Punk 57

  “Okay…” he says. “So what you do is hide in the dark to share words anonymously, because you want to be heard but not mocked. Is that it?”

  I open my eyes, thinking. Is that what I do?

  “You want to be loved without risking consequence, so you reach out to get the attention you need while enjoying the luxury of taking no responsibility for those words.”

  I start to shrink into myself. I don’t like what he’s saying or the fact that he’s saying it, but I can’t deny that he’s right.

  I don’t want to hear feedback, because if they knew it was me, their reactions would be different. But it’s not exactly fair to throw things in their faces and hide under their noses, either.

  “Alone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear,” he murmurs, holding me tighter. “Don’t you get it yet? You don’t have to be afraid or embarrassed. No one does you better than you. You can’t be replaced. Not everyone will see that, but only you need to.”

  He kisses my hair, and I wrap my arm around his torso. No one does me better than me.

  I close my eyes again, hearing what he’s saying. I changed, because I didn’t think what I brought to the table was worthy enough. I let them make me believe that, but who made them authorities? I may no longer be adored, but I might not be so miserable, either.

  And I may eat alone, but that’s not such terrible company, is it?

  I feel him move under me, and then a blanket covers my legs and body, locking our warmth in under the covers. I slowly drift off to sleep to the sounds of the rain and his heartbeat.

  A velvety tickle glides across my skin, and I strain to lift my lids. The room is darker, the sun having set, but the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the bed, and I glance over at the window, seeing that it’s now dark outside. The rain pounds hard, echoing through the roof, and thunder rolls outside.

  Misha is bare-chested and propped up on his side next to me, his head down by my ass.

  Which is bare, because he’s pulled up my shirt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh, don’t move,” he orders, moving a pen over my skin. “You’re the closest thing I have to write on.”

  I snicker, closing my eyes again. He’d better not be using a Sharpie. That’ll take days to get off.

  The peaceful noise of the rain outside lulls me back into relaxation, and I fold my arms under my head, feeling the felt tip move quickly over my skin, stopping every so often to dot an “I” or poke a period.

  “I wish we could stay here forever,” I muse.

  “Oh, you’re not moving anytime soon. Your ass is too nice to look at.”

  I cross my legs at the ankles, teasing, “Is that all a Thunder Bay boy can do with a girl’s ass?”

  A light slap hits my right cheek, and I laugh.

  But then, after a pause, he stops writing. “Have you ever…” he asks, drifting off.

  It takes me a moment to connect the dots, but then I realize what he’s asking.

  “Anal?” I clarify. “Well, considering I’ve only had sex once before you, I’m sure you know the answer to that.”

  I certainly wouldn’t have done that the first time, no matter how naïve I was. And since Misha and I haven’t done that, then of course, the answer is no.

  “So we’re virgins then,” he says, his tone making it sound like he’s kind of enjoying that idea.

  “Yeah, virgins,” I grumble. “And I plan on dying one, because there’s no way you’re sticking that in there.”

  He snorts, breaking into a laugh.

  Capping the pen, he moves up and over me, lifting my shirt over my head. I arch my neck back, meeting his mouth and kissing him. His teeth nibbling my skin sends an electric shock down my belly and straight between my thighs.

  I guess the nap helped. He slides his hand under my chest, cupping my breast and I’m already turned on.

  “Is this okay?” he asks.

  I stare at his lips, dipping in for more. Hell, yes.

  I groan, my eyes damn near rolling into the back of my head as his mouth trails down my neck, devouring me in hot, demanding kisses. He grinds his hips into me, and I feel the hardening bulge between his legs.

  “Talk to me,” he whispers. “I need your words.”

  Talk? Now?

  His hand glides down my bare back, brushing my hair and making it tickle my skin. He takes my ass, kneads it, and without thinking, I bend my knee to the side, opening myself for him.

  “Before I met you,” I say against his lips. “I fantasized about you.”

  “But you didn’t know what I looked like.”

