hey guys! so i just wanted to say thanks to those of you who plan on continuing to read my fic even though april will no longer be on the show after s14. i really, really appreciate it. along that same vein, i need now more than ever to know that people are still around and i have an audience. ive always valued your reviews, but please let me know that youre around and youre reading by consistently leaving me your thoughts. it only takes a few minutes, and when i get reviews it keeps me encouraged and makes my whole day. thank you!
APRIL
When I open my eyes the next day, I take a deep breath and roll onto my back. Something about my body feels different, uncomfortable, and it only takes a moment to register what it is.
My eyes widen when it dawns on me. The damp spot I noticed in my underwear last night has grown, and now it feels all wrong down there. Damp mostly, and very unclean.
I throw the covers off and slip out of my underwear, getting as far away from them as I can. I crumple them into a ball, shove it to the bottom of my hamper, and find a new pair right away, but not before hurrying to the bathroom to clean myself up.
Even though things seem to have calmed down, I still can't help but wonder what must have been going on overnight. The thought of Jackson's fingers was the last one I had before falling asleep, that's all I know.
I'm so embarrassed. No one knows but me, but the thought sits, smirking and taunting, from the corner anyway. Doing the laundry is one of Alice's chores, but I'll have to trade for it this week. I don't want her accidentally coming across those underwear and asking questions. I would have to dig a hole in the ground and disappear forever.
In an attempt to clear my mind, I undo my hair, run a brush through it, and make a new braid. I put on my jeans, tank top, and cardigan for this morning's chores, because the sun is already peeking above the horizon and the days are steadily getting warmer. I don't need a jacket anymore.
"Morning, mom," I say, passing her in the kitchen after going downstairs.
"Good morning," she says. "Do you plan on completing your chores today, or leaving them for your sisters?"
Her snark doesn't go unnoticed, but it's my duty to be polite in return.
"I'll get them done," I say. "I'm sorry for the last two days."
"You need to do better, April," she says. "Are you praying? Is this boy a distraction for you, would you rather have Libby or-"
"No," I say, then intertwine my fingers behind my back. "I can handle it. I promise, I'll prove it. I'll do better."
"God willing," she says, then turns back towards the sink.
I crease my eyebrows while I put on my barn boots, knowing I have to get back to how things used to be and continue to fly under the radar. I do a job that's just good enough, neither exemplary nor unsatisfactory. That's how it's been my whole life - I do not stick out, and I never plan on it. I do best by blending in; that's what I know how to do.
My arms tingle under my cardigan sleeves at the thought of Jackson, though, because what he makes me feel is scary. For the first time in my life, my emotions take front and center instead of the back seat. They're impossible to ignore, and they overcome my thought processes. He knocked me off my foundation with a simple touch of my arm.
I'm nervous, but simultaneously looking forward to what he'll make me feel today. I came out a bit earlier than usual, meaning we have more time alone, though I'm not sure whether that was conscious or not.
I'm not supposed to make friends with Jackson, but last night he tugged on my heart. He cracked my rigid shell, by just a bit. Would being friends really be so bad; would it be a mistake?
I don't know.
I tell myself not to try and control the situation; instead, to let it flow. But, judging by how I've been raised, that'll be nearly impossible.
I shake the thoughts from my head when I knock on his door, feet pressed firmly together and body buzzing. I swallow hard and wait for an answer, but I hear nothing. So, I knock again.
There's a grumble from inside, a mess of words I can't quite hear.
"It's April," I say, leaning forward a bit.
"Hold on," he murmurs.
"Okay."
I rock back and forth on my heels until the door comes open. When it does, Jackson stands there rubbing his eyes, squinting against the watery morning sun.
"You're early," he says, voice rougher than what I've heard.
"Just a little," I say.
He grunts.
"Did I wake you up?"
He nods, yawning, and turns around to change out of his shirt - a gray one that looks impeccably soft, atop a pair of lounge pants. With his back facing me, he pulls an everyday t-shirt over his head, and I try to convince myself that I'm not staring at the rippling muscles underneath his shoulder blades.
I lick my bottom lip and take an involuntary step back. Without a care, he shucks off his sweatpants and suddenly, I'm staring wide-eyed at tight black underwear stretched over a round, muscular butt.
I gasp, blink rapidly, and wonder why he's changing in front of me; then, I wonder why I'm still looking.
"Um," I stammer.
He hops a few times to get his jeans up and zips them while turning to look at me. "What?" he says, then outstretches a hand with a sleepy smile. "Alright, that'll be ten dollars for the peep show."
