by N. K. Smith
I didn’t want to listen anymore. I just wanted to be away.
“I th-thought ab-bout you all day.”
“Yeah?” she asked with a smile.
“Yeah,” I confirmed with a nod.
“What about me?”
Her piercing blue eyes were twinkling and I loved when they looked like that. They made me feel at ease and not nervous at all.
I blushed. “A-a-ab-bout hhhhow ssssexy you are.”
Sophie pushed out her jaw as her eyes danced across my face, studying me. Now I was feeling nervous. “Damn! You’re cute when you blush.”
I looked away at the embarrassing compliment, but looked back up when she said, “I think about how sexy you are all the time.”
I tried to deny what she was saying, wanting to let her know that while she was being kind, I didn’t believe for a second that I was anything close to sexy, but then her lips were against mine.
Her father arrived home and interrupted us. We pulled away from each other. I tried to help her with dinner, but in reality I just got in her way. We talked about the new art collection that would be in D.C. next week. We made tentative plans to go before the exhibit was gone.
She said maybe we’d go for my birthday.
The thought of doing something so special with someone so special on my birthday excited me. Until I lived with Stephen and Kate, I’d never gotten to do anything special just because it was my birthday. Even if we did nothing but lie around all day, it would be better than any birthday I’d ever had.
A gentle knock sounded on my bedroom door, startling me in the silence. I glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning.
It had to be Jane.
I got up and tugged on my t-shirt. When I opened the door, I wasn’t surprised to see her, hand pressed to her midsection.
She’d been cutting herself more often. It was always at night now. I didn’t know how she was doing it since there were weekly sweeps of her room to keep her from collecting anything sharp. She could say that it wasn’t a conscious thing she did, but somehow she kept finding tools to cut with. Razors, scissors and knives were usually locked up, so she must’ve used something else.
I hadn’t told anyone. I felt like it was my secret to keep for her, otherwise they’d send her away again.
“I cut myself.” It was the same every time.
I took her hand, closed my door and moved across the hall to the bathroom. She leaned against the vanity as she held up her shirt.
The cut was much deeper than in weeks past.
“I’m not mad at you anymore,” she whispered. “Don’t be mad at me.”
“O-o-o-okay.”
Truth be told, while I’d hung onto the memory of my frustration and anger, the feelings had dried up long ago.
Just like that, Jane and I were okay again.
“Trent said he made up his mind.”
I raised an eyebrow, wondering what mercurial decision he’d made now.
“He’s not going to the community college and he didn’t get into Georgetown.”
I looked at her as I cleaned her wound, waiting for the crumpled, hurt expression but her face shifted into a smile.
“He said he doesn’t want to go to college at all anymore. He said I could get my GED and we could take his motorcycle and just travel.”
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. “That’s ssssstupid, J-J-Jaaaane.”
“What?” Now her face fell and I hated that I had wiped the hope from her features, but she had to know that Trent never followed through on things like that. I continued cleaning the cut, wincing whenever she did.
“Y-you hhhhave to sssstop. P-p-please?”
“I don’t mean to. I can’t help it. One minute I’m sleeping or reading and the next, I’m bloody. I swear I don’t even remember it.”
“Y-you n-n-need to t-t-tell SSStephen or...”
“They’ll send me away.”
“Y-y-you c-c-c-could d-d-d-die. I-I-I d-d-don’t w-w-want you to d-die.”
“I’ll die if they send me back, Elliott.” She put her hands over mine and I looked into her eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like! I’ll die if I go back.”
I hated this. One day she could wind up killing herself accidentally, but she said she would die if she went back, and I didn’t want Jane to die.
Sophie and I went back to my house after school the next day and ate apples and peanut butter. No one would be home for hours. In my room we sat on the bed, listening to music and flipping through the pictures she’d just developed.
They were really good, like the one that won the blue ribbon. Last time I’d gone over to her house, I was pleased to see that it was tacked up on the wall next to a page of music I had given her. We’d been talking about how beautiful notes were, so I wrote a few bars of her song down on the back of an old Spanish quiz.
I loved that it was on her wall.
The day was going well and my question came out of nowhere. “D-did it hurt?”
She looked at me in surprise, then stacked the photographs and tucked them into the portfolio I’d given her for Christmas. “Did what hurt?” she asked when she was no longer looking me.
I didn’t want to say the words, and I doubted I could even if I did, so I just watched her and waited until she looked at me again, as her lips settled in a frown. Sophie studied my face, her eyes finding and fixing on mine. We both knew what I was asking.
She smoothed her hair back, pulling it to one side, making the scar visible. Her body shifted and she gently took the portfolio and leaned it up against my bedside table. She sat upright, took my left hand, and started picking at my nails.
