Tell Me When

by Stina Lindenblatt

  I want our first time together to be special for both of us. For it to mean something more than a drunken roll between the covers.

  At least that was my plan until Amber placed her hands on my stomach. My head says go slow. My junk says to hell with that.

  I sit up, yank off my T-shirt, and toss it on the floor. I glance down at Kitten and my breath steals away. She looks goddamn irresistible. Too irresistible.

  She bites her lip in that adorable way of hers, which she does whenever she’s unsure, oblivious to the effect it has on me. It leaves me craving her soft, passion-filled lips against mine.

  I position my hands on either side of her and slowly lower myself. Her hands move to my chest and she pushes me back up, before shifting her body so that she’s sitting. Her gaze remains locked on mine.

  For several rapid heartbeats, we stay frozen this way. Then she hooks her hands under the hem of her top and inches the fabric up, revealing her firm stomach and a pink bra that looks as innocent as she does.

  I run the tip of my tongue along my lip in nervous anticipation. In the moonlight shining through my window, she’s perfect. She’s more than I ever deserved.

  And still don’t deserve.

  “You’re beautiful,” I breathe. Everything about her is beautiful. Her face. Her passion. Her inner strength. I tremble at the thought of how I could lose all of this, once she learns my secrets.

  Her gaze averted, Amber chews her lip again. This time I get the feeling she’s not just uncertain about us and about what we’re on the verge of doing. Before she looked away, there was no missing the pain in her eyes.

  I touch her cheek, wanting to destroy whatever’s hurting her, hoping it has nothing to do with me.

  I run my thumb against her lip, releasing her teeth’s hold on it, and kiss her mouth. I linger there for a moment, enjoying her sweet taste, enjoying the sweet smell of strawberries. Her lips part and I hungrily plunge my tongue in her mouth.

  My hand tangles in her hair then slides down her back and skims over a thick raised scar. And then a second one and a third. My hand freezes; my heart careens into my stomach. I jerk away from her lips. “What the hell?”

  Amber’s pained expression is back. Tears leak from her eyes. She pushes herself off the bed and moves away. Before she can get too far, I grab her arm.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing more than anything I could go back in time and react differently. “I didn’t mean to be an ass. I-I wasn’t expecting it.” I swallow. “Show me.”

  She doesn’t and I silently curse my stupidity.

  “Please, Kitten.”

  She stares at her jeans for what feels like several minutes. Eventually she nods and turns her back to me. Large thick scars crisscross over her skin. It looks like the sick fuck whipped her several dozen times. God, how is she even alive?

  Tears prick my eyes. It takes every ounce of will not to snatch up my textbooks and hurl them against the wall, one by one. I blink away the tears and tenderly kiss her back, my lips brushing against a scar that will always be part of her. Like my scars will always be part of me.

  I wrap my arms around her, the drunk feeling suddenly washed away. I’ve never felt so sober until this moment.

  Amber leans back against me and I lower us onto the bed. Not wanting her to get cold, and wanting to form a protective cocoon around us, I pull the bedding over us and snuggle her closer. She shivers in my arms, and I know without a doubt she’ll have nightmares tonight. I’m just glad she won’t have to deal with them alone.

  “I have no idea how you survived that,” I say. “I’m not even sure I could have survived it.” And it’s true.

  She’s silent for a moment but I can tell she’s not asleep. Her breathing’s uneven and slightly fast. “I almost didn’t. He started whipping me because I refused to eat or talk to him. Then he wouldn’t stop because I kept crying out in pain. Eventually I stopped screaming ’cause there was nothing left in me. Even when he left me bleeding on the bed, I couldn’t cry. Not out loud. I could only curl up with Smoky and focus on him, and not let myself completely die, even though a large part of me already had. Smoky helped me through the toughest pain by giving me someone to love and hold on to.”

  I owe that damn cat a... Well, I owe Smoky whatever makes cats happy.

  Something inside me stirs. Hope, maybe. Amber loves her cat, who is no less broken than she and I are. Would it be possible for her to love me, too, as broken as I am?

  I kiss her shoulder. A few minutes later her breathing has evened out, the effects of the tequila having lulled her to sleep.

  I close my eyes and let the world fade away.

  * * *

  I hear Kitten calling me but I can’t see her. I’m in the living room of a house I’ve never been to before, with oversized pictures on the wall. Each one is of Amber. It’s obvious the owner of the photos has been stalking her. None of the pictures are of her posing for the camera. They all show her frozen in action. There’s even one of a guy with short, spiky blond hair and a navy varsity jacket. I can’t see his face because they’re making out, but I recognize the hair and jacket from the picture Emma has in her room. It’s Trent. Jealousy knots inside my stomach even though it shouldn’t. He’s dead.

  I’m not the only one who’s jealous. A red cross has been painted over Trent’s face, and he has splashes of paint on his varsity jacket. A few drops are on Amber, too. By accident or by design, I don’t know.

  “Marcus. Help me!” Amber screams.

  It feels like someone has injected ice water in my veins. I struggle to catch my breath. When I finally do, the acrid taste of smoke fills me with dread.

