Velvet

I stood, then, to get out of the tub, suddenly grateful I hadn’t made a total ass of myself by getting completely naked in the shower. Bypassing the towels, I headed straight into the bedroom to find my sweatpants, trailing bubbles onto the carpet as I went. I was calculating how long it would take Trish to come pick me up and decided it was too long. I’d just walk. If he wasn’t completely dead, Tommie was very nearly dead, so I probably didn’t have to worry about him, and if a bear tried to eat me, I’d just slap it across the face with my shoe. I’d just found my sweatpants in my bag when the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I turned and found Adrian coming at me through the bathroom door.

He stopped, looking about as angry as I’d ever seen him. “Fine,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “Here it is, here’s all the stupid, random, infuriating shit that’s been going through my head the past couple months.”

He took a half step toward me, then whirled back toward the bathroom, shaking. Finally, he turned and faced me again, eyes burning uncontrollably silver.

“Do you know how fucking hard it was to lie next to you every night for weeks and do nothing? Do you have any idea how difficult it was to convince my family I didn’t have any real feelings for you, whatsoever? Caitlin, you have no clue what would happen if they found out—”

“If they found out what?” I exploded. “As far I know, I am the same level of importance to you as the bag lady at the grocery store!”

“God, Caitlin!” He whirled in a circle, running his hands through his hair. “There are rules.”

“We do not live in the Middle Ages,” I sputtered. “This is America. This is a democracy. You are not obliged to do every tiny little fucking thing you’re told!”

He laughed and shook his head bitterly. “You really think it’s that simple?”

“It is that simple,” I countered. “All you’ve told me from the beginning is that you want to be different, you want to be better, you want to be your own person, and every time you could have stood up for yourself, every time you could have stood up for me, you didn’t. And all this shit just happened, and it’s shitty, it’s so insanely shitty, and I’m mad, so I’m only going to ask this once: Do you want to kiss me, or not?”

“Fine!” he said, and started toward me.

“Too bad!” I yelled, dancing around the end of the bedpost. “I don’t want you to kiss me anymore!”

He closed the space between us, and in a sudden burst of childlike panic, I scrambled onto the bed to snake across to the other side. He caught my ankle and I fell flat on my stomach, scrambling for pillows, throwing them over my shoulder at his face. Finally, he dragged me toward him.

“No!” I said, struggling. “You’re not allowed to kiss me anymore! My lips are off limits!”

We were face-to-face, both of us breathing hard.

I glared at him. He stared angrily back at me at with his upturned brows and his silver, dancing, stupid eyes.

We reached for each other simultaneously, hands diving into hair, lips crashing. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he dragged me off the bed, but he instantly tripped over a pillow and we went down. He grunted, hauled me up, and kicked open the door, stumbling into the hall, and then over to his bedroom between unpracticed but enthusiastic kisses. It was dark, lit only by moonlight and stars, like the last time I’d been in here, but I wanted to see him. I wanted to be seen.

“Turn a lamp”—I started to demand, but interrupted myself by kissing his face again with my face—“on.”

He scrambled for the lamp, yanking the cord before accidentally knocking it to the floor. He left it there and staggered over to the bed, dropping down and rolling until I was pressed beneath him. He pulled back and stared at me a moment, both of us breathing hard, chests heaving. His mouth was set in a hard line, his damp hair was wavy and dripping onto the comforter. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, staring angrily down at me. “I love you.” The expression on his face was somewhere between bitter and bewildered. “I love you, and I’m not allowed to, and I’m sorry for being a dick.”

His face softened, slowly, muscle by muscle, until he simply looked tired, and sad, and totally worn-out. “I’m so s-sorry,” he said, voice catching. “I love you.”

At the words, my eyes instantly burned with tears. I hadn’t cried this much in one day since my mom died, and it felt good. It felt necessary. I cradled his face in my hands. “Why is that always so hard to say?”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s your turn to say it.”

I smiled, the wild energy all used up and gone. “I love you, too. But we got shit to talk about. Later. When I’ve spawned more blood cells or whatever, and can think straight.”

He smiled, but it was kind of a miserable smile, so I pulled him toward me and pressed his face to my shoulder, wrapping my arms around his back as though I could be the one to protect him for a change. He breathed sharply, trembling, but I knew he was listening to my heartbeat, and he slowly relaxed. I ran my fingers lightly down his naked back and within a half a minute, he was fast asleep, and I wasn’t far behind.

*

Adrian woke me up every few hours, pressed his ear against my heart, and listened. I’d stroke his hair and eventually he’d fall back asleep. That was how Julian found us. He opened the door quietly and stood there in his designer jeans and a fur coat, the light from the hallway casting him into a silhouette. He opened his mouth and I shook my head.

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