25. In which signals get crossed
My body and mind are in near constant opposition. Especially when it comes to Hillary. Any normal, self respecting teenage boy would have gone away years ago. After all, it was her request. But still, something kept me around. Now if only I could get my mind to do the talking.
Craig set the water glass down on a nearby table. It was hopeless, she wasn't going to drink or eat anything he gave her. She was stubborn when she wanted to be, more so when she was drunk. He sighed deeply and then turned back to her. He was stunned speechless by the look in her eyes, and within seconds her lips were on his. He caught her with sheer surprise as she pressed herself closer. After a moment he broke away and took her face in his hands.
"Hill, what are you doing?" he asked, though his body desperately told him to remain silent. Her eyes suddenly seemed clear as she returned his gaze. She didn't say anything, just kissed him again. This time he remained silent and returned her kiss. Somehow, she didn't taste like vodka at all. Her lips tasted of vanilla.
He felt her hands at his hips, tugging at the base of his tee shirt. He helped her pull it off and shivered at the chill in the room. His body sprang involuntarily to life as her hands roamed over his chest, down to his belly button and hip bones, then back up. She pushed him back onto the bed and began trailing kissing from his neck and down, following the path that her hands had taken. When her lips were again on his again she swung a leg over his so she was straddling him.
His breath was suddenly coming out ragged as he saw that her belt was already missing. He thought he would lose it completely as she reached down and pulled her dress over her head, leaving her in only jeans and a sheer black bra. She bent again to kiss him and the feeling of her warm skin on his made his heart pound loudly. His fingers brushed her stomach and then moved up, making it scant inches before his conscience began to set of alarms.
Slowly, painfully, he pulled away from her kiss. She looked down at him in confusion and tried to kiss him again. He again pulled away and sat up. She moved off him and to the side, face set to a mix of confusion and anger. He retrieved her dress from across the bed and handed it to her, and she pulled it over her head petulantly.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing. Craig shook his head.
"I can't do this, Hill. Not here, not like this." He told her, and she stood angrily to find her belt and shoes.
"What, you don't want me?" she asked, and Craig could see the question was loaded. She was still drunk, but was quickly sobering up.
"No. Not like this." He replied, quickly realizing this was the wrong answer and immediately began to try to explain what he meant. It was too late, though, because she had found her belt and was already leaving the room with shoes in hand. Craig sat on the bed for a moment and contemplated the stupidity of what he had just said.
Of course he wanted her. She was beautiful, sexy, whatever you wanted to call it. And he loved her, of course. But that wasn't her, not really. He didn't just want her body; he wanted her mind and soul. At that moment her mind and soul were dulled by the blanketing effects of vodka. He stood to follow her but she was already down the stairs and disappeared from sight.