  “I knew you were Misha,” I reply. “That was enough.”

  He groans, nibbling my ear and dipping his hand between my legs, his fingers sliding inside of me.

  I close my eyes, the pleasure of him filling me making me wetter.

  “One night it was storming, like tonight,” I tell him, “the lights went out, and for the whole evening, it was dark and quiet.”

  His fingers come out, swirling around my clit, and I shudder. My breath is shallow, and I’m unable to stop my hips from trying to rub into the bed and his fingers.

  “I reread all of your letters that night,” I pant. “I love the ones about when you got your first car and how you and your friends got arrested for the kegger out on some farm. You sounded so bad, so much fun.” I lean back, longing for his mouth again. “But the letter I love more than all the rest is when you told me about your ex-girlfriend after you’d broken up. I was so mad at first. You had a girlfriend, and you hadn’t told me, but…I think that’s when I first realized…”

  “What?” he breathes out.

  “That I wanted you. You were mine.”

  “I was,” he assures. “It didn’t take me long to realize that I couldn’t talk to anyone like I talk to you.”

  And I feel the same way. I always did. I couldn’t go out with anyone without comparing them to Misha. He had every right to date, and I’m sure whoever she was—or they were, because there were probably more—they weren’t bad people, but I still felt territorial. I knew him first. No one was going to know him better than me. I know I had no right to feel those things, which is why I never told him. Until now.

  “I started fantasizing about you that rainy night. It was the first time I ever daydreamed about you.”

  “What did you do?” He pushed his two fingers in deep, rubbing my spot and grinding himself on me. “Did you want to be her?”

  I shook my head. “I wanted you to see me. I wanted you to see me and want me so much. Not just my letters, but my body, too.”

  “What’d you do?” he whispers in my ear.

  I moan, feeling a wave of pleasure fill my thighs and pussy, and I back up into him, wanting to be filled. “I laid in bed,” I say, “and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was so dark, and the AC wasn’t running. The more I thought about it, the hotter I got…until...”

  “Until what?” He pumps my pussy faster, grinding his dick harder. “What’d you do?”

  “I pulled up my shirt…”

  “Yeah?”

  “And imagined you were standing in the corner of my room, hidden in the shadows, watching me finger myself.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  “My skin was damp with sweat, because it was so hot,” I whimper, reaching over my head and holding the back of his neck, “and I slid my hand down my panties…”

  “Did I like what I was seeing?”

  “Yeah. We were always just friends. So calm, relaxed, and cute, but I wanted you to want me. I wanted you to see me and need to be inside me.”

  “Did you come?” he growls low in my ear as I rock into him. “Did you come, thinking about me watching you?”

  I nod, completely lost in the vision and his fingers. “I knew I’d do anything you asked me to. I’d let you have anything you wanted.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Anything.”

  He removes his finge
rs from inside me, and I hear him unzip his pants.

  “And what do you want?” he asks, his fingers gliding up my ass again.

  I know what he wants. My heart is pumping wildly, and I’m shaking with need.

  I lean my head back again, gasping over his mouth. “I want you everywhere.”

  I feel his smile curl over my lips right before he kisses me. He moves his fingers between my thighs again, rubbing and getting me wetter with need.

  “Everywhere?” he whispers.

  I nod. I’m his. All of me.

  I want him all over me.

  His breath shakes over my lips. “Don’t do this because you think I want it,” he pleads. “I only want what you want to give me. I need to know you trust me again.”

  His dark hair sits over his forehead, and his beautiful eyes tell me everything I need to hear without saying anything.

  He hurt me, and I hurt him, but shit happens and love doesn’t change. He makes me happier, he makes me stronger, and he knows everything and still wants me. If he can say the same, then this is it. The real thing.

  It’s us together.

  My mom told me once “Life is fifty wrong turns down a bumpy road. All you can hope is that you end up somewhere nice.”

  “I trust you,” I say, sinking into his mouth. “I want you.”

