Left Drowning

by Jessica Park

  I lean over him, barely moving. It’s like the first time all over again: tight, and intense, and amazing. More than that, I am overwhelmed by how connected we are to each other, and how perfect this is. It’s almost totally dark in the room, but the light from the city is enough to cast a glow over us. Chris is still, letting me move tentatively as I get used to how this feels. His fingers run lightly over my back, down my ass, and across the back of my thighs. The way he caresses my breasts is tender and loving, and I’m pretty sure that I could stay like this forever. So I take my time.

  Because I can’t get enough of watching him, I try sitting straight up so that I can look into his eyes while I start to grind more confidently. Even though we’re moving slowly, he can hardly speak. “Blythe.” The way that he says my name this time is different, more loaded. He holds his hands up for me and I put my palms flat against his, our fingers pressed together. We cannot take our eyes off each other. I lean on him for support while I start to rock my hips back and forth, and the intensity grows fast. I just need a little more …

  “Come for me. I want to watch you come.” Chris doesn’t even sound like himself. He is practically begging me, his voice desperate and full of emotion. “Please. Oh God, Blythe … I need you, I need you.”

  He bends his arms so that I tilt forward just a hint. And that’s what does it. Chris intertwines our fingers and lets me brace my weight on him as he moves with me, both of us working to rub my clit against his body.

  I don’t want this moment or this night to end. What I’m feeling is more than just sexual arousal. I am shaking from the intensity we share, and I’m hyperaware of how bonded we are to each other. I don’t even know what to make of this experience except that I feel connected to Chris, to everything about him, through to my core. It is terrifying and wonderful.

  I can feel my orgasm start, and the sensation is so intense that it’s nearly enough to make me cry. I let it wash over me while I writhe against him like I’m never going to see him again. Then his hold on my hands tightens, and I force myself to keep my eyes open so that I look down and watch him come under me. He is breathtaking as he does so, staggeringly gorgeous.

  My entire body is trembling when I fall against him. I cannot kiss him soon enough, and his lips stay against mine for … I don’t know how long.

  We kiss forever.

  He runs his hands through my hair, and we stay like this, as one, for a long time. Too long.

  And then I realize what has happened between us tonight.

  We just fell in love.

  I am not confusing sex with love. Unfortunately.

  Because this is not what I want, and it’s not what he wants. Not yet. We’re not ready.

  This love will wait. It has to.

  There is something else that I know for sure, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. I have the thought calmly and sanely. It’s not a hysterical reaction to my first-ever sexual experience; it’s just my truth.

  I will never sleep with anyone besides Christopher Shepherd.

  We lie in bed, silent and wrapped up in each other for a long time. Then Chris gently lifts me from him. “Bathe with me?” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  He turns on the light over the vanity and leaves the overhead one off. I get to have my tub for two, just like I wanted. But I am melancholy now. Part of that may be because I am worn out both physically and emotionally, and part of it is something else. He runs the water and holds my hand, helping me in. His hand stays on mine as he sits and brings me in front of him. The only noise comes from the tap that cascades water down the side of the tub. I lie in his arms silently while the bath fills. His hands trickle over my arms and my breasts. This time, though, his touch isn’t just sexual. It’s more than that.

  I close my eyes and let myself be held and … and loved. Later, he sits me up and very, very slowly washes my body and my hair.

  This time there is no imaginary blood and no screaming.

  “Christopher,” I murmur.

  He moves a soapy hand over my shoulder and murmurs back, “You’re the only person who calls me that. I like it.”

  When he’s done, I pull the drain and watch the water empty. I turn around and kiss him softly before I slide behind him and refill the tub. I run my hands over the muscles in his arms and his back. His skin is slick with water and my hands glide easily over his body. And over his scars.

  While the tub refills, I kiss his back and massage his shoulders, savoring every moment that I have with him.

  I trace his broken scar with my fingertips over and over. And I think. And then I understand—I see—something. His skiing accident explanation? I’ve given the same lie when asked.

