Living Backwards

by Tracy Sweeney

  Parking my bike next to her car, I bolted down the path quickly, grateful that the route was familiar even without a light. When I finally entered the clearing, I found her standing there, eyes wide and panicked, raising a goddamn flashlight over her head. Was she planning to club me to death?

  I had spent the whole night trying to plan what I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her to cut this shit out. I wanted to tell her I was done playing games. Then I saw her eyes, deep brown and wild, and everything I planned to say seemed stupid and trivial because nothing would ever be enough. How do you tell the girl you only really met three weeks ago that there had never been anyone that made you feel the way she did? How do you tell her that you hadn’t returned Jonas’ phone calls or that you couldn’t imagine going to Seattle now? How do you tell her that you were going with her to New York? How do you say all of that without freaking her out? Because honestly, I was freaking out myself.

  You couldn’t. I couldn’t.

  But she looked so conflicted. I didn’t want to hear that she didn’t want this. I didn’t want to hear that she didn’t want us. I needed her to want me the way I wanted her. My entire life had been turned upside down in just a few weeks because of this crazy girl who carried a pink flask and wanted me to find depth in Green Day.

  It only took the slightest touch and we were flying. And it was so good. We were so good. It wasn’t part of the plan, but I didn’t care because the plan had just gotten infinitely better.

  Sometimes even when you pay attention to what’s going on around you, you can’t even imagine what’s going to happen next.

  “You’re a million miles away,” she said into my ear as we lay wrapped up in each other, looking up at the sky. I didn’t even know how long it had been since I had last spoken. I felt like I was in a fog. The vision of her moving underneath me replayed in my mind over and over while I struggled to find the words to tell her how I felt. It shouldn’t have been like this and I needed to…God…apologize for letting everything get so out of hand. It shouldn’t have been like this. She deserved better and I screwed up.

  “I was just thinking,” I muttered, my brain unable to pull together the right words. I needed something profound, something to let her know that she wasn’t just any girl. She was the girl. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she whispered softly. “A little chilly.” She pulled the corner of the blanket up under her chin and burrowed into my chest. I felt her warm breath on my skin as she inhaled.

  “Do you want to leave?” I asked, because I didn’t know what the protocol was in situations like this. The Danas and Lauras of the world were used to screwing in offices and under bleachers. They wouldn’t have had a problem with where we were, but this was Jillian, and she was special. My mind was racing and I couldn’t focus on anything.

  I should have stopped this.

  She didn’t even have the common sense to be pissed off about it. I always thought girls wanted their first time to be on a cloud surrounded by flowers and candles and shit. Not like this—wrapped in a scratchy, wool blanket with a Mag Lite. The guilt was overwhelming. I never had a problem talking to her before and now when it mattered the most, I couldn’t find the words. All I could think about was that for the rest of her life, she’d wince remembering the scratch of the blanket and the chill in the air because the guy she chose to have sex with didn’t have the decency to tell her to hang on and take her someplace nice.

  “Um, yeah, I probably should get back,” she stammered, tucking the blanket under her arms and sitting up. Everything was coming out wrong, and it sounded like I was trying to get rid of her. I felt my heartbeat accelerate and was thrown into a panic again, desperate to think of something to say other than “don’t go”.

  “I…um…don’t know where my shirt went,” she added shyly.

  That’s right. Not only do I lack skills, I lack class, as well.

  I grabbed my boxers, pulling them on quickly, before popping up to search for her clothes. At least it would give me time to think so I wouldn’t need to stall.

  When I saw the bright white of her blouse a few feet away, I walked slowly over to it. I knew I needed to get it together, but I couldn’t stop thinking of how she looked, how she felt, what we did. I wanted all of her, all the time. But before I could have her, we needed to talk. I needed her to know that this wasn’t a passing thing for me despite how reckless I’d acted. But I had lost my mastery of the English language. I threw my head back, defeated, staring up at the star-filled sky.

  Is this what the phoenix feels like when it’s about to burn?

  Grabbing the shirt, I walked back to her. She had found her jeans, but was still wrapped in the blanket looking as uncomfortable as I felt. I passed her the shirt feeling like I was in one of those movies where the audience starts yelling at the guy to stop acting like such a tool, but I had no idea how to fix this mess.

  She wasn’t making it easy for me. Every time I looked at her, I lost my focus. She kept running her fingers through her tangled hair, and her skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. I stared at her with her tousled hair and her red, swollen lips. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said out loud, sounding low and raspy and awkward. She smiled, looking down at her fingers. I waited for her to say something, watching as she shifted from one foot to the other.

  Help me fix this, Jillian.

  “I should get home,” she said breaking the silence.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Sure.”

  I wanted to ask her why she chose this place—why she was here. I wanted to know if she would even want me to go with her to New York. There was so much I wanted to say, but instead I just began walking toward the path to the parking area.

  “I’ll follow you home,” I told her.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Hey,” I said, stopping her mid-sentence. This had to stop. I couldn’t deal with her telling me that I didn’t need to follow her home. It made me feel even more like the selfish bastard I always knew I was.

