by Julie Solano
We take our time teasing and elbowing each other up the walkway. By the time Brody and I get into the house, all the lights are off. He turns to me looking a bit puzzled. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s up. I wonder who just turned off your bedroom light,” he muses. We walk toward the stairs, and I tiptoe halfway up to see if my parents are awake in their room. Their door is shut and the lights are out. I can hear the ping pong of their snoring, so I know they’re not awake.
“Maybe Caden’s home. I’ll go check.” I start to head to my brother’s bedroom.
Brody pulls back on my arm and whispers, “Not so fast. I’ll go first. Stay behind me.” He pulls me behind him and makes his way to Caden’s room. He looks back at me. “Nope. I didn’t think he was home, yet. His truck’s not out front, and it looked like he and Peyton were having a pretty good time at the dance,” he grins.
A feeling of unease begins to creep through me. “Didn’t you see the light go off in my room?” I ask him nervously.
He pinches his face and nods his head yes. “Let’s go check it out,” he whispers.
A sudden sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach, and the hairs stand up on my arms. “I’m not going in there . . . I’m not going in there.” I shake my head furiously back and forth, and pin myself to the wall.
Brody pauses for a moment, and looks me up and down. One corner of his mouth turns up in his endearing smirk. I know he is assessing my frantic state, and probably laughing inside at my obvious phobia of the supernatural. “Are you still sleeping on your parents’ floor?” he asks incredulously. “Don’t tell me you still think there’s a ghost in your room.” He chuckles.
I smack his arm. “Shut up Brody. That stuff’s real, and it’s not funny.”
“Pip, there’s nothing in your room. Do you need me to sleep on your floor tonight to protect you? Cuz, you know I will. Come on,” he takes my hand, “Let’s go check it out.”
We walk through the dark hallway hand in hand, feeling our way to the light switch. As we approach my bedroom door, I trip over something, jump, and let out a yelp. Brody grabs me. “It’s okay, Pip. That was just my foot. I’ve got you.” When we hit the light, I hide behind him, searching my room for anything unusual. Scanning the room from right to left, everything seems to be in place. My clean clothes are still stacked neatly on my desk. My report on teen driving is still face up in the printer. My oversized polka-dot beanbag still sits neatly in the corner with my current novel nestled in one of the folds. My bed is still unmade . . . wait . . . my bed is unmade? I take a second look, knowing full well I made it before I left . . . having a clean room was one of the conditions of leaving the house tonight. As I look up toward the pillows, I notice something looks a little off. My giant, fluffy teddy bear, the one that Pistol gave me on our one-month anniversary, doesn’t look so big . . . or fluffy. I tiptoe over to my bed, pick him up and gasp. His head has been partially severed from his body, and white stuffing protrudes from his neck. I walk around the bed and look down on the side nearest the wall. My eyes widen as I see his stuffing strewn all over the floor leading to my window. My attention is diverted upward when I feel the cool fall breeze blowing against my face. The window has been left open, and the blinds smack gently against the frame. I am instantly frozen with fear.
My throat goes dry and it becomes increasingly difficult to swallow. My bed is unmade? My window is open? Someone has been in here. Fear continues to grow inside of me; my blood runs cold and I can feel it prickling through my limbs, stopping short of my hands and feet. I pull my hands up to my face, covering my nose and mouth, trying to capture a pocket of air so I can breathe. I begin to hyperventilate into my hands. The thought that someone could actually get past my parents and break into my room at night terrifies me. I struggle to find my voice and squeak, “Brody, someone’s been in here.”
“Stand over here, Pip,” he whispers, gently grabbing my shoulders and guiding me up against the wall. “Don’t move. I’m gonna check out your closet and bathroom.”
When he returns from the bathroom, he holds a photograph of Pistol and me. It’s been torn down the middle. “This was stuck to your bathroom mirror.” He hands me the torn picture that once hung in the decorative initials above my bed. Pip, you don’t have a ghost. You have a deranged boyfriend. I’m gonna castrate that ballsy asshole for putting you through this.”
