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“You really are…so handsome.” The drunken slur of her words was changing from silly to serious. Her thoughts diving deeper. “Beautiful,” she said, “but not in a girly way. No. In a manly way. The way a man can be beautifully a man. This…?” She grazed her fingers over the stubble on my jaw, then traced my eyebrows. “And here…” Her touch gently trailed over my cheekbones, mindful of the still healing gash.
I closed my eyes under her touch; a rush sweeping through me as if I’d pounded a shot of Scotch myself.
Don’t do this to me.
“And here,” Willow whispered, her fingertip tracing my lips. “And your eyes, Isaac.”
I opened them to her, standing so close to me, so beautiful…
“Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you? That your eyes were like the stormy sea off Nantucket in winter. Cold and wind-tossed but deep. But they’re not cold now…”
She inclined her head toward me. She was going to kiss me. And if she hadn’t been drunk, it would’ve been the most perfect moment of my life.
I turned my head away and held her by the shoulders. “No, Willow. We can’t.”
“We can’t,” she echoed. Her face clouded over. “No truer words, right? I want a beer.”
“Only one.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she snapped. “Remember?”
I bent to pull two Heinekens out of the bag. “No, but you can get alcohol poisoning. And that’s not going to happen.”
She pouted but made no further protest.
I pointed to the small brick building. “Let’s go behind the mortuary before someone sees us.”
We took a small gravel path around the mortuary where a single light still glowed yellow, probably to keep out trespassers. Crickets chirped a never-ending cacophony in the trees that surrounded the cemetery. They were the only boundary marking this place. No gates or fences, no formal entrance or exit. Just an uneven patch of earth. A black sea where tilted tombstones bobbed on the surface. According to the small placard on the mortuary wall, some graves dated as far back as 1830.
“This is perfect,” Willow said, as I opened two beers with my keys and handed her one. She took a long pull from her beer, as if it were a potion she desperately needed.
“Drink slow,” I said. “You don’t—”
She grabbed at me then, one hand clutching her beer, sloshing it, and the other gripping my shirt. She hauled me toward her. Her lips crashed against my cheek, trying to find my mouth. Her breath smelled of expensive whiskey and cheap beer.
“This is how I can do it,” she whispered between the frantic kisses that both set my blood on fire and repulsed me. I wanted her more than anything, but not like this.
“Willow…”
“This is how it’s done, right? Drunk and delirious and you can just take me, Isaac. It’ll be okay this way.”
“No…”
“Like before,” she said, nipping at my neck and then slumping against my shoulder. “This is how I can do it. Probably the only way I can do it now.”
A shadow of a thought slid down my spine like a cold sliver.
“What do you mean? Do what?”
“You know what,” she said. “Do I have to spell it out?”
“Yeah, you do, Willow. What are you saying?”
“What am I saying?” she wondered. “I’m saying it, aren’t I? I’m telling the story. Why? Because I like you, Isaac. So much and it’s so fucking sad, isn’t it? I want to be a normal girl who likes a boy and that can never ever, ever happen. Not for me.”
“Why not?” I asked, my mouth whispering the words while my muscles tensed to brace myself for the answer.
“Because once upon a time…” Willow’s head lolled and her bleary eyes were heavy with alcohol and shadows. “I had a party. There was dancing. We danced like sex and I felt sexy. And grown up. And he wanted me. He was older and hot and popular and he was paying attention to me. His name was Xavier.”