"I… I… you didn't tell me, I would've closed the-"
"I'm kidding," he says. "I don't give a fuck."
He closes the door behind him and we start to walk. "You're immodest," I state, plain as day. I hadn't really expected it to come out so bluntly, so I blush because of it and immediately say, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" he says, lifting his shirt to scratch his stomach. It takes everything within me not to look. "I am. I don't care. It's a body. We all got one. Who cares if you see mine? I know what it looks like. I'm not apologizing for it."
"And-and you shouldn't," I say, clearly flustered as I stare at my boots moving along the dirt path.
"Thank you," he says. "But I think you just broke Rule #7. And you're long past #6."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, scoffing.
"In that notebook," he says. "Your rules. Six, don't make friends with me. Sorry to break it to you, kitty, but we're already there. And seven is the one about the crush. You were totally checking me out in the shed, don't lie."
"I-I was not!" I say, voice rising in pitch. "I was not. I looked away."
"Yeah, whatever. Wipe the drool off your face, horndog."
I gasp slightly and wipe my chin with the back of my hand, completely mortified. When I do that, though, he cracks up laughing and the feeling only intensifies.
"It's just a saying," he says. "Jesus, you don't get out much."
"You already knew that," I say, opening the doors to the barn. "You say it as if it's brand new information."
He raises his eyebrows as I get the hay down from where it's stored. "Answer me this, then," he says. "Have you ever left the farm?"
"Don't be silly," I say.
"Other than to go to church."
"Of course I have," I say. "I go to the store, Matthew's house, into town sometimes…plenty of places."
He takes a step closer, unapologetically popping my personal bubble. "You don't have the urge to go anywhere else?" he asks.
"No," I say, face heating up as I toss the hay inside a stall.
"I could take you places," he says.
He's so close I can smell him. He smells like sleep - a warm, soft scent - with a slight undertone of something I'm not used to. Cologne, maybe.
"Places," I say, turning my head away. My heart is pounding and it seems to have situated itself in my throat, which makes breathing difficult. "And how would we get to these places?"
He smiles slightly, corners of his mouth pulling a bit. Going along with the tone of the conversation, he entertains the idea and nods toward the stall. "Horseback," he says.
I cross my arms and shift my weight to one hip. "You don't know how to ride," I say.
"You'd teach me," he says.
"I can," I say. "Right now."
His facial expression changes from smooth to surprised in a millisecond. "Wait," he says, chuckling. "I didn't mean for real."
"I did," I say, and he knows I'm challenging him.
"Seriously?" he says.
I nod.
"I've never been on a horse before," he says, stepping closer to the stall where our most well-behaved mare, Shira, is chomping on hay. "They're huge sons of bitches, aren't they."
I purse my lips at his language, but don't mention it. "Are you scared?" I ask, a bit taunting.
"Nah," he says.
I giggle softly, getting brave and inching closer. "It's okay if you are," I say. "I'll get on the saddle with you. We have a double, and she can take it."
His eyes glint. "She can take it, huh?"
I blink at him, confused. "Yes, of course," I say. "She's a workhorse."
He smiles softly, eyes downcast, amused at something I'm unaware of. "If you're down, I'm down," he says. "Saddle 'er up."
It doesn't take long to get a saddle and reins on Shira, who is compliant after she's done eating. I wave Jackson into the stall and he follows hesitantly, watching the ground to make sure he doesn't step in anything, then walks alongside me as I lead the horse to the pasture.
"It's really not hard," I say. "I'll let you get up first, since you take up more room. Put your right foot in the stirrup here, just like this." I show him, then remove my foot so he can put his in its place. "Good. Then lift your weight onto the saddle, and you're all set. Use the horn as a brace if you need to."
I watch Jackson haul himself up; he's strong, so it's not too daunting of a task, and I force my eyes away when a strip of his lower back shows. I avert my gaze, but I still see a smattering of hair there and I'm not sure how to feel about it. I never knew hair could excite me so much.
"Are you coming?" he asks, looking down at me.
"Yep," I say, and get up much easier than he did, swiftly and gracefully. I've been doing this my whole life.
But the only people I've ever ridden double with are my sisters, and they feel much differently than he does pressed against my back. As I get situated in the saddle, he grips my sides to steady me and I feel the pads of his fingers on my hips, holding tight. I stop breathing for a moment, spine rigid, until he speaks.
"You good?"
