by Whitney G.
I stood up and walked to the bathroom, gasping when I saw my reflection. There was a huge bite mark on my neck, and my lips were still swollen from how thoroughly he’d kissed me. My thigh even had a print from where it’d been pressed against his gearshift.
So that shit actually happened?
I stepped into my shower and stood under the streams, shutting my eyes as the water fell over me. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him the next time we were alone, but I knew that couldn’t happen again.
Even if it was the best kiss I’d ever had in my life. Even though I was sure I would be thinking about it for the rest of the day.
The rest of the year …
I waited until my skin was wrinkled and red, and then I quickly dressed in a teal shirt and jeans. Opening my cosmetics drawer, I pulled out my concealer pen and rubbed it against my neck until all remnants of Ethan’s kiss were gone.
I stuffed my pencils and brushes into my bag and headed into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Ethan said, looking up at me from the bar.
“Hi …” I stared into his blue eyes. “Don’t you have Econ right now?”
“I told you I’m excused from that class since I’m doing the report on The Silk Stem. Speaking of which, did you start on those questions I sent you about the romance store?”
I nodded. “I’ll have them back to you tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Okay …” I moved past him and grabbed a bagel off the counter. I headed toward the door, but I couldn’t help but turn around again. “Can we talk about last night?”
“What about it?”
“Well, for starters, I think we took things too far.”
“It was just a kiss, Rachel.” He looked me up and down. “A very good kiss … But nothing else happened.”
“Well, I’d like you to know that nothing else will ever happen,” I said. “You know I would never willingly kiss you—no matter how well you’ve been pretending to be my friend lately.”
“I would’ve thought that before last night.” He smiled.
“It still stands true today, Ethan. I was clearly drunk.”
“You weren’t that drunk.” The way he was looking at me was making me wet.
“Yes, well … I didn’t want to tell you this, but while we were kissing, I was thinking about Ryan. You know, the guy I’m sharing a seat with for the senior lodge trip. I was picturing him instead of you.”
“You said my name.”
“By default.”
“You said it twice.” He looked upset, but his expression slowly softened. “You’re overthinking the kiss, though.”
“So, it didn’t mean anything?”
“It meant that I can no longer assume that you’re a terrible kisser.” He tapped his fingers against the counter and changed the subject. “What else did you purposely lie about in some of your letters?”
“What?” My face paled. I didn’t remember mentioning that to him at all, and I’d sworn long ago that I would never bring it up.
“Last night, you told me that certain incidents you wrote about weren’t true,” he said, standing to his feet. “I wanted to wait for complete clarification, though. So, what else did you lie about?”
“Um ...” I stepped back. “I have to be on time for class.”
“Your class doesn’t start for another thirty minutes.”
“The shuttle comes in fifteen.”
“I’ll drive you there in twenty.” He stood up and walked over to the door, blocking my exit. “What else did you lie about?”
“Minor things.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “Feel free to elaborate.”
“I’m sure you lied about things here or there, too.” I shook my head. “It’s not that serious.”
“I’ve been truthful about hating you my whole life,” he said, smiling. “I’ve never had any reason to lie.”
“Right … Well maybe I had a really good reason to lie, then.”
“I highly doubt that. Tell me.”
“Fine.” I paused. “Well, I only dated a few guys while I was away, so I may have lied about some of those guys I wrote you about at first.”
“Come again?”
“I didn’t date that much on the ship,” I said. “All those guys I told you about during my freshman and sophomore year were lies. I didn’t start dating guys until my junior year.”
“So …” He tilted his head to the side. “Mark Williams, your first onboard kiss under the stars, when you swore you felt butterflies and shit … That wasn’t true?”
“Why do you remember the details?”
“Was it true?”
“No,” I said. “Mark Williams was a character in one of the books I was reading.”
“John Kline. The first guy you invited into your room and had sex with … Was that true?”
“Yes and no.”
“It can’t be both.”
“I got seasick on the deck and he walked me back … It wasn’t as romantic as I put it.”
“Was there sex?”
“No.” I shook my head. “My first time wasn’t until my first-semester, junior year. With Holden Connors.”
“The guy who was too aggressive with you?” he asked. “That was your first time?”
“Yeah …”
He shook his head. “Rachel, why would you ever lie about some shit like that?”
“Because you were telling me about all the girls you were hanging out with, and all the fun you were having on campus,” I said. “I didn’t want to seem as lame as I was in high school. I wanted you to think I was having more fun, since I was still pretty upset with you.”
He stared at me, still shaking his head. “We’ve had a policy from when we were seven and a half years old, Rachel. Utter honesty, no matter what.”
“I was trying to make my life appear more fun,” I said. “That’s not a crime.”
“So, you’ve only had sex with two guys?”
“Yes. Stop looking at me like I’m pathetic.”
“That’s not how I’m looking at you at all,” he said, opening the door. “I’m looking at you like I should’ve seen this shit before.”
