APRIL
It wasn't for lack of food that I wasn't eating. Every day, my mother brings me oatmeal for breakfast, and I let it sit on my nightstand until it goes cold and hard. At night, she brings me whatever they have for dinner as a family. I try my best to pick at that, but my upset stomach can't take much.
I pushed Jackson away, and now I don't know what to do without him. I don't even have the idea of him to look forward to at night. I'm locked in here like the princess in a book Alice once told me about - one that she found at youth group, and neither of us had any idea how it got there.
But I feel like that princess, whatever her name was, staring out the window and wishing things were different. I wish my life was different so I wouldn't feel all this guilt. At first, I wished I'd never met Jackson, but I can't bear to think that anymore.
I miss him so much it hurts. I can't imagine life without him. God wouldn't have given him to me for no reason, would He?
Jackson came to teach me something, to show me things I've never known, at least that's what I think. He did both, and I repaid him by pushing him away and shutting him out.
I'm still confused on whether or not having sex with him was a sin. I know the concept definitely was - but why would it feel so good if it's so bad? I can't wrap my head around that. I know Jackson loves me for more than my body, he wants everything with me.
At least, he did. My best guess is that now, he probably hates me.
I refuse to talk to anyone, and my days are spent buried in thoughts of how much I despise myself for what I did. It wasn't right. I made the choice to have sex, too. But after, I placed so much blame on him because of how guilty I felt. That wasn't fair at all. I'd be surprised if he still wants anything to do with me. If I were him, I'd probably have left with Catherine.
I don't like myself at the moment, and that only perpetuates my isolation. I don't allow myself the comfort of my bed; instead, I sit on the floor in the same nightgown, knees drawn to my chest. Completely still, I sit with my cheek rested on my knees, staring at the wall.
I'm not sure how much time passes. I learn to keep track of it somewhat due to when my mother brings me meals, and also when Alice slips notes under the door. So far, there's a handful of them and I haven't read a single one. I don't want to know what's going on in the outside world. I'm sure it's nothing good.
When I'm not on the floor, I'm staring out the window and wishing I was in the shed with Jackson. We had some of our happiest moments in there; when he fed me the cherry cordial, when he touched me for the first time, when I fell asleep beside him. I watch him move around when the light is on, and when it's off I can't help but wonder what he's doing, what he's thinking. I wish we were together so I could ask. I miss having conversations with him, because we talked about things that meant something. With Jackson, I found the courage to dig beneath the surface. I'd never felt that before.
After a bath, I take a moment to look in the mirror and see my chopped hair for what it is. I haven't been able to take it down since coming home, and this is the only time I'll get. I run my fingers through the ends and tip my head to the side, still pleased. The length reminds me of the beach and Jackson, how his hand felt in mine as we walked, and how it felt so be close to him in public. I'd been so scared while it was happening, but now I'd do anything to get it back.
Later that night, I'm lying on the rug with my hands folded over my ribcage, hair tied back up, when another note slides under the door. I'm not sure how many that makes now, but Alice's footsteps don't walk away after she deposits it.
"Sissy," she whispers. "Are you alive?"
"Yes," I answer, supposing I owe her that much.
"Did you get my notes?"
"Yes."
She takes a breath, pausing before she continues. "Well?" she says.
"I just want to be alone, Allie," I say, then close my eyes as her footsteps disappear. Somehow, I hear the dejectedness in them.
But later, in the middle of the night, curiosity gets the best of me. I flip onto my stomach and look at the myriad of paper slips before me, and pick up the closest one.
Are you ok sissy? Please write me back. I'm worried. Love Alice
I sigh softly and fold it in half again, then set it to the side. That was probably one of the earlier ones. I lost count of how many days I've been in here. It could've been a year, for all I know.
I pick up another one and open it.
Mom told me that Jaxon is my responsibility now. I'm scared because I don't relly know how to talk to boys. I'm scared he'll be mean to me. Please come out soon. I miss you. Love Alice
I smile to myself over her little spelling mistakes, feeling a surge of affection in my chest. Now, there's a pang of missing her along with missing Jackson.
