Calm Like Home

by Clark, Kaisa

  I take his outstretched hand and follow him back into the room, trying desperately to push my lingering worries away.

  That night we lay in his bed, completely tangled up in one another. He draws his fingertips along my face and into my hair, his touch dancing over my skin. He pulls me closer, kissing the top of my head, every bit my Adam. He’s tucked it all away, all evidence of the fight. I know I should too, but Damien’s words echo in my mind. He’s dealt with some shit. You don’t know everything. I want to know. I want to take it all away.

  “Hey, Adam?”

  “Yeah, angel bear?”

  I push on tentatively, gently, wanting him to know he can trust me. “When I got back to the house tonight, Damien told me I don't know the whole story.”

  Adam’s fingers freeze and he lays perfectly still. With my head on his chest I can hear the deep thud of his heart beneath his rib cage. It’s the only sound in the room. His silence stretches on and I want to back-pedal, to cover it up with some lighthearted comment, but I don’t. I can’t. I need to know.

  He exhales, thick, weary, and when he finds his voice it sounds so hollow spreading through the black of his room.

  “You are the exception, Lex. This is the norm.” He pauses letting his words sink in. “But I promise you this is the last time you see me like that.”

  I shift my face toward his on the pillow, forcing him to look at me. Even in the darkness, his eyes are piercing, deep reservoirs holding back his truth. I touch his face, cup his jaw, kiss him through the shadows. I kiss him slow and sweet and long, my body saying everything I can’t.

  I love you.

  I will never judge you.

  There’s nothing you can do that will change the way I feel.

  The next day is the homecoming football game, a highly anticipated match up between in-state rivals. The energy in the house is palpable the instant my eyes flick open. Guys are yelling down the hallways, music is blaring upstairs, and I can already hear the clink of a game of washers outside. I can’t imagine living in this amount of commotion every day but Adam seems to thrive on the company, seems to enjoy having so many brothers in close proximity.

  Adam walks me up to the fourth floor so I can shower in relative peace. It’s the freshman floor and he’s fairly confident no one will be here because the freshman are all cleaning up the remnants of last night’s partying. Besides it’s the only bathroom in the house that has an actual door.

  Adam hands me a pair of his flip-flops to wear so I don’t have to touch the shower floor and I feel a bit like a duck waddling to water with how massive they are on my feet. He assures me he won’t let anyone in while I’m showering then stands guard at the door. I undress slowly in front of him and his eyes become hooded and intense. As I climb into the shower stall he peeks around to get a glimpse of me. I let the water cascade over my body, leaning back suggestively and giving him the sultriest look I can manage.

  “You’re making it incredibly hard for me to not get in there with you, in more ways than one.” He grins naughtily as he says the words.

  My eyes flick over his body, lingering at his hips. I’d love nothing more than to share this shower with him, but not at the expense of leaving the door unguarded in a house full of horny frat boys.

  “Don’t you dare, Westbrook. I need you guarding that door. I’d die if one of your brothers caught us.”

  He laughs and says, “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” but stays where he is, eyes trained on me.

  Not long after, the door flies open. Adam quickly intervenes, catching the door midway and holding it firmly to prevent the guy from entering. The muscles in his arm are taut as he keeps the door in place.

  “Sorry, man. This one’s closed.”

  “What the fuck, Westbrook? I have to piss.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  The guy groans, but retreats back into the hall.

  I peak out at Adam.

  “You didn’t want to tell him why he couldn’t come in?” I ask sweetly.

  He chuckles. “There’s not a chance in hell I’m sharing this view with anyone else.” His eyes are bright yet protective and I feel so cherished and sexy and cared for as he takes me in from the doorway. My heart is soaring in my chest and I can’t wait to get out just so I can wrap my arms around him again.

  After my shower we make our way downstairs. The house is brimming with people pre-gaming. Some of the recent graduates have even come back to catch the game and have “splurged” on case after case of Bud Light for the day. Walking through the house with Adam feels like I’m walking with a celebrity. Everywhere we go guys are calling out his name.

