He laughs. “I try.”
Once he’s back in the car and we’re on the road I lace my fingers through his. I look up at him. How am I going to do this? End this? Every time I see him I fall. I’m free-falling. From great heights. Fast and furious and I know I won’t splatter on the ground because he’ll be there to catch me. Or will he?
Then I have this vision. Henry is at the bottom of a deep ravine. I’m falling and his girlfriend is falling. As we plummet toward the ground Henry is glancing between us. Torn. Uncertain. Save me, Henry. I wish he would, but I can’t be sure. Which one will he catch? Who will he choose?
Henry. Henry. Henry. If you sing me the stars, I’ll give you the moon. And I’ll make it easy on you. Save me. Choose me. Love me.
He’s staring at me. I catch him out of the corner of my eye. It’s like he wants to see me unravel. Like I’m a spool of thread rolling for yards and yards until I’m at the end of a journey.
Then he licks his lips. The lips I covet. The lips I adore. He looks hungry and ferocious. He reminds me of a ravenous beast that wants to rip into my flesh and tear it apart piece by piece until all that’s left is my skeleton. So that I’m bare bones. Only he can see my insides. He and he alone.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks me as he shuts off the car.
We’re in an open field, parked in the center. Wildflowers everywhere. Light colors that glow in the dark. The sky above us is an open canvas and it looks like someone just took a paint brush and splattered the stars.
I shrug. “I dunno. Us.”
“What about us?”
I break down. “I can’t do this anymore.” Then I run from the car.
Chapter 6
“Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning.”~ Author Unknown ~
Henry is chasing me. I hear him calling my name, but I don’t stop running. The wind is liberating and it whips through my hair and I bask in it. The calming effect the forceful breeze can have on a person is exhilarating. Part of me wants it to pick me up and sweep me away so that I won’t have to worry about anything anymore. My parents. Henry. Henry’s girlfriend. Lying to Rosa. I’ll be free.
Henry tackles me and I squirm beneath him. “Let me go!”
“What is wrong with you?” He’s concerned and frightened.
Tears spill onto my cheeks. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore!” I love him, but he’s driving me crazy. My obsession for him is driving me crazy. I’m convinced I’m batty. That I have a screw loose. My mom visits me in my padded cell, kind of screw loose.
“Riley, I can’t let you go. I love you.” He sounds sincere, but guys always sound sincere when they want something from you. Right now Henry wants my essence. He wants my delight. He wants to take all of me.
I’m sobbing. “You don’t mean that.” Love is such a feeble, silly word. The word can be tossed around like it has no meaning. You can say you love anything. Food. Clothes. What matters is what’s behind the word, the emotions. Happiness. Anxiousness. Nervousness. Sometimes even queasiness.
“I do mean it, I do,” he tells me. He places his head below my breastbone. “Don’t leave me. Don’t end this.”
“You can’t possibly love both of us,” I say. For a moment I feel like my soul is detached from my body and I’m standing off to the side witnessing this display of heartbreak and misery. “You’re going to hurt me.” He’s already hurt me. Hurt from Henry is the equivalent to slicing both of my wrists open with a razor blade. He will be the death of me. “Henry, I can’t.”
“Please don’t,” he whispers and he inches his way on top of me.
I don’t want to be in love with him, but he makes me. He makes me love him. Not because of his physical attributes. Those definitely fuel the attraction, but his genes aren’t why I love him.
So many times when I’d needed someone, he was there in a second. Never hesitating. He’d drop whatever he was doing and rush to my side. I think of one time in particular where my dad showed up at our house and he and my Mom got into a heated argument on our porch. I had to get away from it and Henry scooped me up like a knight in a fairytale and took me away. He comforted me. Henry made me feel like as long as he was there nothing would ever harm me.
Except him. He’s going to harm me. Eventually. I am sure of it.
Lightning fans across the sky accompanied by rumbling thunder. The angels are bowling. A crash. Somebody just got a strike.
The stars are blanketed by black clouds and another flash of lightning illuminates Henry’s face above me. Tiny droplets of water fall from the heavens and land on my forehead. Another flash of lightning. His hands are all over me, touching me, caressing my skin, and I love it.
Rain comes down in torrents. It soaks right through my skin and I swear I’m wet to the bone. I sit up. He has a panicked, needy, desperate look on his face and it’s amazing how fast I regret the decision I so adamantly made before. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. I see the reflection of lightning in his light eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I can’t end this. I’m so deeply in love—with him.
He doesn’t answer me. He lunges for my mouth and as the thunder crashes so do our lips—into one another’s.
The ground is wet, muddy. I’m slipping and sliding in filth. Henry’s shirt comes off. His hands smack into the ground, then he places both hands on my cheeks pulling me closer and smearing dirt on my face. Another kiss. “Don’t ever say that again!” he’s shouting over the chaos that’s going on in the sky.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “So sorry.”
We’re sopping and dirty. “Let’s go back to my house,” he tells me.
“Aren’t your parents’ home?”
