“You’re muddy.” I spin and look at my backside as a blush rushes to my neck and cheeks. It’s not just wet. My hoodie, shirt, and jeans are black and wet. I look at him horrified, and instantly his expression changes. He goes to his chest of drawers, and pulls out a T-shirt and boxers and holds them toward me.
“Do you have anything long-sleeved?” I ask as I fist my hands into my hoodie sleeves. He looks at me confused a for moment, and then at my arms. I hid them behind me. He nods and puts the T-shirt back and grabs another T-shirt.
“You can go in there.” He points to his closet. I walk toward it as he flips on the light. Shelves of sweaters, hoodies, blankets and shoe boxes fill the back wall. On both sides of me are rails of jeans, dress slacks, and button-up shirts, a rainbow of plaids, stripes, and solid colors. This kid may have more clothes than I do. He smiles shyly, observing me as I run my fingers along a row of shirts. It smells like fabric softener in here. He shuts the door behind me, and I peel off my clothes. I leave my underwear on even though it’s wet. I put on the boxers and roll them once to keep them at my hips. They barely cover the faded scars on the top of my thighs. I put on the long-sleeved shirt just before I pick up my clothes and fold them. My hands keep getting lost in the sleeves of this shirt that is almost as long on me as the boxers. My heart races as I think about coming out in front of him this exposed. I feel vulnerable, naked even. I take a deep breath and grip my clothes to my chest as I turn the knob. There’s a knock at his door, and I freeze with the door cracked. I hear him race across the room to the closet and hit the light and then his bedroom door opens. I move the door a touch more so I can try to see out, but I can’t.
“Good night sweetie. We’re going to bed now.” It must be his mom at the door.
“Yeah, OK,” he says nonchalantly.
“You understand where we’re coming from right? You really like Lana. Your dad and I just want to meet her.” I hear a hiss escape his mouth.
“Mom!” he exclaims.
“It’s OK.” She gives him a light laugh. “We’ve been there, too. Remember we were teenagers once. This girl is important to you, so we just want to meet her.”
“Goodnight, Mom,” he rushes as he shuts the door.
I smile at myself and take a few more deep breaths before I finally push the door open the rest of the way. He’s standing at his bed in pajama pants. And that’s it. I let myself take in his olive skin with more tiny moles scattered over his shoulders. I release short breaths slowly to calm my racing heart as he grabs one of the two pillows off his bed, avoiding eye contact at first, but then I watch him as he steals glances at me. I look away, suddenly feeling very sober. We don’t say anything for a long, awkward moment. Then he begins, talking faster than I’ve ever heard him talk before.
“You can put your clothes on the dresser there,” he says pointing as he moves past me to the closet and grabs a stack of blankets. I nod and move to put my things up. He begins to unfold the blankets on the floor beside the bed as he continues, “You can have the bed. I’m fine on the floor; it’s actually pretty comfortable. I sleep here when my cousin spends the night. If I put enough layers underneath it’s really soft. My cousin doesn’t stay a lot, so I don’t sleep there a lot, but when he does I do,” he says in one breath. Realizing how nervous he is, I try to hide a smile.
“OK,” I say softly. He looks me, in the eyes, like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Then he moves across the room to the bedroom door and light switch. Just before he turns off the light, his eyes examine my face once more before they move slowly down my body. I freeze. He’s never allowed himself to look at me like this and again my heart is racing, and my stomach wants to escape through my throat. I swallow hard, pushing it back down, and he turns off the light. I crawl up his bed and under the covers. I watch as his shadow lowers to the pile of blankets on the floor. I’m not tired any more. In fact, I’m wide awake.
“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” I whisper staring at the ceiling.
“No, it’s just me. That may be why my parents are so overprotective,” he says as soft chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Why do you only wear long sleeves?” I move to the edge of the bed and peek over at him. He’s already looking at where my head appears. Our eyes meet and hold each other.
“Are you sure you really want to know?” I ask in a small voice.
