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I’m not in the business of making false promises, and my life thus far hasn’t set me up for believing that tired line of bullshit everyone seems to throw out like confetti:Just have faith and everything will work out fine. I don’t think so. Charlotte is sixteen. She has two more years in this town, a town I’m never setting foot in again. So I don’t want her believing that we have a future, even though I’ve spent countless nights dreaming of just that.
I cap the now empty bottle and put it aside, sinking into the mattress. I’m sure most people would complain about the accommodations at this crappy motel midway between Pennsylvania and Illinois, but this is the first time I’ve had the luxury of stretching out across a full-sized bed. The spare pillow isn’t soft. The cheap polyester case is scratchy and the filling is clumped in sections, but that doesn’t stop me from pulling it close to my body and wrapping my arms around it as I roll onto my side.
Now I can pretend, imagine I’m back on the bank of the river. Charlotte’s eyes flutter and then close, her contented smile telling me that I’m good and worthwhile. I kiss that spot on her neck just below her jawline, letting my lips linger, feeling the steady beat of her pulse. I pull her in even closer so that I can feel the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. Holding her like this gives me a solid kind of peace that I’ve never known.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone, never felt intense emotions over a girl. Just the thought of her makes me so happy that I’m pretty much sporting a ridiculous smile all the time. I’m so proud to have her by my side that I draw her close to me whenever I can, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that she’s mine. And I feel protective over her in a way that feels irrational—territorial and violent. I will shield her and rage against anyone who would set out to harm her. She is still mine. I can dream it any way I want in this near-sleep state.
She is mine and I love her.
My mind drifts back to last night, but I want to relive it, change reality, make it so that it went down in a very different way. It wasn’t the sad and desperate plea of a grieving boy. It wasn’t rushed. I didn’t forge ahead and take her before she was ready. I didn’t collapse on her and then roll away after I was spent, trance-like and despondent. God no. In my current drunken state, I grant myself a do-over. I can kiss her tenderly, the way I always do. I can be grateful for what she gives to me and I can cherish her, taking time to make it good and memorable for her. I can hold her after, hold her close the entire night. I can stay with her and hold onto this mind-blowing goodness day in and day out.
Forever.
Fuck me…I told her I’d love her forever.
I looked away from her like a coward this morning. I didn’t need to see her face to know that I’d devastated her, ruined everything good that had ever been between us.
I hate myself for using those words. A lie would have been better, would have made it easier for her to move on, to leave me in her rear view mirror.
In this moment, clutching the pillow that serves as a pitiful substitute for holding my sweet girl, I feel like it’s going to be the death of me. Because what I said is true. I will love Charlotte forever.
* * *
Charlotte
I exist in my memories. Hold onto them for dear life. I spend the weeks following Simon’s cut and run in a sort of fugue state, going through the motions but not truly present.
I need you.
In my head he says it to me over and over again. He’s hovering over me, resting his weight on one elbow as his other hand grips the flesh of my hip. He holds back like he always does, but I feel his body pressing into mine, I feel his need.
I am a grown up that night at the river, I feel bold and sure of myself. I lead him, push him, whisper in his ear that I’ve taken care of everything. I untie the strings myself, shift until I’m out of the suit that’s still wet from the swimming hole. I open myself up like a gift for him.
He shakes his head and kisses me softly. “Can’t.”
“I’m on the pill.” My cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“What? Why?”
Don’t cry, don’t cry. “Because I—”
“Because you want to give this to me.” He leans closer and lays a gentle kiss on one eyelid and then the other. “And I love you, but I can’t.”
The first time he told me he loved me, I cried. He kissed the tears as they slipped down my cheeks, apologizing to me as if he’d done something wrong. He didn’t understand. How could he understand the ache I felt, the hollow place that those simple words filled inside of me? How could he know that it had been years since my mother spoke those words to me, and that no one else had done so since? I drew his lips to mine and kissed him, whispering on a breath that I loved him too.
But that night I don’t hearI love you. I hear rejection and it stings. I go to sit up, covering my breasts with both hands in embarrassment. “And when you’re in Chicago? Will you turnthosegirls down when they make you an offer?”
“Don’t,” he pleads in a soft voice. He drags his discarded shirt over my hips and eases me back down onto the blanket, raising my wrists over my head. “Be with me like we always are…It will be enough.”
His breath ghosts over my jaw as his hands explore my body. This time he goes further, allowing himself to rut his naked hips against mine, touching me and losing himself in the sensation. I suck in a breath at the feel of him hard against my belly and silently will him to slide lower, will him to lose the self-control that holds him back from taking me.
When I made the split-second decision to swipe those sample packs from Sarah’s bathroom a few weeks ago, I lied to myself. Her older sister won’t even know they’re missing—that was the first lie. I’m an adult, and responsible adults take birth control pills when they’re in a relationship. That was more than a lie, it was a downright joke. Responsible adults go to the doctor and actually get information on how to properly take said pills—they don’t steal them and start taking them without even reading the damn directions or warning labels. And all along I told myself that he was leaving come fall, and that I was fine with it because down the line it would all work out for us. That was the biggest lie of all. Deep in my heart, I hoped that once I gave him everything he’d never be able to let me go.
I gave, and on that last night we had together, broken and grieving, he took from me.
It didn’t make him stay.
Chapter Fourteen
