by A. R. Breck
Not that we've made anything exclusive. Not that we've ever kissed. Our time together is something special in itself, even if I do look at him longingly every single night, waiting for the time when he finally presses his lips against mine.
"You owned that stage, Luna," Roman says as he walks up to me. I nuzzle against his chest as he hugs me, his warm, strong arms wrapping around my tired frame. My body is bruised and weary from practicing these last few months, and I'm glad to finally get a break.
"Thank you."
"Let's get going, or we'll be stuck in the parking lot forever with all these cars."
We walk out, and I see Travis talking to another classmate. He glances at me, his eyes barely passing over mine before he looks back at the girl. Our time was short-lived. Whatever we had lasted until the moment Roman walked into the winter carnival and stole me away. Travis never asked for an explanation. I don't think he even wanted one. Maybe he was glad to be rid of me.
That's okay, because being with Roman is the only place I want to be.
"Merry Christmas," my dad says when I walk into the living room a couple days later. It's Christmas morning, and as expected, there's a pile of presents under the tree. My parents never go easy on Christmas, even if they don't have a lot of extra money to spend. But whatever extra money they do have, they spend on us kids for Christmas and our birthdays.
"Merry Christmas." My mom stands over the stove, cooking French toast and sausages. Steam seeps off the skillet, the smell of cinnamon permeating the room. I walk up to her and give her a kiss on the cheek, then give my dad a hug. His morning beard scratches against my face and he smells like coffee. "Harper still sleeping?" I ask. I'm always impatient when it comes to opening gifts.
"She is sleeping. You'll have to wake her up if you want to open gifts now. College has her sleeping until the afternoon," my dad says as he grabs his cup, taking a sip. His newspaper is laying on his lap, with one leg crossed over the other.
I roll my eyes, knowing he's right. I walk back down the hall, passing my room on the way to Harper's. I stop, heading into my room. Getting down on my knees next to my bed, I reach under blindly, searching for the small package. My fingers grasp the tiny box, and I pull it out. It's only slightly bigger than a ring box, but I spent a lot of time and energy wanting to make this perfect.
My gift for Roman.
We've always gotten each other something for Christmas. Whether it be something silly like a handwritten card, or something from the candy store in town. But this year I saved up money I earned over the summer by babysitting some of the kids nearby, and I knew exactly what I wanted to get him.
I pull on the lid, and it makes a little squeaky noise as it props open. Embedded in a small pillow is a guitar pic. It's black marbled and engraved.
Soulmates.
R & L
It's not much, but I know how much playing the guitar means to him, and if he likes it, maybe he can use it forever. When he's famous, playing in front of thousands and thousands of people, maybe he'll remember the little girl from his old neighborhood. The little girl who he had a crush on and who had a crush on him.
I snap the box closed and tuck it back underneath my bed. Only a few more hours until I get it give it to him. My belly flutters with butterflies.
I hope he likes it.
A small tap on my windows makes me spring up in bed. I wipe my sweaty palms against my tight-covered legs and walk over to my window. I know who it is.
I always know who it is.
I slide my window open a crack, enough for Roman to get enough grip to raise it the rest of the way. He slides it open, the window squeaking on its hinges, and slips inside. His shoe slaps on my carpet, and a puff of snow explodes on the floor, instantly seeping into the carpet and disappearing.
"Sorry," he mumbles.
He looks handsome. He has a sweater on, and his hair is tamed a bit to the side today. He left to go to his grandmother’s house, so I haven't been able to see him all day. I didn't have much to do.
After opening presents this morning, I spent the rest of the day watching Christmas movies with the family and hanging out in my room.
We don’t have family nearby, and my parents didn’t have the money to travel this year. So, we spent our day at home together. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. I actually welcomed the peace and quiet. That, and I’ve been a ball of nerves all day. I’ve barely been able to touch my food, and I could barely focus on the words of our movies—my entire family laughing while I stared blankly at the screen.
