Oh, Mijo… She sits, feels his face, moves his bangs aside, presses her chest against his and kisses him on his cheek. He’s guilty, but she’s comforting him all the same. He’s thankful she’s there. It’s okay, mijo. You can cry. I will take care of you this morning.” He cries. He scrolls down. He briefly scans over the article without reading it. He sees the thumbnail for the video from the press conference. He’s about to press it until he starts to cry uncontrollably. He hasn’t cried so hard since he was a child. Since he was fifteen. Since that night he looked over the city. The night before he had sex with Olivia for the second time. He’s crying harder than ever. She exhales and sits beside him to hold him, a very motherly, grown-up, young, gorgeous Latina… She makes her naked body available for him to cry on. He accepts the offer. “Isabel…” He lets himself go with her as his support and cries on her stomach holding her tight by the waist. “She thinks I’m dead. My brother is dead and my wife thinks I’m dead. He cries. He sobs. These feelings exist? Feelings of guilt, pleasure, regret, weakness, satasfaction, all in one? It’s overwhelming. He feels manipulated. Victimized. Stupid. "What have I done?” “Nothing, Nicholas. We had a wonderful night together. You did nothing wrong. We didn’t even have sex.” “I still cheated on my wife. Oral sex is cheating. Kissing is cheating. This is cheating. My brother is dead. I can’t watch watch it. Play it.” She plays the video while Nick tries to suck it up. He doesn’t budge. He holds up his hand a minute into it. She hands it to him, thinking he wants to see his wife’s manager speak on the podium. To her surprise, he pauses it, and tosses the phone off the bed, and starts kissing her stomach, working his way down to the insides of her legs. She loses her breath. Her body forces her to breath in. “Returning the favor?” she says with an exhale. He works his way back up, covering every inch of her stomach, chest, neck, to her lips, cheeks, and cheek bones. He falles to his left side allowing her to get on top. She pushes his right shoulder, forcing him onto his back. “You’re stressed. Relax.” She kisses him to whisper in his ear. “It’s early.” She starts crawling back for a repeat of last night. “No,” he tells her. “Put your ass in my face.” She does as she’s told, “Do you call this 69?” “My wife and I call it being really super naughty,” before giving the lips between her hips a solid lick. “You’re really super naughty, Nicholas.” She moans before taking a deep breath, with her tongue pressed against the rim of his long, hard cock. She wimpers as she goes down for him to hit the back of her throat while he tries his hardest to make her cum as fast as possible using just his tongue. "I have to change my number. We have to start over. You’re talented, Nikki. Your novel will get published. Everyone will support a singer falling in love with an author. I don’t think my fans will understand if I marry a barista. And my publicist says it’s best that I stay single. I’m not breaking up with you. I’m never going to leave you. I’m yours forever. Just get a book published and send it to my label. I’ll write you back and we can be each other’s biggest fans. Everything will fall into place.” Nikki pauses the video. “I’m so blind. She doesn’t mean any of it… She just wanted me to man up… and I never did… and now my brother is dead…” He cries. The girl comforts him. He cries harder. “My wife thinks I’m dead. I’m going to Nashville. Things are going to change. I made a terrible mistake hooking up with you. I’m sorry.” He thinks to himself, looking out the coach window, to the horizon above the vast ocean waters reflecting baby blue skies. “It’s not because my book wasn’t good enough. She could have got it published with one phone call… She just wanted to get married… She doesn’t want me to promote a novel… She wants me to hold her hand… She never cared about the book… She just wanted me to make a scene… Why didn’t I? I was scared… My brother is so brave… or was…” His water and a tear finds it’s way out of it’s duct, then another one out of the other. He cherishes the feeling of the tears sliding slowly over his defined cheek bones, and even more slowly on his cheeks before they stop halfway down. He let’s them dry on his face, unwilling to budge, continuing to stare at the horizontal line miles and miles away. He cherishes feeling human. “She got her scene,” he continues to ponder, “It just wasn’t me… I would have snapped eventually, but I guess for a heroine addict with so much love, living as fast as Noel, he didn’t have the same patience as my wife and me. Should I be thankful? Offended? Angry? I feel all of the above. I feel guilty. I’m a rock star now. But at what cost? I lost my best friend. My twin brother. And I only knew him for a night. How’d he do it? Is that God’s will? Or is that the result of a God-complex with an unfathomable ego? He went down in history. With the pull of a trigger. The most famous painter to ever live. Did he do that for me? Or did he take advantage of my wife’s fame to go out with a bang? Was it love? or his ego? He was a genius. And a mad man. I pity him… but somehow… I’m jealous… I feel… regret… shame… I feel weak… Who is the alpha male in the end? The one who goes out with dignity, pride, in suicide, or the lover? The one with faith, the one who can’t let go? Is he my equal on the opposite end of the spectrum? Are we the same, in the end? Or am I superior because of the love that I have for my wife? Maybe it’s true that if you live fast, you’ll die young… There are always two sides to one coin… Wherever there is light, there is also dark where the light cannot reach… He enjoyed his younger years… I didn’t… What am I saying… I can’t justify what he did… He was wrong. It didn’t have to be like this… He could have talked it out with me… Maybe that’s just not him… Maybe actions really do speak louder than words… No… They don’t… but they sure do hurt a hell of a lot more… Christ, forgive him…” The Press Conference “Dear Nikki,” she weeps. She’s almost hyperventilating. She catches her breath. “I love you.” She continues to sob. “I can’t do it.” The cameras are flashing and rolling, the mics are recording. Her manager, her close friend, gently sits her down as she cries. Her manager reads the letter to the press and the millions watching world-wide. It’s on live television. Her entire romance. Her marriage. Her loyalty. Everything. Exposed. Not her career, but the love of her life. Gone. Lights out. In the blink of an eye. Right in front of her face. If only he could have waited. She cries, leaving the scene, thinking to herself, “Why couldn’t he wait? What got into him all of a sudden? He’s made a living off taking pictures of me disappearing into doors. What happened?” The Therapy Session Her record label suggested she try seeing a therapist. Her family agreed. It’s not normal for a woman to insist that her husband committed suicide because he was demon possessed. Common sense suggested to everyone but her that the wait was too long and the fame was too much. “That wasn’t him. There’s no way. He was possessed. I know he was.” “That was most certainly him,” her father insisted. “They found his I.D. from Raleigh. Why didn’t you go to his funeral?” “It wasn’t him! He’s my husband! I know who he is and that wasn’t him!” The doctor comes out into the lobby, “Hello, I’m Dr. Crawford. It’s a pleasure.” Olivia lies there, “There was just something different about him. It was his eyes when he looked directly into mine. They had a hint of green. Nikki’s eyes are brown. Nikki had the darkest, most handsome eyes that I have ever, ever seen… He was adopted… He used to joke about having a twin… That’s it! It was his twin!” “I need a cigarette,” Olivia announces to the small lobby and walks outside. “Well, she’s getting better,” the doctor tells her mother and father. She no longer believes that he was possessed. Her father sighs in relief, “Oh, thank God. How did you do it?” “I listened. Smiled and nodded. Something I learned in high school.” “Then how?” “She just kept talking about her Nikki and his eyes and concluded that it was his twin and that Nicholas Anderson is still alive.” Her mother cries. “Jesus Christ,” her father whispers to himself as he comforts his wife. The Record Label There’s a knock on the door of a record label in Nashville, TN. “There’s someone at the door.” “You’ve been working here for a month, answer it already. Don’t be shy.” The young girl, still feeling new at her job, opens the door, “Oh, my God.” “What, who is it?” “It’s our favorite paprazzi.” “Do you WANT us to fire you? That’s not funny. Miss Anderson lost her fucking mind this month, quit playing around.” Nikki steps into the office and slams the door behind him. “Nicholas Anderson? What the fuck? You’re dead.” “Give me my wife’s number you fucking piece of shit. I’m not dead. My twin brother is. You’re all a bunch of fucking idiots. We were adopted, separated before we could remember each other. My rich and famous heroine addict painter twin brother sent me to the Caribbeans to pose as me and expose you mother fuckers because all he ever wanted in life was to be an uncle, to have a family. Well, because of you mother fuckers, he’s going to be a dead one. How fucking dare you encourage my wife to market our marriage.” “We didn’t even know about it. It was all her.” “What the fuck ever, she was afraid of that fucking publicist. You give your employees way too much power over her.” “It’s ringing. Here.” Olivia answers the phone in New York City, “I told you not to call me unless Nikki rose from the dead.” “Baby, it’s me… Hello? Baby.” He hears the phone hit the floor on her side of the line. He can hear the Friends theme song playing quietly in the background. “She’s in her apartment on Franklin. She fainted,” he hangs up and calls 911. The Paintings “These are all his paintings. They’re worth thousasnds. And thousands, and thousands. Millions. This was his last one. If you look closely, you can see the word 'sacrifice.’ We’re never selling it. Not I, not our kids, not theirs. This is the painting that stirred pop-culture entirely for an entire month. This is the work that allowed your stomach to look the way it does right now. "Oh, Nicholas… Your brother… I never knew…” “Neither did I… until a week before he tricked me into giving him my old photo I.D. I wondered why he fancied it so much… He said he wanted to show his friends proof that he had a twin. He said an I.D. would be way cooler than a selfie. He was right, he’s an artist… The coolest guy I’ve ever met… and he’s gone… I never should have left you. He insisted I take a break… I’m so sorry, baby… He tracked down our dad and they tracked me down and I met my brother at our favorite cafe, that 24 hour one you love sneaking into so much… I could have sworn I was having an out of body experience when I saw him walk in.” “… Nikki…” She sobs on his shoulder, surrounded by the hundreds of abstract paintings of a rich and famous dead heroine addict painter that just happened to have a twin brother married to a rich and famous pop-singer. The paintings rest against the walls. The pop-star rests on the novelist. Their legacy rests in their unborn child. The tragedy of the painter’s sacrifice rests not in vain. The Sex He slouches in his office chair. He’s exhausted. He’s depressed. He’s worried. He misses his brother dearly. Everybody seems to blame him. He feels as if the entire world is against him. Everyone, or everyone but one, or maybe two, seems to not want a thing to do with him. Are they jealous? Or do they blame him for the famous painter’s death? Did he make a mistake taking the offer? No. Nick trusted his brother. He had no reason not to. All these thoughts racing through his mind, all these feelings weighing him down. Further and further he slouches. The weight, the pain, the emotional discomfort that feels so heavy in his heart, moves up, and up, and into his eyes. Then seeps into his tear ducts. Eyes watering, he allows himself to cry. Silently. It’s not a bawling type of cry. It’s the way men cry. It’s the heavy heart transferring its energy into something tangible. A relief, a way out. Crying feels good to him. In such a difficult time, being so lethargic, feeling so empty, finding it difficult to communicate with his wife. At a time when it should be easier than ever, seeing as they’re now married, publicly, and living together. He finds relief in sulking in his misery. Oh, the contradictions. Why can’t he just be thankful? He didn’t even know his brother. His brother didn’t even know him. Nick feels used. And unimportant. Crying. And his wife. Those are his only escapes. He doesn’t feel like writing. At all. His arms feel so heavy, his entire body does. To pick up a pen would be insanity. He’s already tried. He could use these feelings. He’s done it before. Feeling this way has worked magic for him in the past. He’s written some of his best work feeling so heavy as to not even want to write. But he always found the strength, put a pen to the page, and took a risk. It always paid off. He could straighten up, he could breakthrough with another successful novel. He has no desire. He’s home. He’s with his wife. He wants nothing more. He cries. He cries and cries and he doesn’t hold back. The tears for the last minute felt great but he exerts the pain out of his vocal chords now. He bawls. He’s bawling. Olivia is doing something in another room. He doesn’t know what, but whatever it is, it’s not as important as him and his needs. “… Olivia…” be bawls. He needs his wife, like a boy needs his mother’s sigh. “… Olivia…” he cries a little louder. He repeats it. And repeats it louder. He yells for his wife. He cries for her. He cries louder and louder. He’s desperate. He needs his Olivia more than anything in the entire world. Nothing can cure this pain. Only Olivia. He screams her name. His face is covered in tears. Finally, his office door opens. “Baby, what’s wrong?” She hurries to his side and gets down on one knee moving the hair out of his eyes. He’s slouching so much it’s ridiculous, he leans toward her, crying, uncontrollably. Ugly crying, as she used to call it when they were young and she couldn’t control herself and she’d cry in his arms. “I’m ugly crying, don’t look at me, hold me, Olivia.” It’s Nick now, crying on her. Growing up, he was always able to hold back, to hide it. Never in their entire lives, having been best friends since they could walk, since before then, since Nicholas could start recognizing faces other than his parents’, never, ever before, had Olivia seen Nick in his current state. He could always turn to prayer and start the engine on his bike. She’s dumbfounded. Even more so than she was after her first kiss when she was only seven years old. So many thoughts race through both their minds. She comforts her young husband. Twenty two year old Nicholas Anderson. A married, famous author, cries over his dead twin brother that he knew only for one night. He feels her finger tips against his scalp as they find their way through his long straightened jet black hair to the back of his head and she brushes his soaking cheeks with the thumb of her free hand. She cries, too. It’s contagious. She’s hurt he’s hurt. He looks at her with his soaking wet face and bloodshot eyes for the very first time. “Nikki, are you high again? Your shades can’t save you this time.” She giggles, crying with her husband. He smiles before remembering Noel and goes back into crying mode, but it’s better now. He leans in to feel his wife better. Slouching as much as he is, the shifting of his weight in the chair on the wheels forces it out from underneath him and he falls to the floor to the sound of the window behind him cracking. “Nikki!” she laughs at him hysterically. He laughes at himself as he quickly sits up with the aid of his perfect wife. She quickly pushes the chair out of their way and she pulls him from behind as if he were a wounded soldier She knows the wall is their to catch her so she leans back into it and slides down it, to the floor, to hold her husband from behind, between her legs. He slouches again, just as he did in his chair, only this time his support won’t fail him. His support is genuine, authentic, the best kind of support known to mankind. Man’s woman. There he slouches, feeling far more comfortable now. Not bawling as hard, but not holding back either. He turns to his side, uses her stomach as a pillow and cries on her shirt. “Oh, Nicholas, baby. It’s okay, baby.” “Olivia,” he cries, he wants to say more, but he’s far too overwhelmed. He turns the rest of the way, onto his stomach, and hovers over her on all fours, “I love you,” he says, finally able to breathe. He looks straight into her eyes. She’s lightly crying in empathy. His eyes are still bloodshot as ever. She holds his face the the palms of her hands. “And I love you, Nick. You are the best husband in the world.” He pecks her lips. They stare into eachother’s souls. “You are a great man, Nicholas Anderson. You are loving and caring. You always waited for me. You loved me when I didn’t deserve it. I love you, Nikki.” He pecks her again. “Olivia, we are never, ever getting a divorce.” “Of course we’re not, baby.” She laughs a little allowing a tear out of its duct. “I need you, Olivia.” “And I need you.” She pulls him in to make out, hoping he’ll stop crying. It works. “Baby.” He sulks onto her again, using her stomach as his pillow again. His left hand supporting his left cheek. His right hand holding onto the crest of her left pelvis bone. He caresses her skin with his thumb. “Baby, is it wrong for me to get turned on when I’m so sad and crying over my dead brother?” “Not as wrong as it was for me to turn you on on purpose.” “You’re funny, baby.” He somehow brings himself to smile. “How do you do it?” “I’m a woman, baby.” “My woman. I love you so much.” He continues with his thumb, gripping her crest bone more and more tightly. He digs his thumb and fingers into her skin. She responds to it with a question, “Is it wrong for me to get turned on when my husband is crying over his dead twin?” “Oh, boo. I’m not crying anymore. But yeah, probably.” He laughs a little. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” “I’m trying to turn you on, too, bitch.” “… Nick…” “Was it God’s will? Do we have self-control? Freewill? Did he do it out of love or was he driven by his ego to face ultimate famedom through suicide?” “Nick, you’re asking questions only God can answer. I can tell you that you are rather lovable and I’m sure your brother loved you very much. He pitied you. He shouldn’t have. He put himself above you and he had no right. He was a lady’s man. A player. I think he was jealous of your loyalty. It was jealousy, Nick. Your brother shot himself because he was jealous of you.” “Oh, boo.” he beings to cry again. “I didn’t mean to rub it in his face. I never talk about it. I don’t care about your money or the fame. I never wanted it. I’ve only wanted you. Ever since we were children. I remember our first kiss. I remember telling you I loved you for the first time. It was after church, remember?” “Of course, baby.” She cries she’s so happy for some reason. “I didn’t know what I was saying. I was five. But I meant it.” “… Nick… Of course I remember that… I’m sure we were in love, but we were so young, neither of us knew what we were feeling. We just copied our parents. “I’ve always loved you. I don’t even remember life without you. You were two when I was born. Your mother was my mother’s best friend. And our fathers were best friends. They lead worship together. We’re designed to be together. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to be there for you. Your work is so demanding. I’m sure we could have found a way to be together a long time ago and I’m sorry.” “Nick, it was my fault. My label needs me. I don’t need them. I didn’t know how powerful I was. I could have took you to New York with me from the start. I’m so sorry for leaving you in Nashville.” “We’re home now. It’s okay, baby.” “I love you, Nick.” “And I love you. I always have and I always will. I didn’t ask to fall in love with you. I supported you through thick and thin, I didn’t ask for you to become rich and famous. I can’t complain, though. We live a good life, but it hasn’t been easy.” “We deserve what we have, Nick.” “I think so.” “But you let me go, boo. You trusted me and I trusted you. We did it. We were going to announce our marriage sooner or later. And honestly I don’t think I’d have had as much success if the world knew I was married. I’m sorry, but that’s the music industry. I know you understand. You encouraged me. You are so great, Nick. What we have is so rare, especially in the 2100’s. Had this been 2017, things might have been a bit easier.” “I know, baby. I wouldn’t want it any other way. It could have been better somehow. But things can always be better.” “No one is perfect, not even me.” “Baby…” Nick knows she’s trying to be funny. She knows he knows she’s playing around and that she’s trying, and succeeding at cheering him up, and being there for him. No better support in the entire world. They just have that connection, like they understand and feel each other without saying anything. It’s almost telepathic. Maybe it’s just body language, they silently wonder, gazing into each other’s eyes. Sheer love, as far as they know, and that much they can agree on, without saying a word. There they sit carressing each other with the thumbs and finger tips. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is okay. They can’t go back in time. They can’t fast forward into the future. They can only love each other. Here. And now. And so they do. As they have always done. They’re together, as they always have been. “He could have married your best friend.” “Yes, he could have.” “He could have done anything he wanted.” “Yes, he could have, Nick.” Nick finds the most serious tone he can conjure, “Let’s burn his paintings.” “We can do that.” “I’m joking, baby.” He laughs. “We really can. He thinks he can blow his brains out on my old porch and become the most famous painter who ever lived? Sorry, he left that up to us. He was being completely reactive the fact that we’re married. He left us to be the proactive ones. He left his fate, his legacy, up to us. His name and honor are in our hands we can do with it as we please.” “I didn’t think of that. I just thought the obvious thing to do is respect his work.” “Well, it is. But women are wretched, Nikki. I hate your brother for making you cry. What he did was selfish. I told you what he said to me that day. He accused me of being selfish. When people accuse you of being flawed, they’re usually only reflecting their own insecurities. Usually. But he was the selfish one. Even if he took his own life. Suicide is selfish. I’m sorry if keeping you secret was selfish, but we saw it through and we’re together now. Everybody knows now and I’m glad.” “I know. You’re right. He killed himself thinking he was leaving a mark in history, but in doing that, he left it up to the historians, which just happens to be us in this case.” “We should burn them. But they are very nice and he is brother.” “No, we shouldn’t. He’ll get what he asked for. His paintings will be scattered throughout museams throughout the entire world, but at the price of his own life and our respect, whose fame he took advantage of. I don’t hate him. I can’t, as a Christian, but I don’t respect him now. And he can’t respect us because he’s dead. You’re a woman, Olivia. You’re not a girl anymore. You’ve grown up during the months we’ve spent apart. We’re practically the same age now that we’re older. Two years is nothing now, but still, I look up to you just like I did when we were kids. That perception I have has never changed and I don’t think it ever will. You’re older than me. Only by a couple of years. Maybe it’s because you’re intelligent. Sophisticated. I am too, but I just look up to you so much baby. I always have. And I always will. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You really are my other half.” “Nick, really?” She cries. Softly. “I love you so much, Nick.” She finds her way out of the space between her lover and the wall and he lies down, curiously, turning to his side, supporting his head with his hand and his arm with his elbow. He’s done crying. She did it. He yelled her name for comfort and she gave it to him. He’s a winner. She’s perfect. She perfectly mirros the postion he’s in and they stare face to face. She relaxes her arm and lays on the floow, using her hands as a pilloe. He mirrors her now. He leans in and gives her a nice, solid kiss. “… Nick…” “Stay.” He comes back thirty seconds later with a blanket and a pillow. “Good girl,” he says from the doorway and throws the pillow across his office and over the desk. It hits the window and falls by his wife. He sees the crack between the curtains. She moves over a few feet and he lays the blanket down between the desk and the window where his office chair was a bit ago. “Did I do that?” He fixes the curtain and dims the lamp on his desk. “Yes, that was the chair.” She laughs. “Nick, I’ve never seen you cry like that. "I was never joking when I’d say these exact words, "Baby, I cried so hard last night.” “You said that a lot in high school.” “Yup.” “Oh, Nick. At our spot?” “Always.” “Baby!! Come here. Lie down. Oh, my God. Nick. My love.” She smiles and pulls him in but he resists. He reaches for another blanket he keeps on a lounge chair. “Now we can make babies, boo!” “Oh, grow up. Come here. I’m going to make a man out of you.” “Well, it’s about time. You’re two years older than me, after all.” “We can call it making a baby, but we’re just fucking in your office.” “I like the sound of that.” They’re lying side by side where his chair should be, between the desk that their feet are under, and the window sill, that their heads are under. “It’s like a fort. Remember when you were 12 and your mom caught us kissing in a fort and I wasn’t allowed to come over anymore? I remember the Nostalgia when I snuck in 5 years later and I took your virginity.” “Yeah, I took yours, too.” “I’m about to take it again.” “Can’t. It’s a one time thing and we’ve been fucking every night for a month. You’re crazy, Nick. You wish I were a virgin.” “Nope. That’d mean I’d be one too and I’d have missed out on a lot wif my boo. Huh, boo.” She kisses him. “You’re so sweet. The sweetest.” The sarcastic compliments leave him speechless. She kisses him. And kisses him. He kisses and kisses back. “Olivia.” “Yes, dear?” “Your sarcasm turns me on so bad. I think I’m getting hard.” “You’re not already? I’m offended. I don’t want to do this now.” She starts to get up but he pins her down. “I’m not kidding. Let me go. You suck. I hate you. