Madness

by Zac Brewer

  “No prob.” And just like that, he turned back to Tucker. “So you’re really related to David Bowie?”

  Tucker nodded, his smile matching Duckie’s. “Distantly, but yeah.”

  “I had such a crush on him in middle school. But hell, who didn’t?” They both laughed after Duckie’s quip, which made me wonder if Duckie had already forgotten about taking me to Derek’s.

  I tugged Duckie’s sleeve. “Hey. Not to be a pain or anything, but do ya think we could go soon?”

  Duckie stopped laughing. Yes, maybe I was being selfish about wanting to go see Derek. But he was the one who’d offered to take me.

  Tucker said, “Hey, it’s cool if you’ve gotta go. We can talk more tomorrow. Unless you want my number. Then we can text tonight. If you want.”

  They exchanged numbers and said their good-byes. All the while an angry heat was coming from Duckie and aimed at yours truly. I deserved it.

  After a too-quiet walk to the parking lot, we got into the Beast and took off. Not even ten minutes later, we’d pulled over and parked on the road outside Derek’s house. The lights were on and Derek’s dad’s truck was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t know how exactly to phrase it without Duckie eating me alive, but I still hadn’t made up my mind about going to see Derek.

  As calmly as possible, Duckie said, “Am I supposed to go in with you?”

  “No.” I could see someone moving around in the house and hoped it was Derek. Why wouldn’t it be? His dad’s truck was gone, and no one else lived there, as far as I knew. But I still had no idea what to say to him after the incident over my locker. Thank you? That was kinda scary? Do you often defend people’s honor, or is there something special between us? My mind was whirling.

  “Are you going to knock, or what?” Duckie sighed with a level of impatience that suggested I’d better make up my mind, and fast. Without further thought, I opened the door and got out, then shut the door and peeked through the window at Duckie for . . . I don’t know. Wisdom, maybe? Support? With a forced smile, he started the Beast’s engine again. “Good luck. I’m gonna head home. Text me when you’re ready to go.”

  I owed him the biggest apology, but it would have to wait.

  My knees turned to Jell-O as I got closer to Derek’s front porch. By the time I reached the door and knocked, I was fairly certain I was going to throw up.

  The door opened, and Derek popped his head out to see who it was. To my relief, he smiled. “Oh, hey, Brooke. Come on in.”

  He stepped back, pushing the door open farther as an invitation. He was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. As my eyes traced his torso, my mouth forgot how to speak. He grabbed a T-shirt from the back of the couch and slipped it on over his head. Which was a good thing. Otherwise the entire conversation would just be me ogling him.

  When I stepped inside and could see his face better in the light, I realized that he had a black eye. His bottom lip was cut. I reached out to touch his face, but he shook me off, looking more embarrassed than anything. “Derek, oh my god, are you okay? I had no idea Eric hit you that hard.”

  “He didn’t.” His tone said that I should just drop it. Which meant that he had a lot to learn about me. “Hey, you want a sandwich or something?”

  “No, thank you.” I took his hand in mine and pulled him closer, keeping my eyes on his. “What happened?”

  He swallowed hard and shrugged with one shoulder, flitting his eyes about the room. “I got a three-day suspension and they sent me home. You sure you’re not hungry?”

  He was totally trying to change the subject, but I wasn’t about to let him. “Derek . . . your eye . . .”

  His jaw tightened, and a fearful look washed over him. After a moment of silence, during which he seemed to be debating what to tell me and how to tell it, he finally said, “That’s just a little extra parenting from my old man after the school called and said to come pick me up. We got home and he let me have it. I knew it was coming, though, so it’s no big deal.”

  No big deal. Right. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He let go of my hand and leaned against the back of the couch.

  Fine. He was fine. Yeah . . . so was I, even as the old man was pulling me out of Black River. I was fine. Utterly and completely fine, as far as I’d tell anyone. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

  He wet his lips and met my gaze. “The truth?”

  “Always.”

