For that reason, I’d not had to endure the issues that so many other girls in my school had to when they’d first begun dating. I’d heard stories of disastrous lectures complete with fathers polishing their guns and chaperoning their daughters to the movies. I imagined if I’d wanted to date anyone else, the Alan Snyder treatment would have been just as mortifying. But Chris was Chris and things were good. He was trusted without question and as a result, so was I.
One such afternoon, we’d been left to our own devices. It was a Saturday; my dad was at the office, my mom was doing some charity work or attending some social function and Matthew was out with yet another nameless, faceless girl. I was to the point where I no longer kept track; they were in and out of his life so quickly that it didn’t matter.
It ended up being the first time that we slept together. The act itself wasn’t magical or spectacular; we’d awkwardly admitted that we were both virgins and we had no collective idea what the hell we were doing. But we managed to muddle through it and I’d laid naked in his arms afterward, feeling content and grown up. The relaxed feeling had turned to panic, however, when we’d both fallen asleep and I woke up without any clue as to what time it was.
I jerked upright in bed, jolting him awake in the process.
“What’s wrong?” he asked sleepily.
“We need to get up. I have no idea what time my parents are coming home. And I don’t know about you, but this is not how I want to greet them.”
He took a moment to clear the cobwebs from his head and analyze our situation. Just when it looked like he was about to agree with me, his eyes caught a glimpse of something. “I’m so sorry, Blake,” he said.
I nearly died. A new wave of hysteria entered my veins as I predicted our demise. He’d gotten what he’d wanted from me; it was time to move on. I choked down my fears and tried to act as calmly as possible.
“For what?”
I followed his eyes and saw the traces of dried blood that ran down my leg. Upon further investigation, my sheets were also stained.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.
I shook my head violently. “No, I’ve heard that it happens. But we need to clean up.”
We both sprung into action, him stripping my bed of the offending linens and carting them to the laundry room to start a load in the washing machine. I scooped up the condom that had been carefully removed and set next to the bed, wondering what I should do with that. I couldn’t very well just throw it in my trash can, could I? With a shrug, I tossed it in the toilet and said a silent prayer that it wouldn’t clog when I flushed it down. It listened and obeyed. Then, I hopped in the shower to take care of myself.
He’d returned to my room by the time I’d bathed and gotten dressed again. Outwardly, he looked as though nothing had happened, but those chocolate brown eyes said something completely different. Everything had happened. Any inkling of doubt I’d held about the state of our relationship was erased by the way he looked at me.
We stared at each other for a moment, grinning as if we’d been handed winning lottery tickets. Then I sat down on my freshly made bed and began brushing out my wet hair.
“I love your hair,” he said quietly.
Heat rose to my cheeks as I continued brushing. I’d long considered my hair to be one of my best features. Naturally platinum blond, it fell silkily over my shoulders when I wore it down. I’d gotten lucky on the genetics front, that was for sure. I’d never heard Chris take notice of that before, and I wondered why.
“I’ve always wanted to run my fingers through it, but I was afraid you’d think that was creepy or something,” he admitted. “Even when we were, you know, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
I giggled despite my intention to make him feel at ease. There was something in the way that this big, imposing high school football player was afraid to touch me in what he thought was an intimate fashion that endeared him even further to me. So that must have been what the yanking of the ponytail was truly about.
Impulsively, I handed the brush to him. Confused, he took it from me and spun it around in his palm as though it was a foreign object. When it appeared as though he truly didn’t catch my drift, I decided to prod him along.
“Want to do the honors?” I asked.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded and positioned myself so that my back was turned to him for easier access. I closed my eyes and waited. Within seconds, his hands were in my hair, gliding the brush through the long strands. I shivered at his delicate touch, goose bumps rising over my arms.
“You okay?” he whispered into my ear.
I nodded again. Typically, I wasn’t the kind of girl to get all bent out of shape when someone touched me, but I’d never dealt with someone in this setting before. Up until then, I hadn’t considered myself the type of girl to lose my virginity in my parents’ house either, but there I was. Truth be told, before I’d come to know Chris in a way that was anything more than as my brother’s best friend, I’d never really decided who I was as far as relationships went. It just hadn’t been important until then.
He kept brushing long after the tangles had been removed from my hair, both of us finding comfort in the silence and the repetitive motion. There was no hiding the meaningfulness of the moment; I knew for a fact that this was yet another day I’d remember for the rest of my life. In the span of one afternoon, he’d become more than I had ever imagined he would. As much as we’d flirted and hung out together, there’d always been a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind that he’d get bored with me and dump me. That he’d take his dating advice from Matthew and cut ties long before real feelings got involved.
I shifted on the mattress, trying to hide from him the fact that I was more sore than I’d expected. I imagined that was normal, too. It wasn’t like I had many people to talk about those things with; the limited knowledge that I’d gained had come from reading about it. Sure, I suspected that there were several girls who’d be able to share their first experiences with me, but I was far too reserved to bring up the subject. I didn’t have a true confidant. There wasn’t anyone that I could talk to about this and not turn twelve shades of red.