“No.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and my head falls into the curve. Then he scoops me up and carries me to the car like a newlywed bride, being carried over the threshold.
Chapter 7
“I don't pretend to know what love is for everyone, but I can tell you what it is for me; love is knowing all about someone, and still wanting to be with them more than any other person, love is trusting them enough to tell them everything about yourself, including the things you might be ashamed of, love is feeling comfortable and safe with someone, but still getting weak knees when they walk into a room and smile at you.” ~ Author Unknown ~
Henry’s room is a constant reminder of something I’ll never have. All of him.
There’s a picture of him and his girlfriend, Callie Banfield, on his nightstand. I flinch and look away. It’s too hard to look at it because every time I do, I imagine my face in place of hers.
My chest tightens. I’m freezing. Soaking. Henry comes up behind me and rubs warmth back into me. He pushes my hair aside and leans close to me. “You’re shivering.”
He makes me shiver, shiver with delight.
“Come on,” he tells me. He grips me by the shoulders and directs me to his adjoining bathroom. “You’ll warm up after a hot shower.”
Water. More water. Clear pellets of liquid refreshment rain down on me. I let some drip into my mouth then I spit it out. I’m in the shower, fully clothed. I watch the dirt as the brown residue washes away. Out of my hair. Off of my clothing and into the drain. It washes away like Henry and the way he washed away my innocence.
I take my clothes off, all but my bra and underwear, and toss them outside the shower. The door opens. Then it closes. I peel back the curtain. Henry has taken my clothes. He’d told me when we arrived he was going to wash them. He thinks I’d have a hard time explaining to my mom how they got so dirty.
Dirty like me.
I know what most people think about girls like me. Home wrecker and whore are two of the names that always sound off in my mind. Thinking of myself as either one of those names doesn’t feel right because what I want people in general to understand is that I am neither one.
Our relationship progressed slowly. First, he’d come over and we’d sit on the porch swing an
d talk. Then he took me to a spot where we’d lay on the hood of his car and watch the stars. Not long after that he gave me my first, real kiss and sometime later, I gave him all of me.
He’d told me about Callie half-way through the summer, but I’d become so obsessed with him and just being with him that I didn’t care. I’d told myself that some part of him was better than no part of him. But some part of him is beginning to break me. I want more. I need more. Because just like Callie, I’m in love with him too.
I touch my face. There’s still a dirty residue, a remnant from when Henry touched my face with his dirty hands. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty but beautiful. My heart goes up in flames when I think of that moment. Not even the water raining down on me, cleansing my entire body can put the blaze out.
Music cuts into the soothing sound of the water pouring on top of me. Jimi Hendrix. All Along The Watchtower. Henry is back in his room. The music devours me. I’m caught up in it. Classic rock. I close my eyes and let the sound of the guitar whirl through me. And I’m so deeply into it that I don’t hear the curtain open.
Henry steps into the shower. His hands are on my waist. I’m not even thinking about the way his touch feels. That’s a first. I’m thinking about school tomorrow and if I’ll be able to handle it. I’m thinking about how stupid I am for not ending this, and I’m feeling like an addict who just can’t shake her high. Always craving the drug. Always coming back for more. Henry is my drug. I want to get high off of him.
His palms brush against my stomach and despite the scalding hot water, I’m shivering. One slip of the arms later and he’s embracing me. He’s hot and his body against mine warms me up. Makes me boil. I think I’m sweating in the shower. He grabs my hair, staring down at me and I’ve never felt such a powerful hold over me by another human being.
He captivates me, mind, body, and soul. He numbs my senses. Silences the words on my lips. I’m melting. His free hand slides up around my neck and he cups the side of it. My hands slide up his face. I hold his cheeks in my palms and I cry. I cry hard. Tears flow like a flash flood.
He grazes his fingertips across my face. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, full of emotion. “Please.” He gets on his knees and kisses my tears away.
I’m having a hard time controlling myself and I sob so hard I can barely breathe. “Promise me something,” I say in between the sobs caught in my throat.
“Anything.”
“Promise you’ll never break my heart.”
“I promise,” he swears.
My love for him is deeper than the depths of the ocean. Deeper than the Grand Canyon. Deeper than the depths of emotion.
“Promise you’ll always love me.”
“I promise.”
And in his own way I know he means it.
Chapter 8
“One of the hardest things in life is watching the person you love, love someone else.”~ Author Unknown ~
Half of my face is hidden—shielded by my metal locker door. It’s been painted recently. Tan. The smell of the paint still looms in the confined hallway and the musty scent fills my lungs. I’m trying to be coy as I stare at Henry. He’s standing across the hall at his locker with her—his girlfriend Callie.
He hasn’t acknowledged me at all today.
There is a small part of me that wishes he would notice me. Look at me, Henry. Please look at me. Yet at the same time, I don’t want him to do anything obvious that she would notice. Why? Because I want to keep him. In my pocket. In my head. And right next to my heart.