  “I’m not okay at all.” I followed his attention to the pocketknife on the end table. His eyes welled with tears, but he quickly wiped them away. “I had the knife in my hand. I was seriously thinking about using it.”

  My heart sank at the idea of losing Derek. Was this what it was like for people when they learned about my attempt? “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Why?” He looked at me, his eyes still shimmering. His bottom lip trembled slightly as he fought to keep from crying. The last thing I ever wanted to see was him hurting.

  Stepping closer, I slipped my arms around his neck and gazed into his eyes. “Because you deserve better than being hurt. Especially by you.”

  He put his arms around me and pulled me closer, until my cheek was against his chest. I could hear his heart beating through the cotton of his shirt.

  “Does your eye hurt?”

  He sighed. “Yeah. But less now. My lip still stings, though.”

  “Too much for me to kiss you?” I pulled back just a bit so I could look at his face. Under his left eye, the skin was purple and slightly puffy. The cut on his lip looked as if it had been bleeding earlier, but had stopped. Even with his wounds, he was beautiful. I stood on my tiptoes and whispered, my lips close to his, “I can be gentle.”

  His breath was warm against my skin. “Please don’t.”

  My heart started beating faster. He was so close, his chest against mine, our lips almost touching. I felt dizzy. “Don’t kiss you?”

  “No. Don’t be gentle.” He’d only just started to smile when I pressed my lips against his. We kissed hard, and Derek tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling me as close as he could.

  As our lips parted, I breathlessly asked, “So . . . where’s your dad?”

  Derek hesitated and then cocked an eyebrow at me. I could feel his heart racing. “He’s . . . not in my bedroom.”

  People could say what they wanted about a woman’s desire. They could slut-shame and insult women for having sex all they wanted. That didn’t change the fact that having these feelings was normal . . . and pretty fantastic, if I was being honest.

  I ran a finger down his nose to his lips and stopped at his chin. “Hmm. Maybe we should check just to be sure.”

  He took my hand in his and kissed my fingers before leading me to his room. The brief thought entered my mind that I’d only known him for roughly two weeks, but it passed quickly. I felt like I’d known him much longer than that. By the time we were inside his room and he’d closed the door, we were both smiling.

  I took a seat on his bed, and the mattress sank in as he sat beside me, its springs creaking slightly beneath his weight. Our eyes met before mine fell to his mouth. I bit my bottom lip gently and raised my gaze to his eyes again. He leaned in, pressing his mouth to mine, kissing me. Our tongues slipped over each other, our lips moving with an increasing hunger. I felt his hand on my leg, where my knee-high socks ended and my skirt began. My skin flushed. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. It felt wrong somehow, but oh so right.

  I placed my right hand on the back of his head as we kissed, my fingers running through his hair. At the same time, I felt his fingers curl around the edge of one of my knee-high socks and pull it gently down my leg. It fell somewhere—I didn’t care where—and then his fingers traced my skin. Goose bumps tickled up my calf, my thigh, as his hand moved upward. For a moment, a thin layer of panic washed over me. Was this what I wanted? Were we going too far? Too fast? As if sensing my hesitance, Derek broke our kiss gently and looked once more into my eyes. He whispered, “Is thi
s okay?”

  I didn’t know if it was okay. I didn’t know if I would regret it the next day or if things would change between us after this, or what I would do if I got pregnant or got a disease. My heart raced with questions and desire. I whispered back, “Do you have . . . something?”

  He leaned over my lap and opened the drawer of his nightstand. Retrieving something, he closed the drawer and sat back, holding it up for me to see. It was a condom, which made me wonder how many girls he’d done this with before, or if he’d purchased them in preparation for getting me in his bed. Did he think I was easy? Did he think he could talk me into it if I wasn’t interested? What went through a guy’s mind on his way to the store to buy condoms, exactly? Other than the obvious.

  As if sensing my doubt, Derek’s cheeks flushed. “In case you’re wondering, I only got them the other day. Just . . . just in case we ever . . . y’know. Have you ever . . . ?”