  Chris drops his head down. He can sense that I know.

  Finally, I say what I don’t want to, but what needs to be said.

  “This wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  He doesn’t answer me right away. I cup water in my hands and drop it over his skin. I watch the drops roll across his body, and I wait.

  “No, it wasn’t an accident,” he finally says. “Not really.”

  And with those words, my heart shatters.

  His father was a much meaner son of a bitch than anyone has told me.

  I keep dousing him with water, almost ritualistically, until he turns and pulls me firmly into his lap and takes me in his arms. I stroke the back of his neck with my hand, maybe to comfort him, maybe to comfort me. No matter what I may be screaming in my head, I will stay calm for him. I know all the things not to say, but I don’t know any of the things to say.

  “I’m okay, Blythe,” he whispers. “I’m okay. It’s over.”

  I nod.

  “Do you hear me? I’m safe.”

  I nod again.

  “Sabin, and Estelle, and Eric? They’re safe, too.”

  I don’t want to let go of him, but I want out of this tub and back in our bed, where we are protected and shielded from everything. He stands with me and steps out, supporting me around the waist with his hands as I step over the edge of the tub. I can’t stand to have him even a foot away from me, and I wrap my left arm under his and my right goes over his shoulder. I lock my hands together and set my cheek against his strong arm. I look in the mirror at the two of us. Our reflection in the mirror is poignant because I don’t know when I’ll see us like this again.

  And then I see something that I can’t make sense of. I study the reflection while I cling to Chris. What I am looking at is not possible.

  The scar on my forearm sits perfectly between the two that angle across his back. My scar fills in, it completes, his. As if we are an exact match … as if we are …

  This is crazy.

  I cannot show this to Chris. We don’t believe in fate, or destiny, or coincidences … or whatever the hell this is. We don’t believe in the unexplainable, and this is unexplainable.

  And yet, I believe.

  I start to shiver. Chris breaks our hold to get a towel, and he shrouds me in the thick white terry cloth. “You’re cold, baby. Here.” As he dries my shoulders, I move my hands to his face and hold him. His green eyes are dark tonight, more muted than usual. He is tired, I can see that. But effortlessly, with one arm behind my back and the other under my legs, he lifts me and carries me into the moonlit bedroom, and we make love over and over again for one last night.

  It is hours later that we fall asleep with me enclosed in his arms.

  When I wake in the morning, he is gone.

  In my hand is one of the silver skipping stones that I gave him. There is a folded note, too, that reads, So that you always have what you need.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Hard to Hold

  Late February brings brutally cold weather and even blizzards. It’s always like this, but I’m more aware of the bitter cold this year, not to mention the never-ending snow and ice. The indoor track is virtually empty on this Saturday afternoon, exactly how I prefer it. My guess is that almost nobody else wa
nted to brave the storm that hit today to walk across campus to the gym. It’s that bad out. But it’s half the reason that I’m here. The dorm feels claustrophobic to me today, so I had to get out. It probably took me as long to bundle up in protective clothing as it will to complete my run.

  There is one other girl on the track with me and a few guys lifting in the weight room. The glass wall to the room affords me an easy view when I run past, and I spot Chris when I run by. We don’t usually overlap because I often run in the early morning and he usually works out in the late afternoon, but today I spent most of the day finishing schoolwork.

  He waves as I near the weight room on this lap, and I wave back. He’s got on a tight blue nylon shirt and black shorts, and I can’t help slowing my pace a little as I take him in. Knowing what is under that shirt and shorts is distracting. I look away and turn up the volume on my music. The most recent playlist from Chris blasts loudly in my ears, and I refocus on my run. The timer that I’ve set reads sixty-three minutes. Another twelve and I’ll stop. I know that I’m still not very fast, so I push hard for the last few laps until my legs and my lungs are burning.