“The first time hurt a lot. I mean, mostly in the beginning, but later it only hurt when he made it hurt; when I didn’t... do something he wanted me to do. Um, sometimes he made it hurt just for fun.”
I felt sick and wished I hadn’t asked.
I watched her shrug. “I got used to it.”
She was silent then as her nails gently scraped mine. I knew she was waiting for me to reciprocate in kind, and tell her something about what happened to me, but I couldn’t. My chest wouldn’t produce the air needed to push sounds from my throat.
It wasn’t until she began to fidget that I was able to speak again. “Y-you d-don’t d-deserve that.”
She looked at my books across the room as she asked, “What do I deserve?”
“L-l-l-llllove.”
She shook her head and took a deep breath. She was clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t... I mean, what is that anyway?”
Even though we both didn’t have much experience with love, I wanted to show her what I thought it was. I wanted her to know that I loved her. I needed her to feel it with everything she was.
I reached out for her, to touch her scar. She didn’t flinch and I loved it. Her hand was still on mine, holding it as I touched her. Our eyes were locked. Beethoven’s Ghost piano trio played. I kissed her, and as the piano began to overtake the violins again, I pressed her back against my bed.
God, she was so beautiful. She was much, much more beautiful than anything Beethoven ever wrote; more beautiful than any work of art in any museum. I loved her so much.
It was easy to find the courage to undress her and, while being naked wasn’t easy for me, I felt as though it was natural to be lying with her like this. Her legs were open and gripping my hips. This was the moment I needed to decide if I could make this happen or not.
I could and I would, but I needed her to know that it wasn’t just sex, it was love.
I kissed her lips. I kissed her neck. I kissed her hands and her shoulders, her collarbone and her breasts. Her hips bucked and I groaned.
I was excited.
I could do this.
I
wasn’t going to fail.
Sophie loved me. Sophie wanted me and I felt the same for her.
Very carefully, I reached over to my table and opened the drawer as she watched me. It was like I could feel her eyes burning through me.
I pulled out one of the condoms from the box I found in the bathroom. Stephen was a progressive parent. In Chicago, he’d seen quite a lot during his time at an inner-city hospital and he was prone to go into lectures about STDs and the disgusting attributes of childbirth at the dinner table.
Sophie gave me a questioning look, as if asking why I, of all people, had condoms beside my bed. I bit the inside of my cheeks as I felt the outside flush and redden.
“I-I-I am sssssseventeen, you kn-know.”
Despite the things I went through, and my reluctance to do much until now, I was still a teenager with all of the same hormones as other people. I still thought about sex. I’d brought the condoms in here when I set my goal of having sex with Sophie.
I tried to relax as I nervously put the condom on. I had never done it before and while it wasn’t complicated or difficult, my hand shook. I probably should have practiced. I glanced down at Sophie. Her eyes were on my face and I was thankful for that. I didn’t want her to see how inexperienced I was any more than I wanted her eyes to fixate on the scars or my deformed parts.
It was finally on and the music changed. The song was perfect. It was Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah.
I questioned Sophie with my eyes, making sure she wanted to do this. If she told me no, I would stop. If she told me to, I would put my clothes on right now and not think twice about it.
But her smile – that smile! – was all I needed.
When I was completely immersed in her, I took a moment to collect myself. As much difficulty as I’d had in the past with getting to the point where I could allow my release, right now it was difficult to hold it back.
This was not how I wanted it to go.
I focused on the song. It was a hymn of praise. It spoke of Biblical women. It could have been confusing to me, but it wasn’t. I suddenly knew that it was not just a hymn of praise to the Lord.
No, this song was a hymn of praise to the act I was engaging in right now with Sophie. A praise of her body, of mine. It wasn’t as much about God as it was about the connection between two spirits.
My body moved in hers.
And I thrilled at the sensation.
The song was about our connection. It was the connection of our bodies, the connection of our souls, our spirits, the product of which was not only an orgasm, but the birth of spirituality between two people.
It didn’t matter what I’d been raised to believe about my soul. Right now I knew I had one. I knew it because it was intertwined with hers.
I didn’t have to be my father’s version of Christian. I could be devoted to the holy spirit of Sophie. No, the holy creation born out of the holy union of Elliott and Sophie’s spirits.
I could... I was... She... We were my religion of choice.
I was shivering. I looked in her eyes again. It was the first time I’d bothered to look at her the entire time. They shone with worry.
My breathing was heavy.
I didn’t want her to worry. I wanted her to look at me and know that I was okay.
“Hallelujah, indeed,” she whispered.
I lay in her arms shivering, my breath shaking. My head was on the swell of her breast and her hands were delightfully in my hair.
I was fine. I wasn’t panicked. I felt good.
I wasn’t sure how I’d done, but I didn’t want to ask her.
She had shown me exactly what she was looking for and I did exactly as she instructed. I didn’t want to draw any attention to my inexperience or any deficiencies I might have in the “bringing your girlfriend to orgasm” department.
