of me. I'd always be a stain on the family name even if I got into Yale, which infuriated me.
"Charlotte, I thought we talked about this?" I had almost forgotten she was there. My head snapped to attention and she was looking at me. Not like I had just received a letter from Yale, but like I was a dense child who kept asking Why? Why? Why? when the only answer left is just because . I hated that look. I hated her, everything about the house, and everything about my life in that moment.
"We did mother. Ad nauseam. I know where I stand. Don't worry."
"I just--," she stammered and looked at her hands. She was stalling. She wanted me to reassure her that I was okay but it wasn't, so I couldn't. When she looked up it wasn't love in her eyes but fear and I could bet my life on what the next words out of her mouth would've been, sure enough I was right: "If Paul had seen it..."
"Fuck. Paul." I ran up to my room, letter in hand without a backward glance, mentally kicking myself for losing my cool even for a second. I couldn’t give an inch. Not to her or anyone. I was already in a position of weakness, I couldn’t let them think I was weaker.
It was anti-climactic. Opening the letter. All the others had said the same thing, so I tossed it on top of the pile on my desk.
CHAPTER FOUR
Teddy
She almost gave nothing away, and maybe if it was anyone else they wouldn’t have noticed. But I saw the look in her deep brown eyes when I touched her; they were hungry and vulnerable in a way that she hid so well everywhere else. I knew she felt it too and electricity of our combined attraction crackled between us. I liked seeing her in my car, curled up like she belonged there, eating cheap drive-thru food like it was caviar. It was such a turn on watching her eat. The way that she enjoyed food with sensual abandon betrayed her calm, collected façade. All I could think about was how voraciously she would devour me in the bedroom. If it was anything like the way she attacked a hamburger…I couldn’t even think about it without getting hard.
There was still that nagging part of me that knew something was off. The more time I spent with her, the more self conscious she was about her body, not less. The more she covered it up with wraps and towels. Not like that did much to hide how skinny she was. I thought at first it was because she liked it that way, but then she’d out eat me every time we went to lunch. And I made sure, from that first time on, I fed her often. I’d bring her food from home and we’d go out together, sometimes twice in one beach day. She never turned down food, which was so incongruous with the way she looked and carried herself.
Still, I liked her. For the most part she seemed not to care whether I was around or not, unlike most of the clingy girls I’d been with. Maybe I liked her because I wanted, in some small way, to rebel against you, Lace. I wanted her to be my savior. I wanted her to show me that it was okay to walk away from a life that didn’t really feel my own; that I didn’t’ really belong or fit into anymore. I needed, more than anything, for her to tell me it was okay. Chewing my sandwich one day, the combined aroma of greasy fast food and her natural peachy scent filling the car and making me drunk, she broke our comfortable silence.
“Teddy, I'm going to ask you a question and I want an honest answer."
"Have I ever given you anything but honest?"
"I don't think so, but I don't want you to start now, okay?"
"Okay, just spit it out."
"How long, realistically,
"Charlotte, I thought we talked about this?" I had almost forgotten she was there. My head snapped to attention and she was looking at me. Not like I had just received a letter from Yale, but like I was a dense child who kept asking Why? Why? Why? when the only answer left is just because . I hated that look. I hated her, everything about the house, and everything about my life in that moment.
"We did mother. Ad nauseam. I know where I stand. Don't worry."
"I just--," she stammered and looked at her hands. She was stalling. She wanted me to reassure her that I was okay but it wasn't, so I couldn't. When she looked up it wasn't love in her eyes but fear and I could bet my life on what the next words out of her mouth would've been, sure enough I was right: "If Paul had seen it..."
"Fuck. Paul." I ran up to my room, letter in hand without a backward glance, mentally kicking myself for losing my cool even for a second. I couldn’t give an inch. Not to her or anyone. I was already in a position of weakness, I couldn’t let them think I was weaker.
It was anti-climactic. Opening the letter. All the others had said the same thing, so I tossed it on top of the pile on my desk.
CHAPTER FOUR
Teddy
She almost gave nothing away, and maybe if it was anyone else they wouldn’t have noticed. But I saw the look in her deep brown eyes when I touched her; they were hungry and vulnerable in a way that she hid so well everywhere else. I knew she felt it too and electricity of our combined attraction crackled between us. I liked seeing her in my car, curled up like she belonged there, eating cheap drive-thru food like it was caviar. It was such a turn on watching her eat. The way that she enjoyed food with sensual abandon betrayed her calm, collected façade. All I could think about was how voraciously she would devour me in the bedroom. If it was anything like the way she attacked a hamburger…I couldn’t even think about it without getting hard.
There was still that nagging part of me that knew something was off. The more time I spent with her, the more self conscious she was about her body, not less. The more she covered it up with wraps and towels. Not like that did much to hide how skinny she was. I thought at first it was because she liked it that way, but then she’d out eat me every time we went to lunch. And I made sure, from that first time on, I fed her often. I’d bring her food from home and we’d go out together, sometimes twice in one beach day. She never turned down food, which was so incongruous with the way she looked and carried herself.
Still, I liked her. For the most part she seemed not to care whether I was around or not, unlike most of the clingy girls I’d been with. Maybe I liked her because I wanted, in some small way, to rebel against you, Lace. I wanted her to be my savior. I wanted her to show me that it was okay to walk away from a life that didn’t really feel my own; that I didn’t’ really belong or fit into anymore. I needed, more than anything, for her to tell me it was okay. Chewing my sandwich one day, the combined aroma of greasy fast food and her natural peachy scent filling the car and making me drunk, she broke our comfortable silence.
“Teddy, I'm going to ask you a question and I want an honest answer."
"Have I ever given you anything but honest?"
"I don't think so, but I don't want you to start now, okay?"
"Okay, just spit it out."
"How long, realistically,
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