Hawthorne & Heathcliff

He didn’t kiss me. That was the first thing that surprised me. The second was the feelings that swamped me when he lifted me, using his hands to guide my legs around his hips. His breath mingled with mine as he pressed against me, awareness building as our hips danced.

 

My eyes adjusted to the dimness, my gaze meeting his. His face was only inches away from mine, but his head didn’t lower. He simply stared, one of his hands remaining at my hip while the other swept into my hair. This seemed more intimate somehow than kissing, his eyes on my eyes, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. My gasps were swallowed by laughter and loud music. My hands didn’t know what to do with themselves. My fingers had a sudden mind of their own, finding different parts of Heathcliff’s body to grip and then release; his waist, his arms, and his shirt.

 

My world became our winded breathing and his bright eyes. Everything else was temporarily gone; school, my uncle’s cancer, his grandmother’s cirrhosis, and an impending summer I didn’t want to think about.

 

Heathcliff’s forehead fell against mine. “Be alive, Hawthorne,” he insisted. “Just be alive.”

 

Our lips hovered but never touched, his hips grinding against mine, the movement creating sensations that seemed mildly pleasant at first before turning into something desperate and reaching.

 

“Let it come,” he whispered.

 

I broke, the sensations so strong they tore my body apart, his lips suddenly crashing down onto mine to capture the scream that would have followed. His hips stopped moving, and his body trapped mine against the truck, the hand that had been in my hair resting now against the side of the pickup, his fingers gripping the vehicle. There was desperation in his kiss.

 

I wiggled, and his lips tore away from mine, his hand tightening on my hip. “Don’t move. For God’s sake, don’t move, Hawthorne.” He laughed, the sound tense. “I can’t. Not here.” His forehead fell against mine once more. “If you were thinking about anything other than that right here right now, then your mind is decidedly more busy than mine.”

 

On an exhale, I breathed, “I’m flying.”

 

There was nothing else I could have said in that moment. Maybe another girl could have come up with something less revealing. Maybe she could have teased him, enticed him with her flirting wit, but I had nothing. Nothing except blunt honesty.

 

He chuckled, the sound so low I felt it rather than heard it. “I’m right there with you.”

 

My feet hit the soft ground as he suddenly released me, his hands finding my waist, his fingers tracing the waistband of my jeans, dipping below them just enough to entice but not enough to startle.

 

Voices tore us apart, laughter rising as feet stumbled into the trees. “Try aiming your piss at the ground, dude,” a guy hollered.

 

“Just shut up, man,” a male voice answered.

 

A third voice, a female one, giggled, “Did you guys see Max Vincent tonight? I can’t believe he managed to drag the Macy girl out here.”

 

Heathcliff stiffened, his hands gripping my waist.

 

The pissing boy snorted. “Bound to happen in my opinion. That girl’s been holed up too long.”

 

“I bet she’s secretly a wild child,” his friend replied. “I mean, you’ve heard the stories about her mom, right?”

 

My hands found Heathcliff’s on my waist. “I want to go home,” I hissed.

 

I was pulling away from his hold when another voice stopped me.

 

“You people don’t know shit,” Rebecca Martin interrupted suddenly, her tone smooth and even despite being high. “I like her. She’s as genuine and patient as molasses. The rest of us certainly can’t say the same. Look in a mirror, dimwits. Or have you even attempted Callahan’s assignment?”

 

“I like you better when you ain’t lit, Becca,” the unnamed girl complained.

 

Rebecca laughed. “No, you don’t. Ya’ll like what my looks and my mother’s position in the county can get you.”

 

“She’s got a point,” Brian Henry called into the darkness. “Stop whining. You ain’t got a chance in hell gettin’ in Vincent’s pants, Kaitlyn. I like the Hawthorne girl, too.”

 

I wasn’t sure what was more startling. The crudeness of it all, or the fact that I suddenly had friends. People I’d never attempted to get to know who’d noticed me. A moment I thought had been destroyed was suddenly saved.

 

“Still want to go?” Heathcliff asked against my ear.

 

I swallowed hard, my hands releasing his. “Maybe one more beer.”

 

The plane ride when I was ten suddenly invaded my memory. Right now, just like then, I was flying. Even with my feet firmly against the earth, I was soaring high, my eyes on the ground. Everything below me seemed so small, so trivial. There was only my uncle and the time I had left with him, potential friends I’d never thought I’d have, and a young man who was keeping me in the air. He was introducing me to emotions and sensations that seemed too big. Too big but manageable. Because I knew even if this ended now, I wouldn’t regret it. Love could just be a moment, an amazing moment that could teach a person to breathe. It didn’t have to hold a person back.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9

R.K. Ryals's books