Back Then: 16½ Years Old
Ethan
Dear Ethan,
I would like to thank you (again) for snitching on me. Thanks to you, my mom won’t even let me out of the house to check the mailbox. She took my phone, and I can’t use the computer to send emails without her permission.
You have messed around with PLENTY of girls at our school and not once did I ever tell your parents (even when you were messing around with some of them at the same damn time) that you were bringing them up to your room. You ALWAYS bring girls up to your room, and I never snitch!
(Payback is going to be one hell of a bitch, and I’m still not talking to you on the way to and from school.)
Forget You,
Rachel
P.S.—Mandy Banks is telling everyone that you’re a terrible kisser and your cock is small. So, since you’re going on a date with Shelby Hannah tonight, you may want to keep it in your pants, since its clearly not that impressive.
P.P.S.—Please toss your response letter through my window, as THANKS TO YOU, this is my only means of communication O_o.
Dear Rachel,
You’re very welcome. Given the fact that you were about to fuck Glen Easton, she should’ve also had you committed to a mental wellness institute, so consider yourself lucky.
Mr. Popular usually does date the most girls at school, Rachel. That’s the whole point of being me. The only reason you haven’t snitched is because you were too busy taking notes.
(I prefer the quiet rides to and from school anyway.)
Forget You,
Ethan
P.S.—No comment on whether it’s impressive or not. (That type of conversation can’t be had with someone who has never seen a cock in real life.) I’ll be sure to give you all the details tomorrow, since that’s as close as
you’ll ever get to having sex.
P.P.S.—You’re very welcome.
Stepping out of my car and into drizzling rain, I crumpled my letter into a ball and threw it up through Rachel’s window. As usual, it went in on the first attempt, and I waited to see if her lights would come on, but they didn’t.
My “date” tonight with Shelby wasn’t a real date at all, and I honestly felt like I’d wasted my time. When I took her to the drive-in theater, she spent most of her time talking about how “cute” of a couple we made and asking me if I thought she was prettier than Rachel. (Every girl I went out with asked me this shit for some strange reason.) I spent most of my time texting the girl I went out with a few days before and telling her that I thought every girl was prettier than Rachel.
Our sex in the backseat of my car wasn’t good at all, and for some reason, I wanted to talk to Rachel about it.
The lights in her room were off, and I was tempted to throw a few rocks to wake her, but I knew she was still too pissed to talk to me. That, and she definitely wasn’t waking up at three o’clock in the morning to do so.
I made sure that my car was locked, that the lights were still off in my parents’ room, and then I climbed up the ladder that led to my bedroom. Gently moving the books I’d wedged in the frame, I tossed them to the grass so they wouldn’t make a sound. When I was sure that all was clear, I pushed the window all the way up and climbed inside.
The second I hit the floor, the lights in my room came on, and I was face to face with my parents.
What the fuck?
“Where the hell have you been, son?” My dad’s face was beet red. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
I didn’t get a chance to answer.
My mother sucked in a long breath like she always did when she was about to yell, and all hell broke loose.
“We told you that curfew was eleven o’clock, Ethan!” She screamed. “Eleven o’clock! And that’s more than generous, given what most of your peers get, don’t you think?”
I stood up and held back a sigh.
“Every time we try and trust you—” My mother shook her head. “You try to push the limits and do something like this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” She hissed. “You’re sorry? Well, that’s nice. You’re also grounded.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about that.” My dad snapped. “Be grateful that we might let you go to the prom during your senior year. That’s probably the only thing you’ll be able to do over the next year and a half. Are we clear?”
I nodded, too pissed to answer. I couldn’t believe they’d caught me. I’d done this numerous times before—with way less effort, and came back even later. I’d covered all my tracks, made sure the alarm didn’t sound, and even created a fake body mass on my bed.
By the time they were finished yelling at me, it was five o’clock in the morning, and I only had two hours before I needed to get ready for school.
As I was slumping at my desk and looking out at the rain, my eyes caught sight of Rachel smiling at me through her window. The lamplight on her desk was glowing pink, and she was fully alert.
She held up her whiteboard, and I squinted to read the letters.
HOW DOES THAT FILL, ETHAN?
Jesus Christ …
I started to hold up my whiteboard and correct her spelling, but it wasn’t worth it. I pushed my window all the way up and motioned for her to do the same.
“So, you snitched on me?” I asked. “Really, Rachel?”
“Someone had to do it.” She smiled. “I was genuinely worried about your well-being. I mean, it was three o’clock in the morning and you were hanging out with Shelby Hannah. Who knows what she had you doing, and who knows why you wanted to hang out with her anyway.”
“She puts out.” I hissed. “Unlike someone I know.”
“I have class.”
“You have cobwebs.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “And I swear to god, I will pay you back for this shit.”
“This is payback for the Glen Easton thing, Ethan.” She glared at me. “You deserved it. You deserve for me to kick your ass for all of the other things you’ve put me through, but I figured this would be a lot easier than punching you in your face.”
