by E. S. Maria
All I need is for him to come back. He doesn’t have to be with me because I can never trust him again. How can I, when everything that happened between us was probably a lie.
But I need him to come back because for once in the whole time that I’ve known him, I want him to answer one question honestly: “What the hell did I do wrong, Atticus?”
My friends manage to do the unimaginable.
They trick me into going to a party. And now they’re off dancing, leaving me alone to fester.
I can fester just fine at home. I don’t need to be here to do that.
As soon as we turn the corner, and I hear the music, it becomes clear who’s hosting the party.
Paul Simpson.
The only heir to arguably the largest house in all of Avoca Beach and inevitably, the heir to Simpson and Simpson, a law firm owned by his parents.
I see him around at school all the time. He’s the type of guy that stands out. We do have mutual friends, and my girlfriends find him super cute. But I’m never really interested. And the only guy who manages to get me more than interested left for fuck knows where.
Maybe I should leave. I’m not ready for this shit.
I’m not ready to have fun yet. I’ll just bring everybody down.
“So, does it kick ass?”
A voice right next to me takes me back to the present.
“Excuse me?” I ask, trying to push back my irritation as I turn to the culprit who interrupts my thoughts. But whatever it is I want to say is stuck in my throat when I realise who he is.
“That place you went to just now. I just noticed you seem to prefer to be wherever you were instead of here,” he’s smiling at me, but with no hint of malice. His smile is sincere with a tiny hint of cheekiness.
He’s cute. His bright eyes are practically twinkling.
Damn it, I really don’t want him to be cute right now.
But this is his party. I can’t be rude to the host.
“Sorry, I didn’t even realise I was that obvious,” I smile back, though I think I look more like I’m wincing in pain.
He sits next to me on the couch. “Is there anything I can do to make this party more fun for you?”
“Oh God, don’t worry about me,” I shake my head, laughing with embarrassment. “You should have fun in your own party and not worry about a gate crasher like me.”
His brows seem to scrunch together. “Who said you weren’t invited?”
“Dude, you don’t even know who I am.”
“Of course, I do. You’re Hannah Mackenzie,” he confirms, smiling his smile again.
My eyes widen in surprise, “You know my name?”
“Do you know mine?” his eyebrow cocks up, his smile getting cheekier.
“Paul Simpson. You own this house I’m currently in right now. And it’s your birthday party, so Happy Birthday,” I answer laughing sheepishly, possibly blushing as well.
“Ah, thank you,” he nods back, his smile showing off a set of perfect teeth. “Well, there you go. Awkward intros done and dusted.” A server walks by with a selection of drinks. He picks up two cups of beer. He hands me one and raises his cup to me, tapping them once in a toast.
“To new friends,” he declares.
“To new friends,” I repeat softly, unable to help the smile on my face.
He stands up after we take a sip, but not before bending down again and this time, his lips are merely centimetres from my ear.
“Just so you know, this isn’t my house. It’s my parents’. But I must admit this house never looked this good until now.” He straightens up and raises his beer cup at me before walking away to mingle.
In most cases, that might come off as cheesy … sleazy even. But when Paul says it, it feels sincere, like he actually means it.
For someone whose sense of trust was ruined after Atticus, Paul seems to be able to do the opposite.
But I shut down that feeling straight away.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
After taking one long sip of the beer, I get up from the couch so I can see myself out. I only live a couple of streets away. I can manage.
By Monday’s lunch break, everyone is talking about Paul’s party. I keep to myself while my friends discuss the events that happened hours after I left. I’m surprised they are still talking to me at all since I left without saying goodbye, and I didn’t answer their calls or messages the following day. In a way, I think they understand why, but I’m sure they wish I got over my ‘mourning period’ sooner.
People grieve differently. Some people take it harder than most. I’m just one of those people.
Yay for me.
“Did you hear what I just said, Han?” Patty prods her manicured finger on my arm in a way that annoys me.
“What?” I ask, now irritated.
She rolls her eyes before smiling mischievously at me. “Paul was looking for you last Saturday night. Apparently you guys were just talking, but then you upped and left straight after. I think he took it personally.” She nods her head in the direction of a group of guys seated a few tables from us. I know that group. Everyone knows that group. I mean, my group is pretty popular too. And I’m not even going to be humble about it. We’re relatively high on the food chain. But if you’re a bunch of hot guys who are champions in team sports, your group will no doubt be amongst the most popular ones.
And Paul’s looks and amazing physique stand out from the said group. I’ve seen him at the beach, surfing once in a while, and man, those abs don’t lie.
I don’t even realise that I’ve been staring at Paul, who’s currently listening to his friends’ chatter. But even in the distance, I can see that he’s staring back at me.
I turn around to check if there’s anyone behind me, but my back is facing the wall. He is definitely looking straight at me, and he’s not even attempting to hide it.
Oh, boy.
I look away, trying to act nonchalantly. It’s a good thing he’s far away enough not to see the way my cheeks are blushing.
“Holy shit, he’s coming over!” Patty suddenly grabs my forearm, squeezes it, then shakes it roughly.
