On an Edge of Glass

by Autumn Doughton

  We dance like that until our hearts are shuddering and I’m dizzy with the music, and the crowd, and the low, changing lights, and the sensation of wanting. Wanting so badly that I forget to breathe right. I realize that I’ve never felt this pull before—this intense response to a person’s every movement. It’s born from deep down in the recess of my belly and it’s like a raging fire and a hurricane and a delicate flower bud all at once. It’s unnerving.

  Ben presses closer. His hands pull me tighter. His fingers claw into the skin just above the waist of my jeans and my blood sways.

  I don’t look up into his eyes. I can’t.

  Instead, I focus on the worn blue fabric of the shirt that he’s wearing, and the wonderful arc of his neck. I stare at that place where the pulse beats just under his hot skin and I memorize the soft pink corners of his mouth. I think about all of the spots that we touch, and I breathe them in.

  Our hips brush and Ben gasps. He brings his lips to my ear.

  “Want to get out of here?” He asks, tangling his fingers in my bound hair and holding my head steady.

  And just like that, the world crashes back into focus. The thumping of the music accelerates to a wild knocking that matches my heart as I pull away and look up at him. I think that my eyes will be able to sift out answers from his expression, but I can’t read Ben that way. I don’t know what those two little lines on his forehead mean, or what thoughts swirl in the depths of those gold-flecked irises.

  Under my scrutiny, Ben seems to shrink—all six foot something of him. He sucks in his bottom lip and turns his head away from me. His throat moves like he’s getting words together and it ignites a flare of panic in my chest. All of a sudden I realize that I don’t want him to take back his invitation, even if it scares me.

  I move without thinking. I stand up on my tiptoes and I lean into him so that I my breasts are pressed against his chest. I say only one word. “Sure.”

  And I want to slap myself. I really do. I half-wish that Mark had come out with us tonight so that he could pull me away by my ponytail and tell me that I’m behaving like a sex-crazed moron.

  Where do I see this thing going? Ben has to be in rebound-mode, right? Aside from that, he’s not my usual type at all. My last date was with a pre-med student named Keith who took me to watch a Polo match at his parent’s country club. Keith wore a sweater vest and ordered foie gras off the menu non-ironically.

  Ben is different.

  He plays guitar in a band. There’s his long hair and grungy shirts and the fact that he wears jewelry on occasion. From what I’ve observed so far, he probably only shaves about once a week. If he didn’t play in the University Symphony, I doubt that he would even own a suit and tie. I can’t even imagine what my parents would think if I ever brought him home with me.

  There’s also the niggling problem that he is my roommate. I have to live with this guy for the rest of the year no matter what happens between us tonight.

  And, I have Payton and Ainsley to consider. We made a deal. A pact. It was a sacred vow of female solidarity. That’s got to mean something. I imagine that they’ll strangle me if they find out that I’ve broken it. Hell, I’ll probably strangle myself.

  But, when Ben’s smoldering eyes come back to me and his mouth twitches into a half-smile, my heart flips over and it’s like none of that stuff matters. The world could detonate all around us and I don’t think that I would care one way or the other.

  “Good,” he says and reaches out his hand for me.

  I don’t hesitate this time. I take it.

  I’m grateful for a lot of things. Things like: opportunity, a car with a sunroof and power locks, friends that make me laugh, and those tiny little white marshmallows that you get with hot chocolate mix.

  Tonight I’m grateful for obnoxious kids at coffee shops, blue shirts, and that Ben Hamilton insisted on driving his car separately when we left the house earlier tonight.

  I send Payton and Ainsley both quick texts as we leave the club so that they won’t worry about me. But, judging from their outfits and the way they acted when I saw them last, I doubt that they’ll be too concerned about my whereabouts.

  Ben and I don’t talk much during the car ride home. I lean my head against the cool glass of the passenger window and listen to the music that begins playing when he turns on his car. It’s classical. It’s sad and beautiful all at once—deep tones that sigh through the speakers and resonate deep in my belly.

