I was worried about how he would react to me climbing through his window again after the weeks we’d had apart. One piece of me wondered if I would walk in on one of his meltdowns. Another piece wondered if he would be fine and Sheila had simply exaggerated to get me there.
On the way to his house, I called Harper and the conversation pretty much went like this.
“His mom came over . . .”
“I hate her.”
“She didn’t mean for it to happen. She asked him to tell me first.”
“Hmm. Fine. I reserve the right to revisit my hatred at a later time.”
“He painted me a picture of himself. It has I Love You written all over it.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. I’m headed there now.”
“Call me later.”
I didn’t even bother to park my car around the other side of the neighborhood. The sky was getting a little darker and I knew Mr. Neely worked mad, crazy hours. And even though I could have knocked on the door, I felt like I needed to climb up that lattice one last time.
I did, with my heart thundering in my ears and my hands shaking from the anxiety I was drowning in. But once I checked the latch and realized the window was still unlocked, tears filled my eyes and I had to take a breath before actually climbing through.
I wondered if he left it unlocked the entire time without thinking about it . . . or if he checked it every night to see if it was still unlocked, just in case I came over.
Either way . . . it made me feel awful.
I stumbled into the room blindly, hoping to God once more that I wouldn’t break anything as I attempted to untangle my feet from the windowsill. When I righted myself, I realized the art room was pretty much vacant. Everything was put away. It felt wrong. Weird. I’d never seen it like that before.
Of course, Colton hadn’t left me before, either.
After bracing myself for a moment, I walked slowly to the door and looked down the hallway toward his room, noting the soft tinkling of music filtering into the open space. I watched the lighting in his room shift, his shadow appearing and disappearing with his footsteps.
Back and forth.
Preparing to leave.
Or was he pacing?
No longer worried about my timing, I crept to his open door and stood there, watching him as he moved a foot and then back, his eyes downcast as his hands started to reach for something and then would stop and he would repeat the movement over and over again. He appeared to be so very frustrated.
I knocked gently on his wall, holding my breath as he turned abruptly and stared at my face. Just stared. No words.
“Hi,” I called to him quietly.
His reaction surprised me. In the blink of an eye he rushed forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing me to the wall and burying his face in my neck as he breathed in deeply and squeezed all the air from my lungs.
“Nothing works,” he started, his hands kneading my sides as he tried again. “I try. And try. But nothing works. I can’t focus. I can’t . . . I can’t.”
“I’m sorry.” I had to stop myself. “I apologize for not coming to see you sooner.”
“You were upset. I hurt you. Something must have happened to make you stay away from me. Is that right?” His nose was pressed under my ear and I fought back another round of tears because he just didn’t fully grasp it. He could have been repeating Sheila’s words for all I knew.
“You’re leaving.”
His body went rigid, and slowly he pulled back from me to look down at his shoes. “You’d like it better if I stayed?”
“No!” It was a lie. But it wasn’t. “This is . . . such . . . a great opportunity for you. You should go.” His eyes met mine briefly. “But I’m going to miss you so very much while you’re gone.”
He nodded a little.
“Your mom delivered my birthday present. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
A sad smile pressed his mouth upward. “I wanted you to have me with you.”
The pain in my heart grew a thousand times over. “I know.” My hand pressed to his cheek. “It was very thoughtful. Just like the words you painted . . .”
It was then his eyes met mine. I’m still not sure what he saw at that moment, but it felt like he was looking beyond my face and into my soul.
“I paint the truth, Lilly.”
My heart stopped.
“I do . . . love you. If you needed me to say it before you should have told me so. I know what it means.” The way he said it was like the words were forcing themselves from his mouth almost painfully, his face contorting as they left his lips and his eyebrows drew together. “This emptiness inside of me here,” he placed my hand on his chest, “means I love you. When you’re not here, I can’t focus. It’s too loud . . . But my heartbeat does this when you’re close.”
Under my palm, the erratic cadence was more apparent than I’d ever noticed before.
“I dream of you. And I don’t like it when I can’t talk to you or see you or touch you.” His eyes found mine again. “That’s love.”