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t get the hell off of me. I’ll call the police.” “Mmmmm…” “I’m serious, Nick.” They kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss. He holds her body down with his as she waits for him to heat things up. He’s good at taking control. So is she, but she prefers to be tossed around and let him have his way with her. He’s the romantic type. Respectful. Playful. Aggressive. Balanced. He’s good in bed. “Olivia, you’re the best in bed I’ve ever had.” “Better be.” He mounts her by her abdomin with his knees close to both her sides. She has no choice but to lie on her back, relax, and feel his abs underneath his shirt. He’s wearing the usual outfit. Band shirt, skinny jeans, Vans. He straightens up and takes off his shirt. She slides her hand down, unbuttons his jeans and starts to slide his zipper down. He scoots down to sit on her thighs and pulls her up by her shoulders. All her sit ups and working out over the years payed off as she uses her abs to keep her back elevated for him to reach up the back of her shirt and undo her bra. “You’re pretty good at that. You’re better than me.” He kisses her to keep her quiet. He looks into her eyes to tell her he’s done telling jokes for the night, reminding her that he was bawling his eyes out earlier and he’s ready to be serious. He looks into her eyes intensly as her smile fades and she returns the same intensity right back to her lover. They stare into each other’s eyes, mroe serious than ever. Still looking deep into her soul, he finds the seam of her shirt and pulls it up as his knuckles glide across her stomach, until his finger tips reach her bra and dig their way under it, he pulls her bra and shirt up to her neck for a clear view of her chest, he’s taking too long so she pulls it off over her head and throws it over his shoulder. Her bra and shirt are caught by the lamp on his desk making the room even more dim, almost dark. She laughs as she rests her abs and lies back down. He grabs her right breast with his left hand and she giggles, pointing at the lamp, proud of herself. “Two points.” He’s getting tired of her childish behavior but he looks over his shoulder anyway, sees the bra and shirt hanging from the lamp and smiles and looks back at her. He puts his finger over her lips to tell her to shut up for real this time. It works. She looks back at him befoire her face relaxes. He feels both her breasts with both his hands and gives them a good feel. She relaxes, feeling his jeans as she stares at the ceiling, wanting it, needing it. She takes a deep breath. She reaches for his abdomin and slides her finger tips behind the seem of his jeans to feel his abdomin under the seam of his jeans. He shaved. She gives his jeans a little tug implying that he needs to get off of her for a second. He falls to his left side catching himself with his elbow, then relaxes onto his back and quickly takes off his jeans. “Now those.” She says pointing at his boxers and moving in closer to him, kissing him. She helps him pull them down, she moves down, grabs them when they’re at his shins and pulls them down to his feet and over his toes, throwing them away carelessly. She looks up at his hard 6 ½ inch cock, from his dick to his eyes and back. He moves back up to the wall for back support to sit up a little. She crawls closer, between his legs, stopping at his knees, she supports herself with her left arm over his right leg, almost laying on her left side, she uses her free hand to grab his cock, it’s almost as hard as it could possibly be. He flexes almost every muscle in his body with a small fidget correcting his posture, finally, he’s been this hard for a few minutes, it was becoming unbearable. Her tight grip was much needed. He lets out a sigh of relief, preparing himself for the best blow job he’s ever had. They’ve been getting better every night. She jacks him off a little, until he’s rock hard. She takes a deep breath. Moving in slowly, she looks at it, kisses the rim, kisses the shaft, licks it, kisses it again, and licks it from the bottom up, keeping her tongue on the tip of it, she puts her mouth over it and goes down. Then up. And back down. She feels his hand on her head, his finger tips lightly combing through the roots of the long wavy hair, gently brushing her scalp. She starts using her hand too. He lets out another sigh of relief. She jacks off the bottom half of his cock with the top half in her mouth, using her tongue, her facing moving up and down with her hand. She picks up the pace. Her hand starts to move a bit faster than her face can keep up with. She sucks him off hard and jacks him off even harder. She wants him to cum. He can tell. She doesn’t want him to cum instantly after they start to actually fuck. She knows if she lets him cum in her mouth, it won’t make a mess, and he can eat her out to get ready for round two. By then she’ll be turned and possibly able to cum at the same time as him. She pleases him in a pleasurable effort, effortlessly. She’s not holding back. She’s never sucked him off so hard in his life. She wants his cock deep in her mouth. In her throat. She’s clearly trying to make him cum as fast as possible. She’s ready to fuck. She wants this over with. She wants to swallow his cum so he can hurry up and return the favor before putting his cock deep inside of her pussy that he made so wet with his tongue. She has to do this first. Otherwise he’ll cum too quickly. He’ll return the favor. He always does. She feels his hand move from the top of her head to her jawline. She knows what that means. She moves up, slowly, collecting the saliva off the tip, making a puckering sound as she lets his cock back into the cool air. He’s impatient. He wants his cock back in her warm, wet mouth. He feels guilty being about to cum in her mouth. He’d rather have some decency and let it out on the blanket. But he know she’s willing to swallow it and knowing that he can’t resist but to get up onto his knees, she does the same, swallowing her spit. He gets onto his feet. She wants it back in her mouth as much as he needs it engulfed in the warm wetness of his woman’s mouth. She wimpers. She’s wet. She jacks him off, his cock right in front of her face, she looks up at him and smiles, leaning into his stomach to kiss his abdomin, tightening her grip, speeding up. She slides her cheek against his 6 ½ inch rock hard cock, guiding it back into her warm wet mouth that he so badly needs to be inside of. He looks down at his lovely, beautiful wife, with her long wavy blonde hair over one shoulder, the tips covering one breast, and above that her mouth, and her face, moving back and forth, more and more quickly. He’s so close to cumming. She knows. She’s working at it. She’s ready for it. She wimpers, she’s so wet. She wants it over with. She wants to fuck. So bad. She wants her turn. She’s almost there. He looks down past her breasts and notices that her black skinny jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped. Her hair, closed eyes, face, mouth sucking off his cock harder than ever, her long hair covering one of her breasts, her other breast in clear sight, her perfect stomach, her undone pants, a sliver of her underwear hugging the crests of her pelvis bones, it’s such a pretty, pretty sight. She’s beautiful. He feels so guilty. Especially now that he grabs her head with both his hands. He can’t help it. It’s such a guilty pleasure. He face fucks his wife. She likes it. He knows that. She’s enjoying it. She let’s out an uncontrollable, “mmm,” she’s just so horny it comes out of her vocal chords. He straightens his back, chin up, looking up to the ceiling, chest out, legs flexed. He’s doing all the work now. She gives up on trying to speed up the pace. He took control. He’s just mounting her face and fucking her in her mouth as hard as she can. She chokes. She grabs his legs with both hands, inviting him to cum. She’s ready. He tries to relax to delay the orgasm. His muscles flex on their own. It’s becoming unbearable. He has pretty good control. He can cum any second if he just flexes his cock, his cum will instantly hit the back of her throat. Any second now. He’s in control. He fucks her face. Standing 6'1”, he looks at the ceiling. He lets go with one hand and guides her head with the other. He’s so turned on. He’s so hard it hurts. He needs to cum. It’s going to feel so good. He’s willing to do her a favor. He looks back down, grabs the lower half of the shaft of his dick, she moves her mouth to the head of it, opens her mouth, the salivas a mess, she breaths heavily through her mouth, licking the tip. She can’t catch her breath, she’s too focused on catching his cum with her mouth. It’s all she can think about. She’s waiting for the cum shot. She doesn’t want it on her face. Not yet. She puts the head of his dick back in her mouth, he flexes his cock, he can’t control it anymore, he jacks off hard while she sucks. His hand’s moving way too fast for her to keep her mouth on it, so she opens her mouth and grabs him by each side of his waist for balance and a good catch. He slows down to watch his aim. He speeds up again with the head of his cock partially inside of