“I know,” I whisper.
Something in me shifts then. I take a breath.
“I’m not sure I believe in soul mates either,” I say. “Or at least that there’s only one for each person.”
That feels right.
I press my mouth against his and I feel his body react.
I tug Jay so he’s on top of me. He’s so big—his shoulders, his back, his arms. He braces himself over me, leaning his weight on his elbows. This is the first time we’ve kissed while lying down. It’s the first time that I’m not on top of him, leading. He looks at me, and right then I really know what a smoldering look is.
“God, it’s crazy how much I want you,” he says.
The lower half of my body melts.
He rolls onto his back, puts his hands on his forehead, groans.
“What?” I ask.
“I can’t believe I just said that to you.”
“It was hot,” I say. “I liked it.”
“I just felt it so much, but then I heard myself say it and it sounded so fake.”
“It’s not fake if the feeling is real,” I say.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. “Your head, and you have bruises and scrapes and stuff.”
I reach my hand around to the back of his neck to try to pull him back over me. “Come here.”
“I don’t have a condom,” he blurts out.
“What? Oh, I—” I’m sure my face turns bright red. “I didn’t think—I haven’t before, and I don’t—I didn’t think we’d—”
He looks at me, surprised. “You didn’t have sex with him?”
“No, I’ve never had sex.”
“Okay, that’s good,” he says. “I mean, obviously it’s fine if you did, but I only meant it’s good because I thought if you did, you’d expect it and you know I have no idea what I’m—”
“You can stop talking now,” I say.
Finally, he moves back above me. Kisses me hesitantly. I pull his hips down against mine and I can feel him through his pants, and he must know that I can feel him.
Then he kisses me the way I want. Deep. The kind of kiss you get lost in, where you fit together so perfectly, you’re not sure how it’s even possible it’s really happening.
I pull his shirt off and slide my hands all over his warm skin. Then I lift my shirt up and over my head, and he whispers, “Oh my god,” when he sees that I’m not wearing a bra. The lower half of my body is covered by the comforter, so he doesn’t know that I have nothing on underneath it. At least, not yet.
I laugh because it’s kind of funny to think about the two of us doing this—friends, doing what we’re doing. He doesn’t laugh, though. He stares, touches, his hands a little shaky. He studies me like a textbook—a racy textbook.
Then he props himself up on one elbow, watching his hand as it moves over my chest slowly.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper.
“I’m trying not to,” he says, his fingers circling. It tickles and feels so good. “But it’s hard not to. There’s a lot of stuff racing around in there.”
“Like what?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“It’s bad?” I ask.
“No, not bad. Just … a lot.”
“Do you want to stop?” I ask. “We don’t have to do anything more.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he says firmly. “I want to try to be here, in this moment. I want to do more. If you do, I mean.”
“You want to know what I’m thinking?” I ask.
He nods. My heart pounds.
“That I’d like to touch you under here,” I say, placing my hand gently on the waistband of his sweatpants.
His eyes are huge as I lift the waistband and slide my hand inside his underwear, and then hold him in my hand.
“Holy fuck,” he says, catching his breath. “This is …”
I watch his expression. He looks different. Older.
He exhales, takes my wrist, pulls my hand out of his pants.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I think we want this to go on a little longer and that would definitely end it. If you know what I mean.”
I giggle a little.
And then we kiss more, and the bare skin of his chest feels so warm against mine.
“This is what you want?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says. “What should I do next?”
“Oh. Um … you could … you know, touch me. Here.” I take his hand and put it underneath the comforter onto my stomach, and then I move it a bit farther down but not all the way, just so he knows what I mean. “But you don’t have to.”
“You’re not wearing underwear,” he says.
“I left all my clothes in the bathroom,” I say.
“Wow. Okay,” he says. “But I want you to tell me if I’m doing it right.”
I nod.
When he first touches me, I think about how I haven’t shaved in a while, but I know that Jay probably doesn’t notice or care. He moves his fingers, exploring a little awkwardly, not really in the right places but, even though I said I would, I don’t want to tell him that. I imagine what it’s like for him doing this. He knows so much about anatomy from EMS training and now, here he is, up close.
And then he finds the right place and I go still.
“Is this your—”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, that’s it. You can keep doing what you’re doing. Just keep doing that.”
His face is almost too intense, so I close my eyes and I focus on just feeling. He keeps doing it until I know I’m getting there and I tell him again to keep doing exactly what he’s doing, not to stop, and thankfully he listens because suddenly, I’m there and I let go and it rushes through me, and I feel every nerve in my entire body, and I make a sound I’ve never heard myself make.
This never happened with Reed.
I keep my eyes closed while my breathing goes back to normal.
When I open my eyes, Jay smiles like he just got the extra credit question on an exam.
I take a few relaxed breaths, and then I kiss his neck, enjoying the soft skin and his soapy scent.
I want to make Jay feel as good as he just made me feel.
I put my hand on him over his pants.
