1629. I look back at my hand, confirming the number Richard scrawled in ballpoint pen on my palm before we parted ways to shower and change. I get to the end of the hall and knock on his door, and then I shift from one foot to the other, trying to loosen up my legs a little, since they’re screaming. I’ve just come from my room, which I’m sharing with Amanda. It was all I could do not to say, “And your enemies closer” when I found out the room assignments. I wonder how many guys are in Richard’s room.
But when he answers, he’s alone. He steps back so I can come in, then puts a sock on the outer doorknob, closes the door, and throws the bolt. He doesn’t waste any time with our newfound privacy. He pulls me toward him and turns me so my back is against the door. Burying his hands in my hair, he gives me a long kiss. He runs one hand up and down the side of my body. It seems impossible how quickly he can wake up every nerve ending I have.
Richard’s room is little more than a window dormer flanked by two twin beds. The ceilings are low and slanted with the roof. When we readCrime and Punishmentin Enriched English last semester, the main character lived in a garret, and this is sort of what I imagined. Richard looks like a giant in it because he can only stand up straight right by the door; everywhere elsehe has to stoop to not hit his head. It makes for a perfectly reasonable explanation of why we have to kick off our shoes and stretch out on the bed. We’re mirror images of each other, stretched out on our sides, hands holding up our heads, elbows propped on the pillow. He’s looking at me intently; his eyes are an invitation. It makes me think about how many things I could tell him, how many things I haven’t told him. The only thing that stops me from opening Pandora’s box is I don’t know how to start.
“What’s going on in there?” he says, touching my temple. “I can see a lot of wheels turning.”
I shrug. “Just catching my breath.”
“I didn’t know you were breathless.”
I scooch closer to him. “A little.”
He starts kissing me again, and it’s just like on the bus. It feels like I’m drowning in it, no, swimming in it, NO,floating, like I’m weightless and surrounded by sheer yumminess. I let myself relax, and the places where our bodies are touching take turns being at the front of my consciousness—first our lips, our tongues, then my hand on his arm, then his hand on my waist, and then our two sets of socked feet intertwined.
Now he’s working on the buttons of my shirt, and with one hand it’s going pretty slowly. I realize I don’t want him to get frustrated and give up, so I help him with the last few. The whole time that button business is happening, our mouths are crushed together with a four-alarm-fire level of intensity that makes me feel like a different person, not an anxious, self-consciousperson but someone untamed, like I just emerged from the woods or something. Like I’m wild.
He sits up then and grabs the back of his collar, pulling his T-shirt over his head in one swift motion. I take the cue to do the same, but there’s no way to get my bra unhooked and off without looking clumsy and awkward. Why didn’t I wear my bra that hooks in the front?! I try to hold his eyes with mine and just get it off as fast as possible so it won’t take up too many frames in the mental movie I’m hoping he’ll play of this later.
Then we come together again, his arms encircling me. There’s so much skin, all of it smooth. Richard only has a few chest hairs right at his sternum, downy and soft, which I like. I touch his nipples, and am surprised when they get hard the same as mine do. Apparently, we are both thinking about my breasts at the same time, because he rolls me onto my back and then moves down to put his mouth on each of them. I almost cry at how good it feels.
Suddenly, he’s pulling away from me. He reaches over and tugs the curtains closed, so that there is only a long strip of light left on the opposite wall from the rays of the setting sun sneaking through the crack. Then he reaches down into his backpack sitting on the floor next to the bed. I hear the crinkle of plastic as he finds what he’s looking for. He brings it up, holds it with both hands and tears the wrapper. It’s a condom.
My body goes cold. I feel like he just skipped about ten steps.
“What’s that for?” I ask, my voice flat. How did we get here?
He smiles at me, still playful. “You know what it’s for.”
I’m so confused. “But we only just started— I mean, this seems fast …”
“Why? I’m ready. You feel ready. What’s holding us back?” The last question is muffled as he leans into me, kissing my neck.
But everything yummy has evaporated, and now I am acutely aware of the sticky wetness of his spit on my skin. The room smells stale and sweaty. I sit up quickly and almost crack my head on the ceiling, ducking at the last second and scooting down to the foot of the bed so I can put both feet on the floor. I grab my shirt and stuff my arms in the sleeves.
“Hey, where are you going?” He says it plaintively, like a little boy, pulling on my hand. “Come back.”
I reclaim my hand and try to clear my head. Maybe I can save this. We’re just having a misunderstanding.
“Look, Richard, I don’t expect you to know this about me, ’cause we haven’t really had a chance to talk about this yet, but I would only …” Only what? Go all the way? Make love? Fuck? “I can totally see myself having sex with you, I want to, but we would have to be in love first, you know?”
Immediately, he says, “Well, I love you.”
A bark of a laugh jumps out of me at the ridiculousness of that statement. What the hell? “No. You don’t. You barely know me.” My body seems to be done with this whole scene before my brain can catch up. I’m surprised to find I’m already putting on my shoes and tying the laces. I stuff my bra into my pocket.
He looks unbothered by what I just said. “I think I do.”
The calmer he is, the more out of control I feel. “No. I promise. You don’t know me at all. And you definitely don’t love me.”
There’s a minuscule shift in his gaze; his eyes get stony, as if he is looking at a stranger who may have stolen his bike. There is a hard edge to his composure. “You don’t have to hold on to these old-fashioned ideas of what gives women value, Hattie. You’ll be the same person afterward.” What is he, a women’s studies professor?
“That is not what I’m doing. Don’t tell me what I’m doing.” I’m stumbling over my words, I’m so agitated.
He props up a pillow and sits back, putting his hands behind his head. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t need to be a big deal. Everything doesn’t need to be a big deal.”
The note of condescension curls my hands into fists.
“You can throw that condom away.” I have to go. I feel like a failure even though I’m pretty sure he’s the one fucking up. I open the door, then I pull the sock off the doorknob and toss it into the room before shutting it behind me. I’m moving on instinct now. In the hall, I turn toward my room. But halfway there, I spin around. What if Amanda is in there? I’m not ready to interact with her. I head outside and the inevitable cold hits me, shocking me with its impact. With no coat on, my teeth are chattering within seconds, but I want it. I want the punishment.