A sob broke through my chest as he pondered it. “Yeah, it is.”
“Does my loving you make you sad?” Concern pulled at the corners of his eyes.
“No, I’m not sad you love me.”
“Then why are you crying?”
I had to laugh a little, then. “Because I’m happy.”
He was more confused. “Well, that doesn’t make sense. Crying is for sadness.”
“Sometimes,” I laughed louder, “it means happiness. But . . . girls are strange.”
His head tilted a little as he thought. “You would be more of an expert on that than I would be.”
I pulled him closer, circling my arms around his waist and listening to his breathing while we stood, pressed against one another. I apologized, he accepted and we were fine, once again. It was the beauty of us. It was what it was. No games. No pretenses. No blame or guilt to deal with unnecessarily.
“Do you need me to help you finish packing?” I’d asked with my face smushed into the front of his gray t-shirt.
“I’d prefer to kiss you for a while before you have to go home.”
My smile started and then faltered. “I forgot to bring a toothbrush.”
He was gone and back in less than five seconds, holding a brand new one in my face. “My mother bought an extra one for my trip.”
Once again, I was thankful to Sheila for something.
He watched, as he always had, causing me to take a mental picture of him leaning against the wall as I spit and rinsed. And just as fast as I could get to him, I was in his arms.
The door was locked. The music was on. I mean, there weren’t any candles or anything like that, but we were together one last time before he was going to leave for a year. Our recent absence from one another did nothing to slow our passion. It only made it more forceful. Our touches were heavy handed. Meaningful. Lingering. I wanted him to remember all of it.
I wasted no time taking off his shirt. There was no hesitance in his hands as we fumbled with my own.
It was hot needy kisses of the here and now.
It was: take this with you when you leave.
It was: keep this in your memory when you lay in bed at night.
It was: You have all of me now.
Our fingers explored one another. I was committing him to memory with my eyes closed and body erupting in goose bumps while becoming overheated at once. He studied my scar and his fingers trailed over the raised flesh again, so softly . . . I knew he remembered how he’d saved me once. But the truth was, he’d saved me again since then.
My touch was rough, just like he wanted. My kisses were insistent, just as they needed to be.
When I realized I was flat on my back on top of his bed, there wasn’t a thought in my mind. I savored every touch. Every kiss. Each graze of my lips to his skin, willing my brain to just remember.
And when he pulled back off me, his lids half open and his hips dipping forward like before, I didn’t stop him. I watched, fascinated.
Books and movies make it seem so much easier, like it just happens. But there’s more to it. It just seemed to take a little longer than I had anticipated. I wasn’t going to complain, because in that moment I wanted to be with him in one last way.
If he was leaving, he was taking everything I had to give with him.
His forehead was creased with . . . worry? Pain? I couldn’t tell because I was trying so hard not to cry over the finality of it all. I was too tense. It was too much.
It suddenly occurred to me he must have been experiencing that times a million.
“Colton, look at my face,” I called to him and he did as I said, his eyes watching my lips as I spoke. “Relax . . .” As soon as I said it, I think we both loosened up at the same time, and it finally, finally happened.
It wasn’t painful with Colton. He didn’t rush the experience. It was so overwhelming for him that he was struggling to breathe. I shifted then, only minutely, to pull his face to mine with my hands, gripping the back of his neck tightly. Then I crossed my ankles behind his back. And squeezed my thighs against his torso.
Hard.
I believe we both had our eyes closed for just a moment, but I opened mine at one point to see him staring down at me in wonder, his mouth open as if he were struggling to speak.
But we didn’t need to talk. We were communicating just fine.
A lot of girls probably lose their virginity and it’s fast or painful, careless or upsetting.
Mine was not like that.
It was awkward and it did hurt a little. But I was with Colton. He was my first. My only. And it caused me to shake as his head fell to my shoulder and he pressed his lips to my neck.
“Lilly. Lilly.” He just kept repeating it over and over.
I loosened my grip around his waist and I held onto him as he squeezed my side with one hand, using all the strength he had, pinning me to the mattress, making a breathless sound against my neck before it was over.
