Come Undone

by AJ Matthews

  Mac complies with the order and sits down, kicking off his huge shoes and stretching his legs. He doesn’t look at the camera, averting his gaze to the door, as though searching for a means of escape should he need one. “So why can’t we sleep in the same bed? Don’t you remember what happened earlier? When I was driving? I nearly got you killed, then I blacked out.”

  My head bobs back. What the hell?

  “I almost slammed into a guard rail because I couldn’t stay awake. You could have been seriously injured. I never want to hurt you.” He rubs his fingers across the jagged mark above his eye.

  My eyes well with tears. Now I understand. The car wreck. With his birth mother when he was a toddler, his own car accident last summer. “You are not your …”

  He holds up his hand. “Please, let me finish.”

  I lean back against the wall, lip quivering.

  “I should stay away from you. But if I get into the bed with you tonight, I’ll never let you go, and someday I might hurt you, the way someone who was supposed to love me did. You need to let me let you go. When we get home, and you go back to school, we’re done. I can’t be your friend anymore. I’m doing this to protect you.”

  I click off the camera. No more. He’s bared so much of his soul to me, on camera, his hopes and dreams and fears. So many fears. He’s scared, every single day, to do the things so many of us take for granted. Frightened that one day I would walk out of his life and never come back, that one day his family would give up on him.

  Like I almost gave up on him after his refusal to come with me.

  Now he wants to give up on me. Specifically, he wants to give up on us.

  He showed up when I needed him the most. He survived being puked on, being dragged into strange places, sleeping in unfamiliar beds. Dealing with my emotional insanity.

  The scratch marks on his arms show how hard this all was on him.

  The rest, what needs to be done now, what I want to do, shouldn’t be captured on video. It’s for no one’s eyes but our own. For no one’s ears. For no one else’s memories.

  These are our memories.

  Ours.

  And I want to start making beautiful memories now, wrapped in his arms.

  “No, Mac. You don’t get to tell me what’s for my own good. I want you, and I want to be with you. Now. And for a long time to come.”

  “I need you now/And I already know/I’ll still need you again tomorrow.”—Lyrics from “Now and Again” by Mac Kelly

  I MOVE TO FLIP THE camera back on, but she blocks the way. Her nearness makes my insides shake. She takes my hand in hers, lacing her fingers tightly into mine.

  “You can’t help it, Mac. So you’re broken. Who cares? I’m broken too.”

  I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant while the whole time my insides are tossing around like a canoe in a hurricane. “I was born broken, with pieces missing. Something, someone, broke you. All your pieces are around. You can be fixed. You need to glue them back together. You can’t heal with me holding on to some of the pieces and refusing to let them go.”

  “I don’t want you to let them go. Be my glue. I can’t do this without you.” She presses closer.

  “Can I kiss you now?” Her voice trembles. She’s scared too.

  I nod. I want this. We’ve been through so much this week. We’ve always been close. If possible, we’re closer now.

  She lets go of my hand, stands on her toes, and loops her arms around my neck. She didn’t ask, but I expected it. I’ve watched it enough on television and in movies to get that it’s part of kissing.

  Her gaze turns up, and her sparkling green eyes shine with something new. It’s not anger, or a bright smile of joy, or the sadness of unshed tears. This light, I think, is desire.

  She wants me.

  Her tongue darts out and moistens her lips. I gulp. My entire body tightens in response, but not in a “fight or flight” way. I don’t want to fight the sensation, or run from it, despite what I said when the camera was running.

  I lean down, and Trini’s lips hover a breath from mine, the scent of grape soda an invitation to taste her.

  Then the miniscule distance between our lips disappears, and her soft lips are wet on mine. My mouth is closed but firmly moving against hers. My breathing grows labored, and my arms wrap around her full hips to drag her closer. I’m not sure how I knew to do that, but I just … did.

  She groans. A groan is good, right?

  Her fingers tug into my hair, and she parts her lips. Then her tongue touches my lower lip, asking permission.

  Now is not the time for words. An inappropriate time to speak. Instead, I respond to her inquiry by opening my mouth a little and touching her tongue with mine.