“I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Last year, a lot of things changed for me. It’s probably karma for the awful way I used to treat people. But I had trouble dealing with it, and instead of telling my parents or trying to get help, I began to cut.” A small gasp escapes his lips, but he doesn’t say anything. I feel my eyes pool and will them to stay. I’m terrified that he’s going to not want anything to do with me anymore once he knows the truth. Reluctantly, I continue, “It became too much to deal with, and so last spring I wanted to die. So I tried. . .” I trail off unable to finish.
“You tried . . . to. . . kill yourself?” he asks, disbelieving, looking away from me. I nod as a tear slides down my cheek onto his sheet. “How?” he stares blankly in front of himself.
“I cut my wrists with a straight razor. I would have died if Lacey and Chase hadn’t saved me. I don’t remember much, just deciding, that day was the day I was going to do it and being the happiest I had been in a long time. It hurt at first, but like cutting, it gave me a rush. I remember thinking about how beautiful my arms were with the red flowing out of me, but then I lost my balance and fell down. After that, I remember being cold. Lacey touched me, and it burned. She cried and screamed at me but I didn’t feel anything anymore; I was numb. I couldn’t even move.” I stare at his desk across the room as I remember not wanting to be saved and trying to beg her just to leave me, but my words wouldn’t work, then Chase’s voice shaking as he whispered and told me not to leave him and Lacey. He said she needed me more than I could ever know. He promised to protect me if I didn’t give up. I don’t remember much after that, though. I don’t hear the question Tomas asks me while I’m lost in thought. When he says my name again, he’s kneeling in front of my face. I can’t avoid his eyes.
“Can I see?” he repeats softly, his eyes pleading. No one has seen them except for my family, Chase, and the doctors. I hesitate, and the disappointment appears all over his face. “It’s OK,” he says, dejected as he lowers himself back down onto his pallet. I watch him as his jaw sets again. Absentmindedly I trace the scar on my right arm through the T-shirt.
“Is that why you draw on yourself, to keep from cutting?” He won’t look at me now.
“Kind of, it was the reason to begin with, but it’s therapeutic too. I feel better when I write on myself. I’m a mess.” I let out a deep breath. “You’d be better without me.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to be my friend to begin with?” I don’t answer him. “I thought there was something wrong with me.” That stings a little, but he chuckles, though there’s no smile on his face. I don’t even realize I’ve subconsciously pulled up my left sleeve. I take a deep breath and swallow hard. My mouth is dry, and my heart is racing again. I stretch my arm out over him. The pink scar is now a thin line. He pulls himself up and stares at me, questioning at first and then cups my wrist delicately between his fingers. With his other hand he traces the still numb scar gently. I close my eyes tight to keep the tear from escaping. Then I feel his lips smooth the length of the scar. My chest rises and falls hard against my heart as I open my eyes to him kneeling in front of me again. His fingers have laced between mine, and his face is so close to mine. I move my other hand to his hair and gently touch it above his ear. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, leaning into my hand.
“Promise me you will never hurt yourself again,” he says breathily as he opens his eyes and looks at me again.
“I promise,” I whisper and lean into him. He leans in, too, and our lips touch. His are so soft. He doesn�
�t try to shove his tongue down my throat. We just kiss, our lips embracing each other like that for a few minutes. I open my mouth, and the tips of our tongues touch. He lets out a groan and pulls away from me, breaking all contact.
“Will you hold me?” I ask as I move the covers away from me. I know what I’m really asking, and I think he does too.
“Fuck!” My eyes widen because I’ve never heard him even cuss, let alone say that. “I’m trying to be good and respect you. Shit! I’m lying on the hard uncomfortable floor.” He runs his hands through his hair, flustered. I can’t help the giggle that escapes me, and he looks at me sternly. “Go to sleep, Lana,” he says as he moves back to lay down. This was not the reaction I expected from a sixteen-year-old boy. Hello, hormones. I roll over and look at the ceiling. “My virginity is important to me. I know everyone is like live for now and all, but my dad is a doctor and has seen a lot of stuff, and he’s told me a lot of stories. It’s not something I want to tempt myself with,” he says. “And you’re drunk now, and since you’ve kind of confirmed some of the rumors I’ve been hearing about you, I don’t want you to think that I only want to hook up with you.”
