Inspiring You
Page 4
“I’ll see you in a bit, okay?” I tell Everson then walk out the front door.
I make my way down the path to the driveway, the night summer air instantly making me sweat. As I’m rounding the fence to head next door, I spot a police car parked not too far down the road. The car is always there, watching my house, and when I go to school, therapy, or band practice, it tails me. I never get any time alone anymore, and I long for the days when I can walk down the sidewalk without being watched and without worrying that someone is going to grab me.
Live for the days when I can just live.
When I reach the side door of the Scotts’ two-story home, I hear music blaring from upstairs, probably from Lyric’s room. I rap on the door several times before I give up and just walk in. I don’t cross paths with Mr. or Mrs. Scott as I make my way upstairs and to Lyric’s room, something I’m thankful for, considering Mr. Scott seems uncomfortable every time I’m near his daughter. Lyric says it’s because he’s worried we’re having sex. I want to tell everyone that they have nothing to worry about, that because of my fucked up past, I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to have sex. I used to think I’d never get to a point in my life where I could even think about having sex. But when I met Lyric, some of that fear was overpowered by want.
Want, want, want
All the time.
I want her so badly
I’m losing my mind.
With all the desire
And heat
Pulsating through me.
I feel like I’m stuck
Out on a wire.
Wanting to stay on
Yet wanting to fall.
Fall, fall, fall
Right into her.
God, please let me fall.
I can’t help but smile as I reach Lyric’s bedroom. Her door is open, “Holocene” by Bon Iver is playing from the stereo, and she’s sitting on her bed strumming her guitar and singing along with the song. Her long blonde hair flows over her bare shoulders, and she’s wearing a pair of red shorts, a black tank top, and the leather bracelets we gave each other last Christmas. She’s so beautiful that I have to catch my breath.
Instead of walking in, I linger in the doorway and watch her play, getting lost in her singing. Lyric has an incredibly beautiful voice that gives our band an edge. I could probably listen to her sing all day long, if she’d let me. While she’s okay with her stage fright, she gets nervous when people watch her sing, including me. She conquers the fright, though, every time she steps up on stage, which makes her that much more amazing.
As the song ends, she scrunches up her nose, clearly frustrated. She must be trying to work out something with the tune because the song turns right back on. She lines her finger to the guitar strings and her lips part, but she freezes when she notices me.
A smile spreads across her face, and her green eyes light up. “Hey, I was just thinking about you.”
I don’t know how she can look so happy to see me. She tells me all the time it’s because I make her happy. That has to be a lie. Lyric is just an upbeat person. She smiles about ninety percent of the time, laughs the other nine percent of the time, and that one percent is for the rare occurrences when she’s sad.
“Weird. I was just thinking about you too before I came over,” I say with a small smile.
“That’s because we can clearly read each other’s minds.” She sets down the guitar and stands to her feet, stretching out her arms and legs.
“If that’s the case, then what am I thinking right now?” I ask as my eyes wander up and down her body.
“Hmmm . . .” She taps her finger against her lips with a sparkle in her eyes. “That you so want to kiss me right now.”
My lips quirk in amusement. “How’d you guess?”
“Because it’s always what you’re thinking about,” she teases as she crosses the room toward me. “Morning, noon, and night, you can’t get my kisses out of your head. Because they’re that awesome.”
“And apparently mind controlling,” I joke, already feeling better.
“Well duh. Awesome kisses have to have the awesome power of mind control; otherwise, what’d make them awesome?” She grins, placing her hands on my shoulders.
“Maybe your kisses are just awesome because you’re you,” I suggest, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Her attitude shifts from playfully joking to intensely wanting. I know what she wants, so I dip my lips and give it to her. I kiss her softly at first, but the longer our tongues tangle the more I begin to tip sideways on that wire. I just want to let go. Tumble off and never get back on.
I make my way down the path to the driveway, the night summer air instantly making me sweat. As I’m rounding the fence to head next door, I spot a police car parked not too far down the road. The car is always there, watching my house, and when I go to school, therapy, or band practice, it tails me. I never get any time alone anymore, and I long for the days when I can walk down the sidewalk without being watched and without worrying that someone is going to grab me.
Live for the days when I can just live.
When I reach the side door of the Scotts’ two-story home, I hear music blaring from upstairs, probably from Lyric’s room. I rap on the door several times before I give up and just walk in. I don’t cross paths with Mr. or Mrs. Scott as I make my way upstairs and to Lyric’s room, something I’m thankful for, considering Mr. Scott seems uncomfortable every time I’m near his daughter. Lyric says it’s because he’s worried we’re having sex. I want to tell everyone that they have nothing to worry about, that because of my fucked up past, I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to have sex. I used to think I’d never get to a point in my life where I could even think about having sex. But when I met Lyric, some of that fear was overpowered by want.
Want, want, want
All the time.
I want her so badly
I’m losing my mind.
With all the desire
And heat
Pulsating through me.
I feel like I’m stuck
Out on a wire.
Wanting to stay on
Yet wanting to fall.
Fall, fall, fall
Right into her.
God, please let me fall.
I can’t help but smile as I reach Lyric’s bedroom. Her door is open, “Holocene” by Bon Iver is playing from the stereo, and she’s sitting on her bed strumming her guitar and singing along with the song. Her long blonde hair flows over her bare shoulders, and she’s wearing a pair of red shorts, a black tank top, and the leather bracelets we gave each other last Christmas. She’s so beautiful that I have to catch my breath.
Instead of walking in, I linger in the doorway and watch her play, getting lost in her singing. Lyric has an incredibly beautiful voice that gives our band an edge. I could probably listen to her sing all day long, if she’d let me. While she’s okay with her stage fright, she gets nervous when people watch her sing, including me. She conquers the fright, though, every time she steps up on stage, which makes her that much more amazing.
As the song ends, she scrunches up her nose, clearly frustrated. She must be trying to work out something with the tune because the song turns right back on. She lines her finger to the guitar strings and her lips part, but she freezes when she notices me.
A smile spreads across her face, and her green eyes light up. “Hey, I was just thinking about you.”
I don’t know how she can look so happy to see me. She tells me all the time it’s because I make her happy. That has to be a lie. Lyric is just an upbeat person. She smiles about ninety percent of the time, laughs the other nine percent of the time, and that one percent is for the rare occurrences when she’s sad.
“Weird. I was just thinking about you too before I came over,” I say with a small smile.
“That’s because we can clearly read each other’s minds.” She sets down the guitar and stands to her feet, stretching out her arms and legs.
“If that’s the case, then what am I thinking right now?” I ask as my eyes wander up and down her body.
“Hmmm . . .” She taps her finger against her lips with a sparkle in her eyes. “That you so want to kiss me right now.”
My lips quirk in amusement. “How’d you guess?”
“Because it’s always what you’re thinking about,” she teases as she crosses the room toward me. “Morning, noon, and night, you can’t get my kisses out of your head. Because they’re that awesome.”
“And apparently mind controlling,” I joke, already feeling better.
“Well duh. Awesome kisses have to have the awesome power of mind control; otherwise, what’d make them awesome?” She grins, placing her hands on my shoulders.
“Maybe your kisses are just awesome because you’re you,” I suggest, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Her attitude shifts from playfully joking to intensely wanting. I know what she wants, so I dip my lips and give it to her. I kiss her softly at first, but the longer our tongues tangle the more I begin to tip sideways on that wire. I just want to let go. Tumble off and never get back on.
