by Peiri Ann
“Come on, Cey. Let’s finish having a good time.” Glen pulls my arm. I don’t feel like it, at this point. My chest is starting to hurt, and the high I got from the music and dancing has worn off.
Somebody always has to ruin my good time.
“Hey Glen, come dance with me.” Eric stands in front of us, looking like a puppy who wants to get scratched.
“GO ahead, Glen. Have a good time. I’m going to go to the kitchen and get something to drink.”
“Okay, I’ll look for you when you get back.”
I walk away, heading to the kitchen, when I run into Andrew. “Hey, you okay? Not cool that the dude was touching you like that.”
“Yeah, thanks for asking, but I’m over it.”
“You headed to the kitchen? There is not much left in there.”
“Something to drink?” I pause. “A regular drink?”
“Nope, gone.”
“Damn,” I say, shaking my head.
“You want to walk out to the back? There’s a fridge out there with some drinks, but you can’t tell anyone. I want at least one part of my house to not be messed up.”
“I got you.” He leads the way. “So what made you throw this party anyway? Your mom would kill you if she found out.” Andrew isn’t as tall as most of the guys, although he’s taller than me—but only by a couple of inches. He has warm brown skin and always wears his hair short. He has the nicest things, because his mom spoils him, from his cars to his clothes.
“No reason at all. I am just one of the only people who haven’t thrown one ever, and my place is big enough.” He shrugs. “Wanted to at least throw one before we graduate.”
His house is full of people, spread out through multiple areas. We push and shove our way through crowds as we try to make our way out of them. “Why is your house this big?” I ask, to initiate conversation.
He smiles. “My mom likes big things. You should see her room.”
We have walked through three rooms about the size of my one living room. “I believe you.” We corner a landing where people aren’t around and walk through sliding doors that lead out to a deck. It is the size of a small cottage and his backyard is the size of his house. I’m only exaggerating slightly.
“In about an hour, I’m going to make everybody come to the backyard so I can start to clean the house. We can move the music out here and everything. But you all won’t have access to the deck, hopefully that will keep this area untouched.” He points behind me. “There is the fridge. Help yourself.”
He sits on one of the bar stools that’s pulled out in front of the bar that’s attached to his deck. I walk over to the fridge, which is full of all types of bottled drinks. Choosing a Lipton tea with lemon, I walk over to the bar and sit on the stool beside him.
“It’s nice out here. I would love for this to be my backyard.” I crack open my tea. “I’d probably sleep out here every night in the summer.”
“Yeah, it is. I do sleep out here when it’s warm sometimes. My dad and I used to set up tents and pretend to camp out here—before he passed.” He doesn’t look sad at his words, just like he is recalling those moments.
“Yeah, that had to be awesome.” I don’t want to feel sorry for him, because I hate it when people say ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
“It was.” He gets up, walking over to the fridge and grabs himself a Coke. “I know you probably want to get back to the party, but if you can wait ‘til we’re finished with our drinks, I would appreciate it. I don’t want people asking ‘where did you get that?’” He shakes his head. “They have eaten me out of house and home. I’m going to have to go to the store to buy more food, so my mom won’t suspect anything.”
“I don’t have a problem with waiting. I lost my party mood anyway. Where’s your mom?”
“She had some business trip to go on. So I took advantage of the opportunity. She’ll be back in a couple of days. Who was that guy that punched that idiot for you?”
I shrug. “Scott’s cousin.”
He shrugs his shoulder, like I did. “Scott’s cousin,” he mocks me. “Umm, yeah, I got that. But who is he to you?”
“You know, Andrew, I don’t even know. I met him the other day. He’s just a friend.” I scrunch my eyebrows, looking at him confused. “Well, I don’t even know if I would call him a friend.”
He smiles at me. “I don’t know too many non-friends who would knock a guy out for someone.”
“Yeah, I know, right?” I look up at the sky, staring at the stars circling the moon. They remind me of swirling eyes.
“You know,” he starts, as he sits back down on the bar stool. “I heard my mom say once, ‘your mind can’t resist what your heart wants.’”
I look at him intently. How could he know? “Why do you say that?”
“Because of the look on your face now, and the look on your face when he walked away.” He gulps his coke. “I’ve only seen it twice before.” He leans back on his arms, holding his weight on the bar. “It was on my mom when my dad was going to leave a long time ago, but he didn’t, then again when he passed. But the difference was, he wasn’t coming back. My mom and dad were real love. When he walked away from her the first time, the same look that was on her face was on yours while you watched him walk away from you—admiration, and hurt from rejection.” He breathes. “If you know it could be love, or that you feel a certain way and it will not fade over a matter of time—months, years, or even decades—go after it, chase it, until you can’t any longer.” He looks me in my eyes. “You may be young, but love has no age restrictions. It’s not an easy thing to come by. And by the looks of it, he shares those same looks.” He takes another drink. “I don’t see why you all are not entertaining the interest.”
I butt in. “Me neither.” I drink from my tea, my chest starting to hurt again. “I guess I—”
The sliding door opens, cutting me off.
“Hey, nobody can come out here. Party is only inside right now,” Andrew says, turning around to see who it is.
