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And they got to leave the premises. I watched them come and go as a little girl, making up stories about their lives. Some of them I’d corner and grill about what life was like, about their houses, their friends and family, about malls and stores and movie theaters and ice cream stores. I wanted to hear about it all because I was terrified I’d never experience anything.
There were other aspects of normal human life I didn’t know much about. Driving, doing laundry.
Kissing. Love. Sex.
I practiced on a few of the younger boys. There was one in particular, a kid named Jonah. He wasn’t handsome, and he wasn’t charming, but he was available. I cornered him one night after he was finished raking the leaves and kissed him in the equipment shed. He must’ve been nineteen, and I was sixteen, and in retrospect I never should’ve done it. He couldn’t have said no—not really, not when I was the daughter of his employers. Not when his father depended on my family for a living.
I was stupid back then. I kissed Jonah several more times, but didn’t take it further.
There were others. More boys that never mattered and couldn’t turn me away. I experimented with them, always afraid to go too far, always telling myself that they were using me the same way I was using them.
And maybe that was true. But I’d never forget Jonah, my first kiss at sixteen years old, and what he said afterward. Please don’t tell your parents.
I pushed open my bedroom door and stepped inside. Nervosa followed and quietly shut it behind him.
“This is nice,” he said, looking around.
I had a small suite toward the back of the second floor. My windows overlooked the wide expanse of grassland and the mountains beyond. I had couches, a television, coffee tables. It was more or less as I left it when I went to Stanford, with my books stacked haphazardly, my guitar in the corner, my magazines on the tables. I nervously began to straighten, embarrassed of my mess.
“I spent a lot of time in here. The actual bed’s that way.” I pointed, smiling, feeling so stupid and transparent. “Bathroom’s down that hall.”
“You have a lot of books. I didn’t know you were a reader.”
“Not much else to do around here.” I shuffled toward the windows and pushed back the blinds. The view stunned me, but was bittersweet: it showed what I could never have.
“Guitar. Running shoes. Are those dried flowers?” He poked through a pile I had on a side table.
“I got into it when I was like twelve. I should’ve got rid of that stuff a long time ago.”
“So many hobbies.” He ran his fingers over some needlepoint I’d done when I was fourteen one lonely summer. “Is this what you did?”
“Distracted myself.”
“Must’ve been hard. Did you have friends?”
“Not many.” I stood in the middle of my life and felt so small. I had so much, yet knew so little.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have many friends either.” He turned to me. “When I was little, I was too busy surviving. When I was adopted, I was too busy learning to be what I am now. I’ve never had time for more.”
“Do you ever want it?” The words came out in a rush. “More, I mean.”
“Friendship is overrated.” His lips twisted. “Friends can hurt you. Friends can stab you in the chest and break your heart.”
“Then what’s the point of anything? Family?”
“I don’t know,” he said, coming closer. “I used to think being alone was enough. Providing for my mother. Keeping the business going. Growing the Nervosa empire. But now? I wonder if I was wrong.”
He stood in front of me, staring down into my eyes.
“What made you question yourself?”
He touched my cheek gently. “You know what.”
I bit my lip and his thumb pressed against my tooth. I turned my chin away, but not enough to pull back completely.
“All my life, I wanted to get away from here. I thought Stanford was my chance. But this place keeps dragging me back.”
“I’m sorry I brought you here. I didn’t realize it was painful.”
“Not painful. Only…” I trailed off, trying to find the words. I moved closer to him, looking up into his beautiful, twisted face. “It’s a cage, not a home. I never wanted to crawl back into captivity.”
“You won’t. I promise.”
He kissed me gently first. His lips were barely a brush against mine. A shiver tingled down my spine and I pressed my palms against his chest. He wrapped his arms around my back and pulled me tighter. His hands moved down my sides, resting on my hips.
I kissed him harder. I breathed in his smell. I wanted this so badly my knees trembled. I was terrified—I’d never let myself get carried away before, much less with a person like Nervosa—but he was the first man that didn’t have to do this. He could turn me down if he wanted, and there were a thousand reasons to want to.