  “Westbrook!”

  “A-Dub! What up, man?”

  Adam nods hello and pounds fists with each guy he passes.

  One of the freshmen tosses him a beer. He cracks it open and hands it to me. “Looks like this is it for now. Can you make due?”

  I smile and take the beer, feeling like one of the guys. “At least they sprang for Bud Light. Thank goodness for graduates!”

  Adam pulls me into his side and kisses my cheek as I take a sip. We make our way out back and Adam calls dibs on the next game of washers.

  “You and me, Clausen. Get ready.”

  My mouth drops in alarm. “You’re going to be regretting this in a few short minutes. I guarantee.”

  “Never.” He beams and pulls me tight into both arms. He takes the beer from my hand and takes a long swig, then tosses the empty can into a nearby trashcan. There’s a giant cooler out on the patio, so he grabs another and hands it to me.

  The game of washers comes to an end and Adam and I take our places to play the winners. I’m standing beside one of his massive brothers, while Adam is standing opposite me with a gorgeous blonde sorority girl he must know, because they fall into easy conversation.

  “What do I do?” I ask the guy next to me.

  “Just aim for the hole.”

  “That’s what she said!” Damien shouts tersely from his spot on the patio. I have to admire his dedication. It really is impressive.

  Grasping the washer in my right hand, I give it a toss. It clangs off the wooden plank and skitters sideways along the pavement. The guy beside me takes his turn, then I give my next toss. This time the washer bounces once near the front of the board and slides into the hole near the back. I squeal and jump in the air. Adam strides over, grinning, and plants a firm kiss on my lips in celebration.

  “Hey now!” the guy next to us chuckles.

  We take turns, tossing the washers back and forth, until a brunette in a miniskirt interrupts our game, calling everyone over to the patio over for shots. Adam and I throw back the pink liquid and he gives me a long, slow kiss. I taste the sweetness of the shot on his lips, savor the pull of his tongue along mine. He presses me into his chest and tucks each hand into a back pocket of my jeans.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Lex. I’ve thought about nothing else since I’ve been back.”

  I clasp both hands behind his neck and give him a sassy look. “That must get very distracting, thinking about me all the time.”

  “You have no idea. My right arm is getting pretty tired.”

  I swat his chest and feign indignation, but I could never be offended when he’s giving me that ornery smile.

  “From writing you love letters. What’d you think I meant?”

  “Yeah right. I only got one.”

  He laughs and tugs me after Damien and a group of others who are headed to The Landing for drinks.

  When we get to the bar, Adam leads me to a corner booth and we sit up on the back with our feet on the seat. The place is crammed full of people, most of whom Adam seems to know. Guys come over to high five him, bringing him beers and rounds of shots. Beautiful sorority girls wave hello and call out his name. They ooze class and money and sexuality. They sidle up to Adam and bat their eyes and I know he could
have any one he chose, but he seems completely unfazed by their attention. He never lets go of my hand and nearly every time I look up, his eyes are trained on me, a huge smile plastered on his face.

  When it’s game time, we fall in with a mass of people headed towards the football stadium. We whoop and holler and cheer. By the time we reach the venue, everyone is amped up and hoarse. Adam makes his way toward the student section where his brothers have saved seats, his hand gripping mine as he navigates the crowd. He picks his way through the rows until he spots the group of freshmen. There’s more high-fiving, more backslapping, more booming calls of “West-brook!”

  Adam pulls me in front of him so my back is pressed to his chest and he wraps his arms around my shoulders, encasing me.

  “My bear.”

  His voice is pure contentment. He kisses my cheek and rests his face up against mine. I can’t help beaming at his proximity. Being with Adam wakes me up. I feel like before him I’d been sleeping my whole life.

  “I can feel your smile,” he says, laughing, the side of his face still pressed to my own.

  “I’m not smiling,” I giggle back.

  He chuckles and pulls me tighter, kissing my cheeks, my temple, my hair.

  “I’m so fucking happy you came.”

