The following Monday, Ren made her way through the school, trying not to concentrate on the uncertainty she had felt all weekend long. She had logically reduced the kiss into its pros and cons, and after viewing the consequences that would come from either decision, she decided to write it off as a fluke and nothing more. Yet she still couldn't erase the touch of his hands grasping her hair, pulling her to his mouth . . .
Shaking her head, she glanced down the hall for her brother. She needed to talk to him about Donny's birthday before she went to class. Louis was at his locker, and Twitty leaned beside him, listening. Flustered, Ren choose to stop at her own locker and in order to recompose herself before going to talk to her little brother. Twitty - she'd been able to ignore him when he wasn't around; this would be harder than she thought. 'Just make it through today, Ren,' she thought to herself. 'After today, it will be easier . . . I hope.' Sighing, Ren twisted the combination lock, focusing on the day ahead.
Twitty gazed down the hall as Ren's thin fingers played with the dial on her locker. He'd spent the entire weekend locked in his room remembering those fingers as they caressed his lips around, between and even in their kiss. Even during his most randy daydreams, he couldn't reproduce that soft touch of exploration. As he thought of it now, his body temperature grew warm sending erotic chills down his spine. He watched her hair curl against her neck, softly brushing against her skin; her lips were slightly parted in concentration as she arranged the books in her locker. He wanted to look away, but he wasn't able to pull himself from the vision at the end of the hallway. Suddenly, fingers snapped in front of his eyes.
"Dude," Louis's voice cut through his daydream. "You weren't just 'gazing' at my sister, were you? Because," Louis paused to shudder, "that's really freaky, man."
Twitty shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts away as Tawny chastised Louis about the importance of having respect for others' privacy. "Ren?" he questioned back, unbelievable astonishment masking his voice. "Dude, but it looks like she's coming over here." And she was, at that. Mixed with anxiety and relief, Twitty leaned against the locker, forcing his frame into natural body expressions as Ren moved closer to him.
"Louis," Ren's voice called. "I was wondering if you'd had any more ideas for Donny's birthday?" She involuntarily felt her eyes glance at Twitty. He was leaning against the locker, staring straight ahead at nothing. Slightly disappointed but calmer, she turned back to Louis, who was answering her - telling her something he'd come up with. She nodded, hearing nothing. All her attention was focused on her little brother's best friend. Her body tense, she stiffly replied, "Well, that should be fine, then." Smiling, she nodded to her brother and each of his friends. "Tawny." Tawny smiled at her. "Louis." Her brother saluted her, making her grimace. "Twitty." She had to admit, his name came out a bit harsher than she had expected, but she moved on. Even past the forlorn look in his eyes; she needed to go to class and logically assess the situation once again.
Twitty watched Ren walk down the hall, her hips swaying as she made her way through the mob population of their classmates. He made his excuses to Louis and Tawny then hurried off to his next class. Her voice had sounded so unforgiving to him that he knew all his fantasies were mistaken. He thought she had kissed him back, he KNEW she had! But she'd seemed to dispel that myth with a warning tone of voice. He should apologize, he should, but he didn't know how or where to start. His mind was occupied continuously through the day, so when the final bell rang, he was stupefied as to how all the hours had passed. He needed to talk to Ren, and after the halls had emptied, he made his way to the student journalism room where he knew he could find her.
Ren rubbed her neck as she edited the layout for this week's school paper. Her shoulder was starting to cramp, but she was almost done. She checked her watch briefly. 'Fifteen minutes, and I should be out of here,' she thought, heightening the pace of her tasks.
Twitty stood in the doorway, not wanting to disturb her concentration but needing to let her know he was there. He watched as she rubbed her neck, sighing and checking her watch as she did so. Her own hands upon herself made him recall the feel of her skin. He wanted to touch her, to feel how smooth she was, but he knew it was not possible right now. Instead, he announced his presence by clearing his throat and waited for her to turn around.
A bit surprised, Ren swung around in her chair to see who was behind her. Her breath caught as Twitty came into focus. He stood in the doorway, his hands tiredly clenched in his pockets. She smiled in a form of greeting, but didn't dare trust her own voice to speak. She didn't have to worry; his words silenced all thought in her brain: "Can I talk to you?"