"Yeah," I answer, very quickly.
No matter how straight I sit, our bodies still touch. His chest is flush against my shoulder blades, stomach moving against the small of my back. With each exhale, the hair rises on the back of my neck as his breath moves over it, painting my skin crimson.
"Ready?" I ask, clearing my throat. This might be too much for me to handle.
"Yep," he says, voice directly in my ear. It gives me chills and sends shivers down my spine that I try and wiggle out subtly, but I think he notices due to the soft chuckle in response.
I give Shira a kick and she starts to walk, slowly at first.
"See, it's nice, right?" I say, turning my head to try and look at him.
"It is," he says, then makes a small sound in his throat. "I'm not trying to be a perv when I ask this, but can I put my arms around your waist? I feel like I'm about to fall the fuck off."
"Oh," I say, blanched as I face forward again. "Sure."
"Thanks."
He winds his arms around my middle, situating himself even closer. That place between my legs is throbbing again, much more insistently than last time, and I'm a thousand times more conscious of it. Mostly because of how close we are. Can he tell? Is it obvious?
"Should we speed up?" I ask.
"Why not," he says.
I give the horse another kick and she accelerates to a trot, which makes us bounce a bit. Jackson's arms tighten further as he pulls himself closer to me, maybe a little nervously.
"You okay?" I ask
"I'm good," he says. "Sorry for the death grip."
"It's fine," I say. "Speed up more?"
"Jesus Christ," he murmurs.
"Yes?"
"I mean, I guess," he says, laughing.
We heighten to a gallop, and I smile as the wind blows my flyaway hairs back and refreshes my skin. We slow down a bit to loop in a circle under some low-hanging branches, and I let out a shriek when one of them gets caught on the neck of my cardigan and yanks it back.
"Help!" I say, half-jokingly as the horse continues to move and my sweater stays.
"Hold on, hold on," Jackson says, then pulls it off in one swift yank. When I look back, it's hanging off the branch like some sort of sentient creature, dark green and limp.
Now, I'm left in only a black tank top. Naked arms, scoop neck, and much more skin exposed than what I'm used to. Especially around a boy. Especially around him.
"Y'alright?" he asks.
The sun beats down on us and turns his eyes aquamarine. I've never looked at them so intensely in such close proximity; I see concern, and something else, too.
"Fine," I breathe, still very conscious of my bare skin.
He nods slightly, and I stay pivoted to look at him. His arms are still around my waist, and now I'm staring at his lips because he's staring at mine. His eyes dart up to make eye contact, then back to my mouth, then further down to my chest. He doesn't even try and hide it.
He pulls his lower lip between his teeth as his pupils dilate slightly, then comes a bit closer. But, acting on a nervous whim with a jumping stomach, I flip around and snap the reins so Shira starts at a canter.
"We should head back," I say. "My sisters."
He lets out a long sigh that I feel on my neck more than I hear. "Right," he says. "Sisters."
I set Shira in the direction of the barn and she starts off. It only takes a few minutes to get there - we hadn't gone far - and when we get close, I see Libby, Kimmie and Alice making their way down the long driveway. I pray silently that they won't notice us, but of course, they do.
"Duckie!" Kimmie shrills. "What in the world are you doing?"
We get to the edge of the fence and I scramble for something to say. I have nothing to hide, we weren't doing anything wrong, but I can't help but feel they caught me in the act. The act of what, though, I'm not sure.
"You're practically naked," Libby hisses, eyes flashing.
"I was showing him how to ride," I say, then dismount. I guide Jackson down, and he brushes himself off once he's standing next to me.
"I was curious," he says. "Just took it for a spin."
"Her," Alice corrects, softly. "Shira's a girl."
"Her," Jackson says, clunky.
"Why are you dressed like that, Duckie?" Libby presses. "And why are you all red?"
I touch my shoulder and leave a stinging white fingerprint behind. I had thought she meant my blush, but she doesn't. My skin was exposed and I wasn't wearing sunscreen. I burn fast.
"Sunburn," I say.
"You were doing something bad, I can tell," Kimmie says. "I'm gonna go let Mom know. See what she has to say about it."
"Kimmie," I say, leaving the gate to trail behind her. Luckily, Jackson makes sure it shuts and latches. "I wasn't doing anything!"
"Then why are you so desperate to stop me, huh?" she says, throwing the words over her shoulder. "Be back in just a sec."