“I llllllove you,” I said, hoping she would understand that I didn’t just have sex with her; it was much more than that.
“Mmmm,” was her reply.
I pulled away and looked at her, careful not to force her hands from my hair. They were soothing and I needed soothing. Her eyes were closed and her tongue was out, sweeping back and forth over her bottom lip.
I told myself that I wasn’t going to be upset if she didn’t say it back to me.
That’s what I told myself, but I really needed to hear it.
She looked so beautiful, not self-conscious at all with her naked breasts and her hair splayed over the pillow. I felt like I needed to cover up before I was even naked, but not Sophie.
She wasn’t saying anything. I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.
I sat back on my knees and pulled my discarded clothes onto my lap to cover myself. Her hands dropped from my hair and onto her stomach. She ran them from her belly button to the hollow of her neck by way of the valley between her breasts. It was a beautiful motion.
She sat up and I wanted to know what she was thinking.
Had she heard me when I said I loved her?
Did she think I was bad at sex?
Was she disappointed?
Did I...?
“That was good,” she said and rose up onto her knees, leaning into me.
I took a deep breath just to smell her hair. I asked her silently to tell me she loved me.
My hands were curled tightly and all of the good feelings I’d had just moments ago were gone.
If she wasn’t right here, her head so close to my face, I would’ve bitten my hands in frustration.
Why wasn’t she saying it?
Couldn’t she see, couldn’t she feel, that I needed to hear it?
Maybe she didn’t love me.
Oh, God, maybe she didn’t.
Maybe I was just another...
Stop. I had to stop thinking that way. Sophie loved me; she just had issues with knowing when to say it.
But couldn’t she just...?
She pulled away. “I have to eat. My sugar’s low. I can feel it.”
She moved around and grabbed her shirt and bra.
My mood sank further.
My eyes closed when she got off the bed, and then I felt her lips against my cheek. “I’m so lucky. I love my boyfriend.”
“Damn, Elliott! You’re on my team! Shoot at Trent!”
I looked at David and then followed his pointed index finger back to the TV.
Everyone laughed.
“W-w-w-who’s T-T-Trent again?”
Jane’s voice was light. She twisted and then winced a little as the movement pulled at the healing gash on her stomach. She sat on the floor between Trent’s legs, one arm looped around his calf.
“He’s the one in red.”
“Oh.” I turned my attention back to the TV and tried to make the guy I was controlling shoot the guy in red instead of the guy in green.
I hated this game. Well, I hated most video games because they seemed to use a part of the brain I’d never developed, but this game was hard. Not only was it about killing, which didn’t seem like fun, it was difficult to maneuver my character around.
I was only trying because they wanted to play. David had seemed so hopeful when he asked me. He would be leaving in a few months and so I felt it was my duty to be with him as much as I could stand.
I’d never been close to David, but he tried, really tried, with me. He was a person who needed to know that people liked him. He needed that kind of validation. One of the saddest things to behold was David when he was depressed. It never lasted for long and it usually only happened when he needed a prescription change, but when it did, he was a horrible mess.
I didn’t want him leaving for college thinking that I didn’t care about him in some way.
He wanted me on his video game team above Rebecca wh
o he always picked first, and Trent, who was really good at the game. How could I say no when he trusted me enough to be on his team?
So I played.
I did my best to hang out with everyone more after school which meant Sophie had to hang out with them, too. I did this for two reasons. First, it was true that I wanted to spend time with them before they left in the fall, but also, now that Sophie and I’d had sex, she was very affectionate, much more so than before.
By affectionate, I didn’t just mean hugs and kisses. She was very hands-on.
I had thought she was like that before, but now it was on a whole other level. While I didn’t think she expected sex every day, it did seem as though she was needier in a physical sense. It reminded me of when we first met. While I loved the affection, I didn’t necessarily want that kind of attention all the time.
Sex still wasn’t a comfortable topic for me to think about or discuss, much less engage in as often as she seemed to want it.
So hanging out with my family gave me a respite from her expectations.
I was nervous each time we did it, but I did my best to push myself. My body would comply sometimes, but not others.
After being killed continually by Trent and Rebecca, Sophie and I went upstairs and things were physical again.
“I lllllove you,” I told her afterward.
She looked uncomfortable for a second and then smiled back at me. “I love you, too.”
Her eyes were distant.
Sex was complicated enough by itself, but it also complicated my relationship with Sophie. I felt worried a lot and she gave me reason to worry. She seemed removed sometimes, like she was there but her mind was somewhere else.
Another day passed and I’d managed to keep her at bay. We made out only once and I gently refused to take it any further. As more days went by, I could see her agitation grow. I didn’t know if she was unhappy that we weren’t having sex as often as she wanted, or if she was going through something else.