“I’m a virgin, too,” I say. My face is red, and I’m grateful that he can’t see me. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, so I go on. “I was the most popular girl in my class, and I went out with the most popular guy. We met up one night to party, my best friend Amanda, me, his friend, and him. We just kissed and messed around a little. But then they spread a rumor that I had sex with both of the boys. Then other boys said I was having sex with them, and it catapulted from there.” I lean up on my elbow and see him rise, cross his arms on the bed, and rest his chin on them.
“That’s why you spiraled?” he asks, and I nod. He furrows his brow and cuts his eyes to the side like he’s thinking hard.
“I don’t want anything to happen. As much as I do, which is a lot, I don’t want it more. Does that make sense?” And it kind of does. He grabs his pillow, and I scoot over as he climbs in. I snuggle up to him and rest my head in the crook of his arm, breathing against his chest. He settles in, and we tangle our legs.
After a few silent moments, I say softly as I stare at his neck, “So you like me?”
“What?” he asks, confused.
“Your mom says you like me,” I snicker.
“Shut up and go to sleep,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s blushing, but I imagine he is. I kiss his neck, and he lets out a deep breath. Then we kiss for a long time. It’s so amazing; this could be the most amazing night of my life. When I’m not sure if we can kiss anymore without doing something else, he snuggles into me, and we begin talking again. We talk about everything and nothing all at once until we finally drift to sleep.
Lacey
Chase arrives on time for the dance on Saturday. He rings the bell formally instead of walking in like he usually does. He knows where our hidden key is and usually lets himself in. I hear the voices of my dad and him making small talk downstairs. My mom appears in my doorway and smiles at me. It’s been awhile since her smile has reached her eyes, but it does now.
“You look lovely. Your hair is perfect.” I smile weakly at her, suddenly unbelievably nervous. There are so many pins and products in my hair that it feels ten pounds heavier. Tiny braids lead to the full bun on top of my head. I nod in agreement. Maurice did a great job on my hair. I feel beautiful in my neon blue dress. It’s strapless with a pleated bust, a large lime-green, satin waistband with rhinestones on it, and a short tulle skirt. I do a twirl, and it flares out as she giggles with me. “Chase is here,” she says. “Let me get my camera.” I move to the doorway as Lana appears in her own, pulling her phone from her ear, pressing it against her chest and smiling widely at me. Mom runs to her bedroom and zooms past me out of breath. She races down the stairs ahead of me. I hear her breathy greeting to Chase.
“Have a great night; you look awesome,” Lana says cheerily just before she returns the phone to her ear and closes her door. I giggle again, feeling like my family is finally returning to normalcy. I take a deep breath and descend the stairs. I move slowly so I don’t trip as I grip the banister. Chase watches me, eyes smoldering, jaw set, and it makes me even shakier, my breath shallow and my head light. He looks gorgeous in his suit with a plain white dress shirt and the green satin tie that matches my dress. His hair is the usual tousled mess, but he looks like he’s gotten it trimmed. I can’t believe this beautiful boy is taking me to the dance. I can say that because he’s my best friend, and hello, I do have eyes. I notice a box with a corsage sits next to my boutonniere for him on the hall table, (I take a deep breath, another step) and my mom is snapping away with her camera, (I take deep breath, another step) and my dad says something, (I take another step, deep breath) but I don’t hear it. All I see is Chase as he reaches his calloused hand toward me when I finally reach the third step. I take it in mine and am surprised that it’s clammy. He gives me a smirk, and my nerves unravel as I take the final step and stand beside him at the front door.
