“As old as Kale?” Yeah, I highly doubt this is going to end well.
Ayden finally looks at me when Rebel Tonic disappears out the park gates. The sky has shifted to stardust, darkness blankets the land, and the streetlights have clicked on, highlighting the way home.
“So, what were you going to tell me about Lila and Ethan?” he asks.
I scuff my boot across the grass. “The night we heard the news about your brother, I overheard them talking about how they knew your brother getting … killed was a possibility, that the people were out there, and they could come for you guys or something like that.”
He rubs his hand across his forehead. “I knew that, too. That it was a possibility.”
“Oh,” I say at the same time he adds, “But…”
“But what?” I press with interest.
“But I don’t know. I’m starting to wonder if they know more about my sister, brother, and me than even I know.”
Silence encases us.
“What are you going to do?” I finally ask, zipping my jacket up all the way to my chin.
“I don’t know.” He draws the zipper up his own jacket then glances up at the moon. “We should get going before Lila and Ethan get home and notice I’m gone.”
“Were you supposed to leave the house?” I ask as we hike across the grass.
“Not after what happened today. At the class, I mean. Plus, they’re worried about that guy we saw watching my house.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I told my mom about that. I just felt that, with everything going on, they should know.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you did. I should have told them myself.”
I twist a strand of my hair around my finger. “Ayden, do you think what happened today … Was that a panic attack?”
He’s quiet before he answers. “I was remembering stuff.”
My head whips in his direction. “What?”
He exhales. “It happens sometimes … when I’m stressed out … or when things happen that remind me of my past.”
We arrive at the iron gate and veer down the sidewalk, past the homes sparkling with Christmas lights, wreaths, inflatable globes, and even some with artificial snow.
“Was it the stress of today?” I scoot over as one of our neighbors strolls by, giving us a friendly wave.
“Yeah, kind of,” Ayden replies, waving back.
“Kind of? Was it the letter from your sister?”
“Yes and no.” When I stare at him, silently pressing for more, his shoulders slump. “I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”
“Then don’t,” I say frankly. “When I told you that you could tell me anything, I meant it.”
He contemplates what I’ve said. “It was because of all the touching we’ve been doing.” His voice is barely audible and crammed with apprehension.
“Oh.” My shoulders sink along with my mouth. “I get it.”
He abruptly slams to a halt, grabbing my arm and stopping me with him. “No, you don’t get it.” Panic floods his eyes. “I want to touch you. I think about it all the time… Have ever since that day in your dad’s office when I…”
I can’t see his cheeks, but I can picture how red they are, like every time he talks about something sexual.
“When you got turned on,” I calmly finish for him.
On the inside, I’m a wreck.
All the way back then,
His heart danced for me,
Spun a longing for my soul
And sought the taste and feel of me.
All this time, all this time, all this time,
He wanted me.
He bobs his head up and down. “You’re the first girl who ever made me feel that way.”
“The first that’s ever turned you on?” I ask, astonished.
I’ve often wondered how sexually experienced he is, if he’s still a virgin. The first time I met him, he was wearing all black along with a leather collar, gauges in his ears, and he was sporting black nail polish. I assumed back then that, because of his rough appearance, he was experienced. Then I actually got to know him and discovered how much he hated being touched, and I questioned my initial assumption. I still don’t know for sure, since he never offers to talk about his past.
“You’re the first girl I’ve ever wanted to turn me on.” He chokes up, his hand on my arm trembles, and his fingers dig into the fabric of my jacket. “It’s not the first time I’ve ever been turned on… just the first time where I wasn’t… being forced…” His voice cracks.
His comment rolls over me like a vicious wave. What he’s trying to say without actually saying it. That he thinks he’s been sexually abused.
The reality of how harsh his life has been knocks the wind out of me. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? With the way he hates being touched.
“Ayden, I…” I’m speechless, unsure what to say to him and freaking terrified I’ll say the wrong thing.
“I don’t know if anything actually happened to me in that house. All I know is that, at fourteen-years-old, I went into that house feeling okay with being touched. But, when I came out of the house…” He skims a finger along my jawline. “Sometimes, something as simple as a handshake can make me feel like I’m going to throw up. But I’m working it, working on getting better,” he whispers, sounding more as if he’s trying to convince himself than me.
My lips part as I prepare to ask him how he’s working on it, but then his lips come down on my mouth. I stumble back from the unexpected contact and grab onto him to stop from falling. My fingers grasp his shirt, and I end up pulling him back with me. Losing our balance, we slam against the fence, but our lips remain fused together, even when Ayden moans.
“I’m trying,” he whispers through kisses. His tongue tangles with mine as his hands find my waist and he pulls me toward him in desperation. “I want to be able to kiss you like you deserve to be kissed.”
I have no clue what he’s talking about, because I am being kissed like I deserve.
This kiss, it makes my body pulsate.
Makes flames blaze under my skin.
Steals my breath from my lungs.
But it’s not really stealing
When I’m giving the air to him.
Willingly giving him anything he wants.
Just say the word, Ayden, and it’s yours.
My heart.
My soul.
Whatever you want.
“Ayden,” I gasp into his mouth as his body starts to quiver, “it’s okay. I’m fine with how things are. And I love our kisses.”
He abruptly pulls away, his solid chest heaving as he struggles for oxygen. “No, it’s not… okay… nothing is.” He avoids looking at me, staring at the corner of the street. The Christmas lights reflect in his eyes, making it appear as if he’s tearing up. “You deserve so much better than some guy who can’t even touch you.”
“You can touch me.” I grab his hand, lace our fingers together, and pull him. I refuse to let him go. Ever. “See.”
His gaze drops to our linked hands. “It’s not the same as if you were with someone else who didn’t have so many problems.”
“Of course it’s not.” I swing our hands. “It’s so much better.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard. “You say that now, but you’ll change your mind eventually.”
“No, I won’t. You leaving my life would crush my heart, and I refuse to let my heart get crushed.”
“It may take forever for me to get over this. And it could get worse when I start seeing the therapist for my amnesia.”
“I don’t care.” I stand firm, knowing that, through all my indecisiveness and sporadic choices, I do want Ayden. I decided that the moment he kissed me for the first time to try to erase the painful memory of my first kiss that William stole from me. “I want this … want you.”
His hand shakes in my hand, but he nods his head once. I’m not positive what the nod m
eans. If he wants this—wants me, too. If he’s giving us a shot. I’m hoping so, hoping what he says is true. Because what I’ve said is the truth.
He’ll crush my heart if he leaves my life.
Will I live? Sure. I’m not going to become overdramatic and think I’ll drop dead if Ayden decides he can’t be with me. Will my life be destroyed? For a while maybe, but eventually, I’ll get over it the best I can. But there will always be a scar on my heart connected to every memory of Ayden. And I’d rather not have a scar.