Chapter Twelve
People should just mind their own business. Right? I mean, how am I his problem?
Kiersten
“Who the hell does he think he is?” I yelled into the phone.
Uncle Jo sighed heavily on the other line. “He sounds like a nice young man, and he does have a point.”
I wanted to throw something against the wall. I pulled out another pill and crunched it between my teeth. It was bitter, but I didn’t care. I needed to feel better. I mean, in theory I knew antidepressants weren’t supposed to be taken like that, but the placebo effect was enough — for now.
“Kiersten, he was being a good friend. You do tend to wear your emotions on your sleeve.”
“I’ve known him a day! And what? He wants to help me? To save me? He’s making it worse!”
“How so?” Uncle Jo asked in a calm voice. “It seems to me that he’s pulling off the band-aid you’ve been gluing to your feelings. I’m no expert, but you can only function at the level you’ve been functioning at for so long. I allowed you to go to school four hours away so that you could have your freedom. Remember our agreement.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I sat on the bed and groaned. “Shape up or you ship out and pack my crap.”
His chuckle calmed me. “Exactly. You haven’t dealt with your grief in a healthy way. You shouldn’t still be on antidepressants, you shouldn’t be so uptight. For God sake Kiersten. You’re eighteen!”
“I’m ancient.”
“You’re a kid.” I could just see him pacing on the floorboards in the kitchen. “Live. Go have a beer — and only one. Cheat death, like they didn’t. Go streaking through your dorm. Do something. Anything’s better than you staring at the damn wall like you’ve been doing for the past two years.”
“You been watching Dr. Phil?” I asked.
“Maybe.” He laughed. “The point is you have to live.”
It was the first time someone had given me permission to do exactly that. I always felt like I had to suffer because they did. How stupid, right? But the human condition is stupid. We torture ourselves in order to feel better — that’s what I was doing. Torturing myself because it wasn’t fair.
“Stop,” Uncle Jo growled.
“What?”
“Thinking.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” With a sigh he spoke low into the phone. “Sweetie, your parents would have wanted you to do things, crazy things. They took risks. You torturing yourself and being careful doesn’t protect you from the bad.”
And we get to the heart of the matter.
I was terrified. I felt like I had to control everything. If I controlled what I ate, what I wore, how I acted, who I spoke to, I could keep myself from the same fate.
“They loved you,” he said forcefully.
Words lodged in my throat.
“They would want you to live.”
I swallowed the emotion in my throat. “But what if I don’t live? What if I die?” I could feel the darkness starting to overwhelm me. I sat on my bed and put my head between my knees. The doctor always said anxiety was a form of depression. I’d never believed him, but for the past two years anxiety and depression had been my only friends. Maybe that’s why Wes was pushing me.
“Live,” Uncle Jo rasped. “Mess up. Get arrested. Hell, get caught doing drugs.”
I laughed at his exaggeration
“I just want to know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay, Uncle Jo, I promise. You know you’re the worst parent ever, right?”
He sighed and then chuckled. “Or the best, however you want to look at it.”
“You just told me to do drugs.”
Silence and then, “Don’t tell your grandma.”
“Noted.”
“Alright, kiddo.” Our time was almost up, he never talked long. He wasn’t much of a talker, so tonight was kind of a shock. “Go do something stupid.”
“Thanks, Uncle Jo, for talking.”
“It’s what I’m here for.”
I hung up the phone and stared at my door. Do something stupid? Okay, fine. I was going to do something insane. Before I could change my mind I stormed out of my room and took the next few flights of stairs to Wes’s door.
My heart threatened to beat out of my chest as I knocked on the door once, twice, and then a third time.
“Hold up,” his voice called from inside.
The door swung opened. His smile grew from small to ginormous.
“I’m done with my list.”
“I know, you told me earlier.”
“I made my own.” I lifted my chin in defiance.
“Did you now?” He crossed his arms and chuckled, leaning his large muscled body against the door frame. “And what’s yours say?”
“I can’t tell you.”
His brow furrowed.
“I have to show you.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. His eyes closed just slightly as a sexy grin spread across his face. “So show me.”
