More Than Forever
Page 8
I hide my smile with a mouthful of food.
We sit in silence until I'm done.
"You're out past curfew?" She takes my dishes and places them in the sink.
I get up and shake my head. "Curfew's not until one on weekends."
"Oh." She looks from the clock to me—a small smile plays on her lips. It's as confusing as it is gratifying. I force myself to believe that I'm the reason.
I'm the reason she's smiling.
"So..." she starts, looking uncomfortable. "You wanna watch some TV? The boys say we have Netflix. I don't really know how to use it, but I'm—"
"Sure," I interrupt. "I don't really care what we do. I'm just glad you're not asking me to leave."
And there it is; that smile again.
-LUCY-
We're supposed to be watching a movie, but I keep catching him watching me. It makes me uncomfortable, but not in the way that it probably should. It makes me feel like I should change from my pajamas into something nicer. Something prettier. For the first time in my life, I wish I were prettier. I want to be prettier for him.
"I have to go," he says quickly, standing up and walking to the kitchen.
I try to calm my breathing before walking in after him. He's washing his dishes from earlier.
"You don't have to do that."
He shrugs, handing me the plate to dry. Normally, he dries, and I wash. He's a good dryer. I rush things, leave wet spots. He does things thoroughly. Slowly. Until it's perfect. I glare at the plate in my hand and make a mental note to dry it until it's perfect.
So that's what I'm doing, drying and inspecting the plate in front of me when he whispers my name.
My eyes snap to his. And then...
Lips.
On me.
On my lips.
Mouth.
Lips.
Mouth.
I whimper. Legit, whimper.
But I don't know what's happening and what I should be doing so I stand frozen like a statue with the plate still in my hand and my eyes closed. And all too quickly—no more lips. Where did his mouth go? By the time I open my eyes, he's turned away, looking down into the sink, his hands gripping the edge of it. "Sorry," he says.
I try to ask why, but all that comes out is a continuous, "W" I clear my throat and try to stop the world from spinning. When did I get dizzy? I try again. "More mouth." Shit. That wasn't what I meant to say.
He chuckles lightly and it makes me feel dumb, but only for a second before he turns to face me. Taking the plate from my grip and setting it on the counter, he holds both of my hands in his and slowly moves in.
I prepare myself this time. A montage of words from the books I've read about kissing flies through my mind. It can't be that hard. I can totally do this. I ignore the pounding in my ears. And then...
Mouth.
Lips.
More mouth.
Lips.
Soft lips.
Is that tongue?
Oh my God.
He pulls away and my eyes snap open. His eyes are wide as he searches my face. "Luce?"
And I die. I love the way my name falls from his lips. His lips...
"Are you okay?" He waits, his eyebrows bunching more with each passing second.
Answer him.
He releases my hands and I think he's about to back away from crazy, but he moves them to my hips.
I die. Again.
"Is this... I mean... have you ever been kissed before?"
My head shakes frantically. I can't control it.
His face lights up.
I don't know why he's happy that he's trying to make out with a pajama wearing, frozen, virgin kisser. That doesn't sound like happy times at all.
"So I'm your first?"
I nod again. The same speed as before. That's it—I've lost control of all bodily function.
"I like that," he says, his mouth slowly descending. He presses his lips softly against mine. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray that I can actually do something this time. "Relax," he whispers against my lips. "I got you."
I feel the moment the tension leaves my body.
And then...
LIPS. Oh. My. God. Lips.
So different this time. Soft. Guiding. He's guiding me on my first kiss.
I match my lips to his movements.
And then something happens.
Like a clicking of pieces.
A perfect harmony.
A double rainbow.
My arms are around him now, gripping the back of his shirt. He pulls me closer to him, until I'm on my toes, reaching for him. Not wanting the moment to end. Then...
Tongue.
And everything snaps shut.
My eyes.
My lips.
He pulls back, releasing me slowly onto the floor. Or maybe I just imagined that I was floating on air. When I open my eyes he's right there, his face only inches from me. A slight smirk graces his lips. "You just tell me when you're ready for more, Luce."
By now, I've lost the need to breathe. I yank on his shirt and pull him back to me. "Now," I tell him.