  He swirls the wetness between my legs farther up, and I slide my hand between me and the bed, rubbing my clit as he positions himself. I’m throbbing everywhere, and my heart pounds in my chest as he pushes the tip in and stops. I gasp, feeling a tiny burn.

  I contract around him, breathing hard and rubbing myself faster.

  “Ryen,” he breathes out. “Do you want me to stop?”

  I shake my head, feeling so filled and good. I didn’t expect that. “No. I want more.”

  “Oh, God.”

  He slides in slowly, all the way, and I arch my ass up, giving him a better position.

  “Holy shit,” he growls low. “You feel so good. I need to…”

  I close my eyes, every nerve alive and pulsing with need. He comes down on my back, kissing me as he thrusts out and back in deeper.

  “Ah,” I moan into his mouth.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I whimper. “Go faster.”

  He smiles, holding himself up with one hand and holding my thigh where my leg and hip meet. “Are you sure?”

  I nod, intense pleasure washing over me and making me grip the pillows as I arch my neck back to meet his lips.

  “I trust you,” I tell him.

  And he bites my neck and starts fucking me harder, not holding back and neither of us being quiet.

  For the rest of the night.

  My entire body feels like I was caught in a tornado. My arm muscles are sore, my neck hurts, I have bruises on my hips, and my ass…

  It was fun while it was going on last night, but after waking up this morning in pain everywhere, I told him we can’t do that again.

  He just retorted that my body wasn’t used to it, and we should do it more.

  Man, our fifth-grade teachers would be proud.

  I pull into a parking space at school and groan as I gingerly climb out of the Jeep. We were up half the night, and while I’m not at all tired, I’m kind of regretting not staying home and soaking in a bath today. I’m supposed to teach swim tonight, and I forgot the Advil at home.

  I reach into the back of the car and pull out my duffel with my swimsuit and change of clothes. After we woke up early this morning, Misha drove me back to school to collect my Jeep, and then he went to the Cove to pack up his stuff while I went home to shower and clean up.

  I’m not sure if he’s going to be in school today, but then I feel hands come around my waist and I break out in a shiver as a whisper hits my ear from behind.

  “Are you sore?” he teases.

  I arch an eyebrow and turn around, seeing him smirk down at me. “Are you kidding?”

  “It was fun, though.”

  I can’t hold back the smile as my cheeks warm. Yeah, it was.

  We walk into the school and head for my locker, and I notice he’s sticking by my side.

  “I’m fine, you know,” I tell him. Yesterday—Trey, Lyla, and the lunchroom—feels like ages ago. I’m not scared.

  “I know.”

  “Masen,” someone calls.

  I turn around to see Ms. Till, the Art teacher, carrying a pink slip. She hands it to him, speaking sweetly. “The principal would like to see you in the office. She wanted me to give you this in first period, but I just spotted you. You may as well go now.”

  He takes the slip, and she pats him on the arm, walking away. Misha doesn’t read it, merely crumbles it in his fist and tosses it to the ground.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. “If she can’t get a hold of your parents about the fights, she could bring in the police. Do you want to be found out?”

  “I think we know how well I stay arrested,” he retorts, a cocky look on his face.

  I roll my eyes. Yeah, okay, Rich Boy.

  Pulling out my sketch book, I spot the cashmere scarf still hanging in the locker, and something hits me. He gave me a new scarf that first week. With perfume on it.

  “Whose scarf did you try to give me that first week?”

  His eyes drop, looking somber. “Annie’s.”

  Annie’s? His sister?

  And then my eyes go wide, and I turn to him, remembering what I’d said. “Oh, my God,” I burst out. “Annie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

  I cringe at myself. I called her a skank, thinking she was some random girl who’d left her clothes behind in his truck. Shit.

  “It’s okay.” He gives a half-smile. “I know you didn’t know.”

  Ugh. I feel sick. I’m the worst.

  “Well, you couldn’t give it to me anyway,” I scold. “She’d want it back.”

  He grows quiet, avoiding my eyes.