I was talking to Jaxon today. He's not actually scary even a little. He's nice. We talked about you and he looked relly sad when I said your name. I told him that I knew you guys are in love and he got a funny look on his face again. He said you hurt his feelings like he hurt your feelings. Is that true? What happened sissy? Please talk to me. I won't tell mom anything. Love Alice
Mom says I shouldn't talk to Jaxon that much because it's not good for me. I asked why but she didn't answer. I relly want to though because he looks so sad and mad and I don't know how to fix him. Maybe you do. I want to see you soon. You can make everything better. Love Alice
There are more, but reading them is hurting my heart. So, instead of going through each and every one, I reach for the most recent.
I love you I love you I love you please talk to me please come out soon I love you. Love Alice
With that, I decide enough is enough. I get up off the floor and, without bothering to change out of my nightgown, I open my bedroom door for the first time in days and days.
I can't think too hard about what I'm about to do, or I won't follow through. But I need to see Jackson. Judging by the content of Alice's notes, he isn't doing well. And she might not know much about our relationship, but she is right about one thing. I'm the only one who has any chance of fixing him, of fixing us. I broke us, so it's only right I put us back together. That is, if he'll have me.
I can't lose him. Someone like him will never come around again. He's shown me a life so different than everything I've been taught, and now that I've seen it, there's no going back. Knowing what I know now, I could never be happy with a quiet, simple life on the farm. The only way I'll be happy is if I'm with him.
But before I sneak outside, I quietly head down the hall and push Alice's already-cracked door open further. I see her lying to face the wall, curled into herself, hair messy and tangled on the pillow behind her head.
I take a few steps forward and place a hand on her shoulder, but she doesn't budge. My heavy sleeper. I kiss her temple, deft and sure, and she stirs just a bit as I linger near her face.
"I love you," I whisper. "Thank you."
Her eyelashes flutter, and eventually her eyes come open. She jumps when she sees me, and by the look in her eyes I can tell she thinks she's dreaming.
"Sissy?" she asks, voice bleary. "Is that you?"
"It's me," I whisper. "Shhh. I just wanted to come tell you I love you."
"I love you, too," she says, flipping onto her back. "What're you doing?"
"I read your notes," I say.
She reaches for a hug and I gladly give her one, big and strong. I squeeze her for a long time, burying my face in her familiar-smelling hair, closing my eyes from the feeling.
"You came out," she says, and I pull away to look at her face. "Are you going to talk to Jackson?"
I nod.
"He's sad," she informs me, eyes mirroring the feeling.
"I know," I say, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "I hope I can make him feel better."
She smiles softly, blinking slow because of how tired she still is.
"Go back to sleep," I say, stroking her cheek with the backs of my knuckles. "I love you."
"I love you," she whispers in return, and I kiss her forehead before leaving the room. Then, I head to the shed as quietly as I can.
…
When Jackson and I reunite physically, there's an emotional aspect to it, too. As he buries his body inside mine and reclaims me as his own, my heart bursts open and everything spills out. I hold him as close as I can and breathe in the smell of him - all woodsy and masculine. I never want to let him go again.
We talk about marriage. As we lie naked and tangled together, I see the future shining in his eyes. I resist the urge to laugh when I think about how far we've come in such a short time. When he first came to the farm, I was so overcome by just his presence alone. I couldn't have ever imagined we'd end up in a situation like this. It doesn't seem real.
But I know it is. I've never felt something more real than what I feel when I'm with him.
"You would?" he asks, referencing what I just said about wanting to get married.
A smile sneaks onto my face and pulls the corner of my lips up. "Someday," I say softly.
He weaves his fingers through the hair above my ear, threading them through to gently scratch my scalp. The look in his eyes is warm and soft, nearly melting. I'm sure mine look the same, because that's exactly how I feel. Like I'm melting for him.
"When we're older," I say, scooting closer to rest my cheek above his heartbeat. I lay a flat palm in the middle of his chest and pick it up to drag my fingernails in slow circles, soothing us both.