“Sorry, man. I just came out here to talk to Tracey. I saw you walk out here with her.” There he is again, just popping up at the most awkward moments.
Andrew looks at me. “What do you say? Your call.”
I look at him before I answer Andrew. I chuckle to myself. “Yeah, that’s fine,” as if I could say no.
“Alright, I’m going back inside to make sure nothing is broken. Let me know before you go,” Andrew says, getting down from the barstool.
“Okay. Thanks,” I shake my bottle, “for the tea.” Although, I mean for more than that.
“No problem, Cey.” He walks past him, through the open sliding door, and slides it closed behind him.
I look back up towards the stars, aware of him walking over to me. He sits right in front of me, on the barstool Andrew got off of. “I know Scott told you not to talk to me.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t tell him to do that.”
“Okay.”
“But I wasn’t upset with him for doing it.”
“O-Kay…” I look at him. He caught me off-guard with that one.
“He’s right about what he said. But I’m not saying that you should listen to him. Or me.”
I only stare at him, not knowing how to respond.
“I can’t tell you all the details right now. But I can tell you that you could be risking your life by being with me. But you being willing to risk yours, I am willing to risk mine.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, looking back at the sky.
He touches my hand and my breathing stops as the burning courses through me, making its way to my chest. I wince from the effects of the pain, but oddly, I welcome it.
His other hand cuffs my chin between his thumb and index finger and turns my head to look at him. “I know you feel that when I touch you. I know you can feel the pain in your chest when I leave you. I also know you want me just as bad as I want you. But what you don’t know is that a l
ife with me is not the happiness every female dreams of.”
“I can’t be sure that I want you. And I need more than that.” My words are breathless as the burning works its way through my stomach. He removes his hand and it stops. I mindlessly wrap my arms around myself, feeling the sudden cold taking over me.
“I couldn’t do that to you, Tracey.” No, do it to me.
He looks at me with a weird expression. “What? You and Scott are killing me with all the secrets.”
I look away from him back to the stars. They are the only things making sense to me right now. “And you are killing me with your being there one moment and gone the next. It’s like you’re teasing me. I feel like I’m going window shopping, trying on an outfit knowing I can’t buy it. Is it not a waste of time—me trying on the outfit knowing I cannot have it?”
“No, maybe you just wanted to see how you looked in it. So when you came back you knew just what to buy.”
“What?” I look at him.
He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be bothered with me, but I’m not saying I don’t want you to be.” He stands.
“I do not understand. But you don’t want me,” I say low, “so why entertain the idea?”
“For the pain of letting go of that one touch, I’ll risk that one touch just to feel you, or relieve you—temporarily—from whatever pain you feel. If I had to choose between one kiss, and not kissing you—out of fear I would want more and because of the pain that would follow when it was over—I’ll take that one kiss.” He looks me over. “For one look, I will look for as long as I am allowed, rather than avoid that look to not feel the hurt when you’re not around. If I had the choice, I would have you once, then suffer from not having you again.” He stands up, lifts me from the stool, and sits me on the bar so that we are eye to eye. “Each time, I’ll choose that once, rather than not at all. All the pain you feel, I feel. All the thoughts you think, I think. You stalk my mind and my dreams, just as I haunt yours. So I would prefer to risk the pain of touching you once, than to risk never touching you at all. I would prefer to crave you, want you, and get enraptured in the desire to have you, than to have no feelings towards you at all.” He removes his hands, but I grab his arms, forcing him to leave them on me. They are so comfortable, and they make me feel less confused.
“So you want me to get myself into something that I don’t know what I’m getting myself into?” I ask, following his arms up to his face with my eyes.
“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He grasps at the belt loops of my high-waist jeans.
“Well, I’m not interested in dying.” What other risks could there be?
“I won’t let that happen, but I’m not saying life with me will not be dangerous.”
“I’m also not interested in playing this ‘tit for tat’ game with you.”
“I don’t tit for tat.” He looks at the sky. “I know what I was doing. I just don’t know what I should do. Everything tells me to leave you alone. But I want you to know it’s not your fault. It’s me. And me—”
“Can you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Can you just trust me?” he asks, removing his hands from me, taking a single step back.
I take a moment, evaluating the conversation, shocked he even asked me that question. My confusion whirls as I stare at him. He looks perfect, his voice providing me with comfort and confidence that no matter what happens, he will protect me. Nevertheless, I honestly don’t know him at all. I do, however, know that I want him, and yes, I do want to know him. My body, heart, and mind wants him, regardless of the consequences, which I still don’t know what they are. I don’t know what to expect from the situation and if it is worth the danger he promises. But are my feelings—that are resilient for this person I barley even know—worth me risking whatever it is I’m willing to risk? Is not going for it worth not feeling his touch and not being around him? Hell, not being around him is somewhat like dying anyway.
I look him in his eyes—straight-faced—as I grab his hands that sit next to me on the bar top, welcoming the burning sensation they bring. It crawls up my arms, spreading around my neck, and slowly works its way to my chest.
“Say it, Tracey.” His voice is deep, yet smooth. Demanding but intriguing.