Libby laughs as she watches our sister go inside, and Alice gravitates to me. Her eyes are wide and round, begging me to take action, but all I can do is stand there until Kimmie comes out wearing a satisfied expression.
"Mom wants to see you inside," she says. "And she wants Jackson to finish your chores. So, get on it, Jackson."
Just quiet enough for me to hear, Jackson mumbles, "Bitch."
I smirk to myself, but duck my head and walk to the house. When I go inside, the air is cool but my mother's demeanor is cooler.
"April, what is this Kimmie told me about you riding the horse with Jackson?" she snaps. "And where is your sweater?"
"I was teaching him how to ride," I say. "It was nothing. I was early for chores, and he asked me to. He wants to learn how to do it on his own someday, for something to do. You told me to give him stuff to do." I look up at her instead of the floor, eyes tearing. "I didn't know how to say no."
Liar, liar. I can't seem to stop.
"My sweater came off in the woods," I say. "It got caught on a branch. I got sunburned."
"I see that," she says, studying me.
She has no reason to doubt me, but I'm worried all the same. My motives don't exactly ring true - that's not why I took Jackson. I'm sure he has no interest in ever riding alone. But I couldn't easily explain to her that I had a strange desire to spend time alone with him, away from everything and everyone.
"This is the third morning you haven't completed your chores completely or correctly," she says. "So, you'll be skipping meals today and doing extra schoolwork."
My already-rumbling stomach sinks when I say, "Yes, mom."
"Good girl."
"It won't happen again."
"It best not."
…
The day passes slowly, holed up in my room. I part the curtains and look outside, watching the lights in the shed flick on as the sun sets. I complete an entire week's worth of schoolwork, which puts me too far ahead, then pull out the bible to do some reading.
There's a knock on my door past suppertime, and when I open it, Mom is standing there with a plate of food. My eyes widen as I grow hopeful, but she dashes those hopes quickly.
"It's for the boy," she says. "Bring it out to him, please." She glances at the bible open on my desk and jerks her head upward. "A verse, please."
"I will love You, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold," I recite. "Psalm 18:1-2."
"Very good," she says. "Here."
She hands me the plate and my stomach growls even louder as I slip into soft shoes instead of boots. My skin aches from the burn as I walk to the shed, and by the time I get there, I'm wincing because of it.
"Hey," Jackson says, opening the door wearing a smile. "I was just wondering when you were gonna come and get me."
"I'm supposed to bring this to you," I say, extending my arms.
"Oh," he says, taking it. "You guys already ate?"
I pause for a moment before saying, "They did."
"What do you mean?" he says.
I sigh, chew the inside of my lip, and look at the ground shamefully. "I didn't get to eat today," I say. "It was my punishment for earlier. But it's fine, I'm fine."
"What the fuck?" he says, eyebrows furrowing. "They starved you?"
"I should've known better," I say. "It was my second warning from my mother to do better on my chores, and I didn't obey. I deserve it."
"Fuck that," he says. "No, you don't. Come in here. We're gonna share this."
I widen my eyes and shake my head. "I can't," I say.
"Why?"
"They'll kill me."
"Nah," he says. "They'll never know. Get in here, kitty. Come here and split this with me, or I'm gonna like, throw it on the ground and go on a hunger strike."
I hurry inside and say, "Don't do that. It's wasteful."
"Then you better help me."
We sit together at the small table and he splits the chicken breast, bread and green beans with me. I try and eat at a slow pace like a lady, but it proves to be difficult with how ravenous I am.
"Want some of mine?" he offers, only halfway through after I've finished.
"No, thank you," I say, shaking my head.
He chuckles. "Alright."
I relax and let my eyes roam around the room so it doesn't seem like I'm watching him. When I lean back, though, my sunburn touches the inside of my shirt and I flinch away, teeth gritted.
"Y'alright?" he asks.
"Just sunburn," I say.
"Shit," he says. "That's right. Got anything you could put on that?"
"Maybe, in the garden," I say. "But there's no way I can do it by myself, and I'm not asking my mother for help."
"I'll hook you up," he says. "You're gonna suffer all fuckin' night if you don't put some on. Go get it."
I stand up, wary. "You're sure?" I ask.
"Why do you always look at me like I'm about to beat the shit out of you?" he says, chuckling. "Go get whatever it is, and bring it back."
I agree silently and walk stiffly to the garden, where I pluck a full and fat aloe leaf from the plant. I bring it inside and crack it open, and he stares at me like I've grown a third head.
"The fuck is that," he says.
"Aloe," I say.