“Can I do this now?” I ask.
He nods.
I slide my hand down his pants, under his underwear. When I put my hand around him, he closes his eyes and groans. I’ve done this with Reed, but with Jay it feels brand new. His skin is soft and warm as I move my hand up and down.
His eyes are closed but his face is tense, like he’s concentrating. I watch him as his breathing speeds up. His neck reddens. His stomach muscles tense. And then he gets there.
I pull my hand away as his breathing slows down.
“Um, I’ll be right back,” he says, jumping out of bed. He doesn’t look at me as he heads to the hallway. I hear the bathroom door close and then the sink running. While he’s gone, I find the gray T-shirt on the floor and put it back on.
When he gets back, he lies on his back and I’m on my side, my arm across his chest. He puts his hand on my arm and squeezes, and it makes everything feel so real.
“I didn’t think I’d be able to turn my brain off,” he says.
“Me neither,” I say. “I never thought I’d be able to … you know.”
“But you did, right?”
I nod. “And actually … that was the first time I was able to with someone other than myself.”
He leans back and looks at me.
“Oh my god,” I say. “I can’t believe I just admitted that.”
I bury my face in his chest, suddenly shy that I’ve told him this thing that’s so private.
“What? That you masturbate?” he asks.
I squeak. I might die.
He laughs.
“So, what I think you’re saying,” he says, “is that it was pretty good?”
“Jay, oh my god,
seriously? You want a gold sticker, too?”
He smiles wide.
“I want the gold sticker,” he says.
“Created a monster,” I mumble under my breath, as I sling my leg over his, and snuggle my face into the area just below his armpit.
We wake up, and it feels like it should be morning, but when I check my phone, I see that it’s only ten o’clock at night. And I have a few texts.
MOM: How are you feeling? Are you at home or Jay’s?
SAWYER: I heard what happened. Are you okay?
MOM: Serena’s doing well. I should be home soon.
REED: I hope you’re okay.
Jay stretches his arms over his head. He gets up and checks his phone, too.
I respond to Mom that I’m at Jay’s and will be home soon, too, to Sawyer that I’m okay, and I skip over Reed’s.
“How are we?” I ask Jay. “Are we good? Not weird?”
“Not too weird,” he says. “You?”
“Good. I’m good. But I should go home. My mom said she’d be home soon.”
“What about the meeting? You don’t want to stay here?”
I shrug. “I feel like I should be home, you know?”
He nods, maybe a little disappointed. “If it’s bad, you can just come back. I’ll pick you up any time.”
I stand up and put my arms around his waist and squeeze.
FORTY-THREE
The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.
—Maya Angelou (poet)
Although there are three cars in our driveway, Reed’s van isn’t here, and the relief I feel is indescribable. Jay’s talking as we pull up to my house—something about a ride that he was on the week before. I suspect he’s on a post-hook-up high because he doesn’t seem to care that I’m only half-listening and he doesn’t acknowledge that Reed’s van is gone. His excitement makes me smile. And despite my aching head, and my odd mix of guilt and jealousy over Serena getting struck, I feel pretty amazing, too.
Jay finally stops talking and notices the cars.
“Are you sure you want to stay here tonight?”
“I feel like I should be home,” I say.
He turns off the ignition and reaches for his door handle.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “You don’t have to come in.”
I know he doesn’t want to have to talk to all these people any more than I do. Less, really.
I lean over the gearshift and kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll be okay.”
He smiles.
I run my fingers through my hair before opening the front door. Through the glass, I see the reflection of the TV in the living room, colors flashing. Jay starts his car, so I turn and wave to him as he drives off.
As soon as I slide open the door, I hear voices and the sounds of scurrying.
“She’s here!”
“Pause the movie, hold on.”
“Rachel, is that you?”
All at once, Sue, Ron, and Angela surround me, hug me, touch my hair, my face.
“Oh, honey,” Sue says. “We were so worried. Let’s see that bump on your head.”
I bend my head down so she can see.
“God was looking out for you,” Ron says. “You didn’t get struck. A miracle.”
I nod.
“Are you hungry?” Sue asks.
“We’re watching Die Hard 3. You wanna watch with us?” Angela says.
“Oh, thanks. I’m so tired, I’m just going to get some sleep, I think.”
I start toward my room and I hear them giggling and whispering. They’re so sweet, but so weird.
When I open my bedroom door, it’s … empty.
“What?” I say. “Where’s my stuff? What’s going on?”
Sue’s smile sparkles and everyone seems to have this excited energy.
“Let’s see,” she says, putting her finger on her lip in a mock-thinking pose. “Where could your stuff be? Hmmm. It couldn’t have just up and walked away, right? Let’s look around, see if we can find it.”
She follows me back to the front hall where the others are standing in front of the door to the garage, smiling and giggling softly.
Everyone moves away as I approach. I put my hand on the doorknob.
“What’s going on, you guys?” I say, my smile widening. “Am I being punk’d or something?”
