by E. S. Maria
I know what blue balls are, and I’m sure he’s suffered his share with me.
But Atticus is hot as fuck. I’m not even going to mince my words. And I’m only human. We have done other things.
We’ve also seen each other naked. But that was also one of the reasons why I was scared to take that next step with Atticus―his size. I mean, what if he won’t fit? And what if I won’t be able to live up to his expectations and he’d think I wasn’t worth the wait after all.
And yet, in those times when we’ve come close, and I’d tell him that I couldn’t go any further, he’d stop and would tell me he understood, and that he wouldn’t go any further until I was very sure that I was ready.
That alone, made me fall even deeper in love with him.
And somehow, that was what made it worse as well.
Atticus knows that I love him. I never have qualms in saying that out loud to him. But when it comes to him expressing his feelings for me, the closest he’d ever been was by singing me covers of songs during my ‘lessons.’
And yet I swooned every single time. And there were instances when I’d even pretend that he wrote that song for me. My imagination could be quite convincing when I wanted it to be.
That was another reason why I held back from giving myself completely to him―I was afraid that he really didn’t feel the same way as I did … that he really didn’t love me as much. He was too closed off, and I couldn’t understand why.
Then one day, out of desperation, I followed him home. I followed him all the way to Roscoe, and when I knocked on his door, I saw the shock on his face. And the fear he had that his father might find out about me was enough for him to finally let me in.
He took me home on the same night. And the very next morning, he returned and finally told me everything.
Atticus was raised in a house where love had never seen the light of day. His mother died due to severe blood loss as she was giving birth to him. His father was devastated and never got over it. So much so that he became resentful of his own baby, his very own son, and he decided to leave him in the care of his mother, Atticus’s grandmother. He told me how his grandmother was nurturing, and she did everything she could to care for him like he was her own. When he grew older, Atticus found out that his father barely sent them any child support, spending his money on booze instead. His father was able to hide his drunken state from his employer for some time, but awful habits have a tendency to catch up on you. He came to work one day still reeking of booze. His boss told him to go home, and he got punched for because of it. Atticus’s father was fired right there and then.
His father never went for counselling, or sought help from professionals. His therapy came from the likes of Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo.
Then it went from bad to worse for Atticus.
His grandmother was loading a few grocery bags in the boot of her car one afternoon, when two men attempted to steal her car. She tried to fight back because that’s how she was, according to Atticus. She was a fighter, and she fought to raise Atticus in the best way she knew. But, as she fought with one of the carjackers in the driver seat, her shirt got stuck to the door and she was dragged for over a hundred metres down the road, only stopping to finally free her from the car. But by then, it was already too late. She died on the scene due to the extent of her injuries.
Atticus was at school when it happened.
Her grandmother was on her way to pick him up.
Atticus was picked up by the police instead.
He was only ten years old.
By then, his father found another reason to resent him even more. When he was brought back to his father’s home, his father made damn sure that he reminded Atticus of the repercussions of causing the deaths of his wife and his mother. The physical, mental, and emotional abuse towards Atticus continued on until now. I asked him why he never ran away from home, or why he never reported his father to the police. He had relatives living in the next town over, and maybe if they realised how bad his father was treating him, they could take him in. But he said that back then, he couldn’t blame his father for all the beatings. Somehow, he had it in his head that he was actually responsible for the deaths, but I’m sure that it was his father’s brainwashing that made him think so. Unfortunately, the abuse damaged him so much, that as he grew older, he began to shut down emotionally, and started lashing out at school. He didn’t have many friends to begin with, but when he started picking fights, he pretty much lost all of them.
Thankfully, the music teacher who broke off a couple of his fights, saw the bruises Atticus tried to hide, as well as the pain hidden behind the anger in his eyes. He approached him and asked if he was interested in learning an instrument. He said that music could be a way to channel his negative energy. On the day he first picked up the school guitar, it changed his life forever. His teacher told him he was a natural, but that he was still holding back. So he encouraged him to try to put his feelings into words, which wasn’t easy for someone so closed off like Atticus. But his teacher believed in him so he started believing in himself. Eventually, they managed to transform his words into song form.
So, at thirteen, Atticus had written his very first song, “I Am Here.” The first time he sang the song to me, I was in tears. I felt his pain. I felt what he wanted to express.
Using the money he saved from small jobs here and there, he managed to buy himself a preloved semiacoustic guitar. He practised whenever his father would pass out drunk, locking his door in case he woke up and would decide to shut him up with a belt. And when he got better, his confidence grew with it. So he busked at the nearby shopping centre on the weekends, and on Thursdays when it was open until the late hours. He was so good, singing covers and one or two of his original songs that he managed to collect enough money to buy a decent guitar. And when he was of age, he used his savings to cover up the scar on his arm with a tattoo: a badass phoenix.
