Losing Me, Finding You (10 page)

“Shoot,” Christy whispers, dropping her hands to her sides and giving me a crooked smile. “Finish our talk tomorrow?” I nod, but I keep my eyes on her mother's dark face, willing her to keep her hands off of my friend. Tomorrow, I'll find Austin and I'll see if there's room for two, and if there isn't, well fuck him then. Christy and I will figure it out.

“Take care,” I tell her as she passes by, smelling like cigarettes and perfume. Her parents are going to be livid. “And I love you.”

“Love you, too, Aims.”

She disappears into her house and the door closes with a terrible finality, almost as if she's going off to die or something. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the humid heat of the evening.
Just a few more days while I sort this out,
I pray as I walk towards my own house with sluggish steps. I was going to climb into the window, since to be honest, that's the way I got out, but I know that Christy's mom is going to tell mine anyway, so I opt for the front door.

Better to face my demons when I'm brimming with the wonderful energy that Austin somehow pushed inside of me. A smile lights my face for a brief moment and then fades when I open the door and find both my parents in the living room, watching me like I'm the most despicable thing they have ever laid eyes upon.

“Did you have a good time?” my mother quips, not really caring if I did or not. What she really wants to say isn't appropriate, so she's going to keep it to herself until we're alone. Mama doesn't like to show Papa her violent side.

My father remains silent, taking a slow sip of his tea and turning his face away from mine. Bad sign. His silence speaks volumes and sends me scurrying up the stairs and into my bedroom where I bolt the door and lean against it with my eyes closed. Sometime, when I'm not expecting it, he's going to strike back at me. I don't know when or how. It could be public – like when I was sixteen and he spoke about my period to the whole church – or it could be private, such as the day he burned my entire book collection in the backyard.

I let myself slide down to the floor, keeping my eyes squeezed tight and trying to think. Think. Think.

I can't just hop onto the back of a motorcycle and take off (though I have to admit, there is quite the appeal there). I have Christy to think about, and money, and a
future.
Plus, if I just disappear, my family will
never
speak to me again. Never. Despite their shortcomings, I do love them. Could I live with not seeing my mother again? I think about that, really think about that for a moment, and am surprised to find that my mind drifts right back to Austin Sparks and his hot hands on my hips, his body thrusting inside of mine

I shiver and stand up quickly, moving into the bathroom and stepping into the shower without even bothering to take off my clothes. I turn the water on cold and bite my lip to hold back a scream when it hits me hard and sends goose bumps springing up all across my body.

I don't have time to fantasize about Austin right now.

But all I want to do is fantasize about him. About sex.

I touch the sweet soreness between my legs and try not to groan at the flicker of pleasure that ricochets through my blood.
Wow.
Let's just say that I had high expectations and Austin Sparks did not disappoint. I keep my eyes closed and start to explore myself, feeling with my hands what Austin felt with his cock, brushing the hairs gently with the tips of my fingers and then sliding easily into that hot heat. I imagine that my hand is Austin's dick, falling to the floor of the shower and spreading my legs wide. I think of his lips moving, groaning my name, and then my vision goes white and my back arches, sending another spiral of
la petite mort
up my spine and into my brain, knocking me silly.
Oh yes, orgasms certainly are the shit.

I move my hand away, up to my mouth, and slide my fingers inside.

I hope Austin Sparks says
yes,
that he hasn't had enough of me, because I certainly haven't had enough of him. I taste myself, letting the icy water soak my hair and clothes and knowing that what they say is wrong – even a cold shower can't make you forget if the memory is hot enough. And Austin Sparks is hot enough to melt.

I just hope that he doesn't melt
me.

I wake the following morning to my mother's gentle raps on the bedroom door.

“Amy?” she calls, voice neutral with no sign of the anger that was boiling beneath the surface last night. “Time to get up.” She pauses. “And unlock this door. It makes me feel like a common criminal.” I listen to her footsteps as she moves away from the door and wish fervently for a cell phone. But I don't have one of those either. Papa says that the only people who need cell phones are people who have secrets to hide. The rest of us, he preaches, can use the phone in the hallway like good, honest, normal folk. I sigh and swing my feet out of bed, remembering as the warm air kisses my skin that I slept naked for the first time in my life. I slept naked and dreamt of men with tattoos on their arms and secrets in their eyes.

I rub my hand across my face and stand up, moving over to my window and peeking out at the quiet street. Last night, each time a motorcycle went by, I woke with a start, heart pounding, and entertained fantasies of Austin climbing the trellis and ravaging me in my bed. I smile and drop the curtain, stepping over to my dresser and dreading what I'm going to see inside each drawer. There will be neatly folded cardigans, camisoles in pastel colors, and skirts with floral prints. The outfit I wore last night had been made up of old Halloween costumes and honestly, was the sexiest thing I owned. I sigh and dress myself in a beige skirt, yellow top, and white sweater. I wear the same shoes, though.

“Did you sleep well last night?” my mother asks as I come down the stairs slowly, trying to ignore the soreness between my legs.
At least you didn't bleed,
I think, imagining how embarrassing that would've been. At least Austin doesn't know that he was my first, and I definitely do not plan on telling him, thank you very much.

“I did,” I lie, wondering how Christy's doing, thinking that maybe I should head over there now and check on her, drag her to town with me to talk to Austin.

My mother pours me a cup of coffee and adds milk and sugar, not bothering to ask how I'd like it; she never has.

“I have some good news,” she tells me as she stirs the cloudy liquid with a spoon. I stare at her face, at the purple bags under her eyes and the twitch in her cheek. She's still mad at me, but she's hiding it well. I wonder why? “Your aunt and cousin have decided to move the date of the wedding.”
Oh, good,
I think.
Then maybe I can get out of here before I'm forced into going.