I've just been so damn nervous.
About his gift, and about us. There's this… tension building. I don't know what it is, and I don't know how to tame it. Or whether it even wants to be tamed.
We're this low boiling chemistry that only needs one flick of a wick to burst into this incombustible heat.
Am I ready for the heat?
"What's the matter?" he asks. He has a small package is in his hand, wrapped in a green and red striped paper with a small bow on top. My heart rate speeds up, until I can feel the thumping in my ears and his voice sounds like it's coming from down a tube. "Luna." Roman gives me a small shake.
I shake my head clear of the fog. "Hmmm?" His fingers grip my bare biceps, his fingertips rough from playing his guitar as they press into my smooth skin.
"Are you all right?" His fingers give another squeeze of my arms.
"I'm fine. Are you?" I ask, sensing his own nervousness.
"I'm good." He releases me, stepping back and toeing off his boots. He shoves them with his black sock-covered foot up against the wall near my window. Walking over to my bed, he sits down on the edge. The springs creak and groan from his weight as he moves to take off his coat, tossing it on top of my pillow.
"Thanks." I chuckle.
He shrugs. "Do you want to open your present yet?"
"You should open yours first." I feel nervous again, large butterflies flapping against the cage of my belly, their wings tormenting me as they fly about. I walk to my nightstand and pick up his gift and extend my hand toward him. "Here."
"You should open yours first." He hands me my gift, and I shake my head.
"No, open yours first."
He grunts. "Always a pain in my ass." He takes the small box from my hand, his hand dwarfing the tiny box underneath his large fingers. He's grown so much over the years. He went from being my size, maybe a little smaller, to being one of the tallest guys in his grade. He is easily six feet tall, his chest trim but the muscles in his arms are strong. He looks more like a man than a boy, even with him only being in ninth grade.
He cracks the box open, displaying the pick I spent all day staring at. Hoping and praying and wishing that he'll love his gift as much as I do. He stares at the pick a minute, then pulls it out and drops the box. It tumbles, knocking against his knee before falling to the ground.
The pick sits pinched between his thumb and forefinger, the tips of his fingers turning white from the pressure in which he holds it. He flips it over, then flips it over again. When he looks up at me, his eyes are shining with such awe and adoration that I nearly crumble to my knees.
"This…" he snakes his free hand out, wrapping it around my waist and pulling me close. "I will play with this forever. Until the letters are faded, and the edges are worn, I'll use this. I’ll keep playing with it even then and after. This is perfect. I love it. Thank you, Luna." He squeezes me tight, his arm slightly trembling from emotion.
"You'll use it when you're big and famous, and that way you can always remember the little neighbor girl from Wisconsin."
His eyebrows drop, nearly covering his eyes with a scowl. "Little? You'll be bigger and more famous than me as you reach for the stars and dance in the most famous ballets. I'll be singing shitty lyrics and playing cover music while you're dancing at Julliard Academy in New York with the best dancers in the world. You are so much more than just the little neighbor girl from Wisconsin." He palms his pick and
hides it from sight while he grabs the little box from on top of my comforter and hands it to me. "Now open yours."
I take it with shaky hands, feeling the smooth surface beneath my palm. I feel for the little tape flap, bringing my finger beneath the crease and ripping it open with care. I grab the small box, very similar to my own present, and pull it out of the wrap.
"You didn't wrap this yourself, did you?" I ask. The wrapping job is too perfect, no way were his large hands able to manage this by himself.
He smiles sheepishly. "Just open the damn gift, Luna."
I do as I'm told. Opening the small box, my eyes instantly burn with unshed tears as I see what's hiding underneath the top.
"Wow," I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. I run my finger over the gold chain. It's dainty and small, feminine. The chain of the necklace is gold and lightweight as I pick it up. In the center is a tiny pair of ballet slippers. There is detail with the ribbons, fluttering to the point they look real even though they are also solid gold. The wrinkles carved into the tiny slippers are so beautiful, so realistic, a tear flows down my cheek slowly, the same speed my finger runs across the slippers. "This is… is it real?"