  Adrenaline surges in my body. I moan against the torrent of emotion evoked by trembling hands and sprinting heart.

  I could say this night is a dream come true, but I never dreamed this might happen, and so I had no expectations for the moment. It overwhelms anything I imagined.

  So much better.

  I let her take the lead with the kiss. My fingers curl into the soft, worn denim of her jeans. Her tongue slides between my teeth, and my knees buckle.

  She moves away, and her head dips to my neck. The warmth of her mouth on my skin sets me on fire. Now I understand what people mean when they say someone makes them “hot and bothered.”

  “Oh my God!” The words escape my lips before I realize I’ve said them.

  She tenses up and steps back. “Mac, are you okay? Did I hurt you? I should have asked. I’ll ask before I do anything else. Is that what you want?”

  I shake my head. “No. Well, if you’re going to, you know, touch me …”

  Her eyes follow where I’m looking, down at my crotch. She laughs. My face bursts into flames. That was the stupidest thing I could say.

  I pull away and cover my face with my hands as tears form in my eyes. I normally don’t cry over much, but I’m so humiliated.

  “Mac, no, don’t.” Her hands wrap around my wrists, drawing my palms away from my face. “Don’t be embarrassed. Do you think you said something wrong?”

  “Yes.” My voice cracks over my parched throat. “I’m an idiot.”

  “No, no, no. Don’t ever say such things. You are one of the funniest, smartest, most caring people. It’s hard for you to figure out how the world works, and the world doesn’t get what to do with you. I’ve known you for a dozen years and sometimes I am still unsure, but you know what? That’s one of the fun things about you. You keep me on my toes, and help me learn new things every day.”

  I rub at my arms. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. We can stop now if you’re uncomfortable. We don’t have to do this, or anything, ever again. It’s all up to you.”

  “No. I mean, please don’t stop. It’s good. Better than good.”

  In response, her fingers entwine in mine and squeeze, reassuring me, but I still can’t relax. The restlessness she’s stirred up inside me takes over, and for the second time in the past week, I act on my basest instincts.

  I hook my hands on the backside of her thighs, tugging her against me, then picking her up and holding her while I crush my lips to her open mouth. She gasps when our teeth butt together, and I ease out of the brutal kiss, realizing I went at it too hard. My grip on her, however, holds steady, and my erection grows, pressing into her as she wraps her legs around my hips. Her legs squeeze around me. She must feel the hardness. The tiny pulses of her pelvis tell me she wants this like I do.

  It’s too fast, though, and I don’t want this moment to speed by in a blur. I want to remember everything.

  The way her pulse, a faint hum to some, beats vibrantly against my lips when I kiss her neck.

  I want to make her skin sing like the chorus of a song as her wild, dark hair rustles against the white pillowcase.

  Hear the echo of each breath, every moan and whisper a magical melody enchanting the audience. The audience of one.

&n
bsp; Me.

  “Pinch me,” I whisper against her throat.

  “What?” Confusion laces her voice.

  “I—am I dreaming? Is this real?” I kiss her neck again. I know her smell so well, and now I’ve tasted her skin—warm, salty, and sweet.

  Her throaty chuckle vibrates against my lips, but she is not laughing at me. It’s like she can’t believe it, either.

  “It’s real, Mac.” She releases her legs and slides down the front of me. My hands grip her hips to make her stay, but she still gets away. She takes me by the hand again, squeezing tightly, and walks us over to the bed. The large, single bed.

  “Do you want to undress me, or should I do it?” I start to answer her, and then realize, stupidly, the words were my own.

  “What are you more comfortable with? Everything we do is up to you. We move at your speed.”

  I debate in my head for a minute. I normally don’t want other people messing with my clothes, but she’s not just any person, and today’s not any other day.

  “You. I want you to do it.” The heater blasting warm air nearly drowns out my whisper.