He opened up a bank account and kept the rest of his money away from his house, in case his father got wind of his savings and tried to get it from him. Even though he was all grown up and could physically fight back, Atticus never did. He knew that hurting his father will never end the cycle of abuse, but would just make him no less different from his abuser.
One random Saturday, Brodie and his mates, all members of the Halcyon, chanced upon him busking. They were so impressed that my brother knew he just had to get to know him.
They eventually became good friends, and that was how I met him.
And even though Atticus and I started off on the wrong foot, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’m in love with him.
I’m in love with my beautiful, damaged, but gifted man.
If only his past didn’t make him incapable of saying those three little words back.
Maybe after what I have in store for us tonight, he will finally declare how much he loves me.
Yeah, I know that it’s probably the worst thing that I can ever do. I’ve probably read way too many romance novels, that I’m naïve enough to think that men sweeping women off their feet truly happens in real life. It’s not like he hasn’t been very clear since the beginning that he’s leaving for the city to focus on his music career. Music has always been his ‘out.’
But he’s still here, and he’s still with me.
That must mean something, right?
“Hello, everyone,” Atticus’s deep, rough voice cuts through my sombre reverie. The waiting audience whoops in response, their arms up in the air.
“So ... I was asked by the lovely birthday girl herself to sing a few songs for you all tonight. She also asked nicely, that’s why I said yes,” he chuckles softly through the mic, his eyes looking straight at me. The intensity of his stare makes my insides clench.
“Before I start, how about we give Hannah a huge round of applause?” And to my surprise, everyone does, and my best friends start hugging me tight. Atticus gives me a wink, making me smile even wider.
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br /> And just before the noise dies down and with his eyes focused on me, Atticus begins to sing.
Watching him in his element is awe-inspiring, something I don’t think I’ll ever get over witnessing. It’s like watching a star shining so brightly that it obscures everyone else around it.
It’s beautiful.
This is where he belongs. I’ve known that all along. But watching him and his effect on his audience confirms it. He truly is meant for bigger things.
But now I’m struck with a worrying thought. If I give Atticus my virginity, I wouldn’t need a crystal ball to predict that it’s going to make me fall more in love with him. And I must really be naïve to think that he’ll magically change his mind and decide not to leave because he’s also fallen so deeply in love with me as well.
I lose either way.
Maybe I should hold on to at least one part of myself that’s still intact.
I can’t give him my virginity and my heart at the same time.
I need to at least keep one thing I still have control to.
After all, my heart is already a lost cause.
Atticus wraps up his third song, and I clap my hands, feeling my chest expand with pride. But the smile I’m wearing has now been marred by this unexpected dilemma.
He takes it all in, and I love that even through his show of confidence, there’s still that look of surprise in his eyes, like he can’t believe that a large group of people appreciate his music. I hope that when he does make it big, and I know he will one day, that he’ll never lose that sense of humility.
I notice Atticus pulling the stool closer so he can sit down, his guitar resting on his thigh. He adjusts the microphone lower to his seated level and addresses the audience again.
“I wrote this last song a little while ago, but this is the first time I’m singing it for anyone else. But I think that out of all the songs I’ve written or have sung tonight, this would have to be hands down, my favourite,” then Atticus lifts his gaze back to me.
Maybe it’s the way he keeps looking at me with so much sincerity, but my skin starts to prickle and my back straightens up in attention. I raise my drink to him, and I flash him an encouraging smile.
When I asked him if he could sing some of his own songs for my sixteenth birthday party, he promised to sing four … all originals. But he said that the only way he could sing them was if he’d be directing them only to me. He said he wasn’t ready to see the guests’ reactions, in case they hated the songs. I wanted to shake some sense into him for not believing in his talent. But, on the other hand, I might have loved him a little bit more for seeing me that way.
“Well, this song is for her. Only for her. This is called “Songbird.”
I almost choke on my drink in shock.
Songbird. His song is called “Songbird”!
He strums the first notes and I think I stop breathing. But as he sings every lyric, every line, all I can feel are goose bumps on my skin, and my heart beats so hard it feels like it’s lodged itself in my throat.
The song is about me … and about us.
But it’s when I hear the chorus.
That’s it for me.
I just let my tears flow.
You saw beauty in the scars;
You’re like my dream coming true.
Songbird, you got me fallin’;
I’ve fallen in love with you.
Sing me your sweet lullabies;
They keep the nightmares away.
I want to drown in those eyes;
My songbird, I’m here to stay.
This must be what it feels like to die and go to heaven. Because every word from “Songbird” is killing me in the best, most amazing way. It feels like an out-of-body experience, like I’m actually floating on air.
He loves me.
And he’s here to stay.
!!!!!!
I want to rush on the stage and hold him tightly in my arms. I want to kiss him like no one else is around us. I want to feel his breath on my skin. I want to take his clothes off and …
… and what?
I want to make love to him.
Oh my God, that confirms it.
Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!
I can’t believe how a single song can become such an incredible turning point for me.