  “This is really nice,” I say appreciatively. Then I wonder if he understands that I mean the music.

  Ben ducks his head sheepishly. “This is me.”

  “Really?” My eyes widen a fraction and my mouth goes slack. I think there might be awe written on my face.

  Ben nods but seems even more embarrassed.

  “Yeah… I know that it seems strange to listen to myself play but I have a big solo coming up. A friend of mine offered to record me so that I could listen for errors and places where I need to speed it up or slow it down,” he explains quickly, looking at me sideways like he wants to be sure that I’m following what he’s saying. “I swear that I’m not the kind of guy that stares at myself in the mirror for hours at a time flexing my muscles.”

  I shake my head and laugh.

  I don’t say what I’m thinking: that I could probably stare at him for hours at a time. For a few moments, I just listen to Ben’s music—to the sigh of the instrument that sounds like a revolution.

  I’m breathing funny and I’m thinking that this music is something that Ben made. He created it from nothing. And I haven’t created anything lasting in my whole life. Unless you count some mediocre photos and the glitter collage I brought home in second grade that my mother’s best friend had framed.

  “No. No, it’s not strange at all. I just wasn’t expecting it.” A small smile turns my lips. Words aren’t adequate but they’re all I have. “You’re really good. This is good.”

  Ben turns on a mega grin and pops one of his eyebrows. This is when I notice that he’s driving just under the speed limit and that he holds the steering wheel with both hands the way that my dad taught me to. For some reason I almost laugh.

  “Ellie, did you think that I’d waste my college education and my time so that I could play like crap?” He asks teasingly.

  I like that he’s a careful driver. I like the way that my name sounds coming out of his mouth. I like that his words mean one thing but the tone of his voice means another. Ben is flirting with me.

  “Ahhhh… I get it. You’re a musical genius. You are…” I look up at the roof of the car searching for the right words—for a compliment that is cute but doesn’t expose my raw beating heart.

  “Full of surprises? Incredibly handsome?” Ben offers up as he pulls into the driveway and parks behind my car. The music stops abruptly when he kills the ignition.

  My laughter propels itself around the sudden quiet of the car. I cock my head to one side and narrow my eyes at him in mock seriousness. “At least one of those things is true.”

  Drooping yellow light from the streetlamp filters in through the windows. It frames Ben’s face. With his hair back in a ponytail, I can see his features in a new way and my heart jolts unexpectedly.

  He’s sitting there watching me. His brown eyes move over my body unchecked. I feel like maybe something really is happening here. And it’s something other than dancing, and casual post-vodka kissing.

  It’s the feeling that I had during our first encounter in the coffee shop. It’s brightness. It’s like nothing is actually something, and maybe—just maybe—it’s a beginning.

  The way that he’s looking at me is so open and naked that I chicken out and drop my eyes. I stare at my hands crossed over my jeans—thumbs hooked over wrists. My mind starts to careen out of control. Maybe he’s going to kiss me. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I’m getting in over my head. Maybe—

  As if he can hear my racing thoughts, Ben moves. His hand comes up and he cups my c
heek, tipping my chin up until I’m forced to look directly at him. His face is so serious that I think he really is about to kiss me.

  I’m wrong.

  Ben stays on his side of the center console. His fingers move down the side of my face. He pushes them back until his hand is circling the nape of my neck. He’s holding my gaze with his wide eyes and biting his bottom lip gently.

  I’m petrified of the way that my heart responds. It literally skips a beat. And I marvel that all of this hugeness can fit in one car. In one body. In one hungry look.

  “I like you,” he says quietly and it sounds almost like a question. “I like you, Ellie,” he repeats—this time sounding surer.

  I let the edges of my mouth creep up. I’m relieved and maybe a little confused.

  “I like you too,” I say back and I think we’re both sort of surprised by my honesty.