  After a cooldown walk and a shower, I stand in my bra and underwear in front of the locker room mirror and dry my hair. Usually I throw my curls in a ponytail, but today I’ll turn into a walking icicle if I go outside without drying it. As I run the brush through my hair and work the blow dryer on high heat, I am noticing the scar on my left forearm more than usual. It’s not that I’m self-conscious or embarrassed about it again, but I’m more … I don’t know what I am. Confused. Bewildered. I haven’t told Chris how our scars match up. I can’t begin to make sense of it.

  I halfway want to tell Chris about it, but I’m afraid he’ll be dismissive. For me, there is meaning in how we fit together, there has to be, but I know he won’t see it the same way. Estelle would make too much of it. Sabin would get it. But Chris? No. Besides, the reentry back to school after our days in the hotel was hard enough, and there is no reason to complicate what is over for now. It’s not the right time to talk about scars, mine or Chris’s. And I don’t need details to know the profound significance of Chris’s scars, physical and emotional. What may have happened to him, and to Estelle, Eric, and Sabin, is more than I can stand. But I don’t know the story yet, and imagining details is not smart. I need facts, but I have an unwavering respect for privacy, so I will not ask about this.

  It’s taken us a little time to find our footing again with each other, and some of that struggle is probably from the fact that Sabin, Eric, and Estelle make no secret of staring back and forth between us at every given opportunity, waiting to see what might happen. I don’t know about Chris, but I haven’t talked about our time together with any of them. Luckily, they asked me directly. What went on between me and Chris is ours and ours alone. I can’t even tell Sabin, and I tell him everything else. I’ve listened to his many one-night stand stories, but I will never talk to him about the hotel.

  But despite the curious stares from the Shepherd siblings, Chris and I are now finally back to normal. Well, whatever is “normal” is for us. We joke and hang out; we study together sometimes. It’s easier in a group because there’s less opportunity for any loaded eye contact. I try not to touch him much because the electricity that I still feel from any brush of his skin—or, hell, the fabric of his clothing—can make me catch my breath. I’ve accepted that the heat between us is just a part of who we are. But that doesn’t make it any easier when I’m trying to pay attention to Dostoyevsky, and I feel Chris put a hand on my shoulder to ask if I want a cup of coffee. Because then all I can think about is how that hand can move so skillfully over my breasts, between my legs … So that’s challenging. But we have not so much as kissed since that last night in the hotel. As much as I wouldn’t mind a repeat of a number of things, we are in a good place with each other. Being on hold is not an unhappy place to be.

  Just as I finish layering on my clothing, down parka, and hat, I get a text from Sabin saying that I should come meet them at the union. Of course I will, I text back. I’m relishing our time together, knowing that graduation is nearing every day. I’m getting closer to applying for the internship that my old friend Nichole Rains talked to me about back in Boston. The reality is that I need to make plans for after graduation, and those plans have to include going home: it’s what James wants, he’s told me, which means that I need to be there. I want to be there, I do, but I also am not ready to leave this group of friends. To leave Chris. He has no firm idea about what he’s going to do after graduation, either, but I suspect that he’ll stay in the Madison area and get a job of some kind. After the summer, though, both of us could theoretically be free to go anywhere.

  As I swing open the door from the gymnasium, I am hit with blizzardy snow. Just before the door blows back into me, Chris puts his hand out and stops it from smacking me in the face.

  “My hero!” I clasp my hands together and bat my eyes.

  “Damn straight.” Chris grins. “You going back to the dorm?”

  “Student union. Sabin said they’re all there. Want to come?” I have to yell through the wind to be heard. It’s dark and I’m already fantasizing about having a giant cup of cocoa with whipped cream.

  “Definitely.”

  I groan and lean forward, covering my face with my hands, as a howling wind whips over us. “Motherfuck!”

  Chris laughs and throws his arm over my shoulders. “Suck it up. Only another month or so of this.”

  It feels good to have this happen, because while I don’t necessarily want to toss him down in the snow and screw him, I do like the closeness between us, so I lean into him while we walk. We make our way through the stormy weather, each of us nearly taking a spill on different ice patches, and I cheer when we tumble into the overheated student union relatively unscathed. “Heat! Thank God!” I sigh happily.

