“You have no idea,” he says against my digit.
Slowly, I draw my finger down his lips then trace his jaw upward to his ear. “I want that kiss now,” I tell him. And before I can finish the sentence, his lips are on mine, his body pressed in close. When he moves to pull away, a hushed moan leaves my mouth, and he goes in for another kiss, lips parted and tongue seeking. It’s euphoric, being in this place, in his arms. I have to step back and remind myself of where we are. Every part of my body tingles and pulses, aches and wants. I feel wanted.
He straightens his black t-shirt and angles away from me to adjust himself in his jeans. Turning around sheepishly, he grins and comes in like he’s going in for another kiss, but I hold out a hand to stop him.
“I’m sorry. I have to talk to Cline here. Then we can go and do this some more. Is that okay?”
Elliot’s tongue wets his upper lip, and his lashes lower as he breathes. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll go get him.”
I swear, I blink and he’s gone. The emotions dammed up inside of me are threatening to burst under the happiness I’m feeling, and I’m lightheaded under the onslaught of it. Joy. I am wanted. He thinks about me. Being around me isn't something that bothers him or that he finds to be a burden; it’s something he seeks out.
I don’t know what butterflies are supposed to feel like in your stomach, but I’m pretty sure this is as close as it gets for someone like me.
And then Cline’s head appears in that entrance, and those butterflies start to drop dead, one by one.
“Are we doing one of these, too?” he asks, and he looks genuinely perplexed.
“Yes. You’re the main reason I wanted to do this at all, in all honesty. Which is exactly why we’re here: honesty.” It’s all rushing out so fast. I’m not calm or collected like I had hoped to be. The headspace I had wanted to be in has been obliterated. “I need to tell you everything that happened back when we were fifteen, so you can understand the situation. And if you still want to hate me when I’m done, then that’s fine, but you have to listen to me say this just once, okay?”
He’s stone still, staring down at me like I might explode if he moves. “Okay.”
I start to pace around the area between us so that I can concentrate. “You were my very best friend in the entire world. I trusted you more than I trusted anyone. You knew everything about me, and I never felt like you judged me for anything. Until that day in the cafeteria. Do you remember that day? The day Patrick and Miranda said I ran away?”
“You were acting spaced out and weird and then ran away from the lunch table and didn’t come back for, like, a week.” Cline is standing his ground, his eyes following me as I move.
“You called me out at lunch, asking me what was wrong with me.”
“Shit, Audrey. I asked you if it was all my fault.”
“It wasn’t!” I stop and hold both hands up to make him be quiet. “This is the part I need you to understand. You asked me what was wrong with me, and Cline, I knew there was something going on with me for a while before that. I just thought I was keeping it a secret. But if you saw it, then I wasn’t as good at faking it as I thought. I was sitting there feeling alone in the middle of a cafeteria full of three hundred students and my very best friend in the entire world.
“So I went home to ask my dad about it, and that’s when I heard Miranda talking to him about having more kids. But he said, no, because he can’t have kids. Not because of a vasectomy. Because he could never have kids. She’s screaming at him that he’s raising another man’s kid already so why not do it again?” My feet stop moving, and I take a huge breath, turning to gage Cline’s reaction. His mouth is slightly open and his eyes are wide.
“You know how Miranda treated me. You remember. Then I find out that not only did I kill my mother during childbirth, but the guy everyone thinks is my dad, isn’t? On top of that, I’m … drowning. Just drowning. I don’t have anyone to turn to, because the entire town thinks I’m this person … this baby who they helped save and raise, but it turns out I’m not even related to Patrick Byrd at all. My grandma hates me. Miranda hates me. And the only person who knows me has no clue who I really am, because I have no clue who I really am.”
“So you ran away,” he states it and clenches his fist, wanting so badly for it to be true.
I shake my head. “I tried to disappear.”