“Go ahead,” Ron says. “Open it.”
So I do.
And then I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands.
They finished the room. The smell of fresh paint wafts out—the walls and ceiling have all been painted. The area rug I’d asked the Thrift Shop to hold for me for a few days until I could get some cash is in the center of the room. My bed is against the far wall, all made up, with my dresser and nightstands. Light green drapes hang on either side of the sliding door to the tiny side deck, puddling elegantly on the floor. And over in the corner, next to my dresser, a matching drape hangs from the ceiling. Still speechless, I go over and pull it to the side. Behind it is a clothing rack with all the clothes from my closet, and on the floor below is a handmade shoe rack with my shoes on it.
“You guys,” I choke out, then clear my throat. “You did this today?”
Sue nods, her eyes wet.
“You did the hard part, Rachel. We just finished it up for you.”
“Oh my god,” I say, sliding the curtain back and forth, pointing to the shoe rack, the painted ceilings. “This must’ve been so much work.”
“A labor of love,” Ron says, coming toward me and hugging me. “Your mom worked on it, too. The curtains and the rug were all her doing.” I breathe in his stale, smoky smell and squeeze him back.
“I don’t even know what to say,” I say. “Thank you. I love it.”
As though someone has given them a cue, everyone leaves the room and the door closes behind them.
I sit on my bed and look around at the new room. My room.
A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door, and then Mom walks in. She seems tired. Older. But still beautiful. She looks around the room.
“I left before they’d completely finished, but it came out perfectly, didn’t it?”
She sits on the bed next to me.
“Thank you so much for this.”
“I knew how important it was for you to have your own space. When I told everyone about it, they just sprang into action. I pretty much had nothing to do with it. Ron ran the whole thing. He was in his element today, that’s for sure. Bossing everyone around like a foreman. It was like he was twenty years younger.”
“Wow,” I say. “I can’t believe they did this.”
I sit next to her and she pushes my hair behind my ear.
“It made them so happy to do it. They love you so much; they’d do anything for you.”
I nod. I want to tell Mom I know that, but I’ve always felt like their mascot instead of one of them. I’d come so close to being one of them today. And I feel relief that I didn’t. I’m happy that they love me regardless, even if I am just their mascot.
She stands and kisses me on the top of my head, to the side of my bump.
I know I need to talk to her about the letters—about Carson, Rafe—I need to understand what happened and how it all fit together. But I’m so exhausted, I can’t even think anymore.
“I have so many questions, Mom,” I say. “But I’m so tired.”
“I know. Tomorrow. But now, you need some rest,” she says. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say as she closes the door behind her. Everyone’s out there in the living room, watching a movie, laughing, drinking, but it’s quiet in my new room.
I take a few pictures and send them to Jay with a bunch of exclamation points.
I put on pajamas, get into my bed, which has been made with fresh sheets, and snuggle in.
FORTY-FOUR
A quarrel between friends, when made up, adds a new tie to friendship.
I wake up the next morning and everything is green. I didn’t close the drapes last night, and the garage—my room—faces east, so the sun lights up the entire room. My first thought is that I have a terrible hangover—the worst I’ve ever had—because my head feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice over and over. And then I remember the lightning. My head. I touch the bump. It’s tender but it feels a little smaller. I prop myself up and survey my new room. It looks amazing. And cozy. I feel a fresh bubbling up of emotion when I think of them working on the room all day yesterday while I was at school, at the lacrosse game, at the hospital.
I check my phone. There’s a text from Sawyer saying that he’s glad I’m okay, that he was worried. It’s nice, but I don’t like the feeling that I’m not sure exactly what he wants from me. Sometimes it’s just better not to hang out with someone you hooked up with in the past. Especially when hooking up with him ruined your friendship with your best friend. It’s not worth it.
There’s also a text from Jay asking if I slept okay. I answer him that I feel pretty good, considering.
I start a text to Serena. Erase it. Start again.
ME: Hi. Are you still at the hospital? I’m sorry for everything. Can I come see you there?
I get up, ignoring the pulsing in the back of my head. They must have moved my dresser without taking anything out because my clothes are exactly where they’re supposed to be. And I love pulling back the curtain covering the coat rack to grab a clean pair of jeans. I feel great when I open the door to the main house, like a good night of sleep has healed me physically and emotionally.
I expect the group to be meeting in the back room, but it’s quiet in the house. I peek out the front door on my way to the bathroom and notice fewer cars in the driveway. Maybe they all went out for lunch. Once in the bathroom, I undress while I wait for the shower to warm up. I’m happy not to have to worry about any group members needing to use the bathroom. I let the hot water pound on my shoulders. After drying off, I put my clothes on and head to the kitchen to make tea.
I hear Mom’s voice in the back room. She and Serena are sitting on the couch, facing each other. Mom is holding Serena’s hands in her own, looking at her intensely. Just then, the loud voices of Sue and Ron and the others pour in from the front door.
Soulstruck Page 21
