Ten Tiny Breaths
Page 25
Storm snorts. “I prefer just ‘Acrobat.’ My clothes happen to fall off sometimes, unexpectedly.” She nudges my arm. “Come on. That’s enough exposing for one night. For both of us.”
Now that I’ve survived the conversation with Storm, my thoughts move back to Trent with a vengeance, the need to feel that intoxicating life trumping all other desires. I didn’t answer him. I should have answered him. I need to tell him that I’m better than okay. That I think I might need him.
The faint sound of laughter carries through the commons as Storm and I walk through the shadows. Some of the college students in the building still up, partying. I wonder what that would be like—hanging out with friends, drinking, having a normal life—as we round the corner to our apartments.
A silhouette moves past the curtain in 1D.
I stumble, my pulse quickening. Then, without thinking, I walk up to the door and stand in front of it.
“See you tomorrow,” I hear Storm call out as she continues on and I can tell she’s smiling.
Inhaling deeply, gathering all the courage I can muster, I lift my hand to knock, but the door flies opens before my knuckles make contact. Trent steps into the doorway, shirtless and expressionless and my mouth instantly dries. I’m sure he’s going to tell me to go to Hell. I wait for it. I’m terrified to hear it.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for me, I realize. There’s just one word I need to give him. Yes. It might make this all better. Yes, Trent. Yes, it’s okay. I open my mouth and find that I can’t. I can’t form a single word that will impress upon him the gravity of the situation.
With wooden movements, I step forward. He doesn’t back away. He just watches me, his bare sculpted chest and pants hanging low off his hips taunting me. He’s as hot as he ever could be. I could spend days with that body. For once, I hope that I will.
But that’s not what I need right now.
I cautiously reach out, my stomach muscles coiled into a tight ball, suddenly panicked that whatever I felt earlier might be temporary, that I’ve lost it again. When my fingertips graze his and warmth spreads through me, that dread evaporates.
His warmth. His life.
Closing my eyes, I slide my hand further in, slipping my fingers between his and curling them around. My lips part in a small gasp when his grip tightens over mine. He doesn’t move closer though. He doesn’t try anything or say anything. We stand like that, in the doorway, our hands entwined, for what feels like forever.
“Yes,” I finally whisper breathlessly.
“Yes?”
I’m vaguely aware that my head is bobbing. So intense is this high that nothing else matters. I let him gently pull me in. The door clicks closed behind me and he smoothly guides me into his dark apartment with a hand pressed against the small of my back. Down the hall, and into his bed, his sheets cool and crisp and smelling of fabric softener. I sense, rather than see, Trent’s body slide in behind me, pressing up against me from toes to shoulder, never once letting go of my hand. Not once. I snuggle against him, reveling in his warmth.
And in that heavenly peace, I fall asleep.
***
A hissing sound …
Bright lights …
Blood …
I’m gasping.
Slow rhythmic breathing next to me helps regulate my own heart rate as I wake up from my nightmare. At first, I assume it’s Livie, but then I feel my hand wound into someone’s large, hot hand—not Livie’s hand.
I roll my head to see Trent’s perfect form, the peaks and ripples of his chest, his face relaxed and boyish. I could lay here and stare at him forever. I don’t want to let go. Ever.
That’s why I have to.
I slip my hand out carefully and slide from the comfort of Trent’s bed, closing the door softly behind me as I exit his apartment.
***
Livie’s waiting for me in the kitchen, getting breakfast before heading off to school, her eyes wide with worry. “You stayed at Trent’s?” Her tone is half-accusatory, half astonished.
“Nothing happened, Livie.”
“Nothing?” She glares at me. There’s one thing Livie can do well. Glare until you squirm when you’ve lied.
“I held his hand,” I whisper finally. To anyone outside listening in, we’d sound like a bunch of nine year olds. But to Livie, who understands the impact of this, this is huge.
She’s speechless for a moment, sputtering gurgles and half-words. “Is this … do you think this could be something more?” she finally asks.
I shrug indifferently but the heat creep to my cheeks, giving away my excitement.
“You’re blushing!”
I pick up a Cheerio and toss it at her head.
She dodges it deftly, smiling. “I think this could be it. I think Trent could finally bring Kacey back to me.”
I wonder if she’s right. But I just snuck out of his apartment without a note or anything. He might not appreciate that. A twinge of worry jabs me but I supress it. I had no choice. If I had stayed, I know exactly what we’d be doing right now and it isn’t thinking. I need time to think and adjust to this new reality.