Breaking focus, my eyes shift to the floor and the neutral colors in the tile blur in my peripheral vision. A screechy feminine laugh throbs in my ears and I look up. Callie’s chestnut hair bounces on her shoulders as her laughter dies down.
Henry smiles wide. The sight of his smile cuts me open. He’s feeding on my soul and he doesn’t even know it. I crumble as his radiant blue eyes sparkle. He’s only focused on her. Gazing at her adoringly, he brushes his fingertips along her cheeks and tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear.
I exhale. I’d convinced myself that seeing him with her wouldn’t bother me, but it does. I’d told myself that even though he’d never show me any affection in public I’d be okay with it, but I’m not. The hurt squirms inside of me like maggots feeding off of a decayed carcass. I’m open. Exposed. I’m dying inside and I do everything I can to hide it.
“Hey!”
The locker behind me slams and I jump. Panting, I clutch my chest. “Rosa.” I catch my breath. “What the hell?”
“Dude. WTF. I like texted a million times and called you last night. You pissed at me or something?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Then what’s with you ignoring me?”
“I was just busy!” I snap.
“Whoa! Someone’s got a lil PMS.”
“I’m just on edge. I wasn’t ready to come back to school.”
“Who was? I’d rather be anywhere than here.”
Rosa peers around me and giggles, pushing her red metallic framed glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose. “What’s so interesting?”
“Huh?”
“What were you looking at? You looked like you were daydreaming.”
I grab a folder from my locker and close the door. “Nothing.”
I’m lying to her and the fact that I’m being secretive with my best friend kills me. I trust her, but this is between me and Henry.
“Ugh,” Rosa groans as she pushes herself away from the locker with her foot. She moves next to me and hugs her books tightly. “Doesn’t that make you nauseous?”
I’m too afraid to look. Too afraid the jealousy that’s beginning to eat me alive will escalate to the point where I run down the hall, screaming like a lunatic off her meds.
Rosa narrows her deep brown eyes and shakes her head. “Seriously you two! Get a freakin’ room!”
The thought of witnessing the PDA is too tempting. I curse myself as I spin around. Why do I always let my curiosity get the best of me? A sigh of relief whooshes from my lips. “It’s only Noah and Holly.”
Rosa glares at me incredulously. “Only Noah and Holly. What do you mean by that?”
She’s giving me a questioning look. Can she hear the sound of relief in voice? Does she know I’m hiding something from her? “Um. Uh…” Quick, come up with something. “Last year they made out like that every day.”
We walk down the hall and Rosa tucks her blue-black side bang behind her ear. “That doesn’t make it right.” As we pass Noah and Holly she yells, “Nobody wants to witness your peep show!”
Noah flips her off, exposing the half-chipped black nail polish on his middle finger. He keeps his hand out, still lip-locked with Holly.
Rosa shrugs. “I guess some things never change.”
****
Every year, the first day of school always seems to breeze by. That’s probably because the teachers only have enough time each period to pass out books and assign seats. In a few of my classes my teachers went around the room and made the students talk about what we did over the summer.
My summer. The summer of love. Thoughts of Henry remain constant as I tell some lame ass fabrication of a story about spending time at my aunt’s summer house on Lake Michigan. Sometimes I surprise myself because I can be such an amazing con and liar. The whole time I’m talking I’m fighting off the vivid pictures of him in my mind. His lips brushing against my ear. “I love you.” A whisper that sent chills throughout my body. His teeth graze my earlobe and I’m unglued and mad—crazy with the fire I feel growing inside of me for him. “I want you,” he’d murmured. “You. Only you.” The flashbacks are so real that I believe they are actually happening and I hope I’m not flinching in front of everyone. I stifle a look around the classroom. Nobody is paying attention. Thank God.
Eighth period comes and I have a study hall. As I enter the cafeteria, I examine the students already seated in the wide rectangular room. No Henry. I’m relieved. The only per
iod I have with him is lunch and that makes it easier to get through the day in one piece.
I plop down at a table in the back as Mr. Warner, the tenth grade biology teacher waltzes in. He stops in the front of the room, sets down a book and pulls down his cardigan sweater. “Sit wherever,” he announces. “You can talk quietly amongst yourselves if you want.”
Soft chatter echoes throughout the cafeteria and I opt out of being friendly. Aside from Rosa and this kid named Jace who used to live next door to me, who I hadn’t talked to in years, and Henry, I don’t have very many friends. Not because I’m antisocial. I just enjoy my alone time.
I approach Mr. Warner as he sits down and picks up the latest Stephen King novel and adjusts his gold wire spectacles. “Um, Mr. Warner?”
He doesn’t look up. He’s fully absorbed in whatever horrific world Mr. King has created for that particular novel. “Uh huh.”
I twiddle my thumbs. “Could I go to the library?”
I’ve always spent my study halls in the library. I like using the computers. Mainly for pointless stuff like surfing Forever 21’s sale page or popping in a burned cd and listening to music while I work on some homework assignment. Lately, I’ve been on a Kings of Leon fix. Closer and True Love Way are on repeat at all times.