  I scan the room, excited to see all the Shepherds, and Zach, too, whose company I’ve really been enjoying lately. He’s genuine, and fun, and passionate, especially about Eric. He’s also …well, Zach is normal. He’s got nice parents who live in the suburbs of Minnesota, and the fact that he’s gay has never caused the slightest issue for them. Zach is so devoid of emotional baggage that it’s a joy to hang out with him. He’s also a great companion because he gets statistics—and we’re in the same class this semester. Having him hold my hand through it is amazing since I seem to have zero grasp on anything mathematical. Mostly, though, my academic performance is soaring. My adviser, Tracey, actually dropped me an e-mail to say that she’s been watching my grades since our meeting last fall, and she’s impressed, which makes me happy.

  Chris yanks off my hat and shakes it at me, throwing snow in my face. I laugh and chase him over to the table where Eric, Zach, Estelle, and Sabin are sitting. Chris flops into a chair, and I clap my snowy mittens over him to repay the favor, but I jump into Sabin’s lap before he can retaliate again.

  “Sabin! Help!” I squeal.

  “You’re freezing and wet!” Sabin complains, but he lets me stay where I am anyway, even helping me take off my coat. I love the lap spot that he always provides. Sabe is like an inappropriate Santa Claus. “Look at your cheeks! You’ve probably got frostbite.” He puts his warm hands on my face and tries to warm me up. But then he’s rubbing crazily and smooshing my face while I try to get away.

  “Boys are impossible.” Estelle stares into a compact as she reapplies lipstick. “Leave her alone, you two, because payback is a bitch. Blythe and I will get you when you least expect it.”

  Sabin takes his hands from my face. “Okay, okay, I know better than to mess with that tag team.”

  He is super scruffy today, even for Sabin, and while I am finding his squishy lap very comfortable to sit on, he has definitely been gaining weight. I can’t resist, so I poke him in the belly. “Might want to come to the gym with me or your brother once in a while.”

  The table lets out a collective, “Ohhhh
hh!” and I get another face squish.

  “Sabe, seriously,” Eric says. “The belly is really getting out of hand.”

  “Yeah, come lift with me at least,” Chris offers. “Or go run around the track a few times.”

  Sabin rolls me into him, stands with me holding him like a koala baby, and shakes my backside to the table, making me laugh again. “Why? So I can have an ass like Blythe’s?”

  “In your dreams you’d have an ass like Blythe’s.” Chris winks at me.

  Another group “Ohhhhhh!”

  Sabin sets me down on the ground. “Okay, okay. I hear you. You think I’m fat and disgusting.” He fakes a sob. “That calls for hot chocolate. Blythe, come with me. I’m so out of shape that I may need assistance walking the distance from here to the counter.”

  “Consider me a human cane,” I say.

  As I walk by Chris, I mess up his hair, and he smacks me on the ass.

  “See, Sabe? HARD AS A ROCK!” he yells as we walk away.

  I just shake my head and keep walking.

  “You two aren’t … you know … again, are you?” Sabe nudges me with his elbow. “I kinda thought that Chris …”

  “What?”

  “Nothin’,” he says and looks ahead.

  “No, we’re just friends. It’s good, really,” I promise him.

  The line at the café takes forever. It seems half the campus is holed up here during the storm. We’re just collecting the drinks we’ve ordered for the table when Zach catches up with us at the counter.

  “Hey!” Zach leans a hand against the wall. “I’m really hungry. Do you guys want something? I was thinking we could take a couple pizzas back to my room?”

  “My fat belly and I always want pizza. Totally good idea,” Sabin says.

  “Sure, let me just warm up before I go out again.” I am still shivering when I take two steaming cups from the counter.

  “Aw, let’s just get them now and head over. I’m, like, really, really hungry.” Zach bounces in front of us while we start back to the tables.