I feel Livie’s excitement right down to my bones. For three years, my baby sister has begged me to let go of Billy and move on. The thing is, my issue hasn’t been about moving on from my feelings for Billy. Of course, I cared about him. Did I think he was “the one?” I’ll never know. At sixteen, everyone is “the one.”
No, my issue has been that, because of those last moments with Billy, the very idea of my hands wrapped in someone else’s has plagued me, making my heart stop, my stomach drop, my vision blurry, my muscles spasm, and sweat pour down my back all at once.
Until now.
This is different. This feels … right again.
Chapter Eight
“You look fabulous!” Mia drawls, impersonating her mother and making us all laugh. Storm’s making veal parmesan and I’m modeling my new outfits. I’d exhausted Storm’s closet and needed a few things of my own, so we spent the afternoon at the mall buying clothes. I let Storm coordinate the outfits. I don’t have the first clue how to dress appropriately for a job at a strip club, even after weeks working there. In any case, the ordeal gave me good distraction from Trent.
“I think I’ll wear this tonight,” I announce, coming out in a short emerald green tunic dress that falls off one shoulder and nude heels.
“Good choice! Can you set the table, Kace?” Storm asks as she bends down to check the oven.
“You know you’re going to have to let me cook one day, right?” We’ve spent every night at Storm’s for dinner for weeks.
“I like to cook.”
“Maybe I do too,” I throw back, placing the plates on the table, earning a derisive snort from Livie.
“You’re short one setting,” Storm says with a peek at the table.
I frown. “Uh, no? Four people, four places.”
“We need five,” she says without making eye contact.
“Storm?”
Someone knocks on the door.
“Storm?”
Mia hops to her feet and runs to it, throwing it open with a dramatic bow.
I suck air into my lungs as Trent steps in and I can’t help but gawk. He’s in dark blue jeans again, but he’s wearing a button down white shirt, untucked. I manage to peel my eyes from him long enough to flash a look of “you’re going to pay for this” surprise Storm’s way before turning back to focus on him, all kinds of nervousness and excitement and guilt churning inside me. I don’t know why. Trent and I held hands while watching my friend dance naked. Trent rescued me in the apartment building’s now-infamous snake-attack, and then I jumped him. I spent a night in his bed with him. Eating dinner with him—and my sister and neighbors—hardly qualifies as an intimate encounter that justifies thrashing butterflies. And yet, here I am, ready to pass out.
Now that I’ve survived the conversation with Storm, my thoughts move back to Trent with a vengeance, the need to feel that intoxicating life trumping all other desires. I didn’t answer him. I should have answered him. I need to tell him that I’m better than okay. That I think I might need him.
The faint sound of laughter carries through the commons as Storm and I walk through the shadows. Some of the college students in the building still up, partying. I wonder what that would be like—hanging out with friends, drinking, having a normal life—as we round the corner to our apartments.
A silhouette moves past the curtain in 1D.
I stumble, my pulse quickening. Then, without thinking, I walk up to the door and stand in front of it.
“See you tomorrow,” I hear Storm call out as she continues on and I can tell she’s smiling.
Inhaling deeply, gathering all the courage I can muster, I lift my hand to knock, but the door flies opens before my knuckles make contact. Trent steps into the doorway, shirtless and expressionless and my mouth instantly dries. I’m sure he’s going to tell me to go to Hell. I wait for it. I’m terrified to hear it.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for me, I realize. There’s just one word I need to give him. Yes. It might make this all better. Yes, Trent. Yes, it’s okay. I open my mouth and find that I can’t. I can’t form a single word that will impress upon him the gravity of the situation.
With wooden movements, I step forward. He doesn’t back away. He just watches me, his bare sculpted chest and pants hanging low off his hips taunting me. He’s as hot as he ever could be. I could spend days with that body. For once, I hope that I will.
But that’s not what I need right now.
I cautiously reach out, my stomach muscles coiled into a tight ball, suddenly panicked that whatever I felt earlier might be temporary, that I’ve lost it again. When my fingertips graze his and warmth spreads through me, that dread evaporates.
His warmth. His life.
Closing my eyes, I slide my hand further in, slipping my fingers between his and curling them around. My lips part in a small gasp when his grip tightens over mine. He doesn’t move closer though. He doesn’t try anything or say anything. We stand like that, in the doorway, our hands entwined, for what feels like forever.
“Yes,” I finally whisper breathlessly.
“Yes?”