He rolls his eyes. "Of course, it is."
"It's too much." My voice comes out clogged, too full of emotion.
"No, it's not. Turn around, let me put it on you." He lifts the box from my hand, grabs my shoulder and spins me until my back is facing him. I can hear him as he takes the chain out of the box. Soon enough, his hand lifts my hair and brings it over my left shoulder. His hands come around me, the shiny gold chain glittering in my darkened room, the only light in this darkness. He clasps the chain, and the ballet slippers weigh heavy but light against my neck, right between my collarbones. I lift it up, feeling its texture and heaviness between my fingers before placing it back against my chest. His hand comes down, and he grabs it himself. He lifts it, inspects it, and drops it against my chest. His hand goes down, and he presses it against me, as if he wants it to mold against my skin.
Feeling my voice echo through my chest and against his hand, I whisper, "I'll wear this every time I dance. With every bruise and ache in my bones, I'll think of you. Every time I bow at the end of a show, I'll think of you. Every time I lace my slippers around my own feet, tying my bows with perfect precision, it'll be you I think about."
His hand leaves my chest, and I'm spun around again, this time facing him. We're close, closer than I've ever been to him. I can feel his breath against my face and breathe it in, loving the thought of taking something of his. Anything. I breathe in as he exhales, and I watch his own chest expand as I exhale. "I have one more gift. Well, more of a question, actually."
I look up at him, his eyes dark and swirling. My own eyes watery with emotion. "What is it?"
He takes a breath so large it grazes my face. The breath he puffs out blows the black hair from my cheeks, a blast of wind drying my eyes. "Will you be my girlfriend?"
Another wave of tears hits my eyes, and they're quick to spill, running down my face in quick motions that even I can't contain. He brings a hand up, brushing his palms against my cheeks as he tries to stop the flow. I can't stop, and his tenderness only makes me cry harder. A sob rips from my chest, and I'm not even sure where it comes from.
Relief, maybe.
Happiness.
Excitement.
I've wanted this boy since I was six years old, and here I am today. Finally going to be his girlfriend. Is this elation? This tugging in my chest? It almost feels like it's breaking, and I can't help but want to clutch my chest to stop the ache.
"Say something, would you?" He laughs.
I laugh too, the sound watery and garbled as tears clog my throat. "Yes. Yes, I will."
"Oh, thank fuck." His fingers thread through my hair, pulling me to him, as he finally, finally presses his lips against mine.
He kisses like he's practiced, even though I know he hasn't. I'm his first kiss, just as much as he is mine. He takes control, his lips swallowing my bottom lip, and then my top. Not too wet, not too dry. Perfect. I barely peek my tongue out, and he takes that as an invitation to slide his tongue against mine. I bring my hands up, clutching his shoulders.
I want him.
I want all of him.
This need swallows me, heating me up below the belly. A feeling I've never experienced before, but one I've heard of from girls at school. One kiss from Roman and I’m turning into a raging fire, one that can't be put out.
My hands move from his shoulders to the back of his hair, threading through the messy strands and pulling on them.
He grunts.
We kiss until my tongue hurts, my jaw hurts, and I can literally feel the dampness drenching my panties between my thighs.
Knock, knock, knock.
Roman rips himself off me, flinging himself back so he's lying on my bed. My eyes widen when I see the bulge between his pants. He notices my look too, and he cringes, sitting up and hunching over just as my door opens and my mom walks in.
"Oh! Roman! I didn't know you were here."
"He came through the window, Mom." I hope like hell she can't tell something just happened between us. My cheeks are surely flaming red.
Both Roman and my parents have known that we sneak through each other's windows since, well, forever. It didn't take them long to figure it out, and back then we were so little they knew nothing would come of it.