I did not know a heart could shatter so quickly. Seeing my favorite picture of Pistol and me torn in half, hurts more than I care to admit. The breath I’ve been holding empties from my lungs, and my lips curl downward. I fight the urge to cry. I can’t let Brody see me lose it over Pistol again tonight. I turn away from him so he can’t watch the battle between my heart and mind playing out on my face. I walk toward my bed to sit down when I hear a text chime from my phone. When I pull it out of my purse, Pistol’s name is still flashing across the screen. Before I even have a chance to open the message, Brody is at my side holding his hand out. “Give me your phone Kaitlyn.”
I shake my head, “No.” Fatigued by the nights roller coaster of events, I begin to succumb to my raw emotions. I’m trying to hold it together, but the first traitorous tear escapes and begins to crawl down my face. “I don’t want to make this worse, Brody.” I clutch my phone tightly, refusing to give it up. I shake my head thinking back on the events of the evening. “I was already mean to him tonight. I mean, I pretty much flaunted you in his face. He saw the video of Homecoming, and he watched us dancing together, Brody. Then I left the dance without him.” How could I be so cruel after he came all the way over here for me? The flow of tears increases as I realize how disappointed I am in my behavior. “He’s already jealous of our friendship Brody. I just made it so much worse. He’s gonna kill me.”
Brody comes close and puts his arms around me. “Come on Pip. You know good and well that I am not going to let anything happen to you. Now give me your phone.” He wraps his hand around mine, and I hesitantly release the death grip I have around the phone. He takes it from my hand.
An enraged look crosses Brody’s face as he reads the text message. Without saying a word to me, he bites his cheek, sucks in a deep breath through his nose, and hits dial. He is breathing hard, and I can see the rage pulsing through the veins in his neck. I have never seen Brody look this angry. His face is red and his nostrils are flared. . . he waits for an answer. He is still holding me, and I can hear Pistol’s raised voice booming through the phone.
“What’s up slut? Did you finally realize I left you at the dance? Cuz I’m sure as hell not coming back to pick your cheating ass up.”
I watch the intensity grow in Brody’s expression.
“You listen up, you saggy little ball sac. I’ve already got Kaitlyn. We’re standing knee high in stuffing right now, thanks to your sneaky stunt. If I ever see or hear of you coming close to her again, I will stick my fist down your throat and pull those tiny, little pellets you call balls, up through your mouth, and cut them out like tonsils.”
Without waiting for a response, Brody hangs up the phone. He turns into me, “Pip, I am so sorry you had to hear me talk like that . . . but I’m even more sorry this happened to you.” He slides his hands to my shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes. “No matter how mean you think you were tonight, you do not deserve this.” Brody glances down at the phone in his hand and then over to the teddy bear on my bed. He continues to shake his head as he speaks in a slow soft voice, “Something is off about this guy, Pip. You need to move on. What do you think we should do now?”
I stare at him dumfounded. I search for clarity of mind, but all I can think about is what Pistol said to make Brody so angry. I need to see what that text was about. “Well, for starters, I’ll take my phone back,” I hold out my hand. He glances down at my phone and quickly deletes the text from Pistol. “Hey, I didn’t even get a chance to read that!” I snap.
“Some things are best left unread,” he scowls. Contemplation spreads across his face as he stares down
at the blank screen and tosses the phone to my bed. Again, he holds my shoulders, and looks me in the eyes. Worry darkens his expression. “Kaitlyn . . . maybe we should call the police, just to be on the safe side.”
I stare at Brody, speechless. I can’t fathom the thought of getting the police involved over one bad night with Pistol. We haven’t even broken up, and this teddy bear murder might not even be him. Maybe it’s CJ or Chelsea. I’m sure they’re both a little upset with me. I finally manage to speak, “And what are they going to do Brody; ask me if I got in a fight with my boyfriend and ripped up the bear he gave me? There’s nothing here to prove it was even him.” My mind races with questions. Does Pistol deserve to be turned into the police? I mean how much of this did I bring on myself? Was it even him? Not to mention, that was a very serious threat Brody just made on my phone.
After sorting through the flood of conflicting thoughts, I continue, “I’m just afraid if we get the police involved, you’re the one who’s going to get in trouble . . . for threatening to cut his balls out like tonsils.” I can’t help but give a little chuckle.
