TEN
FOR WHAT SEEMS LIKE FOREVER, ZAC KISSES ME long and deep, nearly smothering me. I hold his wrists, loving that this is the first thing he does. Almost like he has to do it. Like he can’t wait. After the ugliness of downstairs, it’s a stamp of affirmation. I’m the only thing that matters to him. Not the opinions of others. Not my carrier status. Just me.
He nudges me back and we fall on the bed, bodies tangling together. I laugh lightly against the insistent press of his mouth, but even that sound is quickly swallowed up in his anxious lips.
The heavy weight of his right leg curls over my hip, pinning me. He’s heavy. Solid. I press a palm against his firm chest, reveling in the feel of his heartbeat, strong and swift.
I break from his lips to speak, to get out the words I want to say, need to say, but he quickly captures my mouth again. His hand flows along the slope of my thigh, pulling me in closer to his body.
“Zac,” I gasp.
“Davy,” he returns, still kissing me. Not stopping.
I push both hands against his shoulders and force him up. “Zac, can we take a minute?”
“For what? We’re finally alone.” He brushes a strand of hair back from my face and tucks it behind my ear. His brilliant green eyes pin me. “I’ve missed you, Davy.”
“I’ve missed you, too, but I thought we should talk.”
“About what?”
“Everything, Zac. Everything is changed. I’m not even welcome here.”
“Carlton doesn’t care—”
“I’m not talking about Carlton. I’m talking about everyone. Tori—”
“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “I can handle Tori.”
And this irks me. She’s my best friend—was. He shouldn’t be the buffer between us. Talking to her. Talking to me. Being pulled in two directions. And maybe there’s the fact that I know she’s always wanted him for herself. And if not her, there are others. Other pretty girls at Everton, waiting in the wings who are a better fit for a guy with everything going for him.
His head dips to kiss me again, but I press a hand to his mouth, stopping him. His eyes gleam with frustration.
“Okay. What about our plans? Or future? I can’t go to Juilliard anymore.” A heaviness sinks inside me as I acknowledge this out loud. “That’s not going to happen for me.” I slide my fingers from his lips. “How can we make this work? You’ll be at NYU in the fall. I’ll be . . . here. . . .” That’s a safe guess. I can probably go to the local community college. Get a job at Dad’s bank.
I wait, eager to hear the words that will make me feel better.
Make me believe in him . . . in us. I need something to hang on to. Something to believe in. Something that won’t go away, vanish down the drain in a whirl with everything else.
“Do we really have to talk about this now, Davy? Can’t we just enjoy being together?”
His coaxing voice, his melting gaze. All of it gets to me. This time I don’t stop his head from lowering. We kiss. His hands roam and mold to me. Our breathing grows harsh, air passing from his mouth to mine.
His fingers trail down. Lifting my shirt, he grazes the sensitive skin underneath. He seizes the snap on my jeans and pops it free with an easy flick of his hand. The zipper is loud on the air, a discordant rip over the crash of our breaths.
My hand flies to his, closing over him. It’s an instinctive move. One I’ve been executing for months now.
He stills. Looks down at me with slightly dazed eyes. “C’mon, Davy,” he pleads, kissing my jaw. I feel the tip of his tongue there and shiver. “You said we would. . . .”
I look up past his face to the blur of the fan blades above, not wanting to debate the point that I had not actually agreed to sleep with him. I had been considering it. On the verge, true. But I hadn’t agreed. Yet.
“I just . . .” My voice fades. I don’t know what to say. Before, it had felt right. A definite likelihood. I’d felt ready. But now. Now . . . everything about this feels wrong. Here. In this room. With people downstairs who think I’m sort of deviant. It’s wrong.
“I need this, Davy,” he whispers against my ear.
This. Not me.
He doesn’t need me.
“I can’t,” I announce. This time the words fall with no reluctance. No regret. I know. I can’t do this.
He lifts up to peer at me, evidently recognizing from my tone that I’m not in a place where he can sweet-talk me. He stares hard at me for a long moment, his expression varying, shifting from frustration to anger. “Why not?”
I sit up and re-snap my jeans. “This isn’t how I envisioned—”
“Have you envisioned it?” he demands. “At all? Because I’m beginning to wonder.”
I look at him, baffled at his tone, at his seeming anger. It’s not as if I haven’t told him no before. “Why are you so upset with me? I just don’t feel—”
“I’ve waited for months, Davy. And you just keep teasing me with promises. You should be grateful that I’m the kind of guy who’s patient . . . especially now.”
I angle my head, my flesh suddenly prickling. “Why especially now?”
He looks away briefly before turning back at me. His lips compress as if he’s holding something in.
“Why?” I stab him in the chest with my finger. “Why should I be especially grateful now?”