her open mouth, resting on her tongue. He lets out a sigh of relief and out comes the first bit of cum, directly into the back of her mouth. She lets out a wimpering sigh of relief looking up at his face as he looks back down at her. They look into each other’s eyes. He’s jacking off into her mouth. Perfect shot. Straight to the back of her throat followed by more. She feels the warmth of it building up in her throat as she breaths through her nose. In comes the third surge of cum as it hits the roof of her mouth, and more, landing on her tongue. She let’s out another wimpering sigh. He cums more. Her mouth is full. She closes her mouth to collect it into the back of her throat. He doesn’t stop. He can’t. It continues to come out, hitting her face as she swallows what she has in her mouth. He cums on her closed mouth. She opens her mouth back up, licking her bottom lip in a feeble attempt to keep it a clean shot. He made a mess all over her face. They tried their best. He’s still cumming but it’s not shooting out as rapidly. She puts his dick back in her mouth and takes over again with her hand. He grabs her head with both his hands, fixing her hair, embracing her skull as it moves up and down his cock that can’t stop cumming. He cums a little more. She’s amazing. And a little more. She’s perfect. And a little more. She swallows. She sucks. She jacks him off. She’s enjoying it. It isn’t her favorite thing, but he is. She loves to please him. And for him to please her back. She wants it now. She’s ready. But she knows how long orgasms can last even if he’s not cumming. She she won’t stop until he gives her the signal. His light finger tips on her defined jaw line. She blows him like a woman should for about two more minutes before he finally gives her the okay to stop. Perhaps one of the best orgasms he’s ever had. It was perfect and he can’t wait to cum again after he eats her pussy and gives her a real good fuck. He slightly loses his hardness. But not completely. He’s still turned on and looking forward to the foreplay for round two. He’s still hard. Just not rock hard. She licks every inch of it, cleaning him up. She swallows. She giggles. He let’s out a sigh, “Baby…” “Wow,” she replies, “that was a lot,” she breaths heavily, “I could barely breathe.” “Wow,” he exhales, almost glad it’s over, “baby…” he’s at a loss for words. Why does she do it? he feels guilty. What has he done to his poor little wife? Why is she smiling? Why is she giggling, kissing his stomach? Why does she even love him? He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand a single thing in the entire universe. He surrenders. She’s perfect. She is his God. “Baby…” She looks up at him smiling. “Yes?” she giggles. “Nikki?” She says in a cute childish voice looking up at him with a grin. He’s done playing with her hair. He leans forward, reaching for her shoulders, and pushes her back to tell her to lie down. It’s her turn. He has one goal in life: make her scream. She lies there, topless, on her back in the dim room, propped up by her elbows. She looks at him. Grinning. He takes a step forward and just falls as if he were in a rush to do some push ups. He catches himself with his face an inch away from hers. Their cheeks meet. Aggressively, he slides his face against hers, down, to kiss her neck. To suck on her neck. Just enough to make her a little more wet. Without leaving a mark. He never knows when she’s going to have a photo shoot. He never cares. He just goes everywhere with her. He never cares what they’re doing or where they’re going. He only cares that he’s with his Olivia. Just as he is right now. Taking full advantage of the fact that she has the rare next day off, he crawls backwards to her unbuttoned skinny jeans and pulls them down to her thighs, to her knees, he can see how wet she is through her underwear. She looks at him. “You’re killing me, Nick. Hurry up. I need it. I need you inside of me.” He pulls her jeans down to her ankles and fixes them off of her feet. She starts taking off her panties as he takes over and pulls them quickly down to her ankles, over her toes, and throws them aside. He crawls back and gives her pussy a solid lick before kissing her stomach up to her breasts, sucking on one of them for a second on his way back to her face. They’re usually alone at this time of night. But he let it out. His emotions. Thoroughly. And soon he’ll let out his cum to get it all out. Everything. All over his Olivia. Finally, they can take out their sorrows and aggressions on each other as lovers are designed to do. Nature corrected them at last. They’re finally happily married as man and woman are designed to be. Thoroughly, he’ll get it all out. But he has to take care of Olivia first. He knows he can time it just right. Make her wet. She already is. But he can do better. Make her wimper. Moan. Make her say dirty things. Scream them. Tonight he wants to make her scream like she never has. It can’t be that hard. His greatest challenge in life this month, their first month of living together as a wedded couple, after being married since they were ages 18 and 20. So far, he’s done a pretty good job. There were only a couple times he lost control and came first. And both times, he made up for it with morning sex and breakfast in bed. Actually, morning sex and breakfast in bed are daily things for them at this time in their lives, but both mornings after those incidents, she knew he was sorry. “Olivia…” “Baby.” “Honey, I can’t stop thinking.” “Just fuck me.” "Wait. No. Baby, listen. I’m not ready yet anyway. Plus I want my tongue deep inside of your pussy.“ “Get down there already, you son of a bitch. I’m so horny, oh my God, just get down there. Oh, my god, boo…” she feels the left side of his face with her right hand he looks at her and notices she’s sweating.“ "Oh, boo. I saw an advertisement while you were in the shower this morning.” Completely naked, climbs to the right side of his beautiful blonde topless wife and lies on his left side, supporting himself with his left elbow, free to do what he wants with his right hand. She’s relaxed, flat on her back, her legs are spread, her body is his, waiting for him to do what he will. He squeezes her right thigh, she’s so wet, he can feel it inches down. She made a mess in her jeans. She lets out an adorable, kinky sigh. He moves his hand in before it hits the crevice of her leg and her body. She looks at him, sweating, grabs his hand and forces it onto her pussy. She’s so wet his pointer and middle fingers slide deep inside of her, quickly, and aggressively. She asked for it. She exhales loudly with a touch of falcetto. She relaxes. Finally. He’s inside of her. Just his hand, though. She wants more. She wants his cock. She needs it. “NICK!” He shoves his fingers in, gently brushing the back of her inside, as deep as he can. She lets out long uneven exhales almost as if she were crying but she’s just moaning already. He slowly pulls his fingers out to gently rub the outside of her wet pussy between her spread legs. She’s so wet, his fingers slide right back in, and deep inside again. She lets out a loud moan. He speaks to her, “That’s it, baby.” I could start fucking you now. I’m so hard again already. How are you turning me on so bad?“ "BECAUSE I’M FUCKING DYING, NICK. GOD! Baby! Fuck! Just do it…” she looks at him as if she were in pain as he fingers her faster and faster. She looks at him to her own pussy getting fingered and back at her lover, “Oh, my God.” She breaths heavily with her jaw dropped as her eyes roll into the back of her head and she lies back down not knowing how to handle it. She’s overwhelmed. It feels way too good for not being her lover’s cock. His fingers? How do his fingers feel so good. She’s almost afraid of achieving an orgasm if this feels as good as it does. She tries to pull him on top of herself but her efforts are rendered useless. He resists and fingers her slowly. He has something important to say. She needs him. He needs her to listen before he can give himself to her. Why can’t he wait to talk about it? “What was on the fucking TV, Nicholas?” He continues to finger her. She moans. “Oh, my God,” she moans again. “It’s a cliche,” but I never thought about it like this before. He fingers her a little faster to build anticipation. He’s about to shove his cock so deep inside of her. “Mmm…” she moans. rolling her eyes back, she turns her head to her right, pushing her face into his forearm as if it’s going to relieve her desire for her lover to be inside of her. Not his finger, but the part of him that’s going to take her beyond her current level of euphoria, together. He seems how needy she’s being and presses his waist against her side to let her know he’ll be inside of her any second. She’s waiting for it. What’s he have to say? She presses her forehead against his cheek and kisses him all over his face. His hands getting tired. She’s in agony anyway. So he slows down and rubs her gently. “Baby… Olivia…” “Nikki, spit it out, fucker! God, I’m