  Everything good about the world is amplified for about twenty-five more seconds. My heart balloons. It expands or blossoms or whatever. The feeling is unreal. It’s fierce and not just a little scary. Is this what people have been talking about? Is this crazy, earth-bending sensation what Shakespeare and Rosetti and all of my favorites were writing about?

  My smile gets wider.

  It’s like creating something from nothing.

  Until it all goes to hell.

  Because of her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Halting Abruptly

  The girl is waiting on the porch.

  As soon as we get out of the car, we both see her standing under the dim light, her body haloed against the cool night. I don’t know who she is and I’m about to throw a, “hi, can I help you?” at her when I catch the expression on Ben’s face.

  He doesn’t need to tell me anything. It’s all there without the words. The grim set of his jaw, frowning forehead, and pinched lips practically shout the story.

  The ex.

  Crap.

  A million oh nos scream inside my head.

  An icy, finger-numbing chill sneaks in around my heart. I’m hoping that my feet keep moving properly so that I don’t fall over right here in the driveway.

  The girl is gorgeous.

  I don’t want her to be, but there is no denying it. She’s all big boobs, tiny waist, and intense sex appeal. If I’m being honest, she’s the complete opposite of me. They were together for years. So, this is what he likes, I think as I take in her propped-up cleavage and red-stained lips.

  Her hair is long and so dark that it’s on the verge of black. She wears it loose, dripping over her shoulders and snaking down to the dip of her lower back. A handful of tiny braids sweep away from her forehead and are pinned behind her right ear. Her skin is an exotic deep golden brown that sets off her unusually wide, light eyes.

  She’s paired an insanely short skirt with a cropped black shirt that rides up when she shifts, exposing her pierced naval. A stack of silver bracelets climbs up her naked arm. They make clinking sounds as she descends the porch steps and walks in our direction.

  I wonder vaguely if she’s freezing her butt off. She looks it. Freezing and like a fucking rock star sex siren.

  I, for one, have never felt so dull and unattractive in my life. It unhinges me. I wobble. My knees feel loose, like they might not want to hold me up much longer.

  “Lily, what are you doing here?” Ben asks tightly. His shoulders are ramrod straight and his chin is lifted in a challenge.

  Lily

  Even her name is pretty. I realize that I was hoping that he’d call her Henrietta or Gertrude or something equally awful so that I could at least make it sound nasty inside my head. I can’t do much damage with a name like Lily.

  Lily pauses in front of us. Her hands are on her hips. She’s jutting her head to one side. She looks at Ben and then at me and her eyes quickly dart back to him. She seems unimpressed by my presence and I can’t say that I blame her.

  “Ben,” she says his name gently. She reaches her hand forward to lightly graze his arm.

  He flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull back. This seems to be what she’s hoping for, and her fingers slide down to encapsulate his wrist. She pulls him toward her body.

  My heart is jammed up in my throat. Things inside of me are cracking and I realize that it’s jealousy that’s hammering everything into smithereens. How ridiculous is that? What rational reason do I have to be jealous? None. Ben can do what he likes. He can talk, kiss, be with whomever he likes.

  I look away and focus on the twenty steps that it’s going to take to reach the front door. Walking more quickly, I ignore the whistling in my blood and pay attention to the sound of my feet hitting the ground. Ben is strangely silent. I figure that he and Lily are having some sort of intense staring contest, but I don’t look back over my shoulder to verify this.

  “Nice to meet you,” Lily says slimly, just this-side of rude.

  My fingers are braced on the knob of the front door. I swivel on my heels, whipping my head around.

  They’re both standing there, four steps down on the walkway. Ben’s mouth is partway open. His gold-flecked eyes are directed at me. He looks ready to scream or cry or hit something. Or maybe I don’t know what he’s thinking at all. Maybe I don’t know him at all.

  Lily is still touching him and it kills me. My stomach is completely hollowed out and I feel pressure start to build up behind my eyes. How pathetic will Ben think that I am if I start to cry right now?