I wait, my chest swelling with the aching hope that I’m wrong. That he won’t say it. That he will say something to erase all the horrible things running through my head. I desperately need confirmation that he’s not as bad as the rest of them. That he doesn’t see me as damaged.
I wait, hungry to hear him say that he didn’t bring me here tonight expecting some kind of reward for sticking with me.
The words never come.
He crosses his arms over his chest as he faces me, his expression odd. It’s almost like he’s a stranger staring at me, his eyes dull and somehow less green. His mouth unsmiling. “You know why.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
And he’s right. I do know why. I understand.
In that instant, everything about him—about who I thought he was—dies a quick death. Grief swallows me as I blink at my boyfriend. Looking at him, I only see another disappointment. Another loss. Another piece of me gone and crushed to tiny bits.
Turning, I open the door and flee the room.
“Davy, wait!” His steps pound after me. Before I reach the top of the stairs, he grabs my arm and forces me around. “Where are you going?”
I look at him evenly. “I’m going home.”
“You’re mad at me,” he announces.
“And you’re observant.”
He drops his hand from my arm. “Why are you being like this?”
Why am I being like this?
“You know why,” I say, deliberately echoing his words.
His face hardens and he crosses his arms, reminding me of a spoiled little boy. “We just got here. I’m not ready to go home.”
I stare at him for a moment, still reconciling this Zac with the boy I thought I knew. The boy I loved.
What did I know anymore about anyone? About anything? If I’d been so wrong about him, what else am I wrong about?
White-hot panic hums through me. I’ve got to get out of here. Escape.
“I’m leaving.” My feet move swiftly down the steps. I don’t look back to see if he’s following. I hope he’s not.
The loud pulse of music vibrates up my legs from the floor as I push through the crowd. When I burst out onto the porch, it almost feels like I’ve emerged from underwater. I suck in a slightly frigid breath and brace a hand against the limestone post. I stare out at the dark street lined with cars. The late March wind folds over me. It’s still cold in the evenings. I know I need to enjoy this weather while it lasts. Soon, the days will be scorching.
But enjoying anything anymore seems the most implausible thing.
I brush fingers to my lips, still tasting Zac there. Familiar. But no longer exciting or comforting. The memory of him doesn’t make me warm and tingly inside. There’s only hurt. Betrayal and bitterness.
It took losing me—the death of the old Davy Hamilton—to meet the true Zac. To learn what the world is really like. A hard lesson, but now I know at least.
Shaking my head at the gnawing ache in my chest, I descend the wide porch steps.
“Davy, stop!”
I don’t know why, but I do. Turning, I watch as Zac jogs down the steps. Several of our friends—his friends—spill out onto the porch, like vultures scenting blood. They love a good scene.
Squeezing my hands into fists at my sides, I vow not to give them one.
He stops before me, releasing a breath.
I wait, bracing myself for his coming apology, telling myself that I can be dignified and accept his apology, but that it won’t change anything. I can’t be with him anymore. Now that I know how he really feels. He’ll gladly use me. Sleep with me. But he doesn’t want me. Not really. I’m ruined in his eyes.
He turns his face slightly, looks behind him, aware of our audience standing on the porch. Tori pushes to the front, her arms crossed in a hostile pose.
Zac looks back at me. I wait, saying nothing. He stopped me, after all.
“Davy,” he begins, “I want my sweatshirt back.”
I blink, uncomprehending.
“The NYU one,” he prompts as if I might not know what he’s referring to.
He stopped me for this? Not an apology. He wants his sweatshirt back?
I gawk at him. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder. Several of the kids on the porch laugh. Tori smiles, satisfied. Even Zac smiles . . . just a hint, but those lips that had kissed me only minutes ago curve ever so slightly.
Then I understand. He’s doing this for their benefit. Dumping me in front of them. Making sure they all know that I didn’t walk out on him. That a girl with the kill gene didn’t leave him high and dry. There’s no apology coming. There never was.
My hand shoots out. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my palm connects with Zac’s face. Gasps ripple through the kids assembled on the porch. Even in the night, I can detect my white handprint against his cheek.
Tori thunders down the steps. “See! See! Get out!” She’s practically shrieking at me, waving a hand in the direction of the road.
I back away, horrified. I gave them a scene. I gave them the evidence they wanted that I was someone dangerous and violent. That I didn’t belong with them. It didn’t matter that I was justified. Any other girl could have reacted this way. Any girl but me.
I don’t belong with them. This much is true, I realize. With any of them. And surprisingly, this doesn’t fill me with even a shred of sadness. Outrage burns through my veins, keeping me warm against the wind as I turn and walk past rows of cars lining the circular driveway.