9. Benji

BENJI

I pulled Sadie the Citro?n into the driveway of the BnB and got out, bleary-eyed with tears that ran so quickly down my cheeks they had no chance of freezing in the cold winter air.

Once inside, I locked the door and hurried straight to my bedroom where I sat on the bed, letting the deluge of tears flow.

Why did I allow Bastian Cole to have such a hold over me?

When was the anger and the hurt going to end?

How was it possible I still hadn’t let go of my love for him, after all this time, after what he’d done to me?

I glanced across the room at the Maca-reindeer sweater hanging on the closet door.

I had wanted to wear it so badly that night. I even put it on just before I left the BnB. I wanted us to both turn up in our favorite old cheesy Christmas sweaters. We would have looked at each other across the room and felt that instant connection once again.

It might have melted the ice around my heart.

It might have softened all the rage inside me.

It might even have brought a smile to my face, perhaps even offered a sparkle of hope that maybe Bastian and I still had a chance after all.

But I never dreamed he’d be wearing his YMCA Elves sweater. I’d convinced myself it wouldn’t even have crossed his mind. I was sure he’d thrown that tacky old sweater away years ago.

And so I changed out of my Maca-reindeer sweater before heading over to my parents’ house…

Only to find him standing there in his cute-as-hell Elves sweater.

Although he wasn’t standing there at all when I walked in. He was on the floor, having toppled over and taken one of the dining chairs with him. Weird, he was always the cool one, the one who never did anything clumsy. I was the klutz in our relationship.

Maybe he faked it, just to see if I’d help him up, to see if he could win me back with a play for my sympathy.

Was that what he was trying to do… win me back?

What about his life in Chicago?

What about his boyfriend?

What about the way he’d turned his back on our life together, leaving nothing but a note to say he was sorry?

Did I even want him back?

Deep down, I knew the answer to one of those questions.

In the dream I was part of a chorus line, only it wasn’t humans I was dancing alongside. It was a row of reindeer. They were all standing on their hind legs, doing the Macarena.

That was when I realized I was doing the Macarena too.

I turned to the reindeer on my left and said, “This is fun!”

The reindeer’s head suddenly transformed into Connie’s head. “You betcha it is, Cuz!”

I turned to the reindeer on my right and said, “I don’t even know how to do the Macarena! How am I even doing this?”

The reindeer’s head suddenly morphed into Aunt Bea’s head. “Just let your hips do the dancin’, sugar-pie!”

I giggled as the Bea-reindeer tugged on my ear.

I chuckled again as the Connie-reindeer tapped me on the nose with a “Boop!”

I laughed and swiveled my hips alongside the rest of the chorus line, as the Bea-reindeer said to the Connie-reindeer, “How cute are his little snowman pajamas?”

“I know, right?” said the Connie-reindeer. “He’s totally adorkable!”

Suddenly I opened my eyes mid-Macarena-armfold, sitting bolt upright to find Connie perched on the left of my bed and Aunt Bea perched on the right. “What the… How did you… Oh my God, you both broke into my house?”

“Cuz, how could I not bring Bea with me this morning? We’re desperate to know how last night’s dinner went. Besides, you love these little wake-up calls.”

“No, I don’t. And if you must know, dinner was a disaster. I got all angry, Bastian got all awkward, and Mom and Dad continued to dote over him like he was the prodigal son.”

Pensively, Bea placed a finger on her chin, her nail sparkling with glitter now that she was back in drag. “You know, I never did understand the message in the prodigal son story. One son takes off, blows his family’s fortune on hookers and booze, then does the walk of shame back home and expects everyone to forgive him. And what does dear old pappy do? He throws that hedonistic hussy the biggest homecoming party this side of the Red Sea. Meanwhile, the son who stayed on the farm like a good John-Boy Walton says to dear old pappy, ‘Why don’t you ever throw a party like that for me?’ And do you know what pappy tells him? He says ‘John-Boy, you’ve always been a good son, I never have to worry about you. But this badass brother of yours was lost and now he’s found, so let’s throw him one helluva party.’ Seriously? What kind of lesson is that teaching us? Rewarding bad behavior is no way to raise a child. I feel like they forgot a chapter at the end where someone turns into a pillar of salt or gets fed to the lions or something. But I digress.” She tapped her finger to her chin and asked, “Mmmm, where were we again?”