"Aloe comes in a fuckin' green tube at Walgreens," he says. "This shit's not normal."
"It's the same thing," I say, standing across from him with my shoulders and back covered, shirt still on. "It's just unprocessed, I guess."
"Sure…" he says, then takes it from me. For a moment, we simply watch each other, wondering who will move first. "So… you want me to put this on over your shirt, or what?" he asks.
"Right," I mutter, and my hands start to shake.
I turn around and pull off my long-sleeved shirt, which leaves me in a camisole much like the tank top from earlier. But even though the shirt is similar, the situation is much different. Instead of being out in the open, we're together - just the two of us - in a very enclosed space. The air is thick with tension, and my mouth goes dry with nervousness.
"Shit, you're red," he says. "And this stuff is weird as hell."
"You don't have to do it," I say, reaching for my shirt to put it back on.
"Stop," he says. "Breathe for a fuckin' second. I promise it'll be fine. You're not gonna get struck down."
I let a long breath from my nose, close my eyes to center myself, and jump when the cool substance touches my skin.
"Yeah, sorry," he says. "It's cold."
That's not the reason, though. I reacted the way I did because of the gentle way he's touching me - in intimate places no one's touched before. The curve of my shoulder, the slope of my neck, the bumps at the top of my spine. He goes slow, takes his time, and makes sure to cover every inch. When it's time to flip around, he carefully moves my shoulders so we face each other.
When my eyes dart to his, he smiles gently. "Feel good?"
All I do is nod. I can't manage words.
He slathers it over my collarbones, but doesn't get near the scoop of my shirt. I'm sure he can feel my hammering heart, and as luck would have it, I've begun to sweat.
When he's finished, he still has a bit of aloe left on his pointer finger, so he playfully dabs it on the tip of my nose - eyes sparkling.
"There," he says.
"Thanks," I murmur, going for my shirt again.
"No, no," he says. "Let it dry."
"Oh," I say. "Right."
We stand in silence for a few moments, just watching them drift past. Then, he breaks the still air with a question.
"So no dinner, no dessert, they were just gonna let you go hungry tonight?"
I shake my head. "We don't eat dessert," I say.
"What?" he says.
I shake my head again and shrug.
"No sugar, ever?" he says.
"Never."
"You're fucking kidding me," he says. I look at him, deadpan. "Jesus Christ, you're not joking. You've never had ice cream, chocolate, candy, anything like that?"
"No," I say.
"For fuck's sake," he says. "That has to change."
"It's not healthy," I point out.
"Yeah, well we're all gonna die someday," he says. "Might as well make the ride a fun one."
I laugh to myself, quietly.
"We found out that earlier, huh," he says. "Honestly, that horse wasn't too bad. Scary as fuck, but kinda cool."
"It gets less scary," I say.
He pauses for a moment, then points at me. "I'm gonna get you some candy," he says. "Somehow. And you're gonna fuckin' love it."
"How?" I say, squinting.
"Don't ask questions," he says. "Just be patient. I'm sure that's something you're good at."
I smirk and look towards the floor, then lift my face when he tips my chin up with his thumb and first finger. My heart flutters as he studies my features, then he says, "You got it on your cheeks, too. Here."
He picks up the leaf again and dips one finger in, then smooths it over my cheekbones slowly. I stare at his face while he does it, but he never takes his eyes away from his work. My whole body is vibrating; I'm a tea kettle ready to boil over. I might start screaming at any second, steam shooting from my ears.
I can't stay here any longer. I have to get away.
"I think I'll go inside now," I say, following my body's lead. Every surface of my skin is pulsing, and all I can think about is the fact that I need to go get that book and do more research. Because I can't handle this pent-up feeling anymore.
"Alright," he says. "Tomorrow, bright and early."
"Right."
"Night, kitty."
"Night!" I say, and run back to the house like I've been lit on fire - because, in almost every way - I have.
…
I get ready for bed and stare at the book where it lies on top of my bedsheets, still closed. With my arms drawn to my chest, I take a deep breath and encourage myself - it's just a book, just words; it won't hurt me.
"It's okay," I say aloud.
After the chapter on arousal comes one titled with a word I've never heard before: masturbation. Bracing myself, I flip the page open and start reading.
Masturbation is the sexual stimulation of one's own genitals for sexual arousal or other sexual pleasure, usually to the point of orgasm. The stimulation may involve hands, fingers, everyday objects, sex toys such as vibrators, or combinations of these.