He lets out a soft chuckle, but my mouth on his cuts it off. I'm a mess. My mind is reeling and my body tingles everywhere. I open my mouth slightly, encouraging him to continue where he left off. When his tongue brushes against mine, we moan into each other. He takes control, showing me what to do—making my first kiss perfect. He pulls away before I'm ready to stop. I pull him back to me by his shirt. He chuckles again, and this time I don't feel dumb. I just feel him—his lips, his tongue, and his hands on my waist, gripping tightly.
We kiss for nowhere near long enough before his phone rings and we reluctantly break apart. His eyes never leave me when he lifts the phone to his ear. "Hey Mom... I know... I'm sorry, I'll be home soon."
I look at the clock with a grimace. It's twenty minutes past his curfew.
"I know," he continues, "No, I left the party... I'm with Lucy. Yes... No... Yes... Okay."
He hangs up and gazes down at me, and almost shyly, a smile spreads across his face. "You're so short."
I laugh at that. But his features flatten at the sound of it. Then heavy footsteps thud down the stairs. My eyes widen and my breath catches. I pull on his shirt until we're in the pantry, and I close the door to hide Cameron from my dad. Or maybe the other way around.
It's dark, the only light coming from under the door. "What's going on?" he whispers. I reach up and cover his mouth with my hand. His fingers circle my wrist and pull it away. Then his arms wrap tightly around me as I slowly crumble to the floor.
I hate these nights.
I hate that he gets like this.
I hate that he's allowed and I'm not.
I hate it.
I hate it so much I let it out in angry tears.
Cameron's hold gets tighter as he brings me closer. So close I'm curled into a ball on his lap.
And the tears won't go away.
I hate everyone.
I hate everything.
-CAMERON-
Footsteps thump into the kitchen. I can hear the clanking of glass and the overwhelming smell of whiskey. She's curled into herself, her face pressed against my chest with her silent tears soaking through my shirt. I stroke her hair, wanting to comfort her. I don't know if it helps—but I don't know what else to do. The sound of shattering glass makes her flinch. "Fuck!" The deep tenor of his voice has my heart racing. "Dammit!"
We sit in silence until I'm done.
"You're out past curfew?" She takes my dishes and places them in the sink.
I get up and shake my head. "Curfew's not until one on weekends."
"Oh." She looks from the clock to me—a small smile plays on her lips. It's as confusing as it is gratifying. I force myself to believe that I'm the reason.
I'm the reason she's smiling.
"So..." she starts, looking uncomfortable. "You wanna watch some TV? The boys say we have Netflix. I don't really know how to use it, but I'm—"
"Sure," I interrupt. "I don't really care what we do. I'm just glad you're not asking me to leave."
And there it is; that smile again.
-LUCY-
We're supposed to be watching a movie, but I keep catching him watching me. It makes me uncomfortable, but not in the way that it probably should. It makes me feel like I should change from my pajamas into something nicer. Something prettier. For the first time in my life, I wish I were prettier. I want to be prettier for him.
"I have to go," he says quickly, standing up and walking to the kitchen.
I try to calm my breathing before walking in after him. He's washing his dishes from earlier.
"You don't have to do that."
He shrugs, handing me the plate to dry. Normally, he dries, and I wash. He's a good dryer. I rush things, leave wet spots. He does things thoroughly. Slowly. Until it's perfect. I glare at the plate in my hand and make a mental note to dry it until it's perfect.
So that's what I'm doing, drying and inspecting the plate in front of me when he whispers my name.
My eyes snap to his. And then...
Lips.
On me.
On my lips.
Mouth.
Lips.
Mouth.
I whimper. Legit, whimper.
But I don't know what's happening and what I should be doing so I stand frozen like a statue with the plate still in my hand and my eyes closed. And all too quickly—no more lips. Where did his mouth go? By the time I open my eyes, he's turned away, looking down into the sink, his hands gripping the edge of it. "Sorry," he says.
I try to ask why, but all that comes out is a continuous, "W" I clear my throat and try to stop the world from spinning. When did I get dizzy? I try again. "More mouth." Shit. That wasn't what I meant to say.