"What, you don't wanna get married right now?" he says, and I hear the laugh in his voice. "Right here on the farm?"
"No," I whisper, but smile as I tip my head up. "I want… a big wedding. With butterflies. And little party favors with mints inside, and printed on them it'll say 'mint to be.'"
"Cute," he says. "Why butterflies?"
"So they can be released when we kiss," I say, nestling back onto his chest. "I've always dreamed of a wedding like that."
"Where are we gonna get them from?" he asks, still entertaining the idea.
I chuckle softly. "Alice will catch them, or something," I say, then laugh again. "I don't know."
"She'd be good at that," he says.
"I know," I respond. "I want her as my maid of honor. The rest of my family can come, too. But just as guests."
"I'm sure they'll have plenty to say about it," Jackson adds.
"I won't care," I say. "Because by then, there'll be nothing they can do. They can talk all they want."
He kisses my hairline slowly, squeezing me closer by the shoulders. "You gonna wear a white dress?"
"Of course I will," I say, slipping my fingers through the hair above his bellybutton. His chest and torso are free of tattoos, unlike his arms. I'm so close that I can clearly see all the flaws his skin doesn't have. "I don't want it to be ostentatious, though."
"No, never," he says. "That's not you."
I smile softly and move my hand, letting my fingers run into the chains around his neck. I haven't seen him wear these since the day I met him, and when I run the pads of my fingers over them, the coldness is startling.
"Sorry about those," he says.
"Why'd you stop wearing them?" I ask, still tracing. They're smooth and they feel expensive.
"I didn't think you liked them," he says. "You stared the first day."
"I do like them," I say, propping myself up on an elbow to see his face. "Anything you like, I like."
"Even pineapple on pizza?" he asks, grinning.
"I've never had pizza before," I admit, eyebrows raised. "So, I wouldn't know."
"Oh, my god," he groans, throwing his head back. "You've never had pizza?"
I shake my head. "Sometimes, they'd have it at youth group. But we would never stay and eat, no matter what was served."
"Jesus would want you to have pizza, believe me," Jackson says, and I laugh. "It's like, the holiest thing ever."
"You'll have to show me, then," I say.
"I will," he says. "Believe me. When we get off this farm, that's the first thing we're doing. Going to get pizza. In Chicago, you won't even believe how good it is. Your mind will be blown, baby."
I smile, but my gut still twists at the thought of leaving the farm. I'm so filled with love for Jackson and the rising potential of our life together, but the concept of leaving everything I've been raised with is harrowing. I don't know how well I'd exist in the real world without the safety of my family to fall back on.
But I don't say that aloud, not yet. I don't want to ruin this moment. It's not like he wants to leave tomorrow. We still have time left to just be us, here.
But he reads my mind - something he's so good at - and doesn't give me a choice whether or not to talk about it.
"Baby," he says, hovering above me and tracing an eyebrow. "What're you thinking about?"
I shake my head and paint a smile on. "Nothing," I say.
"I know you are," he says, trailing his pointer finger along the angle of my jaw now. "Answer me this. Do you want to leave the farm?"
He catches me off guard. I'm not sure how to answer, though I should come up with something. I need to figure this out, if for myself over anything else.
"I…" I say, then look into his crystal-clear eyes. I know for a fact I will never be completely happy here, never fully satisfied. I'll live a simple, complacent life and fall into a routine that I'll hate by the time I'm 22. All I'll ever be known as is Matthew's wife, nothing more. I'll never find my own identity, never find what I'm good at, what my passion is.
I know I can't stay. But I've never had the option to leave. Now that I do, I'm almost too scared to take advantage of it.
"My parents will never let me go," I say, voicing another fear. I'm afraid of the desire to leave because I know, deep down, that it'll only get shot down. If I asked my parents to leave with Jackson, they'd laugh in my face.
"You're 18," he says. "An adult. It matters what you want. April, do you want to see the world? I could show you… I could show you everything. The ocean, Chicago… we could have a life together. You just have to be brave enough to take the first step with me."