A small smirk grows on Brody’s face. “I would do it for you, you know . . . cut ’em out.” He raises his eyebrows, “You really think I could get in trouble instead of Pistol?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head “But, I don’t want to take that chance. Your season is going so well, and scouts are going to be looking at you soon. I don’t want to draw any negative attention to you. And, I need to focus on Masters. I don’t need to lose any training wrapped up in police investigations and court cases. Brody, can we just keep this one to ourselves? I’ll talk to Pistol. I’ll figure it out.” I shake my head latching on to any bargain that will make this go away. “I don’t know how to explain all this to my parents . . . and I really don’t want to make things worse.”
Brody stands there looking down at me with upturned eyebrows. He pinches his lips into a straight line and takes a big breath, “You know, Pip. I’ll do this for you, but we need to tell Caden. And, until we get this resolved, you need to have one of us with you everywhere you go. That cowboy is crazy, and this . . .” he picks up the unstuffed bear, dangling it in front of me “ . . . is proof.”
Brody pulls out his phone and takes a picture of the dangling bear.
“What are you doing?” I ask, worried he may have changed his mind.
“ . . . taking a pic . . . evidence to use against this crazy bastard. . . you know, just in case we need it later.”
Brody puts his phone away and helps me clean up the stuffing from my dead teddy bear. I’m still shaking as I work my way through my room checking for any more damage. When I pick up the picture, I hold the jagged edges of the two pieces together. While staring at the two of us side by side, the memory of that night floods my mind.
This was the picture we took on the Ferris Wheel last month at the county fair. I reminisce about the soft breeze whipping through my hair, as Pistol took me in his arms and whispered in my ear about how lucky he was to be dating the most beautiful girl in Jefferson County. He was such a gentleman all night, and made me feel like I was the greatest thing that ever happened to him. As we walked around the midway hand in hand, other girls gawked, and some even followed us, but his eyes never drifted from me. He just pulled me close letting everyone know that he was taken. It was the perfect night.
The memory stabs at my heart. The realization that nothing is the same, and we will never be that couple again, hits hard. Pain begins to sear my throat. Knowing that our relationship is probably over, and this is the last time I will ever see this picture, I begin to cry again, not because I want him back, but because the Pistol I thought I cared about so deeply, never even existed. That Pistol was merely made of bits and pieces of a good day here and there. The real Pistol, the one I have come to know, is a self-centered, hedonistic jerk. He might be the hottest cowboy in Jefferson County, but his beauty is clearly skin deep.
As I drop the picture down into the trash, Brody’s hand gently brushes mine. I feel his soft grip wrap around my fingers. “Don’t waste your tears on this guy. You’re too good for him anyway.” He takes me into another hug. We begin to rock back and forth, swaying for several minutes. The silence is broken when Brody starts to hum one of my all time favorite songs, Keith Whitley’s When You Say Nothing at All. He has such a beautiful tenor voice. My mind begins to drift away from the heartbreak of the evening and focus only on Brody. My neck relaxes when I rest my head on his welcoming chest. His soothing hum, and the warmth of his embrace spreads through me, blanketing me with peace. My new sense of calm has made me keenly aware of the comfort of his warm touch against my lower back. He gently sets his smooth cheek next to mine. My heart skips, and I swallow a little gulp as the heat in my body begins to rise. His voice has me captivated and entranced as he begins to softly sing in my ear . . . “the touch of my hand says I’ll catch you if ever you fall. Ya, I know you best, shhh,” he holds his finger to my lips, “now don’t say nothin’ at all . . .” His soft whisper into my ear has scattered goosebumps up and down my body.
“Heyyy, you changed the lyrics,” I giggle, looking up at Brody, who is smiling down at me with a new twinkle in his eyes.
“Yep, you make me want to change the lyrics to a lot of songs, Pip. You know what . . . come over here.” In one motion, he pulls his arm from behind my back and slides my hand into his. He tips his head in the direction of my bed, and tugs for me to come with him. His face flushes a subtle shade of pink and he becomes unusually quiet. He’s not talking . . . His extended pause worries me. Why does he seem nervous? Is he about to tell me I’m too much work? Or maybe I’m scaring him off with my clinginess tonight. He’s had enough of me and my Pistol problems, I know it. I can’t lose him . . . not now. I take a deep breath and let him pull me down onto his lap.