dying, please! A cliche? And?” “People are wrong when they say you can’t find happiness in somebody else.” “Oh, boo!! I love you, Nikki, that’s so sweet. I love you so much, baby.” she reaches for her lover to accept that he’s just fingering her slightly and she feels guilty for being so impatient. She knows that Nick likes his romance. She realizes how serious he is and why he had to say this. He loves her. He truly, absolutely, undeniably, uncontrollably loves his wife. To death. Her. She is a queen. She is his everything. She is his sorce of happiness: his woman. She’d cry if her cliteris weren’t being rubbed just right. She leans slightly back, her face totally relaxed, she’s in such great pleasure, she looks down ad his cock. He’s hard as a rock again already. She reaches for it. Jacks him off. Looks back into his eyes. “Baby…” He fingers her. She gives him a hand job. Patiently. And passionately. They’re so in love. Such a rare phenomenon. Especially in 2117. Marriage seems to be a historical institution. What did it for them? Church? Their parents? God? Love? Love is real. They can see it in each other’s eyes. They can feel it in their palms, the tips of their fingers, throughout their arms, legs and their entire blood streams. They are high on love. “What are you waiting for, Nick? Baby, come on. Get on top. I’m waiting.” They keep a steady rhythm. He kisses her face. Kisses and kisses. She kisses back. Their mouths connect. Their tongues collide. She’s too relaxed to kiss him as passionately as she wishes she would. It’s okay. He’s in control. He moves his face forward, his tongiue slides down the side of hers, as far back as it can go before their lips stop his face from getting any more pressed against hers. He pauses, pulls his tongue back out, as hers encircles his and she closes her mouth around it and off the tip as he slowly pulls his face and tongue away from and out of her mouth. He grabs her hand as it works her magic on his dick, he slides the tip of his fingers underneath hers to signal her to let go. “Finally,” she says, ready for intercourse. He grabs her right thigh, she goes with it and raises her right leg for his waist to find its way closer hers, for his cock to reach her pussy. Lying to her right side, supporting himself with his left elbow, he holds her leg up with his right hand. Her hand reaches between her legs as she feels his cock underneath her right thigh. He presses his waist against her as she fixes his dick inside of her pussy. He gets it in deep from her underneath her right thigh. She lets out a loud “FUCK.” He fucks her from her right side as she lies on her back. He knows how bad she needs it. So much for eating her out. But he’s about to do that. He fucks her hard. He can’t tell if she’s crying or moaning. She’s moaning. She’s definitely moaning. She screams. Finally. He fucks her hard. “Get on top, Nick. Get on top right now. Oh, my God. I need it harder.” He slows down. Pulls out. And quickly crawls down. She’s disappointed. She wants his cock, not his tongue. But she knows she’ll be cumming soon. It’s okay. He hovers over her on all fours. He kisses her chest, left breast, right breast, licks the nipple, kisses it, licks it again, sucks on it, kisses the inside of her breast, the center of her chest, kisses, kisses, all the way over to and up her other breast, to the nipple, and he licks and sucks on that too. She doesn’t know if she’s ever been so wet and turned on in her life. No. She definitely hasn’t. Why hasn’t sex. no, not sex, but fore play. Oh, God, they haven’t even really started fucking yet. This foreplay has been better than any sex they’ve ever had, and the best is yet to come, she’s almost scared. It’s going to be the best she’s ever had. That they’ve both ever had. The longest, the most intense, she’s dying, she needs him inside of her, his tongue at the very least, why hasn’t it ever been like this before? What’s happening? Is Nikki getting better? He’s talented. Can it get better than this? She doesn’t think it can. How can it? She’s in euphoria, experience extascy. She doesn’t want to think. She just wants to feel. Her Nikki. She just wants to feel her husband. Completely. She needs him inside of her. His soul in hers. His spirit submerged with hers. His body embracing hers. His rock hard cock inside of her slimy, warm, wet pussy. She needs it. Bad. “NIKKI…” She surprises herself. “Oh, my GOD.” She grabs his head by his hair and pushes his face down towards where she needs it most. He understands. With no further dely, he hastefully kisses the lips between her hips and says again, “People are wrong when they say you can’t find happiness in someone else.” “Nikki, I know…” “That’s why God made Eve.” “Oh, Nikki…” “Adam needed her,” his tongue goes straight for the clit. She loses her mind. It’s not enough. But it feels so good. But it’s not enough. She lets out sighs and moans as he eats her out, finally. It’s messy. His tongue goes deep inside of her, he licks her, and licks her. “FUCK. NIKKI. FUCK.” She holds his head with both he hands. She looks down and shes his emo mop of jet black straight hair with the tips of his bangs resting on her abdomin. She knows what he’s doing behind those bangs. Those sexy fucking bangs. She’s losing her mind. It’s not enough. She needs his dick. Inside of her. She gives his head a good smack. “FUCK ME. STOP IT. FUCK YOU, NIKKI! I NEED YOU. I need you inside of me, baby. Stop it!” He doesn’t stop, he eats her out and fingers her like crazy. “God dammit, fuck me, I hate you! She falls back, her legs spread, not knowing what to do with her arms. She’s moaning. She’s fucking losing her mind. It feels so good. He sticks his tongue as deep inside of her pussy as he can. He moves the tip of his tongue, licking her inside, as far back as he can. She lets out a solid scream. He pulls his tongue out, making out with her pussy. She’s in agony. It’s unbearable. "You want it, baby?” “Yes, boo, oh, my God.” “How much? How bad?” “So bad, boo. Please. Give it to me.” She grabs him by his hair to pull him up. He goes with it. He’s amused. He’s getting good at it. He’s good in bed. He’s a prideful young man. He smiles at her. He laughs at how needy she is, making fun of her in a girly voice, “OH, BOO!” “SHUT UP!” she slaps him straight across the face. Hard. She isn’t playing around. Now he’s just being mean. “FUCK ME YOU STUPID EMO FUCK!” He hovers over her and says right into her face, “That fucking hurt!” laughing out loud as he shoves his cock straight in side of her. She’s so wet it slides right in. Deep. As far in as it will go. The tip of his cock instantly hits the back of her vagina. She screams. He fucks her hard. And fast. She’s screaming. And screaming. She reaches her arms underneath his and curls her arms around his defined shoulders, pulling him in as close to her breasts as she can. He doesn’t fight back. He was dying to be inside of her as much, if not more, than she was dying to have it. There they fuck. There he moans and there she screams. There they kiss, there they lick each other’s tongues and kiss each other everywhere they can reach fucking as hard as they are. Fucking on the floor where his office chair belongs. The best sex they’ve ever had. He’s amazing. How does he do it? Is this why he’s so sweet all the time? Because he wants this? This is what he works so hard for? This is why he does the dishes? Is this what he waited for, for so long? Is this all he wants? To fuck like this? Like a dog? It’s okay. She’s okay with it. He loves her. She knows he does. She feels like a bitch. Why doesn’t she let him do this more often? She loves it. It’s insane. It feels so good. To her. To him. To both of them. At the same time. She embraces him. Cheek to cheek. He fucks her. Hard. And fast. How is he fucking her for so long, so fast? She knows he just came, but he should have came again already, fucking her as hard as he is. “How, Nikki?” “Practice, boo.” He’s surprising even himself. They’re both sweating. The roots of her hair are practically soaked. His hair is becoming wavy, it’s naturally curly and it can’t withstand the sweat. Not even a flat iron in 2117 can withstand sex this hardcore. The sweat drips from the tips of his bangs and onto her face. He’s staring at her. He watches the sweat drip onto her cheeks. He licks her face where he saw it land. Continuing to fuck. It feels as amazing as ever. She’s so tiredshe can’t really scream anymore. She’s just breathing heavily. Very heavily. “Pull out, boo.” “What? Why?” He pulls out, despite not wanting to. “Fuck me as hard as you can.” She turns over and gets on her knees and elbows and flips her hair back. He gets on his knees and shoves his cock inside of her once again. Deep inside her. She lets out a loud sigh. He fucks her doggy style. “Fuck yeah, baby. Oh, my God. Olivia. I love you.” “Nicholas.” she closes her eyes tight. He lifts up his right leg and plants his foot in the blanket to better mount her ass and fuck her with all he’s got. Now he’s