sympathy I could endure; pity was agony. Perhaps she had felt sorry for me in that instant. Perhaps that really had been genuine, but was she now regretting her offer to return? Was she sitting in her car, bathed in the smell of warm pizzas, thinking about how stupid it had been to offer to go back and visit the strange little boy whom she had suffered the misfortune of meeting?
My thoughts whirled, collided, and whirled again. They bounced off of my skull, turning my brain into a mush of confusion, emotion, and insanity. Unable to take it, I stood up and paced around the large living room.
A bird twittered outside, laughing with amusement at the banishment of the rain. It was a happy sound that I wanted so much to mimic—to actually feel—but my brain would not allow me. The eternal pessimist, I had already decided without even realizing it that Laura would not be returning. She could have meant it, but she wouldn’t fulfill that promise. I gave her that much credit; she had meant well and had not realized the maliciousness of her act.
I sighed and walked from the room. I headed toward the stairs that would take me back up to my bedroom where I could slip into some pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. This strange encounter could make a chapter for my book, I realized. At least it would serve as something.
My foot was on the second step when the doorbell rang. I turned around quickly, almost slipping on the slick hardwood, but my heart kept going right up those stairs, leaving my body completely.
“Hey there,” Laura said brightly when I pulled open the door. She was even prettier than she had been earlier. She had let her dark hair down; it flowed over her shoulders in silky perfection, and she had changed from her pizza uniform into a turquoise shirt and a pair of tight fitting blue jeans.
I gaped, working my mouth to try and get something to come out. I hadn’t expected her to come back at all, but here she was and just thirty minutes after leaving.
“I got off early,” she confided, then smiled at my expression. “Did you not think I’d really come back?” she asked, reading me like a book.
I gave a bashful grin and nodded. I hoped I wasn’t blushing, but the burning in my cheeks told me that they were as red as her perfect lips. I blushed even more at the thought.
“Aw,” she cooed at my shyness. She stepped over the threshold and hugged me again.
I felt her body, hard in some places and soft in others, pressed against me. My second real hug in my lifetime. My second perfect hug. Both of her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling her into me. My face breathed in the clean smell of shampoo. My own arms wrapped around her narrow waist and she relaxed into them, letting me bear the weight of her.
I’m not sure how long we stood there like that. It seemed like forever, but at the same time it felt like just an instant. It was entirely too short, I can assure you of that, and every breath I pulled into my body, laced by the sweetness of her, was the best breath I had ever bothered to breathe.
Her grip loosened, and I let her go. She had stood up on her toes to reach around my neck and she bobbed back down, smiling up at me.
“Better?” she asked.
“Better,” I agreed.
“Can I come in?”
“Oh, uh…yeah! Yeah of course. I’m sorry,” I said and stood back to let her pass.
She smiled at me again and walked inside. I closed the door behind me wondering what was about to happen. I often tried to predict the future. It’s an annoying little habit of mine, but it was incredible how often I was able to predict entire conversations before they happened. This time, I was predicting some pretty incredible stuff—the kind of stuff every boy dreams of, if you catch my drift—but I wasn’t even close. Oh, man. I was not even in the right country, let alone ball park.
“Wow, this really is a nice house,” Laura commented when she sauntered into the family room. The big TV was still playing that mindless show, but Laura was gazing up at the high ceiling that kept the second floor at half of its potential size.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” I said, looking only at her and not the room.
“Can you take me on a tour?” she said brightly, whirling around on the Persian rug.
“I guess so,” I answered, and I knew doubt again. She was interested in the house more than me. That could mean some serious trouble. Was she only interested in the money made off of me? Was it the riches of my prison that enamored her? Was that what she was after? Did she plan to suck up to me so I would buy her presents—I confess I wouldn’t hesitate to make that exchange—or was she planning something more sinister all together?
I buried the thoughts as best I could, ordering myself to enjoy this strange day and not over think it. I showed her around the house. I took her into the kitchen where she noticed the intact pizza when she peeked into the fridge. She gave me a sly grin. “Mind turn to something other than food?” she asked. I didn’t answer.