I blink hard, trying my best to keep up. It's not easy, seeing as I know nothing about these feelings or parts of my body. I find myself having to use context clues more than anything, but continue reading anyway.
Female masturbation involves the stroking or rubbing of a woman's vulva, especially her clitoris, with an index or middle fingers, or both. Sometimes one or more fingers may be inserted into the vagina to stroke its frontal wall where the G-spot may be located. Many women caress their breasts or stimulate a nipple with the free hand and anal stimulation is also enjoyed by some. Personal lubricant is sometimes used during masturbation, especially when penetration is involved, but this is not universal and many women find their natural lubrication sufficient.
Is that what the pulsing and throbbing is telling me? Is there some sort of release that comes along with all this, and will it make me feel good? I shut the book and lie down, feeling all at once entirely silly, curious, and ashamed.
This isn't what God teaches, but all the same, I have to get rid of this tugging sensation. He wouldn't have made it possible for my body to feel like this if there weren't a way to get rid of it - at least, that's what I have to tell myself.
I hitch my nightgown skirt up again and lie there with my bare, skinny legs illuminated from the moon shining in through window. I breathe deeply and part my thighs a bit, slipping one hand inside the front of my underwear to simply rest over what's inside.
I don't know what to do next. The skin is hot, a bit damp, and I feel my heartbeat tucked beneath my palm, but I have no idea how or where to start. I move my thumb in circles through the hair and touch either sides of the folds with two fingers, but I'm too scared to do anything else. What if I do it wrong? What if I hurt myself? What if God knows, and will punish me because of it?
I whip my hand out and hastily straighten my skirt. I turn onto my side, tuck my knees to my chest, and fall asleep wishing I wasn't so clueless.
…
I spend a lot of time with Jackson over the next two weeks. The warm weather in the morning turns hot, and we spend most of our days doing chores and making ourselves useful. My mother lets me take a break from school not only because it's summer, but because she wants my sisters to catch up. So, Jackson and I have been diligent on outdoor work, and I've been wearing wearing plenty of sunscreen.
Today, we've already completed our morning tasks and I'm at the border of the woods with Alice. We each have an apple, leaned against either side of a tree, enjoying the weather and the fact that we have no pressing responsibilities.
"Where's Jackson?" she asks, out of the blue.
I pause for a moment before answering, sounding a bit confused. "Why?"
"I don't know," she says, then takes a loud bite. "You're always with him. I barely see you by yourself anymore."
"I'm sorry," I say, self-conscious. "It's just that Mom told me to look after him and I've been trying the best I can. I don't want to get in trouble again."
"I know," Alice says. "I'm not mad. I just kinda miss you."
"I'm sorry…" I trail off. "I'll be better about evening out my time, okay?"
"Yeah," she says. "Do you like him?"
"He's actually nicer than he seems," I say. "He tries to hide it, but-"
"No," she says, with heavy emphasis. "Like… do you like him?"
The blood drains from my face, and I'm thankful we're not facing each other because she'd see right through me. "No, no," I say. "We're just friends."
"Are you sure?" she asks.
"Yes," I say. "Why?"
"I don't know," she says, sounding a little guilty. "I've been listening to what Libby and Kim are saying."
I get defensive suddenly, body prickling. "What do they say?"
"Not nice things," she admits, mumbling.
"Like what?"
"Well, they say you have a crush on him. But that he would never like a girl like you, and I don't even know what that means. But they were laughing, and not in a nice way."
I frown and pull my knees to my chest, then set my chin down on them. I don't have a response, because they're not exactly wrong. Of course Jackson doesn't like me like that, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends. I never expected us to be more. He makes my mind and body very confused, but I would never project those feelings onto him.
"You can't listen to them, Allie," I say. "They're not gonna tell you anything nice."
"I know."
"Hey, guys."
I look up to Jackson coming our way, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. My face brightens instantly when I see him, and I stand up to my full height and dust off my skirt.
"Hi," I say, waving.
"I have to go finish a book for school," Alice says, throwing her apple core into the woods. "See you at dinner, sissy."
I wave her goodbye and blink at Jackson while wearing a smile.
"Got something for you," he says.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Come to my place," he says, which is how he's affectionately began referring to the shed.
He has a fan so the air circulates, but it's not exactly breezy in here. It's a little stuffy, but doable. When we go inside, he walks to the nightstand beside his bed and turns around, hands behind his back, hiding something.
"What do you have?" I ask again.
"Close your eyes," he says.
