So what would it have mattered if I fucking lied to spare her feelings? I know she wouldn't be sitting here, holding her feelings in and looking heartbroken if I would've just said I did. Fuck, I think I may have just fucked up the best thing I've ever had going in my life.
She gets up off the bar stool and heads toward the back hall without a word, and I let her go. Watching her walk away sends a fucking panic attack straight to my goddamn heart. I fight with myself not to get up and go after her, but in the end, this is how this shit was going to go. This shit is not fixable.
What if she decides to leave me over this shit? This might just be the thing to break her. She deserves someone who fucking loves her. Could I let her go so she could find someone who'd love her the way she should be loved? Fuck no.
I start wondering what it'd be like to not have her in my life anymore. What would it be like to sleep alone again? How would it feel to never have her on the back of my bike again? What if I never got that fucking smile again or that damn attitude? Could I handle coming home to an empty fucking house?
I don't want to think about that shit. Fuck, I don't want to have to live with that shit. In my dead, sad heart, I know I couldn't live without her. There can't be a life for me without Lala in it.
****
"You've got no love for her?" Tags asks me while he sips his beer. I knew the shit I said didn't go unnoticed. Took five minutes of my ass sitting at the bar alone before brothers started asking questions. I should have known. This motherfucking club ain't big enough for someone not to hear what's said and leave it alone. I'm just not that fucking lucky.
Shrugging, I swallow back a shot of Maker's Mark and enjoy the dull burn. Maybe in my own fucked up way, I do love her, but not the way she deserves, so I can't give her some half ass, sick sort of love. She needs more.
This sort of obsession and crazy starts to look a whole fuck of a lot like love to stupid fuckers, but it's not real. I'm not that stupid fucking asshole. I know exactly what this is. It's a whole lot of amazing sex with someone you get comfortable with enough to be yourself around. Nothing more. Nothing less.
"If she ain't gonna be your old lady, cut her loose, brother. It's been a year and it's fuckin' time." Gin tips his beer at the empty hallway where Lala went.
"Can't." That's the fucking truth. I can't let her go. Not willingly. What I've got with her I'll never, not on my fucking life, find again. I'm not stupid enough to let it go without a goddamn fight.
"If you don't, ‘n she stays with shit exactly the same, especially after what you said, it's gonna eat at her and she'll end up hatin' you." I know Lala could never hate me. She probably should, but I don't think that sweet ass girl has it in her to hate anyone.
"You kept Peaches around doin' the same shit."
"Exactly. It's why she fuckin' hates me most the time." True. I sure as fuck don't want the sick thing those two have.
"Make her permanent or let someone else, man. Plain and simple. Care ‘bout her enough to let someone love her the way she should be loved, asshole," Tags grumbles, pushing away from the bar.
"What's his fuckin' problem? He got a thing for Lala?" He better fucking hope he doesn't.
///
"Nah. He's just bitchy ‘bout his bitch. She won't let him fuck her anymore." Didn't think I'd see the day when a bitch would bother with Tags.
"But brother, figure it out with Lala. Don't just hold her here because you're too selfish to let her go. Know you care ‘bout her. Don't treat her like a whore. That shit ruins good women. Do right by her, man."
Not that easy. I don't have it in me to just cut her loose, no matter how much it hurts her to stay here with me. I can't live without her.
Lala
My legs are slung low around his waist while he slams my back against the cold, hard wall of his room. His rock solid hips grind into my soft skin with each lazy stroke.
"Rampage," My teeth find the skin on his shoulder and I bite down, hard. Pulling away from me, he slams into me, hitting his hand hard on the wall right next to my face.
"Fuck!"
I bite my lip between my teeth to hold back my scream. His black eyes stare down at me as he slides into me with a deep groan. I feel him shiver when I run my nails down his back and watch as he gives me a satisfied smirk.
The air is thick with all the things we don't say. I feel so lost. I know he's trying, without words, to tell me I mean something to him, and as delusional as it may seem, I know this is his way of saying what his pride won't.
With each slow grind, I live and die a little more. With each hard roll of his hips, my resolve slips. My legs are sore and my body aches with need. This is what he is offering me, making it clear that he won't give me what I want.
"Rampage, please," I plead.
"What, baby," his growls back, grinding harder into me. His grip tightens around my hips, his eyes taunting me, challenging me.
"Please give it to me."
I'm a joke. Here I am feeling broken and rejected, yet I'm still begging him for whatever he'll give me. I'm reduced to nothing.
"Please what, Lala. Give you my love?" He says as he slides slowly out of me. My thighs are wet and my body is empty.
"I don't want your love, so just keep fucking me." As those words leave my mouth, I feel a tear run down the side of my cheek.
"This," He growls, "Is all you're ever gonna get outta me, baby," he pulls out of me and slowly drags the metal of his piercings over my clit. He's a fucking asshole. He's a fucking liar.
My back lifts off the wall when he finally shoves himself back inside of me, "Oh! Please, fuck me just like that."
"Yeah, Lala. I'll always fuck you just like that, baby."
****
His naked back rests against the brick wall of his room. My leg is spread across his stomach, my chest is pressed against his, and my cheek lays on his shoulder, face tucked under his chin.
His large, rough hand runs up and down my back leisurely, fingers skimming my neck down to my ass, and slowly back up. The lights are out and the radio is soft and low as Studio plays.
The sweet fragrance of weed swims through the air. An exhale of air skims across my bare shoulder, causing goose bumps to form along my skin. Peeking up through my lashes, I see the blunt hanging between his lips as his head is laid back. His eyes are closed and his face is expressionless.
I'm probably fooling myself, but this is why I can't believe that he doesn't love me. He fucks me for not only his pleasure, but for mine, too. He holds me. He always holds me afterward, sometimes for hours. He keeps me close and he allows me to love him. I can't believe he doesn't see that this is love.
"I don't believe you." I whisper against his neck. He inhales deeply, but says nothing.
After he takes a few more hits from his joint, he finally says, "I fuckin' know you don't, baby."
****
Neither one of us has brought it up, not that I ever expected him to. As much as it hurts, I know that there is nothing more to say about it, so I'll let it go. He still treats me the same. I'm still on the back of his bike and in his bed every night, and that's all I should expect. I'm not going to push for something he doesn't want to give me, so that means that I'll take whatever he'll give me ‘til I can't live with it anymore.
"Babe. Imma be gone for two days. You gonna be good?" No, but I don't tell him that. He needs to go and I'm not going to be the one to stop him.
"Yep."
"You stay with Lil, or her ‘n Ty will crash here. I'll call ya when I can." I just nod and watch him pull a white t-shirt over his head, looking at the small patch of scars that catch the light.
///
I watch as he slides on a black and white flannel, then lastly, throwing his cut over top of it. He sits down on the edge of the bed and slides on his boots. Looking over his shoulder, he cocks his brow, "You sure you're gonna be straight?"
"Yes."
It's a goddamn lie. Good thing I'm a good liar.
"Alright. Imma gas up the bike ‘n shit. I'll come back in before I roll out, okay?"
Again I just nod. I wonder if he could pack me up in a saddlebag and take me with him?
Standing in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher, I hear the back door open softly, and close just as quietly.
"That was fast," I call out. Everything feels wrong the second those words leave my lips. I've been listening to Rampage come and go through these doors for over a year, long enough to know that Rampage is never quiet.