ready. “Ready, honey?” “… Oh, God… yes… make me cum, Nikki.” “Like this? Really?” He fucks her hard. “Yes, oh, my God. Yes. Fuck me!!” He fucks her harder. She screams, “I think I’m cumming!!” “Already?” “NIKKI…” He mounts her ass, reaches for her shoulders and completely dominates her entire body. He holds her by her shoulders, firmly, and fucks her pussy doggy style harder than he’s ever fucked in his life. “I’m almost there, Nikki. Just a little more.” “But you don’t… awh… wanna lie on your back?” “I wanna try this. And I… Oh, my God… I want… fuck… FUCK… I want you… Oh, boo… I want you to… FUCK… I’m cumming, I’m cumming…. HARDER. FUCK. I’M CUMMING.” He fucks her so hard. His wife is cumming all over his cock. She squirts. She’s screaming bloody murder. “AWH, NICHOLAS.” I’M FUCKING CUMMING. NIKKI… NIKKI…“ She breaths heavily. He fucks the hell out of her… "Cum on my back. I want you to cum on my back right now. I want your warm cum all over my back, I wanna feel it hit the back of my head. I wanna see it on the wall in front of my face, you mother fucker.” She’s still in mid orgasm. He’s fucking her so hard, ready to cum any second. He’s never seen or heard her like this before. He can’t wait. He’s so turned on. He literally can’t wait. She forced it upon him. She’s talking so dirty he can’t take it. She made him cum by talking to him. She’s good. He pulls out, selfishly, and ejaculates all over her back, “Awh… OLIVIA…” “Mmmm…” she moans as she feels his cum hit her in the back of her head. It hits the wall in front of her. She can feel another bit hit the back of her skull, and more on her back, and more all over her back… “BABY, FUCK,” he yells. jacking off hard, cumming all over his wife’s back and all over her ass. He goes at it with both hands. He sticks his hard cock back into her pussy and fucks her just as hard as he was a minute ago. She’s still not over her orgasm. Neither his he. They’re still both cumming what they have left, it still feels amazing, exchanging moans and ‘I love you's They cum together. Doggy style. On the floor of his office, between his desk and the curtains. There they cum. He fucks her doggy style. She moans. He sighs. He fucks her at the marvelous beauty of his cum all over her back, it’s in her hair, it’s on the curtain. She giggles. He’;s still super hard. “What’s so funny?” “This is fucking amazing, Nick. You’re the greatest lover who ever lived.” “I’m not Romeo.” “Romeo is a bitch. Shakespear sucks.” “Thank you, boo.” He continues to fuck her to the longest orgasms they’ve ever experienced. His penis finally stops pumping out cum. His orgasm is near over. He’s still hard and wants to stay hard for as long as possible. He’s exhausted but he loves her and wants her to be just as satisfied as he is. And she is. And finally his orgasm ceases. But he fucks her anyway. “Are you still cumming, Olivia?” “Mmmm… kind of… Don’t stop… It feels so good… Are you?” “Not for about five seconds, but it still feels amazing. I love your pussy. You just wore me the fuck out.” He fucks her easily. Gently. Softly. He pulls out. “Are you done?” “Lie on your back.” She smiles and does as she’s told. she spreads her legs and helds them from underneath her thighs. Her jaw drops. She can’t believfe this is happening. He fucks her a little more. “Mmmm…” she moans. She feels the cum smear against her back between her skin and the blanket. “Oh, my God, what a mess.” Nikki smiles. She smiles back. He fucks her and falls on top of her. He kisses her neck. Kisses her. She sucks on his bottom lip. She bites it and pulls on it a little. She stares into his eyes. Amazed. He is her God. The orgasm is about over, but it still feels so good. He fucks her and fucks her until she’s completely over cumming and just enjoys being fucked for fun. The orgasms are completely over, but the sex is still great as ever. “How, Nick?” “It’s not me, it’s you.” “What?” “You’re turning me on so much. I can’t stop. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. I’m cumming all over your stomach in about thirty seconds.” “What? Really? Oh, my God. Fuck me, Nick. As hard as you can. I’m your woman. I’m yours. I’m all yours. Don’t hold back, baby. I want it. Fuck me.” He fucks her. “I’m trying.” “Oh, God. That feels so good. I wish I could cum again, with you, again.” “Don’t worry about it. He fucks her missionary. Harder than ever. He didn’t know he could fuck harder than he was doggy style a minute ago, but he’s doing it. She loves the fucking. It’s not nearly as intense as it was a few minutes ago, but it still feels amazing to her. He fucks her missionary style. She looks at him. He’s not looking back. He’s looking at her tits, her stomach, watching his cock come in and out of his wife’s pussy. She understands. She wants her body to be used by her husband. She loves it. She offers him everything she has. Her entire being. She waits for it… "You’re so fucking sexy, Nikki… I fucking love you so much… mmm…” He slows down and looks int her eyes… “I love you, too, Olivia… Ready?” “Mmm… yes, baby… Why don’t you cum on my face?” He keeps fucking her. “Really?” “Yes, boo, I want you to cum all over my face.” “You’re so sweet.” They smile at each other while he fucks her for the last bit. He speeds up. He’s almost there. So close. “Awh… fuck… he pulls out, she looks up with a smile, he impationtaly puts his cock right up to her face. Ejaculates. Cum hits her left eye. She giggles. It hits her left cheek. Her nose. Some of it gets in her mouth. He supports himself with his left hand against the window sill. He’s jacking off hard, making a mess all over her. She takes over with both her hands. She puts her mouth around the head. She can taste a little more cum coming out. She feels his cock pumping. She jacks him off with two hands, fast, hard. Still pumping out the rest of his third orgasm that night, onto her tongue, she swallows. He forces her to let go, grabbing her hands with his, mounts her face, and face fucks her like crazy. She chokes a little. He goes a little easier. He finishes out his orgasm, feeling her tongue work magic on his cock as its inside of her mouth. She’s still loving it. He is amazed. He pulls out, but she doesn’t stop. She keeps licking it and sucking it, kissing and kissing it. She blows him crazy as ever. She jacks him off with one hand. Two hands. Blows him a little more. Jacks him off with one hand whiole she blows him. She fits as much of his cock into her mouth as she comfortably can. Finally, as turned on as he is, they can both feel him getting slightly less hard. Still hard. Just slightly less hard. She moves down it one last time and collects the saliva and cum with her tongue and her lips on her way back up. Her lips make it over the rim of the head. She kisses the tip of it as she swallows. She jacks him off a little more to finish it all up. He stands in front of her, playing with her hair, moving it out of her face, tucking it behind her ears. Marveled by his perfect wife. This beautiful woman he’s known all his life. God’s perfect and pleasing will. The marriage no one could have possibly understood without knowing how long they’ve known each other. The marriage that made both their parents worried sick. The marriage they knew that was meant to be. The marriage they trusted god with. She kisses his leg. His cock hangs in front of her face. Finished. He holds out his hand. She takes it. Then his other hand. He pulls her up. There they stand. Face to face. Bare naked. In his office, where his office chair belongs. Between his desk and the curtains. There they stand. There they kiss. Exhausted. Satisfied. Complete. Together, they are whole. One with each other. On eachother’s exact level. Unafraid. Confident. In love. Man and woman. Together. Loyal. As nature intends. Perfection. "Ready for bed, Olivia?” “No.” “I’m exhausted, boo. We’re going to bed.” He walks her to the door, leaving the mess, the cum, the blankets, their clothes on the floor, on the lamp, leaving the mess behind and the chair against a wall where it doesn’t belong. “Nikki, I wanna watch a movie. Can we, please, watch a movie?” “Sure you don’t wanna friend Friends, Full House, or Law & Order? 