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‘You say you love me…’ I begin.
‘I do,’ Sketch promises.
‘Then show me. Let me feel how much you love me.’
‘Annie,’ Sketch puffs out, his chest rising and falling quickly.
‘Show me, Sketch. Please. Let me be yours. You already have my heart. Let me give every piece of me to you.’
Sketch stands up unexpectedly and rummages in his rucksack. He pulls out the knife he uses for sharpening his pencils. He runs his hand over the bark of our favourite tree and carves our initials under those of his parents.
‘There,’ he says, satisfied as he drops the knife and it falls blade pointing downwards into the long grass. ‘Together forever. It says so right here.’
Fierce bubbles pop in my tummy as I look up at the man I adore, and he gazes back at me with smouldering intensity. His lips part, and his eyes narrow. He can see past my clothes. Past my skin. He can see right through to my soul. My soul that’s aching to become one with his. Sketch runs a shaking hand over his hair, ruffling his usually sleek style. He seems younger with his hair messy and flopping into his eyes, and I see past his cool calm exterior. I see past his crisp black leather jacket and the cigarettes tucked into his pocket. I see past the confident smile of a hard-working man. I see the scared boy so ready to grow up but nervous about that next step. I see the boy whose destiny has been linked with mine since we were both too young to understand it. Sketch’s heart is an open book right now. I’m reading the first chapter, and I see my name all over it.
THIRTY-ONE
ANNIE
Sketch and I lie together on the grass. Satisfied perspiration dampens my hair, and beads of sweat trickle down my spine. The only sound is our deep, exhausted breaths and the subtle chirping of scattered birds perched in nearby trees. Sketch’s arms are wrapped around my naked body, cradling me close to him. My head rests on his chest, and I press my ear against his warm skin and listen to the even beating of his heart. It was racing moments ago, but it’s calmer now. I shiver as a gentle breeze passes by, ruffling the leaves on the branches over our heads. Sketch tightens his arms around me, dragging me closer. Keeping me warm and safe.
I pull the chequered picnic blanket Sketch used to cover us over my shoulder and tuck it under my neck.
‘Don’t worry, Annie.’ Sketch kisses the top of my head. ‘No one can see us out here.’
‘I know,’ I whisper, inhaling the serenity of the vast orchard.
I can’t imagine feeling happier anywhere in the world than in this blissful open space right at this moment.
‘Did I hurt you?’ Sketch asks, his hand finding its way into my damp hair to massage the back of my head.
‘A little,’ I confess, still feeling the aftermath of the burn as he pushed inside.
Sketch’s hand stills. ‘I’m sorry.’
I shuffle and pull myself up, placing one hand at each side of Sketch’s ribs so I can look him in the eyes. ‘Don’t be,’ I say. ‘The first time is supposed to hurt. I knew it would; I’ve read about it before.’
‘Annie, I’m shocked.’ Sketch tosses his eyebrows and feigns disapproval.
I struggle to keep a straight face as he pretends to be mature and condescending as I used to expect a man should be.
‘The sooner you teach me to read, the better,’ Sketch says. ‘I think I need to borrow some of your books.’
I laugh and relax my arms as I rest my head against his chest. His skin is clammy against my cheek.
‘Seriously, Annie,’ he whispers, suddenly sounding very grown-up. ‘I really am sorry that I hurt you.’
‘Don’t say that.’ I frown, saddened that he feels this way.
‘Let me get this out,’ Sketch commands.
I nod and listen.
‘I hate that I hurt you, Annie,’ Sketch repeats, and I feel him grow hard again as he presses against my thigh. ‘But all I can think about right now is doing it again.’
I exhale loudly and clamber up his chest quickly, barely able to contain my excitement at reaching his lips. I kiss him hard and firmly, letting him know without words that, despite the pain, all I want is to do it again, too.
‘Me too.’ I blush.