Crap. I was sweating. I couldn’t punk out. Uncle Jo wanted crazy? I’d give him crazy. I stood up on my tiptoes and brushed my mouth against Wes’s. I was so nervous that my lips were actually trembling when they touched his, as soon as they made contact, I tried to pull back.
But Wes grabbed my chin between his fingers and pulled my face closer to his. “I have a list too, you know.”
“Do you?” It was hard to breathe with him so close to me.
“Yup.” His lips brushed mine again and I felt his tongue push against the seam of my lips as if trying to break down my defenses, but I knew, the minute I opened up to him, I wouldn’t be able to push him away anymore, and that scared the hell out of me.
“Open.” He nipped at the corner of my mouth. “I won’t hurt you.”
But he already was, every moment spent in his presence was like getting a bucket of cold water thrown on me repeatedly. I didn’t know what to believe or if I could trust him. Could you trust someone so beautiful? So talented? So perfect?
His hands moved from my chin to my shoulders and then ran down my arms causing chills to move across my body.
Wes blew slightly across my mouth. I gasped. And all was lost. He crushed his mouth to mine, his tongue massaging and tasting. I whimpered, he moaned low in his throat as his hands moved around my neck.
Next thing I knew, I was in his room, the door was slammed behind us and his hands were resting at my hips. I rocked toward him, not really knowing what I wanted, but needing to be closer to him.
Wes pulled away, his chest heaving with exertion. He swallowed, turned around, and cursed “I’m sorry.”
He was sorry? That he’d kissed me? I reached for the door, but the minute I pulled it open he pushed it closed. I was facing away from him, his breath was hot on my neck, and soon his lips followed. I closed my eyes. It felt so good, him touching me. It was so right that I wanted to scream. I’d never felt so exposed to another person. I’d never felt such an adrenaline rush as when his tongue had touched mine, or when his fingers grazed my hip bone.
“Stay,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Stay with me.”
“In your room?”
“No. On the roof.” He chuckled in my ear. “Yes, in my room. What if I promise not to touch you?”
“Isn’t that what guys say before they seduce girls? At least in the movies?”
“Not a movie.” His fingers tapped my collarbone and then moved slowly down the front of my shirt, stopping right on my heart. “I just want to feel your heart beating. That’s all.”
Was he trying to be romantic or was he serious? His hand didn’t leave my chest, and then I felt his body humming against mine as he pulled me back against him. “Please?”
“If I get kicked out of school—”
“You won’t.” He urged. “I’m the RA. You’re in a fight with your roommate. I’m protecting your honor, all that stuff.”
“Except my roommate kicks ass, you want to steal my honor, and you’re a playboy.”
“Playboy?” He removed his hand. “I guess so, but not with you.”
“Yeah, so I’m different, huh? How many times have you told that to girls in the last twenty years?”
“It started when I was eight…” He began.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“Seriously.” He turned me so I was facing him. “I’m not gonna lie. I want you. I want you so freaking bad that I’m pretty sure when I get to heaven I’m going to be sainted.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Things just…” He cursed and ran his fingers through his dark blond hair. “Things just feel better with you around. More complete. Does that make sense?”
“I guess.” I wasn’t ready to admit to him that I was falling hard and fast. I mean I’d known him, what? Two days?
“Besides…” He sighed. “You came to my room, remember?”
“My uncle said to do something crazy.”
He held up his hands. “Anytime you feel the urge, I’m here. In fact, I may have to remind you of this conversation every five minutes or so, hope you don’t mind.”
“Thanks.” I gulped and shoved my hands into my pockets.
“So, we should sleep.”
“What? No painting each others nails and wearing face masks?” I joked.
He threw his head back and laughed. “Well, it’d probably get my focus off of tossing you against the wall and taking every last shred of your innocence. So yeah, maybe I should paint your nails, then I can imagine that you’re not standing in front of me with swollen lips and tousled red hair. Damn, I love your hair.” He reached for a few pieces and sighed.
“Maybe this is a bad idea.” I started backing away.
Wes grabbed my hand. “Good. I like bad ideas, they make me feel alive.”
“And you need to feel more alive then you already do?”
His face fell. He looked down at the ground and whispered, “You have no idea.”