twenty-two
Harper Apple
Despite what Royal said about not being boyfriend material—and that I wasn’t looking for him to be—he acts like one at the clinic. And even though he’s right about me not liking to let other people help, it’s a huge fucking relief to let him take over while I’m low-key freaking out all over again. Once there are doctors poking around inside me, it feels way too fucking much like all the scenes from TV shows where someone is giving birth.
I’m actually beyond grateful Royal is there, even going into the room with me and respecting my demands for him to stand up by my head while the doctor does his thing between my legs. Royal insists I get all the things at the clinic—the morning after pill, every STD test they have, and a birth control prescription which can be filled for six months at once. He even signs himself up for all the tests without my asking, which is a relief because his penis has seen a lot more action than my vagina, and I might’ve felt too guilty to ask seeing as how he’s hemorrhaging money to pay for all this shit.
Afterwards, we go to the pharmacy, where we sit in the drive-thru line waiting for the birth control pills. “You didn’t have to pay for all six months at once,” I say. “I could have done it monthly.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Harper,” he says, rubbing his temples.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful. I really appreciate everything you did today. I don’t know what I would have done without you there. Thank you so much.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I mean it,” I say, taking his hand and squeezing. “You’re my fucking hero today, Royal.”
“Don’t be one of those chicks,” he says, prying his hand loose from mine and putting it on the wheel, where I can’t get it. “I hate those chicks.”
“You already hate me, so what’s the harm?” I ask, grinning at him. “And I think you like it. Everyone wants to be a hero once in a while.”
“I have to be the hero every Friday night,” he grumbles. “It’s exhausting.”
“But I bet you don’t get to be the hero every Saturday morning.”
He’s quiet as we drive up to take our turn at the pharmacy window. He may not admit it, but I’m starting to know this boy, and I think he sounds just a little less bored and irritated as he talks to the pharmacist. It’s stupid to think a boy who runs the whole school and has girls dropping to their knees to worship his dick, boys getting in line to be in his posse, and adults holding him up as Willow Heights football savior could need affirmation of his greatness. But being coveted and even admired for greatness isn’t the same as being appreciated for compassion.
It scares me a little, how well I’ve come to know him, how I’m starting to anticipate his moods and give him what he needs when he probably doesn’t even know it himself. I wanted to know all his secrets, but knowing him this way kinda freaks me out. Because I may have gotten to his heart, but while I was busy trying to find a way in, to chip away at his walls, he’d already scaled mine and stolen away with my heart.
Fuck.
I can’t think that way. I don’t want him to figure me out the way I’m trying to figure him out. I’d rather he be an asshole who only wants me for sex.
And maybe he knows me well enough to know that, because as we drive away, he thrusts the white paper bag into my lap and says, “Try not to use that as a free pass to fuck every guy in Faulkner.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Although, to be honest, I’m a little surprised you want a repeat. You seem more like the one-time type of guy. Is that one of your rules?”
“I’m the no-time type of guy.”
“I thought you were trying to make sure I didn’t feel special.”
“I fucked you, and I’m going to fuck you again,” he says. “Can you just leave it at that?”
“Whatever,” I say, turning to the window with a little smile. I wonder how long it’s been since he came. Does he do it by himself? Or not at all? That’s probably why he shot his load so fast the first time. I feel a little smug about the fact that I unblocked whatever was holding him back. I made him lose control. Yeah, it was scary at first, but so worth it.
Is that the only reason he wants to fuck again—because he thinks I’m the only one who can make him cum? Or is it more that he’s already let himself go with me, and he trusts me in some weird way, so he’d rather keep doing it with me than risk being vulnerable with someone else? Or was it some kind of dam that I broke, and now he’ll be able to cum with anyone?
Why does that thought bother me so much? I should want him to enjoy sex like a normal person. But the thought of him fucking someone else makes me want to cut his whole fucking dick off so he can never stick it in anyone else.
He pulls up at my house but leaves the engine running. His fucking car probably cost three times as much as my house—when it was built. I could live in luxury in this thing. But it’s not the car that’s making me linger another minute instead of going inside.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks. “You think I’m going to walk you to the door and kiss you goodnight?”
“I was just wondering if what you did with me… If you could do that with other people now. Like, did I unleash something? Or have you been holding back on purpose?”
“No questions,” he snaps. “And get out of my car. If I park here too long, your neighbors will probably dismantle it for parts.”
I snort and look around. Blue and Olive are sitting outside in the old woven-plastic lounge chairs from the eighties, and old Mr. Thomas is sweeping his driveway. No one else is out. “Them?” I ask, gesturing before turning back. “Why won’t you answer questions?”