“Chill, woman,” Stan, her boyfriend, intervenes and takes her grabby hands off me.
Just then the bell rings, signalling the end of our lunch break.
Relieved at the opportunity to escape, I stand up and grab my stuff so I can head out the door.
Wait? Why am I running away?
Why should I feel guilty about finding another guy hot?
I’m single, and only bloody seventeen years old. After the manner I was dumped, I need an excuse to feel like I’m attractive to someone again. Maybe, Paul would be the guy to do that.
Screw it. I’ll take my chances.
So I slow my pace, until I finally stop walking. Then I turn back around to where I came from. But as soon as I do, I get into a head-on collision with someone’s chest.
And as soon as I get my bearings back, I open my eyes again.
Okay, so judging from the tie, this is a guy’s school uniform.
And judging from the hands clasping my upper arms, this guy is quite strong.
And as soon as I look up to his face, judging from the way he’s smiling at me, I realise that I just face-planted on Paul’s chest.
Shit on a stick.
“You better decide if you’re coming or going so I know if I should chase after you or wait for you,” Paul says with laughter in his eyes as he reluctantly lets me go.
“Why would you do either of that?”
He places his hand on the back of his neck, and his smile turns awkward, “Because I want to ask you out on a date.”
His bluntness takes me aback. And my eyes widen in surprise. “Wow, you didn’t even beat around the bush with that one.”
Paul laughs, looking up at the ceiling as he does, “Yeah, well it took me a while to work up the courage to even ask you.”
“What?” I scoff. “Y
ou’re kidding, right? I’ve seen you hang out with other girls.”
He shrugs, looking sheepish again, “I have an endgame.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You.”
“Me?” I ask, confused and pointing at myself.
“I’m going to be honest with you, alright? The other girls weren’t serious. They knew it, and I knew it. But it’s different with you, that’s why it took me this long to ask you out.”
“We only met last Saturday,” I tell him pointedly.
“It doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention to you long before last Saturday.”
“Oh. How long ago are we talking about here?” I ask softly, finally realising that other students are passing us to get to their classes and possibly listening in.
He winces, “Since year eight. But I think you were preoccupied with someone else. You probably don’t even remember that we danced on your sixteenth birthday.”
My breath hitches. He was there, on my sixteenth birthday, possibly with mutual friends. But that was around the time my attention was focused solely towards one person.
Maybe if I paid attention to Paul instead of Atticus, my heart would probably still be intact.
Noticing the hallway almost empty, I start backing away from Paul. But not before grabbing a piece of paper and writing my number.
I grab his hand and place the paper on his open palm. “Pick me up Friday at eight.” Then I turn around to hurry to my class.
“See you then!” he yells out.
It’s only when I’m already seated that I realise the lack of fireworks when we touched. But I dismiss it in an instant.
Fireworks are way overrated anyway.
CHAPTER NINE
One Year Ago
“Happy first year anniversary,” I whisper against his ear before handing him my present.
“Happy first year, baby. I wonder what this is.” He pretends to shake the square-shaped, thin, gift-wrapped present he’s holding.
I can’t believe it’s been a year since Paul and I got together. One year of no insecurities, no fighting, no mistrusts, and no dramas.
I love it.
He knows about my past, I know about his. He knew from the onset that it would be harder for me to open my heart than it would be for him. And yet, he’s been patient and he never pressures me to give him more of myself than what I can commit.
But without his patience, without his unconditional love¸ I might not get to where I am now.
He makes me feel again. And although the fire he brings out inside of me isn’t immediate but more like a slow burn, I feel that it’s exactly what I need right now.
I had the raging inferno with Atticus. With him, it was instantaneous, like living every day like it was our last. I gave him all of me without thought, without caution. And when he left at the time I needed him the most, I was left burned beyond recognition.
But I’m gaining myself back. I’m healing. And I have to thank Paul for that.
I didn’t know this kind of love existed until this man came into my life and showed me.
It was inevitable.
I’ve fallen for him.
I love him.
And boy, he sure loves me.
“So can I open this now?” Paul asks, looking adorable excited and super handsome at the same time.
“Of course, babe. Hope you like it. It’s kind of a big deal to me that you do so I’m feeling kinda nauseous right now from the nerves,” I say, chewing my lower lip nervously as soon as he rips open the packaging.
My fingers start playing with my new bracelet, his anniversary gift to me. It’s a beautiful, silver Tiffany bracelet with a small teardrop charm. As soon as Paul hooked it around my wrist, I understood why he chose it for me.
He promised me when we first started dating that he would do his best to only make me cry happy tears.
And this bracelet confirms his promise.
How did I get so lucky?
“It’s a CD,” he tells me, eyes wide with childlike excitement.
I nod back, pointing at it, “Read the note on the disc.”
He kisses me sweetly on the lips first, before turning the case so he can read my handwritten inscription, ‘Happy one year anniversary, Paul. This is the best way I can think of, to show you how much I’m thankful that you’re in my life. I love you. Yours, Hannah.’
He turns back to me and wraps his arms lovingly around my body, giving me a kiss filled with love, even gratitude. After a few moments, we break for air, not caring if the patrons in this posh restaurant are witnessing our PDA.