He speaks with so much hope, so much confidence. I've never had someone put so much stock in me, risk so much just to be with me. I've never experienced this kind of love. I don't know what I did to deserve it.
"I want to be with you," I say, finding his hand to grasp his fingers tightly. "No matter what it takes."
His smile breaks his face in two, and I can't help but mirror it. His happiness is so infectious, and with the words that come from my mouth, something frees in my chest and flutters around. I've never said them out loud; I've never been brave enough. But now, by voicing that I want to be free, it's become so much more real.
Someday, I could leave the farm. Someday, I will.
"Yeah?" he says, and I nod fervently. "Seriously?"
"Yes," I say, cupping his face as he hovers over me, one knee on either side of my hips.
He kisses me - hard and full of emotion, and we don't come up for air for a long time. I arch my back so our torsos are flush together, and wrap my arms around his back as tightly as I can.
"I love you," I say, once I can breathe again. I scratch his back and wrap my legs around him, feet on his calves, and press my face to the side of his.
"Mm," he hums, kissing down my body.
He starts at my neck, licking the sweat away from the divot of my collarbones. Then, he moves to my chest. He spends a lot of time with my breasts, pressing them together with both hands to try and pay attention to both at the same time. He buries his face between them and chafes my skin with his facial hair, but I don't mind. I love the way his hands feel too much to care.
Eventually, he moves away from my breasts and straining, damp nipples to the soft indent of my belly beneath the shelf of my ribs. He opens his mouth wide, tongue drawing a line above my belly button, and closes his teeth over small portions of skin.
"I love the way you taste," he says, closing his eyes while dotting kisses lower.
And I love the way his lips feel, but I don't know how to say that without sounding silly. So instead, I just smile and run my fingers through his choppy hair that I promised I'd fix.
With gentle hands, he nudges my thighs apart. I watch him, chin to chest, and we make meaningful eye contact as he turns his head to the side to kiss my leg.
"I wanna eat you out, kitty," he says, lips moving against my skin.
"I want…" I breathe, adjusting my hips. "I want that, too."
"Yeah?" he says, rubbing my hip bones with his thumbs.
I nod, and that urges him forward. He skims two flat palms up my belly until they reach my breasts, and he squeezes them surely when his tongue runs over my lips the first time.
I let my eyes close and throw my head to one side; I'd missed his mouth on me and I had no idea how much. I widen my legs to give him more room, and he closes his eyes with passion as he opens his mouth as far as he can. His breath alone between my legs is unearthly enough, so the way his tongue feels inside my body knocks me off center and sends me tumbling into the ether.
I know I'm really wet, but I'm not afraid of it anymore, or even grossed out by it. It's a natural, bodily thing, and Jackson likes it. If he likes it, it must be something good. I love the way his eyes darken when he looks at my core, glistening with arousal all because of what he's capable of.
"Look at you," he says, pressing sporadic kisses to the tops of my thighs. "You're perfect. You're just perfect."
I blush. I'm completely naked and he's bare between my legs, but I blush because of the words he says. I feel silly for it, but at the same time I don't mind. I like being vulnerable with him.
"So wet for me," he says, nuzzling his nose through my curls. I whimper, unable to believe how intimate he can get, and open my eyes when he takes my wrist and pulls my hand lower. "Feel, kitty. Feel how wet you are."
With a trembling hand, I touch myself. My hips jolt because of it, and he directs my fingers inside by just a little, dragging them upwards. When they come out, they're shiny and slick, and I rub the pads together to get the feel of it.
He pulls on my wrist again and brings it close to his face. When it's near enough, he opens his mouth and sucks on the two fingers that had been inside me, and my body lights up again. I'm not sure why that excites me so much, but it really does. It feels naughty, almost obscene, but in a good way. I can't believe I'm feeling things like this; it's still so surreal.
He kisses his way up my body slowly, with patience. He pauses on my neck and sucks on my pulse point, massaging a breast with one hand and pinching the nipple so it hardens. When he kisses my mouth, he tastes different than usual.
Then, he pulls away with a sly grin on his face, licking his lips. "You taste that?" he asks, eyes glinting.