  I reached out to touch her cheek because I just needed to feel her again. Searching her eyes, I found that conflicted look on her face again—a look that I clearly put there. I brushed my lips against hers, testing the waters, not even knowing how to kiss her anymore. When she exhaled her warm breath against my mouth, that was all the encouragement I needed. I’d be lying if I said my dick wasn’t pleading with me to throw her down and show her how good I could make her feel, but I needed her to understand what I was failing miserably at saying. I couldn’t even say the words myself. It didn’t make sense. You don’t fall in love with someone in three weeks. Not in real life. But shit. She was everything.

  So I didn’t listen to my dick. I didn’t jam my tongue down her throat or wrap my fingers around her hair. Christ, I wanted to. I kissed her softly again, then pulled back to look into her eyes.

  “I’m following you home,” I added firmly.

  Pushing back the desire to pin her against the car, I kissed her again—soft, slow, rated PG. She broke away first, her smile tight on her face, not really reaching her eyes and I knew she was still in her head. I just needed to get the hell out of there before she decided I was an idiot and never spoke to me again. I turned away, slapping the hood of her car twice as I passed by heading to my bike. She was supposed to be on the bike with me. Not alone in her car. Everything was all wrong.

  I followed close behind her, killing the engine a few houses down from hers. I didn’t need to alert the entire neighborhood that I was there. She jumped out of the car, gave me a nervous wave and practically ran into the house. If there had been a wall near me, I would’ve slammed my head against it. Twice.

  I flew back home, breaking every traffic law imaginable and dragged my ass up to my room, avoiding any possible conversation with Grace or Carter. I could only imagine how that would go:

  “How was your night, Luke?” Carter would ask.

  “Oh
, it was great. I had sex with Jillian outside by the cliffs. What did you do?”

  “Grace made lobster bisque. We saved you some.”

  “Thanks, Carter, I had been hoping to have dinner with Jillian, but since I’m a douche, that didn’t pan out.”

  “That’s too bad, Luke. Do you need to talk? I’ll grab the telescope.”

  “No, Carter. I can never go to the cliffs again because of said sex and douchbaggery. Ruined. Forever.”

  The end.

  I stared at my alarm clock from the spot on the bed that I had occupied since I got home. It was one in the morning—three hours since I followed Jillian home without saying anything to her at all. As if I hadn’t screwed things up enough already. I had to make it right, and as terrifying as the idea was, there was only one thing to do.

  I was no amateur at sneaking out of the house undetected, but in my Jillian-induced haze, I went barreling down the stairs to the kitchen where I had dropped my jacket and keys earlier. Carter was sitting at the kitchen table reading Newsweek with a glass of milk.

  “Shit,” I exclaimed startled by his presence, “What’re you doing up?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” he replied raising his eyebrow and glancing at the kitchen clock.

  “I was going to check something…with my bike,” I stammered nervously.

  “Your bike?” he asked with a smile.

  “Yeah, it’s making that weird noise again, and I figured I’d go take a quick look. I couldn’t sleep,” I explained.

  “Right,” he added smirking. “You realize her father is a detective, right?”

  “What? What are you talking about?” I replied stumbling over my words, wondering how the hell he knew where I was going.

  “Take your car,” he added as he picked up his milk and walked toward the stairs. “It’s quieter.”

  I stood in the middle of the kitchen—stunned—as he started up the stairs, stopping suddenly.

  “And Luke, if you get caught, Grace’ll kill you.” He turned and continued walking up the stairs, humming quietly to himself.

  Shaking off the crazy conversation, I bolted from the house before Carter came to his senses and told me to get my ass back upstairs. For the second time in the same night, I was headed to Jillian’s house with no idea what I was going to do or say.

  I parked the car a few houses down and around the corner. If I could make this right, I couldn’t risk her dad finding me skulking around his house at one-thirty in the morning. My heart started racing as I passed the neighboring houses. I heard some tiny dog yapping and hauled ass into the darkness of her backyard.

  I had no idea where her bedroom was. There seemed to be two possible options, one room with white patterned curtains and one with a purple color. I felt edgy. I needed a cigarette, and I couldn’t believe that I was actually considering throwing a rock at her window like Richie-Freaking-Cunningham.

  I looked around the driveway for some pebbles because I wasn’t going to be the asshole that breaks her window with a rock. I had a few in my hand when I glanced up and noticed a light on in the purple room. I saw some movement behind the curtain and decided to just go for it, and launched the pebble into the air. Instead of hitting the window, it ricocheted off the roof and into the neighbor’s yard. Yappy Dog started to bark, and I was seriously beginning to think throwing a large rock in his direction would take the edge off.

  On the second attempt, the pebble bounced off the glass with a clink. I waited for her to appear behind the curtain or for her dad to show up with a gun. I honestly didn’t know which one would be scarier because there was really no hiding how you felt after you showed up outside a girl’s window at one-thirty in the morning. This was it.

  For the third attempt, I threw two pebbles together and the sound they made reverberated sharply. The curtain moved first and my heart seemed to beat in my throat. Slowly, it pulled back to reveal Jillian wearing a pink tank top with her hair in a ponytail. Even from down here, I could tell she was shocked. She struggled to pull the window open and when she leaned over, all I could see was the top of her boobs pressed against the sill. So much for my concentration.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered harshly. “My parents are in the next room.”