“C’mon, let’s go. I want to listen to this in the car.” He waves his hand politely at our server before asking for the bill.
As soon as he settles the bill, we walk hand-in-hand towards his brand-new car. He just got his provisional licence, after passing the driving test in just one try. His parents bought him a BMW convertible, but on the condition that he’ll drive safely. Since he’s had the car, he’s been nothing but super safe with it. I’m just wondering where he’ll put his surfboard though. He loves surfing, and I constantly tease him that he loves to surf more than he loves me. But I stop the moment he plants a kiss on my lips.
He inserts the CD in the player and presses the Play button. The first chords of the guitar begin, and my nerves go into overdrive straightaway. It’s an unfamiliar tune, and I can see Paul’s brows scrunching in the middle.
That is, until he hears my voice.
“Oh my God,” Paul whispers.
I stay quiet, staring at him and trying to read his reaction. It’s been a long while since I last played my guitar, even longer since I last penned a song. There were way too many good memories that turned bad attached to my guitar, that I even considered selling it. Sure, the pain of a heartbreak inspires many artists to paint, to sculpt, or to create songs. But when my heart broke, I could barely look at my guitar, let alone function to write music.
But Paul made me want to play again. His love inspired me to put pen on paper and write him a song. And seeing his reaction change from puzzlement, to recognition, to awe was enough for me to know that maybe I did good.
“This is you. This is you, singing … and playing the guitar!” Paul says, elation spilling out of his voice, making my nerves dissipate and my mouth to form a wide grin.
“I know it’s not an expensive present. But I wrote this for you … because you inspired me to want to write songs again,” I explain softly, my voice shaking.
He doesn’t respond immediately, only staring at the screen where it shows the title of the song, “Dear Mister.” But as the song ends, he lifts his head up and turns to me, and his eyes tell me everything he’s unable to speak of.
“So, do you like it?” I ask nervously as silence surrounds the car. “It’s a bit rough, isn’t it?”
“Rough? I fucking love it, Hannah. The song, your voice, and the way you play the guitar … everything about this song is beautiful! Come here, cheeky girl,” Paul cups the back of my neck and pulls me closer as his lips press against mine. I can still taste the chocolate cake on his lips, and the taste, plus Paul’s lips, make this kiss even more delicious. He moans as his tongue meets my own in a dance we’ve become familiar with.
He suddenly pulls back, catching his breath. “Wait, just so we’re clear. I’m that Mister, right?”
His question makes me giggle because his tiny bout of uncertainty is pretty damn adorable. “What do you think?”
Paul raises his brow, “It’s me, yes. But kiss me anyway just to confirm that it is.”
So I do, over and over again.
He drives me home after listening to my song so many times that I begged for him to give it a break. Sure it’s my song and all, but even I have a threshold when it comes to repetitions.
I notice the lights in our backyard are on, and I can hear people talking and laughing. This is pretty unusual for my parents to have visitors at this late an hour. Usually by this time, my
parents would be upstairs sleeping. They don’t bother waiting up for me, since they know I’ll either be with Paul, or my girls, if I ever go over my 11 p.m. curfew. My parents trust them the most.
Unless …
“Are you coming inside?” I ask Paul as soon as he switches off the engine. “I think Brodie’s home. You’ll finally get to meet him,” I add excitedly. I haven’t seen him in ages since he and his band Halcyon went off to Sydney to work on a record deal.
Paul looks wary, “Are you sure, I mean that’s your big brother, and he’s friends with your ex—”
“That was the past, and that’s where it belongs. And my brother loves me. He knows I’m happy with you, so he has no choice but to be happy with you,” I interrupt, then open the car door before turning back to him. “C’mon,” I give him my best coquettish smile, raising my brows suggestively, “we can make out in my room after.”
He seems to deliberate his next move before sighing, “Okay. Let’s do it. I’ll cop it from your big brother. But only because you’re giving me a good incentive.”
I giggle as we step away from the car together. He parked right up the driveway, thankfully. I don’t think my legs will survive walking up the steep driveway with these heels. They make my legs look killer though, but they’re killing my feet too.
I take his hand as we walk around the side of the house, where the side door is thankfully unlocked. I want to surprise my brother by sneaking up on him.
The laughter and the chatter become louder as we get closer to the backyard. It sounds like there are girls with them. I roll my eyes, hoping they aren’t groupies. Desperate groupies give me the shits. Before we’re visible, I stop and face Paul, pulling his head down so I can kiss him. The heels get me closer to Paul’s height. Without them, I’d have to tiptoe and still manage to only face his chest.
I stretch my head as we reach the corner of the house, and I immediately see Brodie, Derek, Shane, and Mike sitting around the bonfire with a big cooler filled with beer next to them. A couple of girls, a redhead and a blonde, are sitting on Derek and Shane’s lap respectively. Brodie’s back is facing me, so I try to sneak behind him. Shane and the girls see me first, so I raise my finger up to my lips to shush them. There’s a hint of alarm in Shane’s expression, and his eyes drift back to the house, then back to me. But I put it down to him being surprised and having to keep his trap shut.