  I’d totally forgot his sister in all the drama. She’s a junior. Where was she last night? His dad must’ve come home during my nap, because Misha had to lock the door later on so he wouldn’t walk in on us, but Annie was never mentioned.

  “Mr. Laurent.”

  I turn my head to see Principal Burrowes coming down the hallway. Students move around her, everyone heading to their first class.

  “In my office,” she orders. “Now.”

  He turns away from her. “No, thanks.”

  I stand frozen, watching. Just go, Misha. She’s not going to let him off the hook, and it’s only going to escalate.

  “Now.”

  “I’d rather not leave my friend alone when that piece of shit son of yours is roaming the halls,” he snarls. “Aren’t there laws about sexual predators not allowed to be within a certain number of feet from a school?”

  Anger mars her face. “If I have to ask again, I’m calling the police.”

  “Mi—Masen,” I corrected myself. “Just go.”

  Burrowes puts her hand on his back and gestures for him to move.

  But he whips away from her touch, scowling. “Fuck you.” He glares at her and then turns to me. “I’m leaving. I’m done here. I’ll be at the Cove after school.”

  “What?” I exclaim.

  He kisses me on the forehead and shoots Burrowes one last look before walking down the hall and back out the front door. I look around and see that other students are watching the exchange.

  Burrowes meets my eyes briefly, but she doesn’t go after him. Turning around, she walks back down the hallway and disappears into the throng of bodies rushing to class.

  Misha’s gone, and I’m a little pissed he’d rather leave school and me than deal with her. If he moves back to Thunder Bay, I’ll barely see him. At least until summer break.

  What the hell’s going on with him?

  And now that I finally slow down enough to think about it, he still hasn’t answered all of my questions.

  Why is here? Why did Trey have
his watch? And why is he staying at the Cove?

  Everyone heads to their next class or into lunch, and I stand next to the water fountain, filling up my water bottle. I don’t feel like braving the cafeteria today, even though I’m a little hungry.

  I know I should go in. I should sit at a table without the armor of my phone, homework, or a book, and just be there. If I hear whispers, then so be it. Let them talk.

  But I don’t have it in me today for some reason. Maybe I just don’t want to see them. Maybe I don’t feel like getting covered in juice when I have to be here half the evening.

  Maybe I’m allowing myself to just wimp out today.

  The hallway slowly empties, shoes squeak across the floor, and lockers slam shut. The clatter of trays and the chatter of conversations filter out into the hall, and I hear a door open to my left. Looking up, I see Trey coming out of the bathroom. He holds a black cord with a pennant attached to it, and he walks over to the garbage can, pulling it apart and breaking it, and then dumping it in the can.

  That’s Manny’s, I think. It’s one of the gothy necklaces he wears with some band’s name on it or something.

  Trey raises his eyes and sees me, and I twist the cap back on my water bottle and walk his way, staying far to the right to go upstairs to the library.

  But he rushes over and stops me, caging me in against the wall.

  I exhale a hard sigh, turning angry.

  “Where’s your bodyguard?” he asks, leaning his hands on the wall at my sides and blocking my escape. “Oh, that’s right. I heard he bailed school. Is he coming back?”

  I push at his arm, trying to slip away, but he pushes me back, and I drop my bottle.

  “Get the hell away from me,” I growl.

  “It’s your own fault,” he replies. “You shouldn’t be caught alone with me. You’ve been asking for this.”

  I dart my eyes to the sides, looking for an adult. But the hallway is nearly empty.

  “You know what I think I’ll do?” He gives me a sick smile. “One of these nights, I’ll get you in the parking lot after you teach swim lessons, and I’ll spread those pretty legs and fuck you right there on the ground. Would you like that, baby?”

  “I’m not scared of you.”

  “But can you outrun me?” An amused look crosses his eyes. “Your boyfriend’s gone now. Every corner you turn, every night when you go to sleep, I’ll be there, and I’m going to find out exactly what I’ve been missing.”