Our entrées came. Charlie ate his steak in silence, stabbing each piece with a fork. I ate two peas and ignored the fact that Charlie wasn’t speaking. He’d been less patient about food in general with me lately, and I’d started trying to make plans with him that didn’t include eating.
The salmon in front of me was wrapped in pastry dough. What did he want me to do? Eat that? The whole thing was drowning in hollandaise sauce. I couldn’t touch it even though I really did want to make Charlie happy. But I couldn’t let that grossness enter my body. So I sat there, miserable, and watched his steak disappear, the only noise the occasional scrape of his knife on his porcelain plate.
He asked for the check while our plates were still on the table.
Back in the car Charlie drove fast, and it scared me. When we got to my house, the windows were dark.
“Want to come in? My parents are out for at least two more hours.”
He hesitated, so I leaned over and pushed my lips hard against his. I placed my hand on his thigh, rubbing it with my thumb. “Please?” I whispered, biting his lip just a little.
He paused before nodding.
When we got to my room, I locked my door and kicked off my sandals, heart pounding. I removed Mom’s necklace and placed it carefully on my bedside table. From his one-word answers in the car, I could tell he was frustrated. What happened next needed to be perfect. I slid under my cold covers. Goose bumps popped up on my arms and legs, and I prayed that they’d disappear before Charlie felt them. I wriggled out of my sundress and tossed it on the floor.
“Will you come in with me?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Please?”
“Okay.” He sat down and took off his clothes piece by piece, laying each one over the back of my desk chair, until he was wearing nothing but light-blue boxer shorts.
He slipped under the covers next to me. I leaned over and kissed him. I was never this forward. But my gut said if I wanted to keep him, this was what I’d have to do. He curled his fingers around my waist. I tried not to flinch. I’d lost 2 more pounds, was down to 105, but I still wished there was a way to do this without him having to touch me at all.
He kissed me again and our teeth hit. “Sorry,” he whispered, smoothing back my hair. “Did that hurt?”
I shook my head.
He ran his hand up my spine, his fingers lingering on my vertebrae, each one a little hill. In the dark he couldn’t see the bruises that crested each one like bluish snow.
I shivered even though Charlie’s skin was warm.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he whispered, pulling away.
“Yes. I want to do this. Now. I want to do this with you.” I meant to sound strong and sure, but my voice shook.
“Okay,” he murmured in my ear. Then he leaned over and fiddled with what I guessed was a condom. I couldn’t get myself to look.
When he ripped it open, I heard the flutter of the wrapper on the floor and I made a mental note to make sure I hid it so Mom wouldn’t see it later. After he’d put it on, his hands explored me and his lips were on my shoulder and I couldn’t breathe and suddenly all I wanted to do was put on my comfy clothes and cry.
But I stuck with it. His skin pulsed hot and smooth, and once he was on top of me I felt small and hidden and I relaxed a little.
“Is this okay?” he whispered.
I nodded.
“Tell me if it hurts. I can stop whenever.”
I nodded again and wrapped my arms around him. He was warmer than a blanket and I loved him for being so sweet and for touching me with such gentle hands.
I’m about to not be a virgin anymore.
And then, right that very second, he rolled off me, taking the covers with him.
I snatched them back, wondering what part of me he didn’t like. “Is everything okay?”
He didn’t answer. He was breathing hard and I thought I heard him curse under his breath.
“What’s wrong? What is it? What did I do?”
He stayed quiet for a few seconds before answering. “I can’t do this. I thought I wanted to, but I keep worrying that you’ll break. All I see are your bones and it scares me. I thought that if we got, you know, all into it, I wouldn’t notice. But you feel like a skeleton.” He scooted to the far side of the bed and balled up my purple sheet in his hands.
“Charlie, I’m sorry. I can be softer. I’m just nervous. Let’s try agai—”
His jaw muscles tensed. “Elizabeth, your bones hurt me. Your hips dug into mine so much that I couldn’t even concentrate on what I was doing.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice thick. “Let’s try again. I was just nervous. That’s all.” I knew I sounded desperate, but I didn’t care. I was desperate.
“I can’t, Elizabeth. You didn’t even move. You barely kissed me. I want to be with a girl who wants me, too.”
The hurt in his voice surprised me. Wasn’t he supposed to be happy just having sex?
“I do want you. I’m sorry. Please.”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“Charlie, wait.”
He stood up, shirt and blazer in hand. He looked so tall and his brown hair was messed up in the cutest way and I desperately wanted to run my fingers through it and pull him back to me, but I couldn’t get out of bed because then he’d see me.
But if I didn’t get up, he’d leave.
In desperation I pulled my duvet around me like a robe and stood. Except that I stepped on a corner and stumbled and the duvet fell to the ground and then I was standing, naked, behind him.
Charlie turned around and when he saw me he went still. Even though I wanted more than anything to dive back under the safety of my covers, I forced myself not to move, to let him look. To show him I was his.
His eyes traveled over me for a long second. Then he reached past me, picked up the duvet on the floor, and carefully wrapped it around my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said. I heard his voice catch. “I can’t do this. I can’t handle it. I—” And then he was gone.
I heard his car rumble to life and the scatter of gravel on the driveway, and for a second I wondered what Dad would say when he saw the tire marks tomorrow. Then I got into bed and tried to keep from coming completely apart.
The next morning, I lay there, hollowed out. My stomach growled. Let it complain, I thought. I don’t deserve to eat.
At ten a.m. I got a text.
I think we should just be friends. Sorry.
*
When I finished talking, Mary didn’t say anything at first. Her brows were scrunched and her lips were pursed, like she was deciding what to say.
I squirmed in my seat like a little kid and bit my thumbnail down to the painful part. I waited for her to ask me how I could possibly think he’d sent all those packages after we’d broken up like we did. Because, now that I thought about it, I didn’t know myself.
When she finally spoke, all she said was, “That sounds like an incredibly painful experience, Elizabeth. Thank you for sharing it with me.” She paused. “I’m curious to know how you are feeling now that you’ve spoken about it.”
I didn’t answer. Wasn’t it obvious? I fought the urge to say, How do you think I’m feeling?