Now, though, I'm starting to wonder if my mom might say something about it. Or make some weird rules.
"Did you open your present?" My mom directs her question to Roman. His face softens from his shocked look and he opens his fist, revealing the small pick still sitting in the center of his palm. "What do you think?" she asks.
He swallows, and I watch as his Adam's apple bobs a few times. "Best gift I've ever gotten."
My mom's face softens to the point she looks like she's going to cry. I intervene before she does so. "Look what Roman got me." I walk up to her, lifting the pair of ballet slippers. She grabs it, laying it on her palm as she looks at it.
"Wow," she whispers. This time her eyes water, and she blinks them away before they can fall. Suddenly, she steps back and clears her throat. "Don't stay too late, Roman."
She smiles at us, giving me a be smart look.
Once she shuts the door, Roman looks over at me with a holy shit look on his face.
"That was close." I giggle, pressing my knee on the mattress. I'm seconds from hopping on top of him when he slides off the bed quickly, standing up on the opposite side of the bed and putting his hands in the air.
"No. That was too close." He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. "I better go." I look down at his waist, seeing the bulge gone from his jeans.
An ache starts in my chest at the thought of him leaving already. "You're leaving? Already?"
He walks around the foot of the bed, stopping when the toes of his black socks touch my bare feet. "Only until tomorrow." He leans down, pressing his lips to mine again. "I just don't want to get caught." Another kiss. "Not today, at least." I smirk against his lips, and I feel his teeth. He's smirking, too.
After one more kiss, he grabs his coat and slips it on and goes to shove his feet into his boots. With one more smirk, he raises the pick to his lips and gives it a kiss and is out my window a second later.
I flop back onto my bed, a sigh leaving my chest with my arms extended at my sides. My pillows and comforter billow around me like cotton candy before settling against my body. They smell like him.
Roman Hall is my boyfriend.
I'm on the cliff.
It's particularly dark today. Raging storm clouds swirl up above, like a tornado getting ready to pick me up and swallow me whole. The soft sand swirls around my ankles like bracelets, tickling at my skin and making me want to reach down and scratch the itch away.
The sand starts to pull me, and I step backward, away from the edge. The water crashes angrily against the side
of the cliff, the noise loud as if I were inches away from the waves. The wind picks up, and I fall to my butt, the jagged rock beneath me scraping the back of my thighs.
That's when I look down and realize I'm in my leotard. My ballet slippers still on my feet.
What? How?
I get back up, running away from the edge, when a huge gust of wind picks me up and blows me right over.
I shoot up in bed, sweat running down my temples in terror as my dream comes back to haunt me, once again.
I told my mom about it, this recurring dream, years ago. She brought me to a psychologist, but they thought nothing of it. Blamed it on the move. But that was years ago, and I haven't seen them since.
It has to mean something, though, right?
I breathe deeply, feeling a weight between my collarbones. I lift my hand to my necklace, clutching it in my palm as I lie back down. Snuggling beneath my comforter, I close my eyes as tears flood my pillow.
This nightmare has tormented me for years, and it feels like at this point, it will never go away.
Maybe someday, though, I hope. When Roman takes me to where the mountains meet the sea.
CHAPTER NINE
ROMAN
"Have fun tonight. Don't do anything stupid. No drinking. No sex." My dad says with his arm around my mom as they head out the door.
Tonight is New Year’s Eve.
"We won't, Mr. Hall," Flynn says next to me, his hand coming up to slap my back. I shove his hand away, shaking my head in the same manner that my dad shakes his head at me before he shuts the door.
"You're an idiot." I shove him once my dad is gone. If they decided to stay here tonight, that would essentially ruin the damn night. It's just me and the guys tonight, and Nora invited Luna, even though everyone knows we're dating at this point. It only took a day.
One damn day.
From the looks on our faces when Luna's mom walked in, she instantly knew. She told my parents, who questioned me about it. Nora heard, and then blurted it to my friends.
