Saturday, March 2 – 7:00 PM
Maria
The sky is black and the air freezing cold by the time I get out of lab and start the long journey from the far eastern edge of campus to my apartment back across the west bridge. It’s a forty-minute walk at its easiest, and the ice on the dark sidewalk isn’t doing me any favors tonight. My hands and toes are numb within fifteen minutes, and I haven’t even made it to the steep hill down to west campus yet.
Freezing cold or not, I’m excited about tonight. I’m going to Owen’s apartment tonight to help him grade homework! It might not sound very exciting—Tina certainly didn’t think it was—but it’s safe and relaxing. I’ll be comfortable and be able to talk to him without getting too nervous. ‘Safe’ is exactly what I need right now.
I take tiny, precarious steps down the slick sheet of ice coating the west campus hill and then trudge back up the opposite side to the bridge. The thick pines give way to the gorge, and the wind howls through the open air, chilling me to the bone. By the time I make it across, my nose feels as brittle as an icicle.
I can’t wait to see Owen. I imagine the warmth of his apartment as I trudge down the steep slope to our apartment complex, getting out of these soaking wet shoes, and taking off this uncomfortable, scratchy hat. Maybe he’ll make cocoa.
Maybe I’ll be brave enough to touch him again.
The porch light is on when I get to his apartment, and I hardly have to wait at all for Owen to open the door after I ring the bell. I really like that he was waiting for me.
“Hi Maria!” he gushes happily as he invites me in. “Thanks so much for helping me grade all this crap.”
“Hey, no problem,” I answer, a wide smile spreading across my face as I take off my shoes and coat.
Owen plops down on the couch in the living room and stares at the impressive stack of homework assignments looming before him. Even with two of us, it’s going to be a long night.
My eyes light up when I see the two steaming cups of cocoa, and I hop onto the sofa and sit cross-legged to his left. I’ll put up with an awful lot for a cup of cocoa on a cold night like tonight, even grading statistics homework.
“Let me know if you see anything wrong, okay?” I tell Owen, and I grab a red pen and get to work.
Page after page flies by in silence, and the questions are so easy that I don’t even need Owen’s help for any of them.
“What is this? Stats 101? Algebra?” I ask, scribbling away with my red pen. “I can grade most of this stuff on my own and I’m a biologist!”
“Yeah, it’s a basic stats course for people who just need a course to graduate,” he answers, and he points at an incorrect answer for me to mark. “It’s a stupid course, but at least it’s easy to grade. I think the professor put all the tougher courses on the bottom of the pile.”
I feel warm and content as I sit next to him, but if I moved even an inch closer, our shoulders would touch. Three weeks ago, I’d have been a nervous wreck to sit so close to a guy and now I’m really enjoying being with him. I wonder what changed inside me.
“Jeez, how many of these do you have to grade each week?” I ask as I flip through the enormous pile of papers. I can’t imagine having to do this regularly and still having time to make it to class.
“I have a lot of late nights,” he replies, not quite answering my question. “The stipend pays my bills, at least.”
Four more papers flit by and the silence is interrupted only by the turning of pages and Owen occasionally pointing out a wrong answer. My wrist is cramping up from writing already, and I’ve barely scratched the surface of the daunting pile.
“Need a break?” he asks as I toss aside the finished assignment and stretch out my aching fingers.
“I’ve got a few more in me,” I answer, smiling at him. Even though my hand hurts, I like sitting with him. Something about being around him is very comforting. I feel content and safe with him in a way that I’ve never felt around anyone before.
It’s like being with Tina, but... different. Really different. The feeling is so strange and foreign to me that I can’t even describe it to myself.
“I’m cozy,” I think, still smiling to myself. “Warm and cozy.”
I instinctively reach out for the next paper at the same time as does Owen, and his hand lands directly on top of mine.
A feeling of shock and a wave of vague, incomprehensible dread shoot through my body at his touch. His hand is warm and soft against my skin, and I swallow nervously and resist the urge to pull away from him. I don’t want to run away from him, but every nerve in my body is screaming for me to race for the door.
As if finally realizing that what he was doing, Owen quickly yanks his hand back and lets it flop awkwardly down at his side. I can still feel the warmth of his touch, though, and now I suddenly want it back.
“Sorry about that,” he stammers.