  “I need to talk to you,” I whispered back.

  I watched as she took a deep breath, as if to calculate whether she should come down and talk to me or tell me to go to hell. She sighed, dropping the curtain and disappeared back into the room. I thought how awful it would be if she had just climbed back into bed and wasn’t on her way downstairs. I waited and held my breath.

  When the door swung open, she was there wearing tiny boxer shorts, showing off her long legs. It was the ponytail that did me in, though. I’d never seen her hair up. Seeing the slope of her neck reminded me of that night in my room when I wanted nothing more than to mark her, keeping everyone else away.

  “Are you crazy?” she rasped with her hands on her hips. “My father owns a gun! More than one, actually.”

  As she continued raving about how easy it would’ve been for me to get caught and how unhappy her father would be, I took the few quick steps over to her and did what I should’ve done in the first place.

  I didn’t wait for her to stop talking, and I didn’t ask for permission. Wrapping my hand around the back of her head, right below that ponytail, I pulled her to me. Startled, she tensed up, but then dropped her shoulders and rested her palms flat on my chest, slowly responding as I kissed her, taking from me and giving back. I poured every bit of what I was feeling into each motion. It was soft, slow and hot as hell. While I wanted to pick her up and wrap her around me, I held back. I’d do things right.

  “I never would have wanted it to be like that for you,” I said breathlessly, resting my forehead against hers. “You deserved—”

  Better. Everything. More than I probably can give you.

  “Luke, stop,” she interrupted, leaning into my chest. “I don’t regret anything. I’m a big girl.” I groaned as she pressed her body up against mine. I could feel every curve—every part of her. How was I supposed to concentrate?

  “You don’t understand what you do to me,” I tried to reply, but it came out in a raspy whisper. “I don’t want to lose this.”

  I can’t lose this.

  “I’m right here,” she added as she burrowed into the groove in my neck. “And here…here’s where I want to be.”

  I had no idea how we got here or what cosmic event led her behind the gym that day, but I wasn’t going to argue because I never considered myself particularly lucky. And suddenly I was. She was with me now, and I wasn’t going to screw this up.

  “Well, I’m glad we finally agree on something.”

  “You really should agree with me more often. I’m usually right,” she teased, ghosting her lips across my jaw. “Even about Green Day.”

  “I didn’t say you were wrong,” I replied. I wanted to sound defensive, but it was difficult with Jillian’s mouth on my neck.

  “But you didn’t agree with me, either.”

  “I said they weren’t the voice of our generation,” I retorted half-heartedly, pulling her hips closer to me, trying to maintain my composure, “not that they weren’t any good.”

  “They’re amazing,” she countered, sounding breathless.

  “Yeah, right up there with The Beatles.” I buried my head in the crook of her neck, and ran my tongue along the sensitive skin.

  “You’re a snob,” she replied, letting out a small groan and grabbing at my hair.

  “And you have bad taste.”

  “Clearly,” she shot back pulling away and smirking.

  “Oh, really? Well fortunately for me, you taste fantastic.”

  Grabbing her by the waist, I spun her around, pinning her against the car. I was running my hand down her thigh, about to grind into her so I could feel that friction again when I heard her gasp, just not in the way I wanted.

  “My parents
,” she exclaimed, pushing me so that I stumbled backward. She was staring at the upstairs window. The light was on in the second bedroom.

  “You should go,” I groaned, pissed that we were interrupted. As I reached out to pull her back toward me, I heard the creaking of the screen door.

  “Jill?” her father called from the porch.

  “Shit,” I hissed, ducking around the front of the car.

  “Oh, dad, hey,” she stammered, wrapping her arms around her chest.

  “What the heck are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” he asked scanning the yard. Her dad was a smart guy. I was so screwed.

  “Oh well, I…thought I heard the engine running. I was worried that I left the keys in the ignition so I came out to check.”

  “You thought you left the car running? All this time?” he asked incredulously.

  “Crazy, right?” she continued, gaining some confidence, “You wouldn’t want it to…overheat,” she added, dragging out the last word. “Or for something to…explode. So I figured I’d come outside and take care of it.”

  I was starting to sweat listening to her mess with me right in front of her dad.

  “I think you should just get inside, Jill,” he replied looking at her strangely. I heard her snicker as she bounced up the steps. After she walked through the doorway, her dad stayed on the porch staring into the darkness.

  “Explode?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head before following her into the house.

  Relieved to have dodged a bullet…literally, I headed back to my car. I hadn’t made it past Yappy Dog’s house when I started feeling pissed again that I hadn’t been able to really say goodbye or to make her gasp the way I wanted. She’d be getting ready for the prom all day, and I wouldn’t see her until it was time to go. We wouldn’t have much time alone if Danielle was involved.

  I spun around, walking backwards as I looked up at the purple curtains. Once the light went out, the curtain pulled back. Jillian stood in her window, smirking. She fanned her fingers out, wiggling them as she waved. It was nice to see that she had enjoyed herself, even if it was at my expense. At least things were good. We were good. And after we talked about New York, we’d be great.