I’m vaguely aware that my head is bobbing. So intense is this high that nothing else matters. I let him gently pull me in. The door clicks closed behind me and he smoothly guides me into his dark apartment with a hand pressed against the small of my back. Down the hall, and into his bed, his sheets cool and crisp and smelling of fabric softener. I sense, rather than see, Trent’s body slide in behind me, pressing up against me from toes to shoulder, never once letting go of my hand. Not once. I snuggle against him, reveling in his warmth.
And in that heavenly peace, I fall asleep.
***
A hissing sound …
Bright lights …
Blood …
I’m gasping.
Slow rhythmic breathing next to me helps regulate my own heart rate as I wake up from my nightmare. At first, I assume it’s Livie, but then I feel my hand wound into someone’s large, hot hand—not Livie’s hand.
I roll my head to see Trent’s perfect form, the peaks and ripples of his chest, his face relaxed and boyish. I could lay here and stare at him forever. I don’t want to let go. Ever.
That’s why I have to.
I slip my hand out carefully and slide from the comfort of Trent’s bed, closing the door softly behind me as I exit his apartment.
***
Livie’s waiting for me in the kitchen, getting breakfast before heading off to school, her eyes wide with worry. “You stayed at Trent’s?” Her tone is half-accusatory, half astonished.
“Nothing happened, Livie.”
“Nothing?” She glares at me. There’s one thing Livie can do well. Glare until you squirm when you’ve lied.
“I held his hand,” I whisper finally. To anyone outside listening in, we’d sound like a bunch of nine year olds. But to Livie, who understands the impact of this, this is huge.
She’s speechless for a moment, sputtering gurgles and half-words. “Is this … do you think this could be something more?” she finally asks.
I shrug indifferently but the heat creep to my cheeks, giving away my excitement.
“You’re blushing!”
I pick up a Cheerio and toss it at her head.
She dodges it deftly, smiling. “I think this could be it. I think Trent could finally bring Kacey back to me.”
I wonder if she’s right. But I just snuck out of his apartment without a note or anything. He might not appreciate that. A twinge of worry jabs me but I supress it. I had no choice. If I had stayed, I know exactly what we’d be doing right now and it isn’t thinking. I need time to think and adjust to this new reality.
I feel Livie’s excitement right down to my bones. For three years, my baby sister has begged me to let go of Billy and move on. The thing is, my issue hasn’t been about moving on from my feelings for Billy. Of course, I cared about him. Did I think he was “the one?” I’ll never know. At sixteen, everyone is “the one.”
No, my issue has been that, because of those last moments with Billy, the very idea of my hands wrapped in someone else’s has plagued me, making my heart stop, my stomach drop, my vision blurry, my muscles spasm, and sweat pour down my back all at once.
Until now.
This is different. This feels … right again.
Chapter Eight
“You look fabulous!” Mia drawls, impersonating her mother and making us all laugh. Storm’s making veal parmesan and I’m modeling my new outfits. I’d exhausted Storm’s closet and needed a few things of my own, so we spent the afternoon at the mall buying clothes. I let Storm coordinate the outfits. I don’t have the first clue how to dress appropriately for a job at a strip club, even after weeks working there. In any case, the ordeal gave me good distraction from Trent.
“I think I’ll wear this tonight,” I announce, coming out in a short emerald green tunic dress that falls off one shoulder and nude heels.
“Good choice! Can you set the table, Kace?” Storm asks as she bends down to check the oven.
“You know you’re going to have to let me cook one day, right?” We’ve spent every night at Storm’s for dinner for weeks.
“I like to cook.”
“Maybe I do too,” I throw back, placing the plates on the table, earning a derisive snort from Livie.
“You’re short one setting,” Storm says with a peek at the table.
I frown. “Uh, no? Four people, four places.”
“We need five,” she says without making eye contact.
“Storm?”
Someone knocks on the door.
“Storm?”
Mia hops to her feet and runs to it, throwing it open with a dramatic bow.
I suck air into my lungs as Trent steps in and I can’t help but gawk. He’s in dark blue jeans again, but he’s wearing a button down white shirt, untucked. I manage to peel my eyes from him long enough to flash a look of “you’re going to pay for this” surprise Storm’s way before turning back to focus on him, all kinds of nervousness and excitement and guilt churning inside me. I don’t know why. Trent and I held hands while watching my friend dance naked. Trent rescued me in the apartment building’s now-infamous snake-attack, and then I jumped him. I spent a night in his bed with him. Eating dinner with him—and my sister and neighbors—hardly qualifies as an intimate encounter that justifies thrashing butterflies. And yet, here I am, ready to pass out.