  After the game, we traipse back to the house, hand in hand. When we near the door, Adam turns to me. “I’ve got this really cool poster in my room. Want to come see it?”

  I gaze at him quizzically. “I’ve seen all your posters, Adam.”

  He leans closer and says in a low voice, “Not this one.”

  I swat his arm. “Did you just use a line on me?”

  He grins broadly and shrugs. “I heard a guy use it once and always wanted to try it out.”

  I follow him up the steps as the rest of the group fans out through the house, loud and obnoxious and drunk. When we reach his bedroom he kicks the door shut behind him.

  “Yeah, there’s something I really wanted to show you.” His mouth is moving over mine and he presses my back against the door. I weave my hands into his hair and he pulls my legs around his waist. His weight is enough to pin me against the wood and I kiss him harder. His tongue moves over mine, smooth and languid, his hands snaking over my body. He lets out a low grunt then moves backwards so he’s sitting on the bed, me on top of him. I pull my t-shirt off and toss it over my back. His eyes are sultry as they sweep over me, taking me in. I feel his gaze, feel it ignite my skin. I reach for his hands and place them on me. I want to feel him. I don’t ever want him to let me go.

  I kiss him long and hard then plant kisses along his neckline, moving my hips over him. He knots his fingers into my hair and flips me back on the bed, then slowly, meticulously, peels my jeans off. I saved my sexiest panties for today. They’re all lace and bows and ribbons. He stares at them for the longest time, his lips parted and wet.

  “You like?” I look up at him innocently. “I picked them out just for you.”

  “Fucking shit, Alexa. You are so hot,” he breathes. He creeps over my body, until his forearms are resting on either side of my face. He pauses over me, a glint in his eyes. “I like very much.”

  We spend Sunday in his bed, my body encased in his. Not wanting to waste a single minute of my time with him, I didn’t bother with the blow dryer after my shower. My hair cascades around my shoulders in loose, messy curls. Adam catches my eye and gives me a big grin as he fingers the ringlets between his thumb and forefinger.

  “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

  His comment takes me by surprise and I give him a hesitant smile.

  “I mean it. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding your curls this whole time. They’re amazing. You’re amazing.”

  I stare up at him, feeling such incredible warmth and exuberance in my chest I think I could burst. And he stares right back, that sexy glint in his eye, seemingly peering deep inside me. He has this way of looking at me, really looking at me, like he sees all of me, every last detail. And I let him. I want him to.

  I feel so safe, so relaxed in his presence. I know I’ve completely fallen, can feel it every time he touches me, every time he looks my way. I need to know he feels the same. I don’t know why, but I need to hear him say it. The girl who can barely form words needs to hear him say it. I realize how unfair that is, me asking him to give away more than I’ve been willing. But a part of me has to know what this is to him before we say goodbye again.

  I channel my inner-Annabelle and take a deep breath. When the words finally come tumbling out, I make sure my voice is light, non-committal.

  “What are we doing here, Westbrook?”

  “Well I’m trying to impress you with my winning personality,” he grins innocently. “And I think you might be resisting.” I can tell he’s dodging. He doesn’t like talking about this any more than I do.

  I avert my eyes, distractedly fingering the sheet we’re wrapped in. “I mean really.” My voice is a pathetic whisper, but I’m asking. It’s a start. “You invite me here and tell me I’m amazing and it makes me think things are one way. Then we’re apart and I don’t hear from you for weeks and it makes me think maybe things are another way.”

  I keep my cheek pressed to his chest, refusing to look at him when I’m saying the words, but I can feel his gaze burning into me. I hear him whisper, “Hey.”

  When I don’t look up he hooks his index finger under my chin and tips my head up so my eyes meet his.

  “I don’t mean to send mixed signals, Lex.” His voice is weighted and when he stops to take a breath I’m worried that’s all he’s going to say, but he finally goes on. “I just don’t really know what I’m doing.”

  My eyebrows furrow in confusion, so he adds, “I’ve never done this,” gesturing down the length of our bodies still entwined amongst the sheets of his bed.

