More Than Forever
Page 13
"Where?"
He takes the backpack off my shoulder and hangs it off the handlebar again. "It's a surprise."
My eyes narrow. "Surprise?"
He sits on his bike and throws a hand out to me. "You trust me, right?"
"Yes," I reply without hesitation.
***
He takes me to the river that runs behind the townhouses where he lives and starts taking off his shoes.
I look from him, to the water and back again. "No."
"No?" His eyebrows rise. "You said you trusted me."
"I know, and I do trust you, but when you said it was a surprise I thought you meant 'Here, Luce. I got you a unicorn.' not 'Here, Luce, jump in the river.'"
His head throws back in laughter. "It's not that bad." He takes my hand with one of his, the other flipping his cap backwards. "Believe me. You need this."
"I need this?"
He drops my hand and lets out a frustrated breath. Tilting his head to the side, he eyes me with a bored expression.
"Fine," I mutter, kicking off my shoes.
*
We wade out until the water reaches our shoulders—or mine at least. He bends his knees so that we're level.
"What now?"
"Now... you scream."
"What?" I laugh. He's still doing it—making me laugh.
He steps forward until we're face-to-face, as close as we can be without kissing. I let out a gurgle sound from deep in my throat when I see his hand begin to rise.
He's trying to cop a feel!
He pauses mid-movement and eyes me warily. "You trust me, remember?"
I nod, but stay frozen.
His palm flattens against my chest, where I'm sure he can feel the hammering of my heart. "Lucy," he whispers, his eyes boring into mine. "I want you to take everything you feel in here..." His hand moves lower, past my breasts and onto my stomach, where it settles. "And everything in here..." He reaches up and holds the side of my head. "And everything in here." My eyes drift shut from his touch. Then I feel his soft lips on mine, kissing me once before pulling back. "I want you to take all those feelings, the build up of all the stress, the worry... take it all... dip your head under the water... and scream." My eyes snap open. I search his face for an answer to a question that doesn't exist.
Inhaling a shaky breath, I let his words sink in. Along with every single emotion I've been trying to push down. The worry. The guilt. The stress. The pressure. And most of all, the grief. My eyes fill with tears and I try to breathe through the giant knot in my throat. He places both his hands on the side of my face and kisses me again. "Let it go, Luce. All of it."
I feel the water fill my nose first, then my ears, and then my mouth when I open it to scream. When I come up for air, my chest heaves with the exertion of my much-needed breaths. I open my eyes to see him watching me with his lips pressed so tight they've lost color. I suck in another shaky breath, dip my head under the water... and I do it all over again. And again. And again.
He stands in front of me. Never speaking. Never interrupting. Never telling me to stop or that I've had enough. He silently waits until I feel it leave me. Until all of those feelings are gone and is replaced with one that I thought I'd never feel again.
When I'm done, I silently walk to the embankment and lie down on the grass.
Minutes pass before he's there, lying next to me and linking our fingers together.
Not a single word is spoken.
No justification for what happened.
No explanation for my current tears.
When the cries finally subside and my breaths are level, I turn to him. "You're an artist?"
His shoulders tense. "No."
I release his hand and lean up on my elbow so I can see his face. "That's funny. I saw the flyer for Mark's sale. Whoever drew it is definitely an artist and he said it was you, so that makes you an artist. No?"
He sighs and mirrors my position so we're facing each other. "I wish I was an artist, Luce. But I'm not. Artists—they can picture things in their mind and let it flow out of them. I'm not like that. Yes, I can draw some things, but not all. I can't free hand." He laughs to himself. "Everything I do is lines, angles, symmetrical objects. What I do isn't hard. It's not creative. It's definitely not art. So no, I'm not an artist.
He looks away, his mind wandering to another place. His lips turn down to a frown, and I hate it. I hate that he knows how to fix me when I'm broken and I don't know how to do the same for him. "I tried to write a book once," I say.
He smiles now, his gaze returning to me. "Yeah?" he replies, moving a strand of hair to behind my ear.
