She never asked about my father.
“No. I don’t mind. Does she, though?” It would be terrible if Jo decided she didn’t approve of my tiptoeing into her seventeen year old son’s bedroom well after midnight. Sleeping in the same bed as him, having him hold me as I fall into unconsciousness—it’s the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes. It’s hard not to tell Callan the truth. If he knew my father hurt me, he would lose his mind, though. He wouldn’t be able to take it, and I wouldn’t be able to take my father ripping him limb from limb when he went over to the house to confront him.
Sure, hiding the bruises is hard. But Callan’s been patient, hasn’t pushed me once. It’s growing more and more difficult to stop myself when we make out; I love him more than anything in this life. When his hands are on me, underneath my clothes, on my breasts, his fingers teasing me beneath my panties, I want so much more. I want to give myself to him. I want him more than I ever thought I could want anything, and yet every time I manage to pull back. I know, if it were up to him, Callan and I would have slept together months ago. But like I said, he’s patient, he’s kind…and in turn he’s never seen the black and purple thumb prints on my stomach, on my back, on the tops of my arms and my thighs.
I feel like I’m living two lives: the life where I’m carefree and easy with Callan, at school and after dark, long after Dad’s passed out in a drunken haze, and then the life where I’m beaten and manipulated, shoved and bullied, permanently trapped by the fear that one day something far worse will happen.
I shiver out of my thoughts, running my fingers up and down Callan’s chest as I lie with my head resting on top of him. He makes a pleased, mildly frustrated sound at the contact, but he doesn’t move to touch me. “I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“About?”
“About our little photography challenge. I don’t think we should develop them anymore.”
“See. I told you mine would be terrible.” I cringe, recalling the fact that most of my images were either entirely black or entirely white at the beginning, over or under exposed to the point where the focus of the picture was indiscernible. Callan had been amazed that I’d even been able to achieve that with a point and shoot disposable. Over time, he’d taught me enough about lighting to know what I would and wouldn’t be able to get away with, though. The first time we’d developed one of my pictures and it had come out clearly, he’d hollered so loudly Jo had hammered on his bedroom door, worried that something terrible had happened.
“Your photos are awesome, bluebird,” he whispers. “I just had an even better idea. What if we didn’t develop them for years? We should keep them, until our tenth anniversary or something.”
“Oh?” I laugh. “And what makes you think I’ll be able to tolerate you for ten years?”
Callan shoves me off him playfully, propping himself up so that he’s leaning over me, a scandalized expression on his face. “Oh, I want more than ten years. I want plenty more. I’m gonna grow fat and old, and I’ll have a ridiculous comb over like Mr. Harrison from Biology, and I will still fully expect you to be taking photographs for me, you fiend.”
He tickles me, and I curl myself into a ball, trying to fend him off, not pee myself, and keep my shirt down at the same time. Miraculously, I manage all three. “I couldn’t ever be with a guy who has a comb over,” I gasp.
“Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to get a really bad wig instead.” Callan grins at me as he lowers himself down, his body hovering over mine. He kisses me, slow and deep, making my head spin. He always tastes like he’s just brushed his teeth. Between my legs where Callan has placed himself, I can feel how badly he wants me. The first time I felt him hard against my body, I freaked out a little. We’d only been dating for two weeks, and kissing alone was still new and mind blowing. I’d pulled away, and Callan had flushed so red it was almost comical. I’d thought he was paralyzed by embarrassment until he’d taken my hand and placed it on himself through his pants.