“Benji was telling us about last night,” Connie answered. “And from the look on his face, I think he could have happily fed Bastian to the lions.”

“Almost,” I nodded. “I just don’t get what he’s doing here. Is he trying to rub what he did in my face? Is he trying to apologize for what he did and find some closure on our relationship? Or is he…?” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

Connie cupped her mouth as though a juicy big scandal was unfolding. “Is he trying to win you back? Is that what you were going to say? It is, admit it.”

I remained tight-lipped on my response as Bea said, “You think he’s seen the error of his ways, don’t you. You think he regrets giving up everything you had together, all for a flashy career and a pretty boyfriend in Chicago.” She sighed. “I did that with a pair of Valentino shoes once. I bought them thinking they were the answer to all my dreams. Then I realized I needed more than a pair of shoes to fill my soul. I needed true love. So, I returned those heavenly high heels in the pursuit of a higher truth.”

“And did you find it? Is that when you fell in love with your mystery Romeo?” I asked, my poor sore heart in need of a happily-ever-after, even if it wasn’t mine.

Bea laughed. “Lord no, my little snowman-clad candy cane. No smalltown toyboy will ever compete with the perfect pair of heels. The minute I realized that, I went straight back for my Valentinos and discovered that they were the answer to all my dreams after all.”

“You have a pair of Valentino shoes?” Connie asked, somewhat impressed.

“Not real ones, sugar. I told you, Breakfast at Stiffany’s . I swear I need shares in that dark-web sweatshop.”

“Hello?” I said with a wave of my hand. “I’m not a shoe. Can we please go back to talking about me?”

Bea smiled at me in a “bless your heart” kinda way. “Oh, my little snow bunny, we talk about you all the time . I’m this close to changing my name to Dear Abby.”

I gasped, mortified. “We talk about me all the time? Really?”

Connie nodded. “We kinda do, Cuz.”

“Oh God. Am I being selfish, always moping over Bastian?”

“Of course not,” Connie answered. “Sure, you’re a little self-absorbed and self-obsessed in a sad self-pity kinda way, but selfish? No.”

“One day soon,” added Bea. “You’re going to have to make a decision—try to win Bastian back yourself or forget him forever. If either of those options gets me out of your family’s Christmas festivities, please let me know. I’m one flannel thread away from developing a nasty rash… and it’s not even one of the fun rashes. In the meantime, I must love and leave you. Apparently, I need to restock the bar’s supply of Bailey’s… and Drambuie… and Kahlua… and, well, you get the idea.”

“I gotta get going too, Cuz,” Connie said, bouncing off the bed. “I’m in trouble with your folks.”

“What for?”

“Apparently, I was supposed to make sure that Maggie didn’t cause a scene in the park last night, but after all that sumpin-sumpin eggnog, I kinda joined in the fun and started pelting the carolers with snowballs along with Maggie and Great Nan. Now Lonnie and Ronnie want to drive us all over town and personally apologize to everyone in the Christmas choir before Mrs. Roper files a lawsuit. After that I’m gonna help your Mom, Maggie, and Great Nan wrap the presents. I know my name’s not officially on the Excel whiteboard for that job, but I reckon they’ll need some help, given the fact that Maggie wraps presents in duct tape and Great Nan can’t be trusted with a pair of scissors since your Mom caught her cutting letters out of the newspaper and sending ransom letters to the Hearst family in the hope of making a little money on the side.”

“Sometimes a girl has to make her own opportunities,” said Bea. “That’s what this country is built on.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Connie.