"Close my eyes?" I say, incredulously. "No!"
"Kitty," he says, voice low and gravelly. A shiver runs through my body. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes…" I say, eyeing him through my lashes.
"Then close your eyes. I promise, you'll like it."
I take a deep breath and obey, shutting my eyes while listening to him come closer.
"Open your mouth," he whispers.
"Jackson," I say.
"Open your mouth," he repeats, and I have no choice. I part my lips just enough, and soon feel his fingertips on my tongue, placing something there that's cool and smooth. I close my mouth around it, capturing the pads of his fingers as he pulls them out, and he says, "Bite."
I do, and sweet liquid fills my mouth and overcomes my senses. I can't describe the taste, it's not anything I've ever experienced before, but it's life-changing. My eyes fly open as I chew, bright and wide as I watch his amused face.
"That's a cherry cordial," he says. "Cherry filling inside chocolate. Do you like it?"
I finish chewing, and some of the liquid drips from the corner of my mouth to slip down my chin. Before I can wipe it away, though, he does. He uses the pad of his thumb to gather it, then in the next moment, pushes that thumb between my lips so I can suck the sugar off. And I do. Without breaking eye contact, I wrap my tongue around his thumb and make sure it's clean.
When he pulls it out, I say, "I love it."
His eyes flash madly. "I thought you would," he says. "I have more, if you want."
"No," I say. "I'll save them. Where did you get these?"
He chuckles. "That's for me to know, and you to never find out."
…
Two nights later after dinner, I accept the invitation into the shed for another piece of candy. When the door shuts, I'm buzzing with excitement at the prospect of tasting sweetness again.
"Come sit down," Jackson says, patting the bed.
Hurrying over, I get comfortable quickly and run my hands over my lounge pants. Overtop, I'm wearing a gray zip-up sweater that I changed into after dinner, both made of soft material that's meant for relaxing.
"Here," he says, handing me a chocolate.
I find myself disappointed that he doesn't feed it to me, but I don't let on. That's just silly. As he sits down, I chew and relish the cool liquid spreading in my mouth, closing my eyes to fully appreciate it.
"This tastes so good," I say, eyes rolling back.
"I still can't believe you've never had candy before," he says. "That's so fuckin' wild."
I shrug, licking my lips. "At least I'm having it now."
"True," he says.
My big smile fades to a more subtle one as we sit together on his bed, a good distance between our bodies. I look at his arms and the tattoos painted over them, and try to single out just one.
"You ever seen tattoos before?" he asks, surprising me.
"Oh," I say, ripping my eyes away to look at his face. "Before you… once, maybe. Or twice."
"Probably nothing like this though, huh?"
I shake my head, eyes raking over his skin. "What's this mean?" I ask, pointing to the ocean wave I'd seen a couple weeks ago.
"I like the ocean," he says.
"You've been?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says. "A few times. Pacific and Atlantic. They're so fuckin' huge, it's almost scary. It makes you feel so small. I'd never felt like that before, and it was kind of a reminder like… we don't own the earth, you know."
I nod, soaking in his words. It's a tradition for us to have after-dinner conversations, and it's something I've begun to look forward to. He has such worthwhile things to say, and I'm not sure if anyone's ever sat down and listened to him before. Really listened.
"That sounds amazing," I say.
"You should go someday," he says. "You'd write some badass poems about it, I bet."
I shrug, writing it off. "I don't know."
"You don't have to be scared," he says. "It's a big world out there, but it's pretty cool. Not everyone is out to get you. There's so much to see."
"I know," I mutter, still concentrating on the tattoo.
"I'd take you," he says.
I look up into his eyes, unsure of how to respond. So, all I do is smile - a soft one, unassuming, gentle. He returns it, mirroring the expression, and his eyes are warm.
"What do you wanna be when you grow up, kitty?" he asks.
My stomach sinks. That's the question I hate most, because I've never had an answer. Not even when I was a kid, when my sisters were saying they want to be a mommy, a dancer, a superhero, I had no idea. And to this day, I still have nothing.
"I don't know," I admit, and it might be the first time I've said it out loud. Usually, I make something up on the spot - something easy - a teacher or something, like my mother. But this is different; Jackson is asking because he cares, because he wants to know. He's not just making conversation, and I feel safe telling him the truth.
"No?"
I shake my head.
"That's okay," he says, and nods reassuringly. "You got time."