He chuckles lightly and it makes me feel dumb, but only for a second before he turns to face me. Taking the plate from my grip and setting it on the counter, he holds both of my hands in his and slowly moves in.
I prepare myself this time. A montage of words from the books I've read about kissing flies through my mind. It can't be that hard. I can totally do this. I ignore the pounding in my ears. And then...
Mouth.
Lips.
More mouth.
Lips.
Soft lips.
Is that tongue?
Oh my God.
He pulls away and my eyes snap open. His eyes are wide as he searches my face. "Luce?"
And I die. I love the way my name falls from his lips. His lips...
"Are you okay?" He waits, his eyebrows bunching more with each passing second.
Answer him.
He releases my hands and I think he's about to back away from crazy, but he moves them to my hips.
I die. Again.
"Is this... I mean... have you ever been kissed before?"
My head shakes frantically. I can't control it.
His face lights up.
I don't know why he's happy that he's trying to make out with a pajama wearing, frozen, virgin kisser. That doesn't sound like happy times at all.
"So I'm your first?"
I nod again. The same speed as before. That's it—I've lost control of all bodily function.
"I like that," he says, his mouth slowly descending. He presses his lips softly against mine. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray that I can actually do something this time. "Relax," he whispers against my lips. "I got you."
I feel the moment the tension leaves my body.
And then...
LIPS. Oh. My. God. Lips.
So different this time. Soft. Guiding. He's guiding me on my first kiss.
I match my lips to his movements.
And then something happens.
Like a clicking of pieces.
A perfect harmony.
A double rainbow.
My arms are around him now, gripping the back of his shirt. He pulls me closer to him, until I'm on my toes, reaching for him. Not wanting the moment to end. Then...
Tongue.
And everything snaps shut.
My eyes.
My lips.
He pulls back, releasing me slowly onto the floor. Or maybe I just imagined that I was floating on air. When I open my eyes he's right there, his face only inches from me. A slight smirk graces his lips. "You just tell me when you're ready for more, Luce."
By now, I've lost the need to breathe. I yank on his shirt and pull him back to me. "Now," I tell him.
He lets out a soft chuckle, but my mouth on his cuts it off. I'm a mess. My mind is reeling and my body tingles everywhere. I open my mouth slightly, encouraging him to continue where he left off. When his tongue brushes against mine, we moan into each other. He takes control, showing me what to do—making my first kiss perfect. He pulls away before I'm ready to stop. I pull him back to me by his shirt. He chuckles again, and this time I don't feel dumb. I just feel him—his lips, his tongue, and his hands on my waist, gripping tightly.
We kiss for nowhere near long enough before his phone rings and we reluctantly break apart. His eyes never leave me when he lifts the phone to his ear. "Hey Mom... I know... I'm sorry, I'll be home soon."
I look at the clock with a grimace. It's twenty minutes past his curfew.
"I know," he continues, "No, I left the party... I'm with Lucy. Yes... No... Yes... Okay."
He hangs up and gazes down at me, and almost shyly, a smile spreads across his face. "You're so short."
I laugh at that. But his features flatten at the sound of it. Then heavy footsteps thud down the stairs. My eyes widen and my breath catches. I pull on his shirt until we're in the pantry, and I close the door to hide Cameron from my dad. Or maybe the other way around.
It's dark, the only light coming from under the door. "What's going on?" he whispers. I reach up and cover his mouth with my hand. His fingers circle my wrist and pull it away. Then his arms wrap tightly around me as I slowly crumble to the floor.
I hate these nights.
I hate that he gets like this.
I hate that he's allowed and I'm not.
I hate it.
I hate it so much I let it out in angry tears.
Cameron's hold gets tighter as he brings me closer. So close I'm curled into a ball on his lap.
And the tears won't go away.
I hate everyone.
I hate everything.
-CAMERON-
Footsteps thump into the kitchen. I can hear the clanking of glass and the overwhelming smell of whiskey. She's curled into herself, her face pressed against my chest with her silent tears soaking through my shirt. I stroke her hair, wanting to comfort her. I don't know if it helps—but I don't know what else to do. The sound of shattering glass makes her flinch. "Fuck!" The deep tenor of his voice has my heart racing. "Dammit!"