  “Yeah. Twice. But those were . . . well . . . they were never . . . like this.” My cheeks felt warm, and I knew that I must have been blushing. “What about you?”

  “A couple of times.” He looked serious for a moment and then placed a tiny peck on my forehead. “Nothing has to happen. Not if you don’t want to. There are a million other things we can do together tonight. It’s okay. Really.”

  I kissed him on the lips, lingering there in the tingle of his warmth.

  When we parted, Derek seemed breathless. “What’s that for?”

  “For saying it’s okay.”

  I kissed him again, a small moan escaping his mouth as I did, and his hand once again found my knee. Slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers inched up my thigh. As we lay back on the bed, his right hand found my hip. His mouth was hungry against mine, and it was all I could do not to devour him whole. Our bodies were pressed together, but I couldn’t get close enough to him. He ground his hips into mine and I felt him against me—that hot, firm part of a guy that inspired whispers in the girls’ locker room.

  I’d had sex before, but both times it had been in the dark, and both times were awkward and over so quickly. Each experience had been about escapism, which was not at all what it was about with Derek. Derek made me want to be here, now. The thought crossed my mind that I loved him, but I tried to ignore it. Admitting that to myself could only open a doorway to pain. Besides, it was too soon for that. Wasn’t it?

  He pulled his body back momentarily, still kissing me. When our lips finally parted, he held my gaze and slipped his T-shirt off over his head, dropping it to the ground. His hands went slowly to his belt, undoing the buckle, then the button. As his fingers pulled the zipper of his jeans down, my heart fluttered in curiosity and fear. There was no going back now. And what’s more, I didn’t want to go back. What did that say about me? Was I a bad person? Was I a slut? Was this okay? If I were a guy, it would be fine, for some reason, by societal standards. So why did I feel bad for wanting to connect, to touch, to feel Derek’s body against mine? Because I was female and we weren’t supposed to want those things?

  Shut up, brain, I thought as my eyes moved over his chest to his stomach.

  He sat there on his knees, shirtless, jeans undone, watching me with smoldering eyes. Slowly, I slipped my shirt over my head and dropped it to the floor with his. As I lay back on the bed, he looked at me, his eyes tracing my curves. His voice was soft when he spoke and made my heart skip a beat. “You are so beautiful, Brooke. Just . . . perfect.”

  He bent down and kissed my neck, making a trail back to my mouth. His hand cupped my left breast momentarily and then it returned to my hip again, his fingers pulling my panties down and then off. My nails were digging gently into the smooth muscles of his shoulders. I felt like I was glowing, as if I might explode. His lips made his way to my ear, nibbling gently on my earlobe. He whispered, “Are you sure you’re ready for this? We can stop.”

  In a breathy voice, I said, “No. I want to.”

  He sat back again, quickly removing his jeans. I averted my eyes. I couldn’t look, couldn’t see it just yet. It seemed so . . . absurdly personal to look at someone’s private parts. Ridiculous, I know, considering what we were about to do. Considering that I’d had sex before. I had no idea if he planned to look at my parts or not, and honestly, I was too embarrassed to ask.

  As he returned to me, my bra and skirt still on, I saw him drop the now-empty condom wrapper on the bed beside us. He kissed me deeply, and then I felt the heat and hardness of him against my thigh. Before I could breathe, he was slipping deep inside of me, and I moaned a little at the pain and pleasure and wonder of it all. My worry was gone for the moment, washed away by the push and pull of becoming one flesh, one soul. My body tingled in ways that it never had, and I was so glad that I was doing this with the boy I was completely in love with. And I did—oh god, I did love him. He was broken and imperfect and understood my soul. He was practically a stranger to me, and I didn’t even know his last name. But I loved him. Good god, I loved him.

  His skin smelled musky and manly. The bed creaked beneath us. Our hearts beat solidly together. One rhythm. One song.

  Derek’s hips began thrusting faster and faster until he called my name, his voice gruff and lost in complete ecstasy. As the quiet settled around us, he ran his fingers through my hair and whispered into my ear, his breath hot and trembling, “I love you.”