  “What do you mean, this?”

  “Caring about someone, actually being with someone, letting someone in.” The last part is barely audible.

  I’m back to averting my eyes, feeling like I’m treading on a thin line, pushing him too far, but to my surprise he goes on and I meet his eye.

  “With you it’s different. Everything about you is different.” He pauses and the look on his face is so solemn and open and honest I know it’s the truth. “It’s just so much harder for me when I talk to you. It’s harder to hear your voice and know you’re there living your life and I’m not in it. So I go until I can’t stand it anymore and then I call you.”

  “I guess those long stretches make me wonder what this is to you. If it’s even anything.”

  His eyes widen and he gives me a look that’s crushing and sad and breaks me a little.

  “I don’t know how you can ever think that. You are everything.”

  Then he’s kissing me and I believe him. He is reaching inside and pulling down every remaining wall of hesitation and doubt, dismantling them piece-by-piece. I know I’ve been foolish for questioning why he doesn’t call, for needing to hear him say the words, when in all actuality, he’s just like me.

  He finally walks me down to my car well after dark and envelops me in his arms. I take one last deep breath, soaking in the way he smells, the glint in his eyes, the way his chest lightly rises and falls as he breathes. I’ll want to be able to conjure this exact moment during lonely nights in my bed, on boring walks to class, when I’m missing him terribly at Milano’s. He presses his lips to mine, lingering, then steps back so I can climb into my car. As I’m about to pull the door shut he murmurs, “Thank you for coming, Alexa. I already miss you.”

  My eyes flick back to his and I try to fake a smile. He seems to see right through it because he leans down to kiss me again, hesitating before finally pulling away. His eyes are dull when they meet mine. The sparkle is gone.

  “Please drive carefully. I should’ve made you leave when it was still light out. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  This time I smile for real. “Worth it!”

&
nbsp; I give him one last look then tug the door shut and force myself to back out of the stall. He stands in the parking lot with his hands shoved in his pockets watching me go. I recognize the look on his face; it perfectly reflects the gloom I feel engulfing my heart. It feels like we turned a page this visit. The last thing I want is to watch him fade away.

  The drive back is slow and monotonous. It is nothing like the drive up. I feel every mile that stretches between us, every inch of highway that is keeping me from him. It weighs heavy and oppressive. It brings me down. All I want to do is turn the car around, to see his ornery smile, and feel complete for one more day.

  Chapter 20

  Apart, the hours seem to tick by so incredibly slowly. Nothing’s quite the same without him by my side. Every inch of me longs for him, aches with his absence, yearns for his touch. I feel unsettled, antsy, aloof, plagued by an impeccable slideshow of memories and fantasies intertwined. All I want is to wrap my body around his, to feel his touch and his kiss and his eyes lighting me up. I want his head on my chest listening to my heartbeat and reassuring me I’m more alive than ever. Instead I have work and school to occupy my time and three hundred miles separating me from him.

  My first day back I take the long way to class, snaking around the Union, weaving between withering flowerbeds and trees changing from green to brown. The rhythmic slap of my feet against the sidewalk does little to soothe me. I see Adam everywhere: in the dark-haired guy across the quad, in the couple holding hands in front of me, in the crowd of freshman frat boys wearing their khaki pants and navy sport coats. I arrive to class slightly sweaty from the long walk and try to get swept up in the lecture, try to let the professor's delivery carry my thoughts from that perfect smile, those vivacious eyes, but I find myself doodling distractedly in the margins of my notebook. Long looping As. Boxy As. Two As side-by-side, entwined.

  Now that it’s mid-October the halfway point of the semester is here, which means a midterm speech in public speaking. For this speech we have to take a stance on a hot-button issue related to our company and present our viewpoint. I throw myself into the research, letting hours slip by in front of the computer screen so I don’t have to face my lonely reality, my silent phone, the gripping uncertainty surrounding the only thing that truly matters: when is next time? How long will I have to go without?