Atticus. Loves. Me.
And.
He. Is. Staying.
He said it in a song … a song he wrote for me.
I can’t breathe. Need air.
I feel his eyes on me as I stand up, ignoring the curious reactions from my friends. I walk past the large crowd as they applaud Atticus’s song. I don’t wait for him to finish, needing that air so badly. The skin all over my whole body is tingling like crazy, and I feel like I need to giggle and cry at the same time. I finally make it outside, and I turn towards the beach, taking off my platform heels so I can feel the sand on my toes.
The cool grains of sand swallow my feet, and the smell of salty, ocean air calms me down and keeps me centred.
The dance music from inside the hall is my signal that it’s time for me to blow out my sixteen candles. But before I do, I need to just breathe in and out and compose myself.
So I do the same ritual that helps me start the process.
I close my eyes, and I just breathe deeply.
“I’m sorry if my last song scared you off,” the sombre tone of Atticus’s voice makes me jump and tugs at my heart at the same time. I turn around and see the hurt in his face.
Oh no.
This is not what I want him to feel.
I quickly walk up to him, and I wrap my arms around his waist. He sighs aloud, but thankfully, he hugs me back.
We fit so perfectly.
I’m falling so hard.
With my head still against his chest, I assure him, “Your song didn’t scare me. It was … God … it was so beautiful.”
I tilt my head up to face him, smiling, eyes still glazed, “I still can’t believe you wrote me a song.”
“I can’t believe you walked away.”
I shake my head, “I didn’t walk away from you or the song, Atticus. It was either this, or I rush that damn stage and offer myself to you like a living sacrifice.”
He chuckles, the full moon illuminating the relief on his face. Then he cups my cheeks with both hands, “This sacrifice you speak of … does it in any way involve you slowly undressing in front of me?”
I nip on my lower lip, my eyes locked in his, “Hmm, I was actually thinking more like sacrificing my virginity to you.”
He chuckles again, before what I just said finally hits him. His face turns serious in an instant.
“Wait, where are you going with this?”
I take his hands off my face, replacing them on my ass cheeks instead, “I’m sixteen now. Legally, I’m of age. You getting where I’m going here?”
His eyes widen, and I can’t help but notice the spark of excitement in them, “Are you sure?” he whispers to me.
“Do you love me, Atticus Foster?” I ask softly. “Please … I want to hear you say it.”
A smile so tender lights up his face, and he whispers back, “I love you Hannah Mackenzie. I think I fell for you long before I even realised it was love.” He kisses me lightly on the nose, “I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you. I’m fucking slow like that.”
I brush my thumb against his cheek, the gentle gesture a complete contradiction to how explosive I’m feeling on the inside. “You’re not slow. You were too hurt. But I’m here, and I love you,” I brush my thumb across his lips, “and after this party, I want you to make love to me.”
His mouth gapes against my thumb, and my core tightens as his breath tickles my skin.
“If this is truly what you want, then I’ll take care of it. But I want you to know that there’s no pressure, okay? You have from now ‘til after the party to cha—”
“Shush,” I cut him off, pressing my forefinger against his lips, “I’m
not changing my mind from now ‘til ever. This is happening tonight. Question is, are you ready?”
He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, and his smug smile, the one that drives my hormones crazy is back. “I waited over six months for this, Han. Why don’t you look down my pants and tell me.”
My eyes widen at his brashness, and I swallow hard as my eyes travel downwards.
Wow. He wasn’t joking.
I know exactly what his junk looks like when he’s ready. Our make-out sessions had made me an expert on his readiness.
It’s too good not to touch. Even if it’s just a feel and squeeze over his jeans. But just as I’m about to reach for him …
“There you are! Quick, Han, cake time!”
I jump away from Atticus in panic, and I see Patty rolling her eyes at us, trying hard to look cross.
“Okay, babe. Thanks!” I answer back, cringing at Atticus’s expression―a smile that’s a cross between apologetic and someone getting kicked in the nuts.
I smile apologetically, whispering, “Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to make you feel better tonight.” Then I give him a quick kiss on the lips before walking back to the hall.
“Fuck me,” I hear him mutter under his breath.
“I will,” I call out, giving him my sexiest cheeky wink, laughing at his gaping expression.
“Here she is, everyone!” Patty announces over the music, as I step back inside the hall. She gives me a knowing smile as she veers me in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. And I mouth a discreet thanks as she starts backing away.
The light suddenly shuts off, and a collective gasp fills the air as Brodie and his friend Shane carries a sculpted cake of a girl riding a wave with a surfboard, with sixteen candles illuminating the whole masterpiece. The way the surfboard and the girl, who thankfully bears a resemblance of me, riding the crest of the wave, practically defies gravity.
Brodie leads the singing as soon as the kickass cake is right in front of me.
“C’mon, blow the candles, Han! This cake is damn heavy!” Brodie orders.