  Over what?

  One drunken kiss.

  A dance.

  I remind myself that we are nothing significant to each other.

  Ben and Lily, however, have had years of kissing, laughing together, dancing. Sex. He obviously loved her if he was with her for two years.

  Who am I kidding? He probably still loves her. What guy wouldn’t? She’s beautiful and sexy and confident in all the ways that I’m not.

  Deep breath. For Lily’s benefit, I use my sweetest smile, but I’m pretty sure that it doesn’t reach my eyes.

  “We didn’t exactly meet, but I’m Ellie Glass. I’m just one of Ben’s new roommates. That’s all,” I say nimbly as I slip inside. The door falls shut with a loud thump, leaving me in the darkness of the front hall.

  Ben and Lily are outside together for almost an hour.

  I know this because I watch the clock on the small table by my bed like my life depends on it. Clearly, falling asleep is out of the question.

  I roll under my duvet and yank my pillow over my head hoping to block out the muffled sounds of Ben and Lily talking on the porch. When that doesn’t work, I bring my laptop to life and open up my favorite playlist.

  The clock nears midnight. Finally, I hear the front door open and close as Ben comes inside. My ears strain over the chords of soft music and I make out only one set of footsteps. At least Lily hasn’t followed him inside. At my bedroom door, the sound of his steps stops. Sitting up, I see the shadow of his feet through the sliver under the door. I wait, holding my breath and hoping that my insistently thudding heart won’t break any rib bones.

  The knock that I half-expect never comes. Eventually, his feet move on and I hear a clunking sound and then the bathroom door closes. The pipes whine in protest as the hot water for the shower is turned on.

  I let a held breath whoosh out of my lungs.

  I don’t want to think about Ben anymore. I don’t want to think about his ex-girlfriend holding his hand or kissing him. I don’t want to think about dancing with him, or the gentle way that he touched my face in the car. And I definitely don’t want to think about Ben Hamilton in the shower naked.

  So I turn over and close my eyes, and this time I refuse to open them for anyone or anything.

  A group of students walk past us, talking and laughing. I sigh miserably.

  Mark opens his mouth and then closes it. He taps one finger against his outstretched leg. His head is tilted to one side and he’s looking at me like he’s trying to solve a difficult problem.

  “Mark?”
I’m beyond frustrated with his silence.

  “I’m thinking,” he says finally. As if that’s enough of an answer.

  Mark pushes his blond hair back and rolls his neck. He pops a green gummy bear in his mouth.

  “Can you think faster? I’m getting old over here.”

  We’re sitting on top of our favorite wooden picnic table in the Quad, which is an open space on campus nestled between a cluster of brick classroom buildings and the Student Union. In the early fall and spring, it’s packed with picnickers and students playing Frisbee, or studying under the shade of one the trees that border the south side.

  Today it’s fairly quiet. Only one other table is occupied. The tree limbs are barren and the grass is on the brink of brown and crunchy. I figure by Halloween next week I’ll be in a scarf and hat until March.

  But right now, with the sun glowing in the sky like a sunny-side up egg, our faces still get warmed if we position ourselves just right. That’s what Mark and I are doing after our last class of the day—sunning like a pair of seals on the beach and gossiping about boys. Our feet dangle over the edge of the tabletop. There’s a half-eaten box of gummy bears between us. Our bags and laptops are parked below on the bench seat.

  “It’s not like I’m surprised Ellie. I could see this one coming from a mile away. I did warn you if you remember correctly.” His voice drips with the implied I-told-you-so.

  God. He can be such a diva sometimes. I tell him this and he laughs.

  “Look, Mark, I understand that I’m an idiot, but as my bestest friend in the universe can you focus on how I should proceed from here? Do I just act like nothing happened with Ben?”

  He raises one eyebrow at me. “Is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know!” I let my head fall to his shoulder. “Tell me what to do, Oh Wise One.”