I nod, all I can do is nod. He's yet again rendered me speechless.
"That's you," he whispers, lips moving against my ear. "That's what I taste when I go down on you."
My face flames again, and he hitches one of my legs around his waist. We spend a moment just staring into each other's eyes and silently communicating, and when I bite my lower lip and blink at him, he knows it's time. He sinks inside me for a second time and I close my eyes, gripping his shoulders like they're the only thing keeping me on earth. And to my knowledge, that might very well be true.
We make slow, sweet love in the shed, surrounded by the sounds of the night. Crickets chirping, frogs croaking, and the bed springs squeaking accompany our sighs and moans, pleas for more and whimpers when the feeling gets to be too much. Everything culminates and comes together, creating a soundtrack I never want to forget.
His body trembles when he comes, and I cling to him desperately. I tuck my face into his neck and enjoy the sensation as he rides out his orgasm, hips bucking and jerking against mine roughly, in a way they don't while he has control. I like it when he lets go, though, too. I like seeing that untamed side of him, if only for a moment.
He makes sure I come, too, but not while he's inside me. Instead, having worked me up to the peak, he scoots down and connects his mouth to my core again. But this time, instead of teasing me, he goes right for the sweet spot and sucks on it until I'm left in a puddle of sweat and tears.
I can't help but cry. I'm so happy and full of emotion, still in disbelief that this is happening to me. How was I lucky enough to be gifted this boy in my small life? I don't know what I did to deserve him. But I'll never be stupid enough to lose him again.
"I want you forever and ever," I tell him, rolling to lie halfway on top of him. My chin rests on my folded hands atop his chest, my breasts flattened against his torso.
Jackson smiles at me, one of his blinding grins that sends me reeling as always. I swear, he doesn't know how beautiful he is.
"I love you," he says, trailing his fingers down my cheek. "Never leave me."
"I won't," I say, craning my neck to touch the tip of his nose with mine. "But you have to promise the same."
"I'd be stupid to leave you," he says. "Never. I would never."
I smile drunkenly, eyes half-lidded, face centimeters from his. This moment is perfect - our lingering sex in the air, the love folded between us - save for one thing. The persistent thought of Matthew in the back of my mind.
He stopped by twice while I was locked in my room, but I didn't see him either of those times. Mom told me in passing that he'd been at the house, but I didn't acknowledge it with more than a nod. He brought by some wildflowers that I saw on the kitchen table before I snuck out here, and more goat cheese. I'm glad no one invited him up to my room - I can't imagine what I would've said to him. I have nothing left to say. I never had anything in the first place.
Maybe a part of me always knew he wasn't the one, even before Jackson's arrival. I never felt a flame, I never felt excited to be near him, and I never, ever pictured myself kissing him. Let alone making babies with him. I shudder now at the thought, absolutely disgusted with it.
But as much as I don't want him in my life, he still plays a big role. A lot is expected of us, and he's part of those expecting few. In order to make sure my life with Jackson can move forward, whatever I have left with Matthew has to come to a halt, and I have to be the one to do it.
I can't picture what it'll be like when I tell him we can't be married. I can only assume he'll ask why, but I'm not sure what I'll say. The best case scenario is that he'll act like an adult and go along with whatever my answer is, respectfully. That might not be the likeliest option, but it's good to keep in mind. With that there, I'll be less scared and more apt to follow through.
I have to follow through. There's no choice in the matter.
"What're you thinking about, baby girl?" Jackson asks, breaking me free of my binding thoughts with soft hands on my face and an even softer voice.
"Matthew," I answer, and watch his face change when I say his name. "Just that… I have to tell him. That he and I can't be married."
"Oh," Jackson says. "Well, yeah."
"I don't know what I'll say," I admit.
"Easy," he says. "Just be like this: hey, loser. I found someone who actually treats me like a person. Take a hike, you meninist fuck."
I furrow my eyebrows and snort. "That probably won't work," I say.
He laughs, too. "If you need help, I can go with you," he says.
I shake my head and say, "You know you can't."
