"We should run away together," Emily says suddenly. It's the first time she's suggested it, but I suspect she's been thinking it for some time now. She's been out of the hospital all of a week and apparently, she's spent that time planning a different sort of escape.
Her head rests in my lap and I'm twisting and tangling my fingers in the strands of her hair. She's had red streaks put in since the last time I saw her. Her gaze doesn't lift from the cartoons she put on, like she's suggested we order a pizza rather than leave town.
I must've been silent for a long time because she sits up so that I'm forced to look at her. "Come on," she wheedles, "We could go somewhere no one will ever find us and we'll never have to be afraid again."
She's not going to let this go, I realize and I sigh. "We're not running away," I say flatly.
She raises a brow, clearly unhappy, and looks about to argue the point.
I interrupt, "We're just kids, Em – we can't support ourselves. Where would we live? How would we pay for stuff?"
"I've got a trust fund..." she argues, but it's weak, like she's no longer sure of herself.
"Besides, I could never leave Mama and my sisters. It would break their hearts. They need me."
Her face falls a little and I can tell what she's thinking before she thinks it.
"And I need you," I tell her firmly. "So, don't even think about leaving without me."
Then she does something I don't expect and leans in to press her lips to mine. It's the first time I've ever kissed a girl. She tastes like smoke and cinnamon. I can feel her lip gloss rubbing off on my lips.
When she pulls away, she gives me a smile that quirks up one side of her lips but not the other, all self-deprecation and shyness.
I'm silent for a long time again, stunned and at a loss for words, and it's clearly making her uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry for kissing you," she says, looking defeated and small. I get the feeling she doesn't kiss many boys just because she wants to.
"Don't be," I whisper, stroking her cheek, bright red with embarrassment and shame. I kiss her back, feeling incredibly awkward as I do so, not knowing how to move my lips or what to do with my tongue. I hope I'm not a terrible kisser.
She doesn't seem to know how to react now that I've returned her advance, but she easily takes over control of the kiss, though she seems to be going easy on me. She moves to sit in my lap and laces her fingers with mine as she pauses for breath and nuzzles her nose against mine. I hadn't expected her to be so tender.
She presses soft kisses all over my face and it dawns on me that she's doing something neither of us has truly had before: she's offering me something that isn't about power or control or abuse, but something borne from a place of genuine affection. I'm hesitant to use the word love, but I think that's what I feel in her touches.
She pulls back to look at me properly. I can tell what she's thinking without her having to say it and I'm surprised to feel that I really do want this. I want to know what it's like; not to be used, but to express my feelings for someone with sex. Not as something that's forced upon me, but as something that I want to be a part of.
I know she's slept with guys before, but it's something she does because of a desperate need to feel wanted, to feel connected, to have friends. I know she's never had genuine feelings for any of them, with the possible exception of Ian Doyle (but he's the last thing I want to think about right now, even though I know I should stop, should ask). She's been taught that's all she's good for, that her body is the only thing she has to offer.
I want to tell her that it isn't true, that she has so much more to offer.
"We…we could go upstairs?" I offer. She smiles a little and nods, taking my hand and letting me lead her up to my bedroom.
I have to move a pile of laundry off my bed so that we can lie down and it makes her laugh a little.
She undresses until she's only in her underwear and motions for me to do the same. I try not to stare at her, at her breasts and the black lace that covers them. She giggles. "You're allowed to look, you know."
A little awkwardly, now that we're both so exposed, we sit down on the edge of the bed and she starts to kiss me again. She pushes me to lie down, her knees on either side of my hips. I don't mind her taking charge, seeing as she's the one that knows what she's doing. With her it doesn't feel like she's taking advantage of me.
She kisses down my neck and chest and though I know I should be turned on – I am turned on by her – my body doesn't seem to want to cooperate. "I…I can't…get it…up," I mumble, ashamed.
She turns my head so I'm forced to look her in the eye. "Can I?" she asks quietly. I nod, knowing that this will be the true test of whether I can really go through with this. She'll be the only other person to ever put her hands on my body.
She pushes my boxers down and I hold my breath as I wait for her hand to touch me. Her palms are warm and a little sweaty, her skin soft. Her movements are slow, at first, hesitant, giving me time to ask her to stop. But I don't. I refuse to let Carl take this away from me.
Her touch is nice and she quickly manages to get me erect. She smiles, then hops off the bed to rummage through her purse, producing a condom. I can't help but wonder how often she actually needs them. She hands it to me and removes her panties while I roll it on.
She carefully slides herself onto me and tries very hard to hide the pain from her face. She asks me if I'm okay and I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I want to ask her if she's okay too, but before I have the chance, she's moving.
It takes longer than I expected for me to come. She gets herself off once before I do, but doesn't have time for a second.
When it's done, she lies down beside me and there are tears in her eyes she's trying hard not to let me see. I'm crying too and get up and go to the bathroom to clean up so she won't see.
She's still crying when I come back and I hold her. She holds me tightly and I give up holding back and let myself cry too.