by L. M. Reed
Chapter 15
Dear Diary,
I am so stupid!
CeeCee
We were all pretty much worn out from the day, so it wasn’t long before we made our way to our bedrooms, but I couldn’t sleep. I had been so distracted I hadn’t drunk nearly enough water, and my throat was absolutely parched.
I hated drinking bathroom water, for two reasons: Number one was obvious…IT WAS BATHROOM WATER! YUCK! And number two, the water running through the pipes in the summer was too warm for me to drink. I liked it ice cold.
Assuming that everyone else was tucked up in their beds fast asleep—or at least headed that way—I felt my way down the stairs to the kitchen to grab one of the water bottles I kept in the fridge. Every time I bought bottled water, I kept the bottle, refilled it with tap water, and stuck it in the fridge for a quick get-a-way when I needed to take one on a run. I preferred ice water when I was home, but I didn’t want to risk waking Mom up with the noise of the ice, since her bedroom was so close to the kitchen.
I was about to open the fridge when I heard what sounded like…crying. Quietly, I moved closer to Mom’s bedroom door in order to hear more clearly. Was she all right?
Putting my ear to the door, I heard music. I wasn’t into classical music, but I knew that piece. It was Mom’s favorite…Bach’s Air. When we were young, after Mark and I were put to bed, she and Dad used to sit on the couch in the living room in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket, drinking hot cocoa—at least that was their story—playing different versions of it repeatedly.
As I listened, the piece ended and another version began. In the silence between the two, I heard sounds of muffled sobbing. Mom was crying.
Instinctively I raised my hand to knock on her door. I couldn’t bear to witness that much pain without doing something about it. Suddenly, there was a steel band around my waist and something hard clamped over my mouth. I tried to scream and break free, but I wasn’t strong enough.
As my captor hauled me into the living room, a voice hissed in my ear, “Be quiet!”
Of course it’s him, I thought viciously.
I quit struggling, but held my body stiffly until he let me go.
Turning on him furiously, I demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Saving you from making a big mistake,” he answered calmly. “Keep your voice down.”
“Keep my voice down?” I screamed in a whisper, not even realizing that was possible until that very moment. “That is my mother in there and she’s in pain. She needs me.”
“She needs to be alone to grieve.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I’m not all wrapped up in my own selfish universe,” Nick replied bluntly.
“She…I…you…”
I was so angry, spluttering was all I could manage.
I let out a frustrated, high-pitched yelp and turned to leave. I had no set destination in mind—my main focus was to get as far away from Nick as possible—so I wasn’t paying attention to my direction.
Nick saw me heading back towards the kitchen and must have assumed the worst; that I was still determined to see Mom. The same steel band roughly encircled my waist from behind again. Nick was furious.
“You spoiled little brat!” he hissed at me.
“Let go of me,” I yelled, way past quiet.
I managed to turn towards him, hitting and kicking, trying to free myself, but Nick crushed me against him, pinning my arms down, so I couldn’t move. Speechless with anger, my frustration grew as I struggled to get free while at the same time attempted to make painful contact with some part of his body to return some of the emotional pain he was forcing on me. I found no such outlet.
Eventually my strength gave out, and I stood quietly in his arms. My anger subsided, leaving only the ache. With a sob, I buried my face in his neck. It felt like I would never be happy again. Dad was gone, Mom was miserable, Mark was about to graduate college, and I had an extremely painful crush on a man at least seven years my senior.
I wasn’t trying to be a spoiled brat, but I didn’t know how to handle any of those things. Life was painful, and I had no clue how to deal with my hurt. As I soaked Nick’s shirt with my tears, everything seemed to close in on me, suffocating me, as I desperately tried to gulp in huge amounts of air.
After what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably only a few minutes, my sobs lessened and strange sensations began to take over.
I hadn’t bothered to dig out my robe—I never used one, and I wasn’t even sure my old one would fit—so I was wearing only my camisole top and pajama shorts. With Nick’s arms around me, holding me against the length of his body, I suddenly needed something more, but I didn’t have the experience to know what.
My hands, which I’d kept close to my face, trying to hide from Nick as well as muffle the sounds of my sobs, seemed to have a will of their own as they slowly crept around his neck. I felt his arms tighten, drawing me closer, and my lips involuntary brushed the side of his neck. He smelled so good.
Nick jumped away from me as if he’d been burned.
Gasping in shock at what I’d done, I was too confused to think. Instinct, perhaps self-preservation, took over and I found myself in my room a few seconds later, my back leaning against the shut door, panting wildly.
I was too humiliated to allow myself to think about what had just happened, how I had…shame washed over me in waves. How could I face him again? He knew. As inexperienced as I was, even I realized that I had given myself away with a vengeance. Of all the stupid, idiotic, moronic things to do…Why had I done that?
I blamed my teenage hormones. That was it…that had to be it. I hadn’t dated like a normal teenager…that would explain it. I needed to get out more.
Michael and I had a date the next afternoon, well technically, it would be later the same day since it was already after midnight, and I planned to allow him to kiss me. I had been putting it off—not really into it—but apparently, I needed it.
Getting into bed, I firmly decided to stop beating myself up over Nick.
Maybe Michael was the answer. We would kiss and I would forget all about Nick. That was it, I assured myself sleepily as I drifted off, trying to picture Michael kissing me. If I could just get the picture in my head to stay Michael…