Together they walked arm-in-arm out of my room, leaving me to pull myself out of bed and summon the strength to face the next few days. I hadn’t asked when Bastian was leaving, but tomorrow was Christmas Eve and the day after was Christmas Day, so I figured it wasn’t long before I’d be rid of him forever.

If that’s what I wanted.

If that’s what he wanted.

I got out of bed, made myself a pot of coffee and turned on the shower. Pipes rattled and I undressed. The old oil heater against the wall crackled but barely gave off a whisp of warmth. I rubbed the gooseflesh on my arms and waited till the water was hot enough before jumping into the shower, sighing with relief.

I lathered my skin with soap and without being able to stop myself, I thought about the days when Bastian and I would stand in this shower together after a long day of renovating, tenderly washing the dust and grime and sweat from one another.

I missed his body, I couldn’t deny it.

He had a firm chest, bristling with hair.

He had a longish torso, his abs defined and his hips narrow.

And he had one of those asses that was perfect, the cheeks round and firm and his crack soft and delicate, just right for running my finger up and down… in and out.

I closed my eyes and I pictured that beautiful body of his now, a smile spreading slowly across my face.

With both hands covered in soap, my fingers traced their way down my body, their touch soft and silky with bubbles.

I imagined they weren’t my fingers at all, but Bastian’s instead.

I imagined he was standing behind me, pressed close against me, kissing my shoulder and the pulsing vein on my neck like a vampire looking for a rush.

I imagined his hands gliding over my chest, my abs, then reaching farther down.

Before I knew it, my fingers slid through the thatch of my pubic hair and came to the base of my cock.

It was already semi-hard, getting stiffer by the second.

I imagined him taking hold of my dick with both hands, squeezing me tight in his fists, stroking the length of my now erect cock with so much—

“Stop. Oh God, stop Benji,” I told myself, snapping my eyes open, releasing my dick and holding my hands up, as though I was a felon letting go of my weapon and surrendering myself to the cops.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” I uttered. “You’re already tense enough.”

It stood to reason that masturbating would be the ideal way to release my tension. But somehow it felt like I was letting my guard down…

Letting him in…

Letting him win, yet again.

Hastily I rinsed off the suds and turned off the running water.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my big fluffy bathrobe around me, as though it was enough to replace the thought of Bastian holding me tight.

I stepped up to the basin to shave, turning on the hot water and letting it fill the sink.

The pipes shook and shuddered again, and I cursed living in this rambling big house alone with nobody else to help me fix the things that Bastian had always fixed.

The hot water steamed up the mirror—the same mirror that Bastian had hung on the wall—and I wiped the mist away with my hand.

For a moment I pictured his reflection next to mine, the two of us fighting playfully over dominance of the sink before tenderly dabbing shaving cream on each other’s jawlines and giving one another a foam-covered peck on the lips.

And suddenly I found myself crying again.

Crying because I missed him so.

At that moment, I heard my phone buzzing in the bedroom.

I turned off the water at the basin and shut down the moaning pipes. I stepped into the bedroom, certain that the call would be from my mother, asking me if I was okay after last night’s storm out, or reminding me of the time for Christmas Eve lunch the next day, or asking if I’d prefer my potatoes mashed or baked.

Instead, the name that came up on my caller ID was Bastian’s.

“Oh shit,” I murmured.

I stood there staring at my phone, feeling it vibrate in my hand.

My heart pounded as my thumb hovered over the call button, my head refusing to pick up until it was too late.

The call went to voicemail.

I waited a few moments longer until a notification came through telling me I had one new message.

I played the call, listening to Bastian’s voice sounding strained, almost in pain, as he said—

“Hey… um… Benji. It’s me, Bastian. I’m so sorry to bug you but… uh… you’re kinda the only person I could call. I’m kinda stuck and I… I need help. Do you think you could come to your parents’ house? As fast as you can. I need you.”

Before he ended the call, he added one last thing—

“Oh, I’m in the attic by the way. Please hurry.”

The message ended and all I could mutter to myself was, “What the fuck?”