With my arms wrapped around his neck, we sit for a moment more in silence, listening to our syncopated breathing. I’m holding onto him with everything in me, wondering if this will be his goodbye. For a second, I think I can hear Brody’s heart beating; I can certainly feel it thrumming against mine. He pulls his hand up to my back and sets the other one down on my lap. When the silence becomes unbearable, he takes in a deep breath, “Pip, we need to talk.”
I draw out the word “Okayyy,” trying to stall the impending conversation. This is it. “You’re scaring me Brody. What do you need to talk to me about?”
“I think you know what I’m talking about . . . this . . . this,” he moves his hand back and forth between us, “this thing that you and I have been doing . . . the playful flirting, subtle yet intentional brushes of our skin, oh and my favorite . . . trying to sneak glimpses of each other in the hallways at school. And don’t say you haven’t noticed, because I’ve seen you looking when you think I’m not paying attention.”
I begin to smile and flush in embarrassment. I can’t believe he’s caught me watching him.
When he sees my smile, and the redness filling my cheeks, he pulls my chin into his hand. He returns my smile and says with renewed confidence, “The thing is, Pip, even if you think I’m not, I am paying attention. It’s hard not to.”
Whoa. I think to myself. This is not where I thought this conversation was going.
Brody continues, “I wake up thinking about you, and I go to sleep thinking about you, and all I want to do is put myself wherever I know you’ll be during the day. My happiest hours are the ones when I get to be near you.”
“You actually try to see me during the day?” I smile. “I thought you were trying to avoid me . . . since . . .”
“Look, I know you heard your brother warn me to stay away from you. Believe me, I’ve tried. I even took Chelsea to the dance . . . but there’s nothing there. All I did the whole time was watch over her shoulder looking for you. Pip, you’re it for me. I can’t seem to feel with anyone, the way I feel when I’m with you.”
I’m not sure how to respond with anything except for a disbelieving s
mile. He leans in and sets his forehead against mine.
“What are we gonna do, Brody?”
“I know what I want to do,” he smiles; his mouth is so close I can feel his warm breath against my face.
“What’s that?” I whisper back, slowly biting my lip.
“I can’t tell you,” his lips curl up into a cute, little grin.
I release my lip. “You can’t?” I raise my eyebrows, looking him right in the eyes.
“Nope.” He shakes his head, not breaking contact with my forehead. “I have to show you,” he whispers.
Our eyes are locked, staring for what seems like an eternity when he pulls his forehead away from mine. Slowly, he tilts his head to the side and leans back into me. His warm breath carries the scent of spearmint. That minty smell, combined with his Abercrombie cologne, swirls around my head, sparking my senses. Fireworks ignite inside of me as I feel his soft lips gently brush against mine for the first time. Without pulling away, he pauses momentarily, as though he’s waiting for permission to continue. I sit still, spellbound, entranced by his scent, and memorizing the feel of his perfect lips. He pulls his head away and looks down at me, lifting his eyebrows. I can’t help but smile. I am completely lit up inside. “Oh, that smile . . .” he whispers. “Aww what the hell . . .” he shakes his head. “I give up.”
I feel his arms wrap me tighter as he brings his soft, warm lips back to mine. He opens his mouth slightly, pulling my bottom lip back into his. He tugs on it with a tiny nibble, giggles, and lets it go, looking down at me again. I don’t know what he has done to my senses, but I can’t let this stop. I lean back into him, and cover his lips with mine. At the first brush of our tongues, I become breathless. The butterflies take flight, and work themselves into a swirling cyclone inside my belly. They pound at my stomach and chest, fighting to escape. I’ve never been kissed like this, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been doing it wrong up until now. It is so easy with Brody, our mouths move in perfect rhythm. As our tongues lightly brush back and forth, and begin to swirl, I become light headed. I’m completely intoxicated by his scent, the natural ease of our movements, and the comfort of his embrace. Brody slowly pulls away, placing gentle kisses up my neck until he reaches my ear. My skin is on fire from the tiny trail of nibbles he’s left along the way. The thumping of my heart is soon drown out by his soft whisper tickling my ear, “Wow, Pip . . . I think I just had my first real kiss.”