“It’s okay,” I answer, and I quickly grab the next paper before it happens again.
Owen stares silently down at the paper, but he’s clearly not reading it at all. His eyes are wide and confused, his face is pink, and he looks just as flustered as I feel right now. His hand still hangs limply at his side as if he doesn’t know what to do with it anymore.
I stare at the paper—also not paying any attention to it—and let my right arm drop to my side. I glance down and watch as my hand inches toward his as if in slow motion. My pulse pounds so loudly in my head that it’s nearly deafening as my fingers wrap slowly around his.
For a second, I think that he’s going to pull away from me, but then his fingers close around mine.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice full of concern and uncertainty. I nod and smile weakly.
“I’m trying,” I whisper.
Owen is just as scared as I am, and I know that he won’t hurt me. I feel safer because of his awkwardness, but I wish it didn’t have to be like that. I want so badly to be able to trust him not just because he makes me feel safe, but because he’s Owen. I hate that I can’t take that last step.
“We can stop if you’re not comfortable,” he says, but I grab his hand tightly as he tries to pull it away from me.
“No... I don’t want to let go.”
My voice comes out as a faint squeak, so quiet that I’m not certain if I’m telling him or if I’m pleading, and he squeezes my hand softly.
“Me neither,” he whispers back.
His gray eyes are friendly and caring, and as he smiles at me, I feel like I could just melt into him. I squeeze his hand back and my nervousness falls away. Something strange and wonderful—but still scary and unfamiliar—is taking hold inside me. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I think I like it. I like it when he touches me.
“So... um... where were we?” he suddenly asks, ripping his gaze away from me and turning back to the homework.
“Oh! Right,” I answer awkwardly. “Um... we were on question three.”
We simultaneously look down at our hands, still happily entwined, and then back up at each other again.
“I can’t write with my left hand either,” I say. “We’re going to have to let go if we’re going to get anywhere.”
“Later?” he suddenly blurts out, and I stare confusedly back at him. I have no idea what he means.
“Huh?”
“Wow... awkward,” he stammers in embarrassment. “I... well, when we’re done with grading this shit, can we... you know...”
Now I get it.
My head nods enthusiastically and a wide smile crosses my face long before my brain figures out the words it’s looking for. I lean in against him and feel the warmth of his body against my shoulder as I release his hand and reluctantly return to the homework.
As hard as I try, I still can’t focus my attention on the assignment. What is that smell? Is that cologne? Is this what guys’ deodorant smells like that? I’ve kept my distance for so many years, been scared of guys for so long, that I have no idea. Whatever it is, I know that from now on, I’m going to think about tonight—about us sitting together and sinking into the warm, soft cushions of the couch—whenever I smell it.
The questions are getting harder for me to answer as we move on to grading the upper-class courses. I’m a good student, but I’m not a math major and this stuff is pushing the limits for me. He’s going to have to help me now.
“Hey Owen? Gonna need you to...”
We’re sitting so close to each other that my lips nearly brush against his as I turn to him, and I immediately lose my train of thought. A lump forms in my throat, and I feel like I can’t breathe. I desperately want to kiss him, but I’m scared of what might happen if I do.
Owen stares through me as if he’s in a trance, and for a brief instant, I feel like I’m back in class again, meeting him for the first time as I hand in my exam. The nervousness quickly passes, though, because I’ve seen his scars and listened to him talk about his sister.
I know him now. Owen wouldn’t hurt me because he’s been hurt before and he knows what it’s like. He’s just like me, and that makes him safe.
Owen closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and he’s back with me when he opens them again. The distant stare is gone, his eyes are warm and loving, and I know that he sees me.
“Maria...”
He trails off as he reaches up and softly caresses my cheek, and I feel my face grow hot as I try not to tremble. His touch is both relaxing and electrifying, and I instinctively press my cheek gently into his hand as the incompatible sensations bounce around inside my head.
Our lips touch, and the dark place in the back of my mind takes control, sending my entire body into revolt. Dark memories burst to life and claw at me, trying to drag me back down into my nightmares.
Fear takes over, and suddenly I’m all the way across the sofa from him. I want to run away. The dark place in my mind is screaming at me to get out of the apartment and go home while the rest begs me to stay, to push through the fear and free myself.