“Say what, Nathan?” A chill rolls over his body. He closes his eyes. I can fill the change over his skin.
“Say you trust me. Say you want me.” His voice, now a comforted whisper.
“Do you want me?” I ask.
He looks me in my eyes and I watch his eyes swirl to that green-brown. “I want you,” he says in a low, entranced voice. Whatever guard I had up melts against the warmth that’s slowly coursing through my body. Chills rush over my skin as he keeps my eye contact, awaiting my response.
“I more than want you,” he continues. “Sorry if I made you feel anything other than that. And you will get to know me if I have to spend my entire life showing you.” Huh? Yeah?
I ponder that, but only for a second. “I want you,” I say slowly, meaning every syllable. He steps closer to me, pulling me to the edge of the bar’s counter. “I trust you.”
He reaches up, cuffing the side of my face, his thumb resting on my cheek bone and his palm on my jaw bone. His fingers rest behind my head. The warmth from his hand courses through my head. “Can I kiss you?”
Can you? Most definitely. How can I deny you? I look into his eyes and something in them reminds me of what he had said: He could be a risk towards my life. “Don’t hurt me. Your look says you won’t, but I—”
He cuts me off, placing his lips softly against mine. My body burns out of control. It courses quicker through me, like when there is an IV placed in your arm and it’s ice-cold—but this is hot.
The worst part is that I enjoy it. It hurts, yet it’s comforting at the same time. I open my mouth to his kiss and our tongues touch—his soft and sweet to the taste of my own—moving with our lips. He deepens the kiss, claiming me, and I return it.
He pulls back—too soon—placing a soft kiss against my lips and then my forehead. “You ready to go back?” he asks, looking me over. I am feeling like doing something, but it’s not partying.
“Yes, I guess.” My look doesn’t match my answer.
“Go enjoy yourself. I’ll stop by your house later tonight, after your friend falls asleep, and we can talk.” Later? Huh?
“Okay.” He helps me off the bar, his touch no longer burning.
He studies me. “Don’t let Scott see you when you go in.”
“Why not?”
“We’ll talk later, Tracey, just trust me. And let me talk to him first.” I look at him suspiciously. He is going to have to start being a little clearer.
“I think we’re going to leave now. Can you come by in like an hour and a half?” I don’t want to wait to see him. I don’t want to stop seeing him now.
I start to walk away and he grabs my hand, pulling me close. “You don’t have to leave me now if you don’t want to.” The butterflies fly faster as I smile.
“Let’s say I don’t want to.”
“Okay,” he pulls me to walk from the deck with him, towards the lake, “but I’m sure your friends will worry about you.”
“No, I don’t think they are sober-enough to even worry about themselves.”
He nods. “I don’t like other guys touching you,” he says after a minute of silence.
“I don’t like other guys touching me either.”
“I also don’t like you drinking.”
“I’m not that big of a drinker anyway.”
“Don’t do that anymore.”
“What?”
“Drink…and dance with other guys.”
I make a breathy, short chuckle. “We setting ground rules?”
He looks at me. “I’m serious, Tracey.” Okay. He is serious.
“Okay, but don’t touch me and leave anymore.”
“I won’t. If I could, I would never stop
touching you, or leave you.” I fight back my smile, liking the sound of that. I mentally kick myself. Stop being so gullible, Tracey.
“I know we are going to talk later, but I need to ask you something.”
We walk aside the water. “Okay.” He looks out to the water, then back at me.
“When you would touch me, it felt…” I pause, looking for the words.
“It burned, like placing your hand over a flame,” he finishes for me.
Exactly. “Yeah…” I drag out. He hit it right on the head.
“I’m sorry about that. I’ll talk about that with you later.”
“Well, what can we talk about now?”
“Come here.” He pulls me to stand in front of him. I let my head rest against his chest; it’s comfortable and surprisingly familiar. It feels good for him to be touching me, for me to be returning the touch without him pulling away. “I won’t pull away from you anymore. I just wasn’t sure before. But I think it’s better to have and to risk, than to not have and not know.” He comments like he had heard my thoughts.
“Well, by the way you and Scott are talking, I’d say it’s a little more than risking.”
He wraps his arms around me tighter. “Maybe.”
“But I—” Loud talking in the distance cuts me off. I look towards it. I hadn’t realized how far we had walked until now. People are pouring into Andrew’s backyard and I can’t make out their faces.
We’ve been standing here, looking out at the reflection of the moon on the water. It’s relaxing. “You should get back so you can get home. You’ll wait up for me later?” he asks.
I turn around to look up at him. “Yes,” I whisper. “Just come.”
He grabs my chin, his touch reassuring me he will come by, calming me. He lifts my head to look at him. I anticipate a kiss, but I get an “I will.”
I hug him around his neck. He wraps his arms around me tightly and I feel comfortable. He’s comfortable, and I fit perfectly in his ‘bear’ arms.
I will love for him to hold me, at some point in the near future, and let me fall asleep against him. He kisses my forehead, and pulls back. “I’ll see you later. Go find your friends. I’ll wait here until you do.”