  Amber screams again, but I can’t tell where the sound came from. I turn around, hunting for any indication of which way to go. But it’s useless. Five hallways lead away from the room, all identical. What kind of crazy place is this?

  “Marcus. Help me!”

  This time I know where to go. I sprint down a hallway. The sound of her voice grows louder, the smell of smoke stronger. Where the hell’s it coming from?

  The hallway is long and never ending. I keep running, ignoring the burning pain in my legs from pushing myself hard.

  Then I see it. A door at the end of the tunnel with smoke curling from under it.

  “Marcus. Help me!”

  “Marcus, you’ve gotta get us the fuck out of here,” Ryan says from the other side of the door. “We don’t have much time.”

  Ignoring everything they taught us in school about fire safety, I grab the door handle and turn it. It doesn’t budge. What the hell was I thinking? If it was that easy for them to get out, wouldn’t Amber and Ryan have already tried?

  I scan the area for a key or a heavy object so I can break down the door, but come up empty. Smoke continues pouring from under the door. Uncontrollable coughing from the other side tears at me, and I run my fingers around the door frame. Fuck, where’s the goddamn key?

  All I feel is the cold empty wall.

  Someone hammers their fist on the door. “Please help us!” Amber barely gets the words out. She’s coughing hard.

  “Fuck.” Ryan.

  Amber screams. A loud crash from their side of the door drowns out her voice.

  * * *

  I jerk awake. My body’s covered in sweat and my heart slams against my ribs, again and again and again. It takes me a minute to reorient myself. I’m in my bed and Amber’s asleep, snuggled against me. That’s all I need to know.

  I cuddle her closer, trying to push away the gnawing fear but I can’t. In the end I’m going to fail her like I failed Ryan.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Amber

  Over the next couple of days, Marcus and I quickly fall into a routine of boyfriend and girlfriend. We don’t see each other much at school, ot
her than when we get together in the mornings to work out. I usually go over to his apartment after dinner, when he’s not working or coaching, and snuggle up with him while he helps me with my math. I might have gotten an A on the last test, but I’m not fooling myself into believing it was all me. Marcus had everything to do with it.

  Marcus leans in as I work on my math question, his minty breath brushing my ear. “How many mathematical logicians does it take to replace a lightbulb?” His voice is low and husky and sends all kinds of chills over me.

  I laugh and turn to him. “How is it only you can make lame math jokes sound sexy?” Not giving him a chance to reply, I press my lips against his for a soft, lingering kiss. I pull away slightly, my mouth a hair width from his. “So, how many mathematical logicians does it take?”

  “None,” he murmurs. “They can’t do it, but they can prove that it can be done.”

  I laugh, again, like I always do with his math jokes. I can’t help it. The reaction on his face makes it worth it, even if the jokes are pretty bad. He enjoys telling them as much as I love hearing them.

  I turn back to my assignment and push the page across the small space between us at the kitchen table. “Is this right?”

  He takes it from me and mentally works through the equation. “Almost. You need to add these values first then square them.”

  I slump back in the chair. Its green color doesn’t match the others at the table. None of them match but the guys don’t seem to care.

  “I’m never gonna get this,” I groan.

  He kisses my temple. “Yes you will. You’re just tired. You had another nightmare last night, didn’t you?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. I don’t even have to sleep here for him to know I’m still struggling. I must really look bad. “Am I that predictable?”

  The only night this week I haven’t had a nightmare was when I slept over on Friday. Maybe that had to do with the tequila shots. But I’m not my mom. Alcohol won’t solve my sleep issues, and I’ve seen how dangerous it is when you constantly use it to numb the pain. When Dad left us, Mom turned to the heavy stuff. She was brilliant at hiding what she was doing. For a few months. Until it started affecting her work, and her partners told her she needed to get straightened out or she’d lose her job. She did, and has been sober for the past twelve years.

  Until now.

  “Kitten?”

  I peer up at Marcus. He’s watching me, a frown on his face. “Yes?” I say, hoping he didn’t notice I zoned out while he was explaining the equation.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m just worried about my mom. I still haven’t gotten hold of her.” I’ve been phoning her and leaving messages since Friday. So far, she hasn’t returned my calls.

  “I wish I knew how to help. Your mom’s at least made an attempt in the past to stay sober. My stepdad never has.” He shrugs but it’s hard to miss what he doesn’t say out loud. That I’m lucky. The worst I have is a mother who’s off the wagon and who’s dealing with depression. She didn’t abuse me the last time she turned to alcohol.

  I push myself off my seat and sit on Marcus’s lap, my legs straddling his hips. Marcus doesn’t like talking about his parents, but I can see how much his situation kills him even if he won’t admit it. It’s responsible for the slight wall still between us. The wall I haven’t tried to bring down, because I need it as much as he does. I can’t risk what we have, our feelings for each other, becoming more serious.

  Marcus watches me, amusement, lust, curiosity burning in his eyes. I run my fingers through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of it against my skin. He turns his face up to look at me, and my lips plummet to his, our math homework momentarily forgotten.