  “Let’s do this together.” She reaches her hands down to the hem of my T-shirt, her balled-up fists grazing first my stomach, then my chest. My eyes roll up, and my breath catches in my lungs. My shirt hits the floor, and Trini spreads her palms and smooths her hands over my shoulders, my upper arms. “Now you.”

  I tip my head to the side, and feel the spot above my nose wrinkle. I’m not sure what she means. She takes my hands, giant compared to hers, between her own and guides my fingers to the hem of her shirt. Oh. My turn to remove a piece of her clothing.

  My hands tremble, and I tug the fabric upward. The rain pelts against the window, and the thunder echoes the beat of my heart. A flash of lightning slashes through the sky and casts a sharp glow on Trini’s face for a moment. She stares down at my hands, my fingers shaking against her flesh. The undersides of her high, rounded breasts rest on my thumbs, setting my hands to shaking harder.

  I had assumed her breasts would feel good, but I’m unprepared for the dizziness and dry mouth. The way my hands would ache to close around her flesh.

  Her face, an odd mix of desire and impatience, makes my heart hurt. Like a vise is squeezing my chest, draining the cavity of blood and making it tingle, like a hand that’s fallen asleep.

  I push her shirt up more. Like her seeing me shirtless, I’ve seen her in a partial state of undress many times. After she’d lost weight at the diet camp before her senior year, she wore a bikini for the first time since we’d met. My mouth had gone dry.

  Today, my mouth waters with the need to kiss her skin.

  When I drop her shirt on the floor next to mine and my fingertips graze her stomach, she sucks in air. She crosses her arms in front of her torso, her gaze cast down at the floor.

  I ease her arms down to her sides. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

  She bites her lip and exhales. I glide my fingers up her arms, to her shoulders, and she relaxes against me.

  The hair on my arms stands on end. The room is warm, so the goose bumps must be from my awe at Trini’s growing excitement as I touch her. I’ve never made anyone feel this way.

  I trace my finger up her rib cage, to a lacy, blue bra. My jaw drops open, and my heavy breathing provides the soundtrack to my stunned stare. If she’s taken aback, her expression doesn’t give her away. We’re supposed to be undressing each other, but I haul her back into my arms, dragging her warm body to me. I inhale the flowery scent of her hair, and thank God, or whoever is responsible for this, for allowing me this miraculous moment in time. Because it truly is a miracle.

  My hands loosen their grip and slide up her back, stopping briefly at her bra strap. No. Not my turn. Time for her to take something off of me. I slip my fingers to the back of her neck, and with the other hand, cup her chin and tilt her face up to me.

  “How did this happen?” I wonder, but apparently I am thinking out loud.

  “I’m not sure, but I’m happy we’re doing this.” Her eyes crinkle up at the corners, which makes me happier than anyone has the right to be.

  I kiss her forehead, then the tip of her nose. She sighs, her breath hot on my bare chest. I file that type of kiss away in my “brain file” to use later.

  Trini’s hands skim down my back, her finger tracing a path down my spine, stopping at the waist of my shorts. She dips a finger lower, into the elastic of my boxers before sliding her hands forward. The tips of her fingers tug a little on the fine hairs on my abdomen before working my belt loose and undoing the button. My shorts fall to the floor by the sheer force of gravity.

  “May I?” She looks down. Her hand hovers in front of my boxers.

  I swallow audibly and nod.

  Trini’s hand slides over the front of my boxers, stroking the hardness of my erection. My head falls back, and I’m afraid I might pass out.

  I push her hand away. I’m not sure how much of her stimulation I can take. I know how long to masturbate to bring myself to orgasm, but her touch is so different. With someone else, with her touching me, timing and friction and all the other variables are unknown. If I let her touch me too long, we may not have sex.

  That’s what I want. What I need. The night has been perfect, but my life will change when it happens. I’m so ready for a change. I’ve been too scared for too long. Tonight I’m overcoming another fear. Trini is here, with me. She wants me, and now she’s mine. Really mine.

  My turn. Her jeans bunch up in my hands when I dig my fingers into the yielding flesh of her hips. The pants were the last substantial barrier between us. Working the button on her jeans is awkward from this angle, but I manage it in a few seconds.