“Hey,” he breathes.
“Hi,” I manage through one of my shallow breaths.
I let go of his hand and grab the boutonniere off the table. It’s a blue orchid so bright it must have been dyed, with a peacock feather behind it. I take his lapel gently and begin to pin it with shaky hands. My mom still snaps away as I look up into his eyes when we’re finally done. He smiles genuinely at me, and I can’t help but smile back at him. My dad hands him his box, and he takes out a matching corsage with two orchids and another peacock feather; he drapes the lime green satin ribbon around my wrist twice and ties it into a bow beside the base of the flowers. I’m so glad my mom has a friend who’s a florist and helped us out with such late notice. His touch is so delicate, and my heart thumps wildly against my chest.
“Turn around,” my mom orders, and we do. Chase slides his hand around my waist and squeezes me to him. I turn into him and lace my fingers over his shoulder, showcasing the corsage. We smile, and my mom takes more pictures. She then ushers us outside where I can’t believe it; he’s driving his dad’s black ‘67 Thunderbird convertible. The top is down, and it sparkles in the sunlight.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask in total shock as I forget about Chase’s hand still in mine and drag him toward the car.
“Yeah, I told you I had a surprise. Dad said we could borrow it, cool right?” He rubs the back of his neck as his smile goes crooked. He’d called me earlier so excited. I had no idea why, but now I share his excitement.
“This car is awesome!” I trace the chrome trim on the door with my finger and smile at him.
“Turn around you two.” Mom is seriously manic with this camera today. But we do, and she snaps some shots of us in front of the car. “These are going to be great, Lacey,” she adds as Dad wraps his arms around her waist. They both smile, almost sad smiles, while she scrolls through the pictures. I guess they are realizing that I’m growing up, and it’s affecting them. I want to see the pictures too, but Chase says we need to hurry or we’ll be late. So instead we climb in. The brown leather is so soft. I trace the dashboard and can’t hide the smile across my face.
“So you like?” He grins as he pulls out.
“Chase, it’s so sexy!” I say before I think, even though it is. It’s gorgeous, hot, and . . . sexy, but I instantly blush as Chase’s smile turns a bit sexy, too. His eyes narrow, and after he shifts, he takes my hand in his. He drives slowly so my hair doesn’t mess up. And everyone we pass on the street, or rather who passes us, turns and stares. I don’t care. I’m with my best friend; nothing can ruin this night. We arrive at school, and Chase opens my door and helps me out after he raises the top. We hold hands as we enter near the gymnasium. Now both of our hands are shaking, and I give him a nervous smile. He squeezes my hand as we go through the process of presenting out tickets, and as we walk the red carpet with strobe lights flashing like papa
razzi taking pictures, while a track on loop has several voices saying things like “Over here,” “Who are you wearing?” and “Can I get a quick shot?” Finally posing like celebrities, we’re in front of the real photographer. I turn to the side and put my hand on my hip Kardashian style, and Chase’s arm finds my waist again. He looks like a model. Within minutes, our picture flashes to flat panel TVs all over the gym very TMZ style with some bogus article that we were required to write when we bought our tickets. We laugh and enter the party looking for our friends. I spot Tasha instantly, dancing with Paul. They look so cozy, and she radiates in her coral, floor-length dress. He’s wearing a deep chocolate-brown suit with a coral shirt and tie. Very retro.
“There’s Jade and Evan,” Chase says pointing across the gym, and he’s right. They are standing by the punch bowl, both in all black. Evan’s mohawk is also dyed black. I giggle.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask, smiling as a very pop tune mixes in with the rap song that is finishing up.
“Maybe in a little bit,” he says as he leads me across the room to our friends. All the girls pause to stare at him as we pass. That’s right ladies; he came with me. When we reach Jade and Evan, she smiles at me warmly, and we hug while Chase and Evan do that fist bump handshake they always do.
Mia Castile - [The Butterfly Chronicles 02] Page 11