"Yeah," he says. "I know. I'm on your mom's shit list. I'm pretty sure she thinks I held you at gunpoint to get your hair cut."
I roll my eyes lightly. "She doesn't think that."
"Her icy stares tell me you're wrong," he says.
"No," I say, running my fingers over his beard. "You scare her. The concept of you… with me… it's scary to her."
"Yeah," he says, raising his eyebrows. "Imagine what she'd do if she knew we were like this."
I shake my head, refusing to let that thought enter my mind. "I can't think about that," I say.
"Right, right," he says. "One step at a time. And the first giant, big-ass, serial killer-looking step is… Matthew."
"Matthew," I repeat, with a heavy sigh.
…
The next day when my mother knocks on my door to offer me breakfast, I'm clean and ready in a way I haven't been before. She takes one look at me and frowns, then sets the plate down.
"April," she says. "You've been praying."
"Yes, mom," I say, not arguing with her for very duplicitous reasons.
That's what she wanted me to do most while locked in here - pray. Now that I've started to look better, she believes I've followed her direction. I agree with the prospect of getting out of this room in mind.
"It's done you good," she says. "I knew He would."
"He has," I say, knowing full well that the 'he' I'm referencing is not the same one as hers by any means.
"I'm glad to hear it," she says, then walks over and presses a firm kiss to my forehead. There's not much warmth behind it, only purpose. Even so, I lean into it. Affection from her comes few and far between. "Would you like to join us downstairs for breakfast?"
"Yes, please," I say, then walk behind her carrying the bowl she brought.
I sit quietly at the table with my family, enduring Libby and Kimmie's subtle jabs while barely hearing them. I won't let them bother me today - I have one goal in mind, and I need to keep a steady foundation to carry it out.
After breakfast is over, I help my mother and youngest sister with the dishes. Mom scrubs, I rinse, Alice dries. It's the perfect time for the conversation I need to have.
"Mom," I say. "May I go see Matthew today?"
Her presence brightens instantly, and mine dulls because of it. If only she were as excited about my pairing with an entirely different boy.
"Of course," she says. "I'll give Mrs. Taylor a call and let her know."
"Can I come?" Alice peeps, and I'm about to answer affirmatively before Mom speaks over me.
"Only April," she says. "It's important for her to spend quality time with Matthew."
Alice's face falls. Wrinkles appear on her forehead when she picks her head up to look our mother in the eye. "Why?" she asks.
"Because one day they'll be married," Mom says.
I will Alice to stop. I don't know what will come out of her mouth next, but it could very well be detrimental. She parts her lips with an inhale, prepared to argue, but I shoot her an urgent look. With that, she furrows her eyebrows and stays quiet.
I quickly apologize to her before I leave, unable to explain because of how my mother hovers. She fixes my single braid and tucks the stray hairs behind my ears, making sure I look perfect for my future husband. I'm weighed down with everything I know that she doesn't. If I weren't so used to it by now, it would be unbearable.
I walk slow to the Taylor farm on purpose. It's also purposeful that I'm going there instead of inviting him to our house, so I can leave whenever I see fit. I don't plan on sticking around longer than I have to, and I don't want to beat around the bush. I'm headed there for one reason only, and though he won't like what I have to say, my future depends on saying it.
He's waiting on the porch as I come up the walk, and I muster my best smile with a wave. He returns the greeting, and the smile doesn't fade for as long as it takes me to meet him.
"April," he says, embracing me for a long time. "It's so nice to see you. You look well. I've missed you."
"Thank you," I say, carefully avoiding the pleasantries. "And thank you for having me over."
"Of course," he says. "It's been so long since you've visited. My mother made lunch."
"Oh," I say, one hand to my stomach. "I'm sorry, we ate at home before I left. I'm still full."
His expression crumples a bit, obviously he's disappointed. I don't take it to heart, though. It's not true - I haven't had lunch yet - but eating with him would mean spending unnecessary time here. I don't want that.
"I was hoping we could take a walk," I say. "It's such a beautiful day, and I have something important to tell you."