  Part of me wants to take his hand and lead him into his bedroom. The throbbing ache between my legs, which seems to come to life whenever I’m near him, is pressed against his hardness and it’s driving me wild. But the part of me that doesn’t reside in the throbbing area warns me I’m not ready to go that far, as much as I want to believe I am, and Marcus isn’t pushing for it, either. Ever since he found out how badly I was tortured, he’s given me a little extra space.

  I just worry how much space he’d give me if he knew the truth.

  Marcus grins against my lips. “We’re never going to get any homework done at this rate.”

  Grinning back, I pull away. “Sorry, I needed the distraction.” I start to climb off his lap but his hands on my hips keep me in place.

  “Tell you what. How ’bout we finish our math assignments, then we’ll go to the youth center and play ball. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I give him a quick peck on the lips and crawl off his lap. The promise of playing is all the incentive I need.

  Once we finish our homework, Marcus drives me back to my dorm so I can pick up my gym clothes. I gather my mail from the mailroom. With the exception of one envelope, which is addressed to my dorm room, the rest was forwarded from home. Mom didn’t even put it all in one envelope and send it. She had her assistant cross out the old address and write in my current one.

  On our way to my room, we pass two giggling freshmen girls who stop to ogle Marcus. He pays no attention, which warms me on the inside. Not that I wasn’t already warm after our hot make-out session at his apartment, before we did some serious math homework.

  We duck into my room and I toss the unopened mail on my desk. Brittany’s not here, much to my delight. I’m not sure how she’ll react to Marcus, and I don’t need the usual glare she reserves for me to accidentally turn him into an ice sculpture.

  I remove my track pants and T-shirt from my drawers, as well as my sweatshirt. “Wait here,” I tell him.

  He hooks his fingers in the belt loops of my jeans. “Where you going?”

  “To get changed.”

  “You can get changed here.” A devilish grin creeps onto his face. “I promise I won’t look.”

  Before, I would have said no because of my scars, but since he’s already seen them, that doesn’t matter anymore. Now it has to do with modesty. I’m not used to guys seeing me half-naked. Guys who aren’t Paul. Or Trent.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I lamely explain.

  I’m washing my hands when the two freshmen girls enter the bathroom.

  “That guy you’re with. Isn’t that Emma Kincaid’s boyfriend?” one of them asks, as if everyone should know who Emma is.

  I shake my head. “No, he’s my boyfriend.” Except instead of saying it like it’s the truth, it comes out more like a question.

  The other girl giggles. “I could have sworn they’re together. I saw him leave her dorm room a few weeks ago. It was late at night so she would have had to sneak him in. She couldn’t stop talking about him the next day.”

  Emma and Marcus? She never said anything about that to me, but it would explain how he knew about Trent. He must have seen a picture of Trent and me while he was in Emma’s room.

  My stomach twists.

  Emma. Marcus. Together.

  Having sex.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Marcus

  Amber returns a few minutes later, but she’s changed. And I don’t mean her clothes.

  She’s quiet and I have a feeling she’s withdrawn to a place that has nothing to do with me. Or everything to do with me. I can’t tell which.

  “You okay?” I ask, wanting back what we had before she left for the bathroom.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.” She doesn’t wait for me to respond. I’m not sure what I’d say even if she did give me a chance.

  I walk with her down the stairs. We’re side by side, but it feels like the distance between us is stretching. Unsure what to do, I let my mind drift to the conversation with Dave this afternoon. I’d taken the call in my room, while Amber was working on her math, so as not to disturb he
r.

  “Have you talked to Alejandro lately?” he asked.

  “No. He’s skipped on the last practice, but Juan said he was sick.”

  Dave let out a heavy breath. “I talked to his mother this morning. She’s worried about him, but he won’t talk to her about what’s goin’ on.”

  “You want me to talk to him?”

  “Would you? He trusts you, Marcus.”

  That’s the real reason I want to go to the youth center. I need to talk to Alejandro and see what’s up. I have a feeling there’s something more going on than his poor math mark. And if he’s not there, I’m prepared to scour the neighborhood until I find him. Starting with where Carlos and his dickheads hang out.

  I hadn’t planned to bring Amber, not when it could be dangerous. But she seemed so distracted while doing her homework, what with everything going on with her mom. Before I could dwell on the risks involved, the words slipped from my mouth and I asked her if she wanted to join me.

  So now I have to worry about what’s going on with Alejandro and Amber, and both situations leave me feeling like I’m walking across a wire suspended over a crevasse.

  “Did something happen in the bathroom?” I press.

  She swallows hard but keeps looking at the steps. I reach out and squeeze her hand. She doesn’t pull away, which is good, but she doesn’t squeeze back, either. “You can tell me. No matter what it is.”

  She worries her lip. “How do you know Emma?”

  I startle at the name. I’ve mentioned Emma before, but never explained how I know her. I was focused on Trent at the time, and Amber never questioned me about her ex—best friend. And let’s face it, the reason I know Emma isn’t a conversation I want to have with Amber, especially now.

  But I have a bad feeling she already knows. Or at least knows some twisted version of the truth. Fuck.

  “It’s not what you think,” I grumble even though I’ve already been tried and found guilty.

  “And what’s that?”