Feeling settled and utterly surprised, I move to lie with my head on the pillow. With my knees bent, I look at him as he's still sitting up and notice another tattoo on his bicep that seems unfinished. I can't quite tell what it is, but it could be a word or the beginning of a phrase.
"What's that?" I ask.
He glances at it, then turns away. When he faces me again, his expression has changed to one of shame and remorse. "From a while ago," he says. "It was… it was a stupid time. I was a fucking dumbass."
"What happened?"
He shakes his head. "Thought I was gonna be in a gang or some shit."
"I thought you said before, that…"
"I know what I said," he mumbles. "I didn't wanna… I'm not proud of it. That's why that tattoo's unfinished like that. I didn't go through with it. Got out. I don't really like talking about it."
"We don't have to," I say.
He nods, jaw tightening. To brighten the mood, I decide to talk about something else.
"Can I have another chocolate?"
…
We spend hours talking that night; lying down with Jackson at my feet. The serious tones turn lighter and we end up laughing until we cry about things I can't remember, and we finish the box of chocolate between the two of us. I don't remember going back to my room.
When I open my eyes in the morning, Sunday morning, I realize why I don't remember. It's because I didn't leave.
I wake up and don't recognize my surroundings. This isn't my bed, isn't my room, isn't my space. I blink hard and assume I've been kidnapped until it all comes back. My eyes got heavy last night and as the thought of leaving crossed my mind, I fell asleep.
Now, Jackson is breathing deeply behind me, still gone. As I become more aware, I realize his face is tucked into my neck with one arm thrown around my middle, our hips lined right up.
My breath catches and gets stuck in my throat. I touch his hand warily, prepared to move it off, but he stirs and situates before I can, pushing his hips tighter against my butt.
There's something hard pressing into me, but I have no idea what. It feels incredibly intimate, though, and my heart starts doing flips and spins inside my chest. I've never been this close to anyone, ever, and I have no idea what to do or how to feel.
I know what I should do; I should leave. Judging they haven't already left, I need to get ready for church with my family. But right now, that's the last thing I want. It feels so good, being cocooned by him in this small bed; I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.
He adjusts his hips again, breath shallower as he comes closer to consciousness. He makes a small sound in his throat and nuzzles his nose against my neck while tightening that arm around my belly.
"Mmm…" he rasps, sleepily winding one leg around both of mine to get me closer.
My eyes widen and my heart goes even harder. I think I'm going to explode.
"Mmm… kitty," he says, a bit more wakeful. "Morning."
I roll onto my back, swept up in the moment. He keeps his arm around me, leg too, and looks into my face as he props himself up on an elbow.
Then, in one smooth motion, he cups my jaw and lowers his face to mine. Before I know it, our lips are pressed together in a casual, sweet, morning kiss.
When he pulls away, my blood has turned to fire and my skin burns because of it. We blink into each other's eyes as he realizes what he's done, and I scramble out of bed with my fingers resting on my lower lip.
"Fuck, I'm sorry," he says.
"I…" I clear my throat. "It's Sunday. Church. I have to get ready for church."
I turn and walk with purpose towards the door, and he stays watching me from the bed. "Kitty," he calls softly.
"I'm okay," I say, without looking back. "I-I'll see you later. I gotta go now. I… I gotta go."
I sprint out of the shed towards my house, extra quiet once I come through the mudroom. I peer around the corner to find the kitchen thankfully empty and the rest of the house pin-drop quiet. No one is awake yet.
"Thank you, God," I whisper, closing my eyes before tiptoeing up the stairs.
I don't fall back to sleep. I can't. I stare at the ceiling and try to keep up with my heartbeat, but it's pounding too fast. Before long, I lean under the bed and reach for the book that's become so integral to my existence these past few weeks, skimming until I find what I need.
An erection is a physiological phenomenon in which the penis becomes firmer, engorged and enlarged. Penile erection is the result of a complex interaction of psychological, neural, vascular and endocrine factors, and is often associated with sexual arousal or sexual attraction, although erections can also be spontaneous. The shape, angle and direction of an erection varies considerably in humans.
His penis? Arousal? For me?
I touch my lips, right where he kissed me. I suppose I'm not the only one becoming aroused when we're together.
We slept together last night. Side by side, his body wrapped around mine, breathing each other's air. It was intimate, more overwhelming than anything I've ever done.
When I hear footsteps in the hallway, I shove the book back under my bed and pull the covers to my chin, feigning sleep.
"April Olivia," my mother says. "Time to get ready for church. And after you're cleaned up, go and get the boy. He's coming, too."