His eyes shine, which tells me he thinks my news is positive. My gut sinks. I don't have romantic feelings for him, but I'm not evil. I'm not looking forward to breaking his heart.
"Of course we can walk," he says, and extends his arm for me to take. I conveniently pretend I don't see and start down the porch steps on my own, following the path to their garden. "Oh," he says. "I almost forgot. These are for you." As we pass the porch, he picks up a bundle of flowers and hands them over. They're a mix of purples, oranges and yellows - orchids, I assume.
"They're pretty," I say. "Thanks."
"Pretty flowers for a pretty girl," he says, and I resist the urge to cringe. Now that I've been around Jackson, it's clear Matthew hasn't the first idea of how to flirt. I can't help but feel thankful I'm not the one who he gets to try it out on for the next however-many years.
For a while, we keep pace and trade meaningless conversation. He skirts the question I know he wants to ask regarding why I was in my room for so long, and where did Jackson, his mother and I go the weekend we were away? He won't say it aloud, but he keeps hinting. I don't give in, though, not once. If he wants an answer, there must first be a question. I won't play into his games.
I realize, as we walk, that I'm stalling. I'm entertaining his measly attempts at conversation as an excuse to push my topic off further, and I tell myself to stop. I came here for one reason only, and I need to see it through. Everything will be easier once it's over with, I just need to say it.
"I came to see you for a reason," I say, cutting through his breezy voice. He looks at me with surprise, shocked that I had the audacity to interrupt him.
"And what's that?" he says, in a condescending tone. Like I can only be important if he makes it so. I know now, though, that that is far from the truth. I'm important on my own, and I'm enough. With Jackson, I'm always enough. In Matthew's eyes, I could never measure up to anything of value simply because I'm not a man.
"I have something to tell you," I say. "Something important. Something very important to me." I take a moment and thread my fingers together, staring at the ground while we continue to stroll. "I came here to tell you that you and I can't be married."
He stops dead in his tracks, though I keep going. It catches me off guard, and I have to take a few steps back.
"What?" he says.
"I can't get married to you," I say, trying very hard to keep my voice steady.
All he does is stand there for a long time, a vacant expression on his face. He barely blinks, his mouth hangs open, and the air seems to stop. I don't say anything, either, because that's all I came prepared with. The rest is up to him, and I'll fill in the blanks. But I said what I needed to say.
"You…" he says, but his voice fails and the words fall apart. "You… why?"
I blink hard, trying to orient myself and come up with something viable. "I'm not ready," I say. But as I say it, I know it won't be enough.
"That's fine," he says. "I'm not, either. We planned on waiting. We have a plan."
"I-I know," I say. "It's not that. I don't mean it like that. I mean..." I sigh, urging my brain to come up with something that he can't find a loophole through. "It's not you, Matthew," I say. "It's me. I don't know if I'm the marrying type at all. I don't think I want a husband."
That's a lie. I want a husband - I want a very specific husband. What I don't want is him.
"You're not thinking clearly," he says. "You've been sick for days. A fever can do horrible things to your brain. I should get you home."
He takes my wrist in attempts to lead me, but I violently shake him off. "Don't touch me," I say, and it's the first forceful thing I've ever uttered to him. I feel empowered because of it, but also a little scared.
"Excuse me?" he says.
"I don't want you to touch me," I say, crossing my arms. "I'm in control of myself and my life, and I'm telling you what I want. I don't want you to touch me, and I don't want to marry you. That's it, that's all I can say."
He stands dumbly again, but this time there are thoughts behind his eyes, swimming and formulating. "There's something else," he says, shaking his head. The expression in his eyes changes as realization must dawn on him. "Someone else."
"Of course there's not," I say, scoffing. "Please, Matthew, don't be ridiculous."
"You went on a trip with that Jackson boy and his mother," he says. "I've barely seen you at all since he came to stay with your family. He's seduced you, hasn't he?"
I open my mouth to argue, but he doesn't let me get a word in edgewise.
"I should've known," he says. "In the beginning, I had a hunch. He seemed like the type. But then I kept telling myself to trust you more than I trusted him. I told myself I trusted you enough. I guess I shouldn't have."