"Sure!" She exclaimed a bit too readily. She was going to offer him a seat, but her responsibility kicked in. "Um, I need to finish the paper right now," she watched his face drop and knew she owed him much better than a simple glossing of the details. She quickly continued, "But how about if we talk right after? It should only be another 15 minutes or so, I think."
He nodded, his face troubled, his eyes on his feet. She smiled and started to turn back to face the computer again when he spoke. "Could I . . ." he faltered for a moment, but regained, "Could I maybe walk you home?"
Completely off guard at this request, she consented and watched as he walked from the doorway. Turning back, she began to work again. 'Responsible?' she questioned in her thoughts. 'Or just plain unsure and frightened? Nice, Ren, really nice.' She shrugged off her own disillusionment and concentrated on the paper.
Twitty sat on the front steps of the school waiting for Ren to emerge. She had been nice; he couldn't tell if it was a good or bad sign. A cool breeze made his palms clammy, and he rubbed them against his pants. He sat there, lost in his thoughts enjoying the afternoon. He wanted to plan what he was going to say, but he couldn't concentrate on any one thing in particular. Feeling a touch on his shoulder, he turned his head upward and saw Ren's face peering down at him, encircled in a halo of sun and hair. She was apologizing for taking so long, but all he cared about was that she was here now, even though he still did not know where to begin. Standing up, he walked forward, hoping that she'd understand to follow. He wasn't sure of himself enough to speak. Nervousness welled in the back of his throat, and he moved silently to regain control.
Lost in her own thoughts, Ren didn't catch this silence, but rather accepted it as a moment to reflect upon the situation, puzzling over what Twitty could possibly have to say to her. They walked quietly along in the autumn sun, occasionally stealing glances at one another through lowered eyes. It was Twitty who finally summoned the courage to break the unbearably uncomfortable silence.
"Look, Ren," he began, stumbling nervously over the words, "about the other day . . . uh." He paused in his speech, trying to remember what he had rehearsed. His pace slowed as the elegance of his prepared words escaped him and only one line bounced about in his brain. He shrugged in defeat and simply muttered, "I'm sorry for what I did to you."
Ren, who had been slowing her pace to match Twitty's, stopped in astonishment at his apology. She had already deduced that it may have been the reason for the walk, but hearing it still made her catch her breath in nervousness. She had to speak. "Twitty," she said, turning to face him, "you don't need to apologize. Apologies would be for something bad; the other day . . . that was . . . nice."
He had desperately been avoiding her eyes, afraid of the rejection she was able to impale him with at that moment. Yet, she didn't do what he expected. He looked at her sharply to see if she was kidding, if she was pulling some sort of a prank on him, but she was smiling brightly. He gulped silently and questioned, "Really?"
"Yeah," she answered simply with a tender grin.
And she continued to talk. And he tried to listen, but all he could see was her. He knew what she was saying, he could catch snippets about Louis and her friends, but he didn't care. She thought his kiss was nice. That was definitely an improvement from what he thought; a grin slowly slid upon his face as he watched her. He tried to listen to her, but he couldn't concentrate. All he could see were her lips - shiny and beautiful, tasting of her lip gloss. He was swiftly becoming overwhelmed with what those lips could do. He needed to taste her, and his control was gradually slipping.
He tried to look mostly at the ground as she talked, silently nodding in agreement, but his eyes kept reverting to her mouth. When she paused in her speech to whet her lips, that moist, pink tongue sliding around the tender flesh made something inside of him snap. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her up against a nearby tree. Looking deeply at her, he saw the confusion mixed with a bit of fear splayed across her face. He wanted to assure her, to let her know that he wouldn't hurt her, but his urges were overwhelming him. Lips locked upon lips as he devoured her sweetness. He pressed his body up against her, wanting to be close to her, to feel her movements as he clung to her. And for a brief moment, he was in heaven.
Yet, as he pressed to her, as his hands weaved through her hair, he felt something that made him freeze in mid-kiss. He was hardening . . . down there. And he was so close to her . . .
He ripped himself away from Ren's touch; she was too close - she probably felt it. Embarrassment set into his features, as he slowly backed away from her as though she were holding a bomb. The look of her wasn't helping his situation either: her flushed features, her hair in disarray, her kiss-bruised lips. God, just the sight of her! So, he turned and he ran, leaving an astonished Ren braced against a tree in the park wondering what had happened . . . and an embarrassed Twitty praying that she was unaware of his dirty boy-like urges.