My shaky fingers touched his face, waiting for him to relax. I was afraid he would freak out. But as he pulled away from my neck, his eyes appeared serene. His fingertips traced over the side of my head and then lower across my ribcage until I could feel them on my hip.
Ever so gently brushing love against my skin.
* * *
Afterward, I just held him, lying on his chest until he fell into a deep sleep. My ear stayed pressed to his sternum, listening as his breathing evened out and heartbeat slowed. Only a few tears escaped when I closed my eyes, caressing his side and across his chest with my fingers.
He’d said he loved me in more ways than one.
I whispered into the darkened room I would miss him more than he would ever understand. That I loved him more than my heart could take.
But I didn’t allow myself to fall asleep. I couldn’t justify wasting that precious time. A while later I heard his mom walk in the front door and I waited to see if she would come up to his room, but she never did. Maybe the silence in the house was enough for her to know things were all right.
With as much as it made me sick to my stomach, I forced myself off his chest and out of his bed. After one last look at his handsome face. Touching his chin with my fingertips. Watching his eyes move behind their lids
I kissed his nose. Once.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I dressed and left his house. Not looking back. I couldn’t handle the thought of sleeping through the night and waking up to him saying goodbye. Or having him change his mind and staying because of me.
He needed to go.
It wasn’t until I got behind the wheel of my car that the seriousness of what was occurring hit me so hard. I’d lost my virginity to the boy I loved. And he was leaving in less than twenty-four hours.
I cried the whole way home, allowing myself to feel what was happening and accepting it for what it was. There was no turning back. It was set in stone and the faster I mourned the loss and moved beyond that pain, the faster I could focus on other things.
* * *
I don’t believe there’s such a thing as conventional love. Love is bending. Love is breaking. Love is constantly learning about the other person until you go crazy because it will never be perfect, but there’s no fault in trying.
I’ve loved a boy who was extraordinary beyond words, in my eyes.
I don’t think I’d ever wanted to live an exceptional life before him. A life filled with color and knowledge and feeling beautiful.
But for a little while, I had it.
I suppose I thought maybe as much as I learned from him, he would have learned something from me, too. It’s not easy. Not in any capacity. But I can’t begin to wish it had never happened. I can’t find it in myself to regret a single second we had together.
What I wanted was for him to see me and want me to be with him. What I wanted was for him to say he loved me – with words – and mean it. I needed these things that were out of my reach, and yet I continued to hold out hope.
And it happened.
He’d always be sweet and kind. He would always be the boy I had fought so hard for. But when there’s separation involved, I couldn’t be sure it would all stay the same. I worried about the change in his routine. That he wouldn’t adapt to his new surroundings. I was thankful he had someone from the museum going with him, but I had to wonder if they knew him like I did. If they were going to take the time and effort to really learn and provide what he needed.
I wondered if he would miss me.
There’s no shame in it, feeling sad and broken hearted over things I can’t change. There’s no magic formula. No time machine to go back. There’s just what we’ve been handed and how we deal with it. I made mistakes when it came to a lot of things.
But no one, anywhere, could say I didn’t give it my absolute best.
When I imagined Colton’s face as he would be boarding his flight with his mentor, my heart broke all over again.
But there was nothing I could do about it. It was out of my hands.
I just wish I had started writing about it earlier while things were fresh in my mind, instead of with hindsight of what was to come. It makes it a little harder to be impartial.
I always wanted it to work out between us, but even if it doesn’t, I guess I can say I’m grateful for the ability to have met someone like Colton, much less been able to love him as much as I do. I just have to keep telling myself that. Every day. All three hundred and sixty-five of them.
This could be where the story ends. And it hurts a million times over to think it could be true. That this is it.
Because, regardless of where my heart is going, my body is still here.
It really is a shame more movies aren’t like real life. Maybe then we wouldn’t have such high expectations and feel let down by our own existence so much.
Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll be his and he’ll be mine. And space or time won’t matter because we were meant to be.
But I won’t hold my breath. Life doesn’t usually work out the way we hope.
More than anything I want him to be happy. And maybe one day I will be, too.