“So,” Chris began awkwardly. I winced, knowing what was coming. He’d stopped brushing, and the tool found its way to my bed. His hands twisted nervously in his lap as I turned around to look at him. “Was it okay at least?”
I gave him an encouraging smile. “I think so. I’m sure that we’ll both get better at it.”
He relaxed considerably. I figuratively patted myself on the back for boosting his confidence. I wanted him to want to sleep with me again, wanted to get better at this so that I could hold on to him.
Reality was fast approaching. In less than a year, he’d be graduating from high school and I’d be left behind. I really hadn’t asked him to expand on his plans for college, not wanting to hear that they didn’t include me. Unlike my brother, he’d not turned heads with his athletic prowess, so I doubted he would go to school somewhere far away, but I couldn’t picture him wanting me considering I’d only be a high school junior. There would be other girls, girls who didn’t have to worry about parents or curfews or not yet having their drivers license. Girls that would be better suited for him than I was.
He smirked at me, crinkling his brown eyes up at the corners. “What are you thinking about?”
I shrugged, not wanting to ruin the moment with my gloom and doom.
“Blake,” he chided.
“I was just thinking about how different things will be next year,” I responded, flopping down into a lying position on my mattress. My freshly tamed hair spilled around me like a peacock’s feathers. “You know, both you and Matthew will be graduated. Who knows where Matthew will go to school? He’s got so many options right now, I wouldn’t blame him if his head started spinning. And I’ve got no clue what you’re going to be up to. But me, I’ll still be here, in this room. Mooching off of my parents. Compared to you
guys, that hardly seems exciting.”
“Well,” Chris told me as he laid down beside me, “I’ve not made any plans, really. I can’t afford to go follow your brother just to have a built in friend. In all likelihood, I’ll just stay here and go to school. I’m hoping that Matthew and I will still be friends. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot all about me after he left.”
“I don’t think that could ever happen, Chris,” I said earnestly. “You’ve been best friends practically forever.”
I felt him shrug beside me. “But friendships change. People grow apart. It’s started to happen already - what with the dating and the partying and all the press he’s been given. It wouldn’t shock me if one day the only reason I’m on his radar is because I’m still dating his sister.”
I hadn’t meant for my breath of relief to be audible, but he chuckled when he heard it.
“Did you really think I would just up and leave you?” he asked. His words were laced with humor, but the question was anything but a joke.
I squeezed my eyes shut to preemptively squelch the tears that burned behind them. Wordlessly, I nodded. He reached for my hand, something he’d done countless times before, only on this occasion it felt so different. His fingers firmly entwined with mine, we laid staring at my ceiling for several long moments.
“Blake,” he said finally.
“Hmm?” I responded.
“You’re going to have to do a lot more than just be younger than me to get me to leave you. In fact, I think you’d better be careful.”
“Why’s that?” I murmured.
“Because you don’t realize how much I absolutely adore you. And if you keep doing what you’re doing long enough, I do believe I’ll have to admit that I’m falling in love with you.”
It took all the strength I had not to jump up from my position in disbelief. I wanted to scream and shout or say something of the same nature back to him, but my tongue was tied. I was dumbfounded.
“Don’t worry,” he said, mistaking my silence on the subject for indifference, “I don’t expect for you to say it back. Not yet at least.”
But how I wanted to. How I wanted to take that teenage girl giggly reverence and wrap a coherent thought around it. How I wanted to explain to myself that at fourteen, I could honestly be in love with someone. I was barely out of childhood myself, but feeling very real adult emotions. So instead of expressing them outwardly, I held them inside as we continued to stare heavenward, daydreaming of the future and what it held.
Chapter Five
Reality hit me like a slap in the face the Monday following Thanksgiving. After my extended holiday weekend, there was nothing like the sound of the alarm on my cell rousing me from slumber to further darken my mood. Truth was, I hadn’t gotten much rest during my four days off. Though I was physically exhausted, whenever I closed my eyes I saw Chris standing at my front door again. I was never able to decide if that was a good or bad thing. Whatever the case, I’d memorized his features once more, replaying them over and over in my mind.
He’d never truly been gone, just shoved away in some corner like a plaything one didn’t dare get rid of. He haunted me always. Even without his choice to insert himself back into the present, he lingered in my past. Most times I was able to ignore it, but the visual reminder of my loss was too much even for my stubborn self to deny.
As much as I wanted to snuggle back down beneath my bedspread, I peeled my custom made comforter off my body and decided to face the day. Hiding wasn’t going to do me any good. Life would go on with or without me and I much preferred the former. Besides, I was plenty busy enough to keep my brain occupied. Throwing myself into my work would be beneficial in more ways than one.