100 year old classics, your favorite.” “I’m sure.” They walk down the hall toward their bedroom. He catches a glimpse of the room next to his office. A spare room. It’s going to be their art studio. With a table and a chair and one box, he takes her in there, “Are you serious, babe? You were making a house out of popsicle sticks? And I was crying over my dead brother trying to write the ending to my novel?” She blushes. “So?” “Baby, you’re 24. You’re old enough to ask me to join you.” She giggles and pecks him on his cheek. “God, you’re sexy.” He gives her bare ass a good slap and grabs one of her hands and kisses her on one of her cheeks. She giggles and spanks him back. He examines the house. “It’s beautiful.” “Thank you.” “What movie, baby?” “All Dogs Go To Heaven.” The Morning “Good morning, baby,” he says to the edge of the bed through squinted eyes, breathing in to her bare breasts against his back. Last night was one of those nights that it would have been a sin to not sleep bare naked. “Baby, how long have you been there?” “Ten minutes.” “Is that all?” “30 minutes.” “… Boo…” he sighs, accusingly. “Okay, an hour.” “Oh, boo…” He turns onto his other side to look into her eyes, “Wake me up next time.” “I tried…” “You didn’t try hard enough.” “I wanted to hold you.” “Olivia…” Their lips meet, then lock. Holding her lips with his, he moves in, pressing his chest against her breasts, his waist against hers, his morning word against the crevice between her thighs, his shins against hers, challenging her to a game of footsies. They’re as close as they can possibly be, until he rubs the inside of her inner thighs, just a little, signaling her to spread her legs, just a little. She grabs his cock by the shaft and fits the head of it inside of herself. She’s already wet. She has been all this time, waiting for this, morning sex, just a few hours after her last orgasm, and his last three. She wants it again. No, she needs it. And she won’t take no for an answer. Just one more time. Then she’ll be all right for the rest of the month. And he can do as he pleases. He can demand all the quickies, blow jobs, and hand jobs he wants. He already does, but she wants to give him more. She won’t mind. After this, she’ll be satisfied. Slowly, he presses the head of his cock a little deeper inside of his wife. He’s half way in. Their bodies, hers on her right side, his on his left, pressed against each other, facing each other, she holds him tightly. She squeezes him. His lightly broad shoulders and smooth flex shoulder blades, using body language to beg him to go deeper. He does. And he stops. He keeps it there, comfortably inside of her. Still kissing, he relaxes. She holds her husband, lips locked, embracing him in front, beside, and inside of herself, her other half; she is whole. “Nikki… make me cum again… and you can have all the quickies and blow jobs you want for an entire month.” “Oh, boo…” he grins, menacingly, and then bites her bottom lip. “Deal.” “She breaths super heavily with her legs still spread and his cum all over her stomach and her neck. His aim was a little better this morning than it was last night. She wipes herself clean with the bed sheet as he slips on some boxers and exits the room. She hops into the shower. He cooks breakfast. Their timing is perfect when they meet back on the bed in their bathrobes to a nice plate of bacon and scrambled eggs with her favorite veggies. “Toast, Nikki. You forgot the toast. You ruin everything.” “Timing, boo… Shh… Wait for it…” She takes a bite of warm bacon, it crunches. “Sh!” She stops chewing. “Listen.” She has half chewed, warm, crispy bacon just resting in her mouth. The toaster goes off. He smiles at her and pinches her right cheek like she were a baby. She is, his baby. She grins and rolls her eyes, her hair still wet, straightened from the comb and the weight of the water. Slightly wavy at the ends. It’s a slightly darker blonde after she showers. Nikki loves it. “You look so sexy getting out of the shower. Why do you always ruin it with your blow dryer and make up?” he teases her all the time. She starts chewing again as she watches her tall skinny yet cut husband disappear into the hallway. She swallows and listens to the sound of his footsteps that she loves so much running down the hall. “Don’t let it get cold, boo,” she demands with the authority of a Queen. “I burnt yours, you can have ONE bite of mine!” he replies from down the hall with the authority of a King. She picks out a couple slices of onions with her fingers. He returns, hastily, after running back down the hall with four slices of toast, a butter knife, and a cube of butter softened by room temperature. She picks up a fork off the plate and stabs a chunk of egg with pieces of perfectly cut pieces of broccoli and onion cooked into it. She holds it in front of his face. “Thank you!” he takes a bite. “No, thank YOU, boo!” He chews, smiles, looks at her, “You’re welcome boo!” he says in a childish voice, swallows, then frowns, like a kitten staring helplessly, unable to speak, because it’s just so sweet of his wife to feed him a bite of breakfast in bed. She looks from her next bite to his pitiful face before realizing what he’s doing. “Oh, boo! You’re actually crying!” “I guess… I just love you so much…” He wipes his tears, chuckles, and attempts to butter the coast, but his laughs turn into exhales serving only to keep himself from crying. “Stop it, Nick. Let me…” she takes the knife and toast out of his hands. He tilts his head and looks at her like a curious dog, “I’m just so happy.” He smiles at her as she butters his slice of toast and he takes it from her with his teeth. He takes a bite, smiling, not really crying anymore. His eyes just teared up and a few tears slipped out of their cuts. That’s all. She butters up a slice for herself, “I only wanted one slice, silly.” “i sry, boo.” he says in that voice again and frowns at her. “i done crying i sry.” he leans over the plate and kisses her cheek. “i want three.” He feeds her a bite with the unused fork, leaves it in her mouth, and takes her fork out of her hands. “You can have the shiny one.” “They’re both shiny, silly.” “That one’s shinier. See the marks from your last bites?” “Awh, boo.” Breakfast in bed. Morning sex. Pregnancy. Living together. True Love. Happily ever after? Living. Breathing. Proof. “Play that one album from 2113.” He grabs his iHome from his nightstand and sets it down by their pillows a foot behind themselves on their king sized bed. The Sister-In-Law The Sister-In-Law “You’re a bit late to be her husband, aren’t you?” “I’m her brother-in-law. Nikki has a twin. This is his twin’s wife.” “Konnichiha.” Noel laughs, “Sumimasen.” The security is bewildered, but let’s them through. “I can’t wait until Nikki finds out I married a Japanese woman.” “Oh, shut up, Noel.” They kiss. “He’s going to be so jealous.” “Shush.” “Mr. Anderson! Your wife is looking for you. Who is this?” “Jesus Christ. I’m not Nikki. I’m looking for him, too.” “Excuse me?” “I’ll help you find him.” “Nick, we don’t have time for this. Olivia needs you.” “No, I’m serious. I’m his twin. Just yell for him.” Noel and Sakura leave the guy behind, still not convinced that isn’t Nikki. They run all over the place yelling for him. “NICHOLAS IT’S NOEL WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU I’M SORRY FOR BREAKING YOUR NOSE.” Nikki steps out of a room, “WHO IS THAT BEAUTIFUL ASIAN GIRL?” An hour later Olivia enters the backstage surrounded by make up artists tending to her every need. “I’m fine,” she insists. They back off. Olivia falls into Nikki’s arms. “Baby, Noel is here.” “Really? Your brother?” “Yes, our brother.” “That’s amazing! Is he ok?” “He’s married, baby. We’re meeting them for dinner.” “You made it at last,” Noel stands up to greet his brother and sister-in-law. He shakes Olivia’s hand, gives Nikki a hug, takes a step back and says, “This is my wife.” “I wish I could say I’ve heard all about you but I didn’t know he had a brother until today…” Noel steps in, “I’m not too fond of Nikki to be honest with you. I think he’s a sucker… but so am I… Huh, baby…” The Rejection “Noel, why did you do that?” “Because you’re a pussy, Nick. She’s probably cheated on you a thousand times.” “She would never…” “Thanks for sticking with me through treatment. I’m cured. You’re married. Job’s done. I’ll be in Sydney. You suck. We’re twins, but we’re not brothers.” Noel mounts his bike to catch his private jet. “We were going to announce it sooner or later…” Noel demounts it to deck his brother in his face. “WHAT THE FUCK, NOEL,” Nikki holds his bleeding nose. “You’re welcome. Enjoy the morning sex.” Deleted Scenes The Suicide She reaches for the door handle as she hears the loudest bang she’s ever heard in her life, followed by screaming fans, scared fans, terrified fans, boys and girls, men and women, she looks through the glass, looking where seconds ago stood her husband, looking through the glass on her front door, through a splatter of red. Her heart sinks. Is this a dream? No, this is a nightmare. No, this is reality. Women aren’t in control after all, the truth is revealed to her as she sinks to the floor, desperate to go 30 seconds back in time and kiss her lover to safe his life, their marriage and any possibility of ever sharing a legacy together. She weeps to the sound of sirens. The weeping continues all the way to the press conference only a week later. She knew she wouldn’t have the strength. She just wanted to get it over with. She begins to read the letter she wrote for her husband the day of their marriage. The day before their parting. The love of his life, his dear wife, in New York City. He writes his novel all summer making it perfect. Her second album dropped and she’s about to kick off a sold-out world tour.

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