“I’m sorry Maria,” say Owen quietly. “I shouldn’t have rushed you like that. It’s my fault.”
“Oh for God’s sake, kiss him already!” pleads both my mind and my body, begging me to ignore the cloud of fear hanging over me.
“We can work on the grading tomorrow if you need to get away,” he offers.
“No, I’m okay.”
“But...”
I’ve had enough. I’m tired of being afraid and I don’t want him to give me an excuse to run away.
Before he can finish his sentence and before my fears can catch up to me, I push myself back across the sofa and interrupt the excuses. Our lips meet, and my body instinctively shows me what to do as my mind falters. I’ve never kissed anyone—not willingly at least—and I have no clue what I’m doing. All I know is that I like it.
I really like it.
The warmth of his lips against mine somehow spreads all throughout my body as he kisses me, and I can barely contain the overwhelming feeling of happiness blossoming inside me. I’m shaking, but for once in my life, it isn’t from fear.
Owen caresses my cheek again, his lips still clinging to mine as if he wanted this just as desperately as I did, and then he slowly embraces me and pulls me close to him. I feel his warm arms around me, his strong chest pressing against mine, but just when I feel like I could die and go to Heaven, the gates of Hell open up instead.
“You know... I always had a thing for you back when I was still in high school. You were really cute even back then.”
“I was twelve, Darren!” I try to counter, but my voice sticks in my throat and all that comes out is a frightened squeak. I’m terrified. Where is Micah? Where is my phone? Maybe I can call him and get him to come home!
My phone is downstairs.
I’d never have come here if I knew he lived with Darren.
Oh God... come home already, Micah! Please!
“I saw how you looked at me back then. You were really into me,” he whispers, still coming closer.
He must be delusional, I think. Into him? Darren creeped me out from the first time Micah invited him over. The way he stared at me, the way he talked about me as if I wasn’t there... I couldn’t have been into him any less.
Even though Darren isn’t very tall, he still towers over me somehow as he comes closer and closer. He’s no longer a short, burly college student, but a giant, horrifying monster. I’ve backed as far away from him as I can. Any further and I’m on the bed.
Darren closes the distance between us in two long strides and suddenly his thick, muscular arms are around me. This isn’t a hug, and even if it is, I don’t want it! I feel like I’m being smothered!
“Let go of me!”
I turn my face away as he tries to kiss me, and his lips brush against my cheek.
“I love a girl who plays hard to get,” he growls, and he runs a hand softly down my back. My legs shake as he slowly, inexorably pushes me down onto the bed.
No. Please, God, no! Don’t let this happen to me.
My breath comes in uncontrollably quick, short gasps, and I feel dizzy. My body locks up, paralyzed with fear, as he lays me down onto the mattress.
I’m so terrified that I can’t even scream.
“Let go of me!” I scream, wriggling out of Owen’s arms and pushing him away.
“Maria, what’s wrong?” he asks in alarm, raising his hands to try to calm me down.
I’m off the couch in a flash, but the triggered memory is already fading. Now I just look like a lunatic. Again.
“I hate you Darren. I f*cking hate you!”
“I’m sorry Owen. I can’t do this,” I whimper, trying not to burst into tears in front of him. “God, I want to, but I can’t!”
“That’s okay. I’m sorry,” says Owen, his voice calm and reassuring. He’s trying so hard to put up with me, but I’m such a horrible wreck. I don’t deserve him any more than I deserve Tina.
“I have to go,” I blurt out, and I leap up from the couch.
Before he can say another word, I’m out the door and racing through the falling snow toward my apartment. I slide on a patch of ice, barely catching myself before I fall, and then burst into my apartment.
“Tina! I need to talk to you,” I call out as the familiar, comforting warmth of the apartment engulfs me.
“Can it wait until after the movie?” calls back Tina from the couch, and my jaw drops as I see her snuggled up next to Craig with a bowl of popcorn and an old, black and white kung-fu movie.
“Well then! Um... sure. Don’t mind me,” I stammer embarrassedly.
I bow out gracefully, leave Tina and Craig to their movie date, and race up the stairs to my bedroom. The door locks behind me with a loud, comforting click, and I grab both books from beneath my pillow.
Cramped wrist from grading papers or not, I have a long night of writing ahead of me.