From the kitchen I took her through the rest of the ground floor, showing her my parents’ room, the office where they “worked”, and the theater. In each room I watched her closely, looking for a glint of greed in her eyes, but I never saw it. Sure, she looked over the rooms with interest, but it was a dry interest.
“Are you going to show me the upstairs?” she asked when I led her back into the family room.
“Just my bedroom, a spare bedroom, and my office up there,” I said dismissively.
“Well I want to see it.” She feigned a pout, putting her hands on her hips and pushing her bottom lip out melodramatically.
I gave a big, over the top sigh, and escorted her up the stairs.
She didn’t even go into the guest bedroom, just staring at the made bed from the doorway before moving on, but she seemed quite impressed with my office and examined the walls of shelves filled with books, pictures, and model cars for a long time before going through the door which separated it from my bedroom.
“I wasn’t expecting you to want to come up here,” I explained quickly when her eyes slid over my unmade bed and piles of clothes and towels at the base of it.
“It’s fine,” she said and squeezed my hand. “It actually feels lived in. The rest of the house was a little too…sterile.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirmed and walked further into the room. I followed her, wondering, as always, if she was telling the truth. She seemed sincere enough, but I just couldn’t bring myself to trust her. That was nothing new, of course, I never trusted anyone, but I wanted to trust her. I wanted to stop thinking constantly and enjoy her presence—even as the insanity of how quickly this was unfolding nagged at me.
Laura peeked into my closet and looked into my bathroom before turning back around and flopping onto my bed. She bounced once and came to a rest. Then she rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin onto her hands. She stared at me and grinned.
“Comfy bed,” she said.
“Yeah?” I asked as if I wasn’t aware.
“Yeah, you should come try it.” She patted an empty space next to her.
Something in my chest thudded loudly three times. It couldn’t have been my heart because my heart wasn’t that powerful. The thuds shook my whole body and tried to knock out my eardrums.
“Come on,” she said when I didn’t move. “Lay down. I want to talk.” She patted the bed again and rolled up onto her side to make more room. I peered at the graceful length of her body and that thing in my chest hammered again.
“Get in this bed right now, John Woodward,” she said forcefully, and I moved.
I slid in carefully so as not to brush her, but the second I got all the way in, she scooted up next to me, draped an arm over my body, and pulled us together like two spoons. Just like the hug, I could feel her in exquisite detail pressed against me, but this was so much more than the hug. So much more.
“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” she said, her voice tickling the back of my ear.
“Yeah,” I mumbled, glad I was facing away from her so she couldn’t feel just how much better I thought it was.<
br />
We laid there like that for a while, not talking as she had suggested, but just enjoying the feel of another human so close. I relished the soft breaths on the back of my neck that told me that she was still there and not a figment of my imagination.
She stroked my arm gently with her fingertips. Goosebumps spread from the contact and a tingle went up my spine.
“Do you want to get up?” she whispered.
“If you want to…” I muttered, trying not to betray how I never wanted to move from this spot, from this moment.
“Nope,” she said again and her stroking hand moved down onto my stomach, slipped under my shirt and made lazy circles round my belly button.
I tried to breathe normally but my breath came in sharp, stuttering pulls. My stomach muscles clenched and shivered at the soft touch, and Laura giggled gently in my ear.
“Feel good?” she said knowingly.
I nodded.
She made those lazy circles for an eternity, until the charm of them started to wear off and my skin grew sensitive at the touch. I didn’t want to tell her to stop, but I couldn’t keep myself from wiggling. She got the message and withdrew her hand.
“Turn over. I want to look in your eyes,” she said.
I flipped over obediently. My good arm was now under me and my hook lay on my side. I tried to shove it in my pocket so she wouldn’t have to look at it, but she gripped my wrist with her hand.
“Leave it out. Don’t be ashamed of it. It’s part of you.”
I