I nod. "I got on my computer and typed four words. You wanna know what those four words were?"
"Please."
"Untitled. By Lucy Lovesalot."
He quirks an eyebrow. "Lovesalot?"
I shrug. "It was a pen name, but that's not the point. The point is, I tried. I tried and I got nothing. One day, I might try again. But you—you put pen to paper and you produced something. For me, and especially for Mark—who appreciates it so much that he wants to show the world—it's art. That makes you an artist, Cameron, regardless of how you want to see it."
His eyes widen slightly in surprise. And then he smiles; that same perfect smile that still makes me nervous. He leans in and kisses my forehead. "You make me want to try, Lovesalot." He pulls back and looks in my eyes. "You want me to take you home now?"
I shake my head. "Not just yet. Let's just stay here for a while."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
***
He doesn't ask, and I don't tell him, but we end up where we both wanted to be. His home.
We spent the rest of the afternoon at the river talking. And kissing. We did a lot of kissing.
I lie in his bed while my body fights a losing battle against sleep.
Touching my lips with the tip of my fingers, I smile against them. I can still feel his mouth on mine.
And there's that same feeling I had after my emotional release. The one that I thought I could never feel again.
Hope.
CHAPTER SIX
-CAMERON- The next couple of days are a repeat of the last. We go to school, and then we go to the river. We hang out, talk, laugh, and learn more about each other. Each day gets better than the last.
Until today.
I rack my bike and face her. "Have lunch with me today?"
She shakes her head quickly. "I have to study."
"Where do you study?"
"Nowhere, really. Everywhere, kind of."
My eyes narrow. "That's not a real place." I step forward and take her hand. "Why won't you have lunch with me?"
She shrugs just as Logan walks up to us. "Hey, assface," he says, his eyes fixed on our joined hands.
She yanks her hand out of my hold. "See ya," she says, and then walks away.
"What's with her?" Logan asks, his gaze fixed on her ass.
I shove him. Hard. "Quit looking at her."
His eyes bug out. "Holy shit, dude. You got it bad."
"You were staring at her ass."
He takes the backpack off my shoulder and hangs it off the handlebar again. "It's a surprise."
My eyes narrow. "Surprise?"
He sits on his bike and throws a hand out to me. "You trust me, right?"
"Yes," I reply without hesitation.
***
He takes me to the river that runs behind the townhouses where he lives and starts taking off his shoes.
I look from him, to the water and back again. "No."
"No?" His eyebrows rise. "You said you trusted me."
"I know, and I do trust you, but when you said it was a surprise I thought you meant 'Here, Luce. I got you a unicorn.' not 'Here, Luce, jump in the river.'"
His head throws back in laughter. "It's not that bad." He takes my hand with one of his, the other flipping his cap backwards. "Believe me. You need this."
"I need this?"
He drops my hand and lets out a frustrated breath. Tilting his head to the side, he eyes me with a bored expression.
"Fine," I mutter, kicking off my shoes.
*
We wade out until the water reaches our shoulders—or mine at least. He bends his knees so that we're level.
"What now?"
"Now... you scream."
"What?" I laugh. He's still doing it—making me laugh.
He steps forward until we're face-to-face, as close as we can be without kissing. I let out a gurgle sound from deep in my throat when I see his hand begin to rise.
He's trying to cop a feel!
He pauses mid-movement and eyes me warily. "You trust me, remember?"
I nod, but stay frozen.
His palm flattens against my chest, where I'm sure he can feel the hammering of my heart. "Lucy," he whispers, his eyes boring into mine. "I want you to take everything you feel in here..." His hand moves lower, past my breasts and onto my stomach, where it settles. "And everything in here..." He reaches up and holds the side of my head. "And everything in here." My eyes drift shut from his touch. Then I feel his soft lips on mine, kissing me once before pulling back. "I want you to take all those feelings, the build up of all the stress, the worry... take it all... dip your head under the water... and scream." My eyes snap open. I search his face for an answer to a question that doesn't exist.