I was lucky enough to own my own interior design company. Honestly, I’d never envisioned myself to be someone who’d be content working for someone else. Perhaps that was one thing that I took after my dad on. I thrived under pressure; I loved being in charge. And what better way to be in charge than to run a one woman show?
Christmas was one of my busiest times. Clients that maybe couldn’t afford my services for whole house decorating during the year would hire me to spruce up one or two rooms for holiday entertaining. I had a number of ladies that called on me every winter to put up their artificial pine trees and string some garland around their fireplaces. After the new year, I’d return and package everything back up, storing it safely for next season. And then, of course, I had those society people who wanted their houses to be immaculate for dinner parties and gift exchanges. The kind of people who counted on me to decorate every square inch of their mini-mansions as if they didn’t have a thought in their pretty little heads.
The kind of kept woman that I undoubtedly would have become if things had worked out the way my parents had envisioned. Try as he might to convince me otherwise, my father had always assumed that I’d end up married to someone his equal. Wasn’t the going wisdom that girls commonly looked for someone who reminded them of their fathers? Though he was impressed by my academic achievements, he’d been prepared for me to drop everything and become a trophy wife, eye candy on the arm of some businessman, lawyer or doctor. A carbon copy of my mother.
I scrunched up my nose in disgust at the thought. I was definitely better off this way. Right? Sometimes even I had to wonder. If I had nothing to want for, everything handed to me on a silver platter, would I have been able to push those thoughts of my high school sweetheart down? Or would he still live on in my memory as the one who got away?
As much as my parents liked Chris, trusted him even, it was apparent to me that they had never factored him into the equation as being the love of my life. He wasn’t ever going to fill the shoes of the man they felt deserved me; he was far too average. Whereas Matthew and I were - at least in our youth - their superstars, Chris was beneath us, riding on our respective coattails.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts as I pulled my Trailblazer up the driveway of one of my client’s mini-mansions. I typically only drove the truck for business purposes; it was pretty hard to load much in the way of decorations into my two seater convertible. When Lauren had lived with me, I’d kept the truck parked at my studio downtown. Now that she was gone, it took up residence in my two car garage, making it a little more accessible. I imagined that I’ve drive it more now that it was starting to transition into winter.
We hadn’t seen our first snowfall yet, but the skies and the forecast both looked foreboding. I hated winter for more reasons than one, but the weather was the simplest to explain. People got that. They smiled and nodded and made some comment about how living in Indiana could be brutal at times. I’d smile and nod back while silently adding that anyone anywhere would probably have a good case for saying it was brutal where they lived.
I hated fake people who made fake conversations just so that they seemed personable. I didn’t give a flying crap about their take on the weather, just as they couldn’t care less about me. Life would be so much better if people just cut the bullshit.
Ironically, in the vein of good customer service, I had to become one of those people. So I slapped on my plastic smile and rang my client’s doorbell as if being here right now was the best part of my day. After exchanging pleasantries with a middle aged woman who sounded like she’d smoked a pack of cigarettes already this morning, I trudged back out to my truck to gather my supplies. I didn’t expect her to offer her help - most people didn’t - as I staggered back inside with my containers, but it would have been nice just once.
In fact, as soon as she’d given me my instructions, she all but disappeared from sight. The home was so big that she could have been having a raging party on the other side and I’d never have been the wiser. That was good enough for me. As long as I didn’t have to track her down to get paid, things were peachy.
I didn’t appreciate people hovering around me as I worked. Maybe it was something to do with the creative process, but I much preferred to lose myself in what I was doing.
If people critiqued or questioned things before I was finished, I found it to be distracting. I liked to come in with a general idea of my vision, then let it build from there. More times than I cared to admit, the finished product looked nothing like my original plan. But when inspiration struck, I ran with it. There was a distinct method to my madness, one that must have worked for me since my schedule was typically booked solid.
Several times I’d thought of hiring an assistant. Someone to come with me and help carry things, help hold things, whatever. Someone who I could trust to bounce ideas off of. At times I’d envisioned Lauren taking that role. Then I realized that she and I didn’t operate on the same wavelength. She was all graphs and charts and concrete variables. Her banking job suited her just fine. And I didn’t need someone to run my books for me; I already had that in place. So I’d never asked. And the need had gone unfulfilled.
The thought nagged at me as I wrestled with putting branches on an artificial tree. There were avenues that I could explore to find someone, but I wasn’t willing to put my neck out there and take advantage of them. For starters, I could contact the college I’d graduated from and inquire about letting one of the more talented design students intern for me. But then I remembered at that age how I’d wanted to take the reins and prove myself. I hadn’t relied on the kindness of strangers back then. I hadn’t expected some charitable soul to take me under his or her wing and show me the ropes. I’d cut my teeth in the real world, making my own mistakes.
Lord knew I had a laundry list of those.
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