  And what’s more, he meant it. I could feel it in his tone, in the way he looked at me, in his touch. Those words were better than any kiss, any touch that he had ever given me.

  I smiled, feeling the warmth of him still inside of me, and said, “I love you too.”

  After he’d disposed of the condom, we snuggled for a long time. His body spooned up behind me, our skin touching, our warmth one. After a while—I wasn’t sure how long—we dozed, tumbling deep into the sleep that can only come after such an intimate experience. I’d had sex before . . . but this was the first time that I’d ever made love. My lips curled into a smile as contented sleep dragged me under its waves.

  When I opened my eyes, Derek was still behind me, holding me. He was so quiet, I was certain he was sleeping. The drapes were drawn, but it felt like night was still all around us. Beside the bed was a nightstand, but I didn’t see a clock. I did see a copy of Romeo and Juliet, which gave me pause.

  Derek spoke, his words hushed and gruff in my ear. I jumped a little at the sound of his voice. “You like Shakespeare?”

  I rolled over so that I was facing him. His hair was mussed, his eyes bright. Reaching my hand up, I ran my fingers over the stubble on his chin. It was the first time I’d ever slept over with a guy. I wanted it to last. “Yeah. I mean, I actually can’t stand Romeo and Juliet. Can I ask why you’re reading it?”

  He kissed my forehead and said, “Because I wanted to know more about what you and your friends were talking about.”

  My cheeks flushed. “That’s incredibly sweet. But if you want to read Shakespeare, Hamlet was so much better.”

  “I don’t know. There are some pretty great lines in Romeo and Juliet—most of them forgotten because of the overused ones. ‘But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun’ is a pretty crappy line, if you think about it. But there are some good ones that no one seems to notice.”

  “So what are the good lines?”

  He paused to think about it, but he didn’t have to consider my question for long. “I like ‘What is it else? A madness most discreet. A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.’”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. “That’s . . . nice? I guess. What does it mean exactly?”

  “Basically?” He shrugged. “It means ‘What is love? A sweet form of madness, a candy that you choke on.’”

  “You’re comparing love to madness. To craziness.”

  “So was Shakespeare.” He ran a strand of my hair between his fingers and slowly swept it behind my left ear. “And there’s not much of a difference, if you think about it. If it’
s real, I mean.”

  I blinked at him. “If what’s real? The craziness or the love?”

  “Both.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “When someone’s mad, truly mad, they lose control of themselves. They live in another state of mind—somewhere that you can only really understand if you’ve been there before.” He shrugged. “It’s the same way with love.”

  A question formed in my mind, but I was hesitant to ask it. I mean, he’d already answered it, I guessed, when he told me he loved me, but in that heated moment, people said all sorts of things. Didn’t mean they meant it. I dropped my eyes and found the bravery to ask. “Have you ever been in love before?”

  “Not until you.” He smiled and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. “Y’know, just the presence of you makes me crazy. The absence of you too. It’s dangerous and senseless . . . and beautiful.”

  It was the sweetest thing that anyone had ever said to me before. It couldn’t be real. Could it? I so badly wanted it to be. A grin spread across my face. “You’re just trying to get laid again.”

  His expression immediately turned serious. “I swear to you, if we never did it again, I’d be okay with that. Just . . . tell me that you love me. And I’ll stay with you forever.”

  Forever. It sounded so perfect coming out of his mouth. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy before. I met his gaze. “I love you.”

  He closed his eyes as if relishing the moment. When he looked at me again, he sighed. “Now comes the bad news.”

  My heart paused in fear. “What’s that?”

  Derek kissed my neck, leaving a trail of pecks along my shoulder. “We have to get you home before your parents realize you slept here.”

  “Shit! What time is it?” I practically leapt from the bed, throwing on my clothes as fast as I possibly could.

  Derek just lay there, watching me. The blanket was only covering him from the waist down. “It’s almost six in the morning. School starts in an hour.”

  “Shit. Okay. I’ll text Duckie. Where’s my phone?”