"You're wrong," I say. "It's not Jackson, he's not the reason. He and I aren't even friends."
The last part tastes sour in my mouth, but it's necessary to say. The fact that he's caught on so quickly is terrifying, my insides are jumping all over the place. I'm spewing words I have no control over to get myself out of this situation.
"Lies, lies, and more lies," he says. "God sees, you know. God knows. He sees how much you're lying and going behind His back. He sees it all."
"Please, stop," I say. "You don't know what you're talking about. It isn't like that."
"I'm not blind," he says.
"You're acting like you are," I say, raising my voice a bit.
His eyes widen. I've never spoken to him like that, and I even surprised myself.
"I'm sorry," I say, though I hate myself for it. I know I shouldn't be apologizing, he doesn't deserve it. But old habits are hard to break.
"Just go," he says quietly, then picks his head up to shout, "Leave!"
I gasp, holding my hands close to my chest, then turn around in a hurry. I've never wanted to get home more than I do in that moment.
…
I give my mother vague answers when she asks how Matthew was. Alice's eyes sear into me, but I do my best to ignore her gaze. I wish she were older so I could confide in her, but that's not an option as it stands. She's only ten. I would never weigh her down with all of this.
My mind is busy for the rest of the day and into the night, and it's not until late that I find relief in going to see Jackson. I scurry out of the house silently as usual, finding my way to the shed and walking in without knocking.
"There you are," he says, standing up from the bed. His hair is completely shaved now.
"Your hair," I say, walking over to run my hands over it. It's soft, though the appearance would suggest otherwise.
"I had to get it off," he says. "I couldn't wait. I used the razor."
"I like it," I say, then kiss him.
He smiles against my lips and holds my waist while we rock and back and forth to either foot. "I missed you today," he says, fingers sneaking under my shirt in the back. They're warm on my cold skin.
"I missed you more," I say, reaching up to hold his neck.
"Jesus, your hands are cold," he says, and I laugh. "How is that even possible? It's August."
"I don't know," I say.
"How was Matthew?" he asks.
I frown a bit, disturbed by the thought. "I don't want to talk about him right now," I say, as he walks us over to his bed. "Can you just kiss me? For a really long time?"
He laughs, flopping onto his back and adjusting me to sit on his stomach. "I can do that," he says, moving to hold two firm handfuls of my butt.
After the taxing day I had, I let myself get lost in him. I close my eyes and memorize the way his lips feel over mine, and taste his skin in places I never have before. After a while, my hips start to move against his body with a mind of their own, but I don't try and stop them. I like the way the friction feels, and his hands urging me forward only encourage me.
I don't know when we would've stopped that night, if at all. I won't ever know, either, because the rest of it wasn't up to us.
Interrupting our slow, heated, make-out session, the door of the shed slams open. I sit up straight, tearing our lips apart, and see my mother standing in the doorway with a flashlight in hand and an irate look on her face. She looks like she wants to kill me with her bare hands.
"I didn't want to believe him," she growls. "I didn't…"
She sputters for a moment, thoroughly shocked. I still haven't moved. I don't know if I can. I'm frozen straddling Jackson's waist, resting my full body weight on him, his hands still on my backside.
She storms over before I have a chance to do anything, though. She gets a good grip on my upper arm and pulls me off of my boyfriend, yanking so hard that I fall to the ground in a heap.
"Get up to that house right now, April Kepner!" she shouts at the top of her lungs. "Right now!"
"Hey, get your hands off her!" Jackson says, scrambling to stand.
My mother whips around as I cower near the door, afraid of what she'll do. She looks Jackson square in the face, and for a moment I think she might hit him. She's completely unhinged and unpredictable - her eyes are glistening with tears and her whole body is trembling.
"I don't want a word out of you!" she screams at him. "You're out of here, first thing tomorrow."
She turns back around and, before I can say a word, grabs the same spot on my arm and drags me out of the shed and up to the house, away from Jackson, away from everything that had started to come together. Back to the life I know, back to the life I was so ready to escape.