staring at me.
“Over the sink,” I say, pulling his hand slightly. The cuts don’t look too deep, but there are quite a few of them. His knuckles are swollen and I have the urge to kiss them after they’re clean. An urge I have no business having. Is it him, I wonder, or who he is to me? Because I know what my father took from him.
“Pour the peroxide on.”
I open the bottle and then holding his hand, I tilt it until clear liquid is mixing with red. Each little wound bubbles and sizzles and I wonder if it hurts, if heat burns in his hand, so I risk a glance in the mirror to see he’s looking at me there. I can’t read the expression on his face. I never really can, but I don’t turn away. We watch each other and a wrinkle forms over his eyes and he studies me like there will be a test on me later and I wonder if I passed.
If he’ll pass on whatever he learns.
It’s too much, and I have to look away.
He’s bleeding because of me. Been bleeding because of my family and he doesn’t know it.
I suddenly wonder if my dad hadn’t driven into that yard if there would be another toothbrush in the cup. A girlfriend or maybe he’d still be with his sister and there would be a little Batman toothbrush there for his nephew.
Tears beg for release, but I don’t let them come. Instead I set the bottle back down, wet a cloth from the kit, and gently wash the blood from his hand. Adrian doesn’t flinch or speak and soon he’s all clean and wrapped up. For the first time in what feels like forever, I let go of his hand.
“All done,” I say, and I know it’s a silly thing to let come out of my mouth.
Still there are no words, so I look up at him and he’s close, so very close, and I notice the depth of his eyes and the stubble on his face and earring holes in his ears.
Finally his gaze leaves my eyes and they land on my lips. “I think I’ll call you Casper,” he whispers, and then his mouth comes down on mine. It’s gentle at first. My instinct is to pull away. I don’t know him and there are too many secrets and too much history between us for me to let him do this, but I like the way he tastes and can’t help but moan when his tongue slides along the seam of my lips.
And then my mouth is opening and now he’s tasting me and I’m tasting him more deeply. I have never, ever been kissed like this in my life. A slow tingle forms in my stomach and shoots through me and then he’s twisting me and pinning me against the counter. I feel his erection against my stomach, his good hand in my hair.
My body is screaming
YES
, because it feels good to be worshipped like this, but then my mind cuts in. I see the lonely toothbrush and think about his poem, space, and know that his life is darker because of something that’s connected to me.
I pull my mouth away. “Wait.”
Adrian does. His lips don’t move toward mine again, but he also doesn’t move away. I still feel each muscled contour of his body and wish I could wrap up inside it. Just to feel protected, even if it’s only make-believe.
“I can’t… We shouldn’t…”
If you knew, you wouldn’t want to. You’d throw me out.
“I think we can and maybe it doesn’t matter if we should.” His voice is low, sexy. I shiver.
“It does.” He doesn’t make it easy for me to squeeze around him, but he doesn’t stop me either. “It does,” I say again. “I should go. Make sure you clean that again and change your bandage.”
“I know how to take care of wounds,” he replies.
“Okay… good.” Or not good because that means he’s had a lot of them. My heart is beating so loudly I wonder if he can hear it. I hope he can’t.
I’m walking down the hallway so fast I’m scared I’ll trip. I can’t stop myself from going, though. I need out of here before I change my mind. Before I decide to be a normal eighteen-year-old and pretend he’s a normal… however old he is… guy and that nothing matters but hooking up and having fun.
So
“Over the sink,” I say, pulling his hand slightly. The cuts don’t look too deep, but there are quite a few of them. His knuckles are swollen and I have the urge to kiss them after they’re clean. An urge I have no business having. Is it him, I wonder, or who he is to me? Because I know what my father took from him.
“Pour the peroxide on.”
I open the bottle and then holding his hand, I tilt it until clear liquid is mixing with red. Each little wound bubbles and sizzles and I wonder if it hurts, if heat burns in his hand, so I risk a glance in the mirror to see he’s looking at me there. I can’t read the expression on his face. I never really can, but I don’t turn away. We watch each other and a wrinkle forms over his eyes and he studies me like there will be a test on me later and I wonder if I passed.
If he’ll pass on whatever he learns.
It’s too much, and I have to look away.
He’s bleeding because of me. Been bleeding because of my family and he doesn’t know it.
I suddenly wonder if my dad hadn’t driven into that yard if there would be another toothbrush in the cup. A girlfriend or maybe he’d still be with his sister and there would be a little Batman toothbrush there for his nephew.
Tears beg for release, but I don’t let them come. Instead I set the bottle back down, wet a cloth from the kit, and gently wash the blood from his hand. Adrian doesn’t flinch or speak and soon he’s all clean and wrapped up. For the first time in what feels like forever, I let go of his hand.
“All done,” I say, and I know it’s a silly thing to let come out of my mouth.
Still there are no words, so I look up at him and he’s close, so very close, and I notice the depth of his eyes and the stubble on his face and earring holes in his ears.
Finally his gaze leaves my eyes and they land on my lips. “I think I’ll call you Casper,” he whispers, and then his mouth comes down on mine. It’s gentle at first. My instinct is to pull away. I don’t know him and there are too many secrets and too much history between us for me to let him do this, but I like the way he tastes and can’t help but moan when his tongue slides along the seam of my lips.
And then my mouth is opening and now he’s tasting me and I’m tasting him more deeply. I have never, ever been kissed like this in my life. A slow tingle forms in my stomach and shoots through me and then he’s twisting me and pinning me against the counter. I feel his erection against my stomach, his good hand in my hair.
My body is screaming
YES
, because it feels good to be worshipped like this, but then my mind cuts in. I see the lonely toothbrush and think about his poem, space, and know that his life is darker because of something that’s connected to me.
I pull my mouth away. “Wait.”
Adrian does. His lips don’t move toward mine again, but he also doesn’t move away. I still feel each muscled contour of his body and wish I could wrap up inside it. Just to feel protected, even if it’s only make-believe.
“I can’t… We shouldn’t…”
If you knew, you wouldn’t want to. You’d throw me out.
“I think we can and maybe it doesn’t matter if we should.” His voice is low, sexy. I shiver.
“It does.” He doesn’t make it easy for me to squeeze around him, but he doesn’t stop me either. “It does,” I say again. “I should go. Make sure you clean that again and change your bandage.”
“I know how to take care of wounds,” he replies.
“Okay… good.” Or not good because that means he’s had a lot of them. My heart is beating so loudly I wonder if he can hear it. I hope he can’t.
I’m walking down the hallway so fast I’m scared I’ll trip. I can’t stop myself from going, though. I need out of here before I change my mind. Before I decide to be a normal eighteen-year-old and pretend he’s a normal… however old he is… guy and that nothing matters but hooking up and having fun.
So
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