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“Claire, are you okay, can you talk?” he asked, appearing distraught. I was still too weak for words. Feeling safe in his arms, I buried my head in his chest.
Lifting my head from his chest, I thought I was in shock. Brent put his hands on both sides of my face, applying pressure on my cheeks so I had no choice but to look at him. Staring into his eyes, my body finally began to relax.
“Are you okay?” he asked again, softly this time, keeping his hands on my face, his blue irises burning into me. We were so close that our noses practically touched and I felt his breath on my skin.
“I’m fine,” I whispered calmly.
Waiting for him to release me, I rummaged for answers in his eyes as they assessed me carefully. He licked his lips. My desire to have him was too powerful to ignore a second longer. I put my mouth on his, begging for entry. The moment my lips met his, I belonged to him. His lips were soft and warm. Wrapping my fingers through his hair, I pulled his face closer pleading for him to kiss me back. He hesitated at first, but then complied, his lips parting. Our tongues swept against each other’s. My body was on fire, like a charge of electricity moving through me just below the skin. I had never kissed a boy before. It was amazing – better than cotton candy at the carnival, slowly unwinding each sugary strand, the sweetness melting into your mouth, dissolving to syrup on your tongue. Yes, so much better than that. He ran his hands to the back of my neck, dragging them firmly down to the small of my back, pulling me closer, a groan escaping his throat. Gripping my shoulders, he pushed me back, releasing his kiss.
“Wait, Claire. Stop. We can’t.”
Disappointment pinged deep in my gut. I felt the sting behind my eyes before the tears began to flow.
“Sorry. I…I…I’m sorry. I thought that you wanted to,” I cried uncontrollably.
“I do, I just…” he hesitated. “Claire, we shouldn’t be together or… look, we can’t be together, not like that.” His mouth was turned down and I didn’t understand his words. “Can’t” implied that we didn’t have a choice in the matter.
“We can’t?” I questioned.
“No,” he snapped, pacing the floor in front of me. His jaw was so tight I heard his teeth grinding. Halting mid-step, he scowled at me.
His lips set firmly showed me he was holding something back and it riled me.
“Why not,” I demanded.
“Because it’s wrong,” he bellowed, raking his hands through his hair again and sucking in a loud breath.
Throwing my hands up in frustration, I screamed back at him. “What the hell does that even mean, Brent? How is it wrong?”
He stood up and punched the wall behind him causing the dry wall to dimple, a low savage growl escaping his throat.
Had I heard him right? What did he mean? Why was he so angry? I was so confused. He had kissed me back with an equal amount of desperation – a clinging to the end of a rope kind of need – yet, he let go, sending us falling. Why?
“It just is, Claire. We can’t talk about this right now. We have to get out of here,” he said softly, masking his agitation. Fear came rushing back to me. I was so caught up in my feelings for him, I had yet to process what happened.
“What the hell happened here, Brent? What were those things? How did I….how did you…oh my God, Maggie…where is she?”
“Maggie’s okay, Claire, but we have to leave…now.” His emphasis on the word now was sharp, letting me know that he was in control, just as he had been with the strings and I knew it was best to abide.
“Okay but…,”
“Look,” Brent interrupted. “I know you have a lot of questions and I’ll answer them once I’m sure you’re safe,” he promised.
“Where are we going to go?” I asked.
Pressing his fingertips firmly into his temples, he traced a few small circles before answering. “Your family has a place up in Jasper Beach, Maine. We should be safe there. We’ll get a car from the garage. They’ll be able to track us if we take the Buick or my truck. We’ll drive the coast and get there late tonight.”
“What, what garage? There is no garage here,” I asked confused.
Brent explained that up the road was a large garage my grandfather built, telling me there were several vehicles in it. I had seen it. I didn’t know it was ours or that we had a house in Maine.
Brent came with me to my room and got a bag from the closet. He tossed it on the bed, telling me to pack what I needed for a few days and leave the rest behind. I began throwing things into the bag, packing the first clothing I came across. I grabbed the picture of my parents on the dresser, clutched it to my chest, and tossed it in the bag.
Zipping up my bag, I thought about how I was leaving again – packing up instantly – running – as I had always done. Only this time it really was for my protection. Replaying what happened in my head, I tried to understand. I glanced at Brent for answers, knowing he wouldn’t give them to me until we were safe.
“How did you know?” I asked, wiping my tear-stained cheeks on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
His mouth tightened, pulling his jaw forward, his expression pained as though recalling something extremely uncomfortable.