“You want to fight me, Rachel?” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?”
“I do.” She looked dead ass serious. “I really fucking do.”
“Okay, fine.” I took off my jacket. “Meet me in my backyard in twenty.” I decided I would let her get two hits in before pinning her to the ground and making her promise that she would stop this snitching bullshit once and for all.
When I made it down there, she was dressed in her worst set of pink pajamas. The ones with bunnies that looked like they belonged to a four-year-old. She was muttering to herself and pacing the grass, looking completely non-threatening.
The rain was falling harder now, and I knew that at any minute, her hair was bound to frizz up and look even worse than it did right now.
“Okay.” I sighed. “You can hit me anywhere but my face. Also, try not to—”
She jabbed me in the stomach before I could finish, knocking the wind out of me.
What the hell?
“That’s for Glen Easton.” She stepped back, then she hit me again—making me remember just how good of a fighter she used to be when we were younger. “That’s for making my parents think that he and I were having sex.”
“Everyone knows you’re not having sex.”
She kicked the back of my legs, forcing me to the ground. “That’s for always making me walk to your car on the rainy days.”
“I can guarantee you that after tonight, that shit is going to continue.”
She kicked me again, in the same spot. “That’s for being an asshole since the day we met,” she said, raising her leg for a final blow. “And this is for burning my collectible Wonder Woman. Do you have any idea how much that toy would be worth right now? Do you have the slightest—”
I grabbed her leg before she could make contact and pulled her down to the ground. Pinning her arms to the grass, I moved on top of her. “For the umpteenth time, Rachel Marie Dawson, you deserved for me to burn your Wonder Woman toy. You torched half the toys I owned before I burned your first one, and I think it’s about time that you got over it. Get. The. Fuck. Over. It.” I tightened my grip on her arms. “Furthermore, why do you always seem to forget that you started this shit? Who pushed who down the steps on the first day we met?”
“Who insulted who about her grammar on the first day we met?”
“For the record, every word you’ve ever written is an insult to the word grammar.”
She pushed me back, and we rolled across the wet grass—fighting for control.
By the time we reached the gate around my pool, her hands were in my hair, and I was struggling to keep her pinned down.
“Just say you’re sorry for being an asshole, Ethan.” She fumed. “Say it right now.”
“Say you’re sorry for fucking up the rest of my junior and senior year.”
“I’m not sorry for anything.”
“Then I’m not sorry for shit either.”
I glared at her, and she glared right back at me. Neither of us said a word, and before I knew it, my lips were crushed against hers, and she was shutting her eyes.
“Fuck you, Ethan …” She hissed against my mouth. “Fuck. You.”
“I don’t fuck virgins.”
She tried to slap me, but I grabbed her wrist, and we began rolling across the grass again.
Under the pouring rain, we kissed and fought—our lips saying one thing, our hands saying another.
When we crashed into the gate around my pool, my backyard lights flickered.
“Ethan?” My dad bellowed. “Are you trying to sneak out on the very same night, son? Are you really that brazen?”
“No, sir.” I stood up, pulling Rachel up with me. “I was
just telling Rachel about being grounded.”
He stepped out onto the deck and hit the other set of lights. “Oh, it’s just Rachel, hon!” He called up to my mom. Then he shrugged. “Maybe the two of you should finally discuss how you both plan on staying out of trouble for the rest of the year. Be back inside in ten minutes and get ready to spend your after-school hours cleaning my offices from top to bottom for the rest of the week.”
The second he stepped inside, I glared at Rachel. “I want you to know that I will never forgive you for this.”
“I don’t recall asking you to.” She rolled her eyes and stepped back.
“This shit isn’t over, Rachel.”
“It never will be.”
Track 12. Mine (1:57)
Ethan
I should’ve known.
“Is something wrong with you, Ethan?” Teresa rubbed my shoulder as I drove to the bus station a couple of weeks later.
“Nothing at all.” I lied. “I’m just thinking about something.”
“Oh.” She blushed. “Is it spending time with me at the lodge this weekend?”
No, it’s spending time with Rachel at the lodge this weekend. “Of course.”
She blushed and leaned back in her seat, and as the bus wound through another snow-covered road, my mind spun with thoughts of Rachel. It was bad enough that my fantasies of her were completely out of control since she’d moved into my house, that I’d tasted her mouth and wanted more. But the fact that she made up most of the things in her letters for the first two years when she was away, made me realize that I should’ve called her out on it back then—when I halfway suspected that’s what she was doing.
Since the night she’d told me about her made-up love stories, I’d reread her first two years of letters and looked between all the lines, shaking my head at the obvious plays on book character and author names that I never thought to question.
She’d used Dick Charles (Charles Dickens), Chris Grey (Christian Grey), Jon Grislem (John Grisham) and so many other obvious variations, that I was shocked I never caught it. A part of me wanted to laugh about it, but another part of me wanted to tell her that sometimes I went extra hard partying and dating because I was trying to keep up with what she was writing to me.