“That's nice,” I say, trying to be pleasant, wondering if my father is still here somewhere or if he's left already. I sure hope he's gone. “What's the date?”

“Tomorrow,” my mother says and I try not to let my jaw drop.

“Tomorrow?” Mama pushes my coffee across the countertop, but doesn't look at me.

“We decided a wedding would do the family good, bring us closer together.” My heart starts to pound, sensing a trap.

“Oh?”

“And besides, Jodie is … ” Nobody in my family will admit aloud that my cousin is pregnant out of wedlock. I try to remind myself that we're in the twenty-first century, but it isn't easy. “Getting antsy to start her family.”
Uh huh.
“Your aunt's bringing over your dress later. I assume you'll be here to try it on?” I stare at her, but I don't know what to say. I think about Austin again.
Fuck no, beautiful.
That's what he'd say; I know it is. I start to get tingling feelings in my … how do I say it? … my vagina?
Too clinical.
Down there?
Too Fifty Shades.
My cunt. My pussy. I smile. It feels quite good to be bad, doesn't it?

My mother notices my smile and gives me a strange look. I cough and straighten out my features into a duller, more neutral expression.

“Christy and I have plans,” I tell her, scrambling for something useful to say. “To go shopping for new shoes for the potluck on Saturday. I assume that's postponed?”

“It's going to function as the reception,” she says curtly and then looks down at my white heels, wrinkling her nose in distaste, even though she's the one that bought them for me.
Of course it is. Couldn't possibly break that special, little tradition, now could we?
“And pick some up for the wedding while you're out.” I try to smile at her, but my lips feel broken, like I've abused them with fake expressions for so long that they no longer wish to obey my instructions.

I take a quick sip of my coffee, decide that next time, I'm going to try it black, and head out the front door and straight over to Christy's.

Her mother answers and politely tells me that my friend is unavailable, sending me away with a sniff and a sneer.
Oh dear.
I pretend to walk away, doubling back when Mrs. Hall finally stops peeping out the curtains, and slip through the back gate, tiptoeing around to the deck and looking around for a rock to toss at my girlfriend's window.
She's right; Christy's right. We stopped maturing and are stuck in a perpetual cycle of being sixteen years old.
I pick up a small white rock and chuck it at her glass, cringing at the loud
ping
as it ricochets back and nearly hits me in the head.

The window slides open and Christy leans out with a sad smile tainting her pretty face.

“Hey there, stranger,” she says and winces, rubbing at her eye. I don't see any actual bruises, but then, her father is as good as mine at making sure nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors. My hand unconsciously lifts to my cheek. It's sore, but forgettable. Honestly, the gentle ache between my legs hurts more. “What's up?”

“We're going into town to shop for shoes,” I say, pausing as Christy's mom appears on the back deck, squinting her green eyes at me like she wishes I would disintegrate right there on the lawn. Then again, she probably wouldn't want to harm the perfect sea of green, so maybe she's just wishing I would drop dead and go to hell.
Yes,
I think.
That sounds a bit more like Mrs. Hall's style.

“Sneaking around other people's backyards, Miss Cross? What would your mother say?” I suspect that she already knows what my mother would say because I'm certain that they've just spoken to one another over the phone. Mrs. Hall snorts and shakes her head like I am so ridiculously unbelievable. She tried to ban me from hanging out with Christy once because I put black eyeliner on at school and she saw me, calling me a Satan worshiper. Today, she has a similar facial expression. “But you both are in desperate need of new shoes, and I am not about to go down to that … that
festival.
” She spits the word out like it's poison and lets it sizzle in the warm, morning air. “So go, but don't dawdle.” Already, Christy is disappearing from her window, and I know that she's halfway down the stairs. Mrs. Hall smooths her hand over her blonde hair and touches her bun, just to make sure it's still in perfect order, before turning away and fading into the darkness of her house, slamming the back door in my face.

I move back through the yard and wait on the front porch for Christy, smiling as she emerges dressed in an outfit that's nearly identical to mine. Pale blue sweater, white camisole, floral print skirt.

“Please tell me that you've come up with something?” she asks unlocking the doors to her car and opening the passenger side for me. “And that we're not really shopping for shoes.”

“Get in,” I tell her, wondering exactly what it is that I'm going to say. She movies hurriedly around the front of the car and gets inside, immediately bursting into a surprise shower of tears. I see her mother watching through the window and pat her arm lamely. “Come on,” I tell her, lowering my voice to a whisper.
Is it just me or did I see the upstairs curtains move at my house, too?
“I have something exciting to tell you.” Christy sniffles and nods, ignoring the rush of salty wetness that's pouring down her face, and starts the little, blue car with a turn of the key.

“It better be good,” she says, trying to smile through her sadness. I promise myself that I'll hug her as soon as we get into town. “Because I had the worst night of my life last night.” She doesn't elaborate, and I don't ask. If she wants to tell me more, she will, but if she doesn't, I'm not going to press her. This is how we've always been and how I hope we'll always be – easy, honest, truthful.
Well, for the most part anyway.
I still don't think I can tell her that I'm not a virgin anymore. We've both been for so long that it just seems like that's the way things should I be. I almost feel like I've betrayed her somehow, as stupid as that sounds. “Tell me.” I smile.

“What do you think about motorcycles?” I ask her as we wind through the streets towards the center of town where the one and only shoe store is located. The next closest is about seventy miles away, at our nearest mall. Christy nibbles her lip and lifts one eyebrow suspiciously.