Norma Jean - By Amanda Heath Page 0,9
she licks those swollen lips I groan.
“What are you doing to me, smalls?” I say right before I start kissing her again. I finally lose the battle of not thrusting against her. I think my brain is about to run out the door and my dick will take over. I’m not ready for this. I have made out plenty of times don’t get me wrong, but this is different. She is different. I’m so lost in what we are doing, someone could walk in right now and I wouldn’t know.
She starts pushing me off of her and I feel like I a kicked a puppy. “Macy.” Is all she says when I give her a confused look. That’s when I hear my niece crying. Norma scrambles out from under me and shoots off the couch. “Coming baby girl!” she lets out in a calming voice as I sit on the couch trying to catch my breath.
She disappears around the corner and I wait to hear her go up the stairs before I pull on my shirt and leave the room. Instead of heading after her to see Macy, I head for the front door picking my keys up off the end table. Macy is still crying after I shut the front door. It hurts to leave her crying like that. Though mom would never let Norma take care of her unless she knows what she is doing.
I jump in my old white Ford and back out of the driveway. I try not to think about what just happened, but my brain has other ideas. I don’t want to remember that she tastes like the sweetest chocolate or that she smells like pomegranates. I don’t want to remember the way she feels soft in all the right places and she fits perfectly under me, like she was made to be there. I admit that I am freaking out. I’ve never wanted to devour anyone like that before. It doesn’t help she wasn’t wearing those awful glasses so I could read her eyes perfectly. Or that she was actually nice to me, well somewhat.
Before I know it I’m pulled up into Creed’s driveway. He has a party going on, as usual. His house is pretty much the only one we can party at. His dad died when he was eight and his mom is doped up on pills most of the time. Hell she even parties with us sometimes. I used to think it was cool when I was 16. Now I think she is just a neglectful mother with serious issues.
I find Creed in his bedroom staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t party as much anymore. It’s all about the show with him. It’s almost like he can’t stand for anyone to see he doesn’t like this shit. I don’t most of the time. I got into a huge fight with my dad yesterday and needed something to make this pain go away.
“Contemplating why the sheet rock is smooth?” I ask him seriously.
“Wondering why my mom needs to fuck herself up so much. I spent all night with her in the bathroom.” He sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “She’s down there tonight drinking vodka like it’s water after taking 2 oxycodone. Life is not that bad.”
“I can’t even begin to explain the actions of your mother. Can you explain my dad? They are the way they are. There’s nothing we can do about it.” I move away from the door and sit on his bed. This is the Creed no one knows. The serious guy who doesn’t find humor in the actions of others. The one I see down there with those people is fake. This is the Creed I like, the real Creed.
“We go off to college in a few months. What the hell am I going to do? I’ll be worried about her overdosing the whole time I’m away.” He sits up beside me and hangs his head.
“I know you care about her, she’s your mom. You have to understand though she doesn’t care about anything. Only the next high. If she wants to kill herself, let her. You’ve taken her to rehab, she just won’t get better. Her intervention was a joke. I know this is harsh but I don’t want you to fuck up your future because you’re worried about your mom.” I say this to the back of his head, since he won’t look up at me when I talk.
“I know,” comes his