  Unlike my shorts, Trini’s pants do not fall away. The denim clings to her curves. I need to pull the jeans down. Given our one-foot height difference, I have to lean in, and then kneel, to tug at the form-fitting clothing. This puts my head even with her belly, and I can’t resist the urge to kiss the rounded flesh spilling over the lacy band of blue panties. My nose presses into the curves and my tongue darts out, drinking in the salty sweetness of her light brown skin.

  Trini moans and delves her fingers into my hair, holding me tight against her. My penis twitches. She steps out of the jeans pooled at her feet, and I hug the flesh of her lower body to me, squeezing so tightly she might pop out of my embrace.

  “Are you ready?”

  I get what she means. Just my underwear and hers, and then we’re completely naked, bared to each other in body like we are in heart and mind.

  Is anyone truly ready for this? I’ve read books and seen pictures of naked women. But this is Trini. My best friend for a dozen years. The girl I’ve loved for almost as long.

  I’ll never be more ready. I don’t answer her, but squeeze her tightly once more before releasing her to stand again. At full height, I stare down into her sweet, round face, cupping her cheeks in my palms again, pressing my lips into hers once more. Something’s changed in the last ten minutes. This kiss is different. I am more confident, and I control the moves this time, pushing her lips open with my tongue and pressing deeper into her mouth. Her hands push at my chest and pull at my arms. Is she as conflicted as I am? I want to continue the kiss, but I also want her naked and pressed against me, which means breaking the kiss.

  “Mac, please.” Her words are a moan against my mouth. At one time, I may have asked “Please, what?” But in this moment, I eat up her words and digest them quickly. “Please” is a cry from her body, asking for mine. I don’t wait for her to take my boxers off. I take them off myself and fumble with her bra hook. She kisses me again and pushes my hands out of the way as she reaches back and undoes the series of hooks on her own, much faster than I could have managed.

  The scrap of fabric joins the rest of our clothes in a disheveled heap on the floor, and I step back as she slips her panties off. Everything about her is beautiful, if unexpected. Her brown nipples stand
in stark contrast against her skin, and a soft mound of hair stands in dark tufts at the juncture of her thighs. Lots of the pictures showed girls with little to no hair, but this was better. Real. She is real and absolutely perfect in every imperfection.

  I think I make her uncomfortable in my perusal, and while I should care, I can’t in this moment. She closes the distance between us, and her skin slamming into mine is like a volcano erupting, threatening to incinerate us. Her nipples, hard points, bore into my chest and steal the air from my lungs.

  My impulse control is gone, stolen by the raging hormones spurred by the intensity of her kisses, the way her legs squeeze around my waist. I carry her like this—like I learned from love scenes in movies—to the edge of the bed, where I try to lay her down gently. My toe catches on the wood frame surrounding the bed and I lurch forward, dropping her and falling down on her. My forehead, my rather large forehead, I might add, connects with Trini’s, and we both cry out at the same time.

  “Ooof!”

  “Owwwww!”

  “Crap, are you okay?” I brush her hair away. No blood dots her skin. She nods, and I kiss the red spot made by the contact.

  “I’m fine, you big Goon,” she teases. I ease into her side, half lying on her when she leans up and kisses me again. My hands roam over her torso, sliding across her collar bone before cupping one of her breasts in my hand. She jumps, and then relaxes against the touch. I squeeze a little, to figure out what she likes. I’ve read to be a good lover I need to be attuned to what she responds to, make notes about what she likes and doesn’t.

  “Good?”

  She laughs, but the sound is sad, not happy.

  “What’s wrong?” I did something wrong. What a disaster.

  “Nothing. No one has ever asked me before what I liked.”

  By no one, she means Dean, because he’s the only boyfriend she’s ever had, and since they broke up a few weeks ago, the one person she’s ever had sex with.

  He couldn’t be a bigger asshole if he tried. I won’t ever be like him.

  “I’m asking. Please tell me.”

  She squeezes her eyes shut and nods. “Yes, Mac, amazing. Better than you realize.”