Inhaling a shaky breath, I let his words sink in. Along with every single emotion I've been trying to push down. The worry. The guilt. The stress. The pressure. And most of all, the grief. My eyes fill with tears and I try to breathe through the giant knot in my throat. He places both his hands on the side of my face and kisses me again. "Let it go, Luce. All of it."
I feel the water fill my nose first, then my ears, and then my mouth when I open it to scream. When I come up for air, my chest heaves with the exertion of my much-needed breaths. I open my eyes to see him watching me with his lips pressed so tight they've lost color. I suck in another shaky breath, dip my head under the water... and I do it all over again. And again. And again.
He stands in front of me. Never speaking. Never interrupting. Never telling me to stop or that I've had enough. He silently waits until I feel it leave me. Until all of those feelings are gone and is replaced with one that I thought I'd never feel again.
When I'm done, I silently walk to the embankment and lie down on the grass.
Minutes pass before he's there, lying next to me and linking our fingers together.
Not a single word is spoken.
No justification for what happened.
No explanation for my current tears.
When the cries finally subside and my breaths are level, I turn to him. "You're an artist?"
His shoulders tense. "No."
I release his hand and lean up on my elbow so I can see his face. "That's funny. I saw the flyer for Mark's sale. Whoever drew it is definitely an artist and he said it was you, so that makes you an artist. No?"
He sighs and mirrors my position so we're facing each other. "I wish I was an artist, Luce. But I'm not. Artists—they can picture things in their mind and let it flow out of them. I'm not like that. Yes, I can draw some things, but not all. I can't free hand." He laughs to himself. "Everything I do is lines, angles, symmetrical objects. What I do isn't hard. It's not creative. It's definitely not art. So no, I'm not an artist.
He looks away, his mind wandering to another place. His lips turn down to a frown, and I hate it. I hate that he knows how to fix me when I'm broken and I don't know how to do the same for him. "I tried to write a book once," I say.
He smiles now, his gaze returning to me. "Yeah?" he replies, moving a strand of hair to behind my ear.
I nod. "I got on my computer and typed four words. You wanna know what those four words were?"
"Please."
"Untitled. By Lucy Lovesalot."
He quirks an eyebrow. "Lovesalot?"
I shrug. "It was a pen name, but that's not the point. The point is, I tried. I tried and I got nothing. One day, I might try again. But you—you put pen to paper and you produced something. For me, and especially for Mark—who appreciates it so much that he wants to show the world—it's art. That makes you an artist, Cameron, regardless of how you want to see it."
His eyes widen slightly in surprise. And then he smiles; that same perfect smile that still makes me nervous. He leans in and kisses my forehead. "You make me want to try, Lovesalot." He pulls back and looks in my eyes. "You want me to take you home now?"
I shake my head. "Not just yet. Let's just stay here for a while."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
***
He doesn't ask, and I don't tell him, but we end up where we both wanted to be. His home.
We spent the rest of the afternoon at the river talking. And kissing. We did a lot of kissing.
I lie in his bed while my body fights a losing battle against sleep.
Touching my lips with the tip of my fingers, I smile against them. I can still feel his mouth on mine.
And there's that same feeling I had after my emotional release. The one that I thought I could never feel again.
Hope.
CHAPTER SIX
-CAMERON- The next couple of days are a repeat of the last. We go to school, and then we go to the river. We hang out, talk, laugh, and learn more about each other. Each day gets better than the last.
Until today.
I rack my bike and face her. "Have lunch with me today?"
She shakes her head quickly. "I have to study."
"Where do you study?"
"Nowhere, really. Everywhere, kind of."
My eyes narrow. "That's not a real place." I step forward and take her hand. "Why won't you have lunch with me?"
She shrugs just as Logan walks up to us. "Hey, assface," he says, his eyes fixed on our joined hands.
She yanks her hand out of my hold. "See ya," she says, and then walks away.
"What's with her?" Logan asks, his gaze fixed on her ass.
I shove him. Hard. "Quit looking at her."
His eyes bug out. "Holy shit, dude. You got it bad."
"You were staring at her ass."
