Thanks so much for reading, and for the reviews. I love how strongly you all feel already, even without knowing where this is going. And I love how many of you say that you can relate, somehow, to some part of this; it's amazing, the degree to which being young is a universal experience. xo
. . .
February 13, 2013 – Word Prompt: Drape, Grape, Scrape
. . .
Charlie's DVD player is busted, and thanks I'm sure to the gods of misfortune, I find myself watching a typically dated high school romance that I did, in fact, watch when I was in high school. I remember watching it with Edward, who grumbled good-naturedly about "chick-flicks," but who begrudgingly admitted after the fact that he actually enjoyed it.
Now I watch Freddie Prinze, Jr. turn the ugly duckling into the beautiful swan simply by removing her glasses, and I want to hurl Charlie's beer can at the screen. As if anyone would believe that behind those thick-framed lenses, Rachael Leigh Cook was anything other than gorgeous. No wonder teenage girls are so confused all the time. Not only are we expected to believe that a lifetime of ostracism can be rectified by changing our accessories, but we're supposed to buy into these movies wherein high school is portrayed as the scene of innocent hijinks and harmless conflicts. Hollywood circa 1999 didn't seem to get that high school was far more sinister than it would have us believe, and that the damage it can leave can't always be erased by a coat of lip gloss or a little black dress. That something a thirty-year-old might be able to laugh off can leave a scar on a teenage heart that either splits with every subsequent move or heals over so tough that the organ beneath it can never again be penetrated.
Sometimes, it turns out, the heart can ache to hold on to something even as the brain whispers to let it go.
. . .
I grip the red plastic cup that Edward filled with Coke, telling me that if anyone asked, I could lie and say there was rum in it. Mike Newton's parents are gone for the weekend, and he's having a New Year's Eve "party" with just enough partygoers for it to get stupid. The group is a combination of Forks seniors and Mike's older sister's friends, who are home from their various colleges and carry with them the worldly air of having been away from home for four whole months. Edward's nursing a beer, his arm draped casually but demonstratively around my shoulders; I wear it like a cloak against these people who are sort of his friends and only mine by proxy. The only time his arm disappears is when it's his turn to launch a ping-pong ball toward a triangle of cups, and I don't quite understand why I feel so exposed without its reassuring weight.
When Mike shoves Ben Cheney for no apparent reason, he falls into the beer pong table, breaking the plywood down the middle and earning both him and Mike a round of boos and insults from the assembled partygoers. "New game," Mike announces, relishing the authority afforded him by being party host. "'Never Have I Ever.'"
A brief explanation of rules – drink if you've done it – and already I'm uncomfortable. Even if my cup were filled with straight vodka, something tells me I'd have no problem walking a straight line out of this party when the game is over. Edward gives me a reassuring smile, but I can see uncertainty in his eyes.
Mike's up first. "Said, 'I love you.'" A soft smile as Edward takes a sip of his beer and I sip my soda.
Mike's sister. "Had an orgasm." I'm the only one besides the girl who said it that doesn't drink, and Edward's eyes are on me as he lifts his cup to his lips. I blush as I realize what that means, and Mike elbows Edward. "Damn, Cullen, take care of your girl, man." I'm immediately sorry that I agreed to participate.
Rosalie smirks at the group. "Touched a girl's tits." I blush, and Edward swirls his beer around in his hand; he's the only guy who doesn't drink, and I am awash with secondhand embarrassment.
Lauren, of course, takes Rosalie's lead. "Fingered a girl." My lack of intake indicates nothing; Edward, once again, is the lone guy not drinking.
Tyler. "Given oral sex." Edward's ears are pink and he's staring down into his nearly full cup.
Jessica. "Received oral sex." Thankfully, most of the girls don't drink to this one, and Edward has company in Ben.
Ben. "Had sex." Rosalie, Lauren, Tyler, Mike, and a handful of the college kids drink. I'm terrified of where else this particular line of questioning can go, and I realize it's Edward's turn to confess a truth. It makes my heart hurt to realize how much he's already confessed – how much we've both revealed – without saying a word.
"I, uh, need to take a leak," he says instead, rising from the small circle and crossing the room to the dresser, placing his cup on the table beside the cooler of liquor-infused grape Kool-Aid and slipping through the door. I rise and follow him, and the catcalls that follow me aren't enough to make me regret doing so, even as I hear Rosalie mutter, "Maybe she'll at least hold it for him while he pisses."
"I'm sorry," he says to me as soon as I catch up with him in the kitchen, and I feel as though he's stolen my line.
"What for?"
"We shouldn't have played. That was…embarrassing." The words would sound angry, if not for the dull tone in which he delivers them. I feel guilty and exposed and uncertain, and after a few beats of uncomfortable silence, he gives me a small smile. "Want to leave?" I nod, and he fishes his keys out of his pocket and hands them to me.
When I park in my driveway, Charlie's cruiser is gone, and I know he's working the New Year's Eve roadblock patrol. "Come in," I say softly. "Until you're sure you're okay to drive."
"I live around the block," he says, but he's unbuckling his seat belt anyway.
On my sofa, his stubble scrapes my jaw as his hands find my breasts and I arch up into him, a thrill of scared excitement surging through me. "Oh my God," he murmurs, his fingers squeezing gently at flesh no one has ever touched before. I feel his thumbs pass over my nipples, and I whimper into his mouth. He pulls back, gazing down at me, his eyes as green as I've ever seen them. "Can I see them?"
I bite my lip. Even in this moment, with the effects of his kisses surging through my blood, I hesitate. I've bared every part of myself to him: my heart, my mind, my soul. I don't understand why baring my body makes me freeze up, fills me with such inexplicable unease. I open my mouth to speak, but I can't find the words. Edward's eyes dim almost imperceptibly, and he gives a short nod. "It's okay." He goes back to kissing me, but slides his hands back down my stomach and around my hips, to the small of my back that he knows is safe territory. I feel guilty for the swell of relief that washes over me when I realize, once again, that he won't push me. I throw myself into our kisses, determined to make them enough.
. . .
