Part 12 (1/2)

Chapter Fifteen.

Relentless Secrets TWO WEEKS TICK BY LIKE seconds on a clock, and before we know it it's the Thursday night before my birthday. Adam and I have spent the past twelve days checking in on Cora; taking group surf lessons with other beginners on Sh.e.l.l Island; and carefully avoiding the subject of why I dropped out of school and what those house plans on his drafting table are for. We've exchanged house keys, but we still haven't exchanged secrets. It should serve as some sort of warning that there are still some things we haven't shared with each other, but I try not to let it bother me and I a.s.sume he's doing the same.

Adam sits on his sofa and I sit next to him with my handful of Red Vines. ”Jamie called me last night to apologize for kicking us out of her room. It only took her, like, four weeks.”

”Did you guys talk about it?” I ask as I take a bite of my licorice and hand him one.

He waves away the candy. ”Yeah. It was nice. We used to have long talks all the time when her and Myles were together. Nothing was the same after he died.”

I lay my cheek against his soft T-s.h.i.+rt and inhale the fresh laundry fragrance combined with his warm man scent.

”Are you sniffing me again?”

”I can't help it. You smell so delicious.”

He points the remote at the TV and the channel changes multiple times until he settles on MTV.

”I can guarantee you I taste better than I smell,” he says and I smack his chest. ”Just making it known in case you get any ideas.”

I lean my head back and he looks down at me with that hungry look I've come to know so well. The look that can make me do things I would never do.

I clasp my hands around the back of his neck and pull his face toward me. As our lips touch, the host on MTV announces, ”And now, the highly antic.i.p.ated world premiere video from Chris Knight's debut alb.u.m Relentless. Here is SLEEPYHEAD!”

”Come here,” he growls as his hands slide over my a.s.s and pulls me up so I'm straddling him.

I press my hands against his chest and push off. I can feel him underneath me, but I can't see him and I realize it's because my eyes are closed as the memory slams into me.

Chris's lips smell and taste like the berry Capri-Sun he was just sipping and I can't shake the feeling that we're too young to be alone in my room. But it feels so right as his fingers lightly graze my ribs sending chills through every part of my body. I'm eighteen today. Eighteen is a perfectly fine age to lose your virginity; especially if it's with the boyfriend you've been with for more than two years, who also happens to be the most amazing, patient boyfriend a girl could ask for.

His hand slides farther up and I flinch when his fingers. .h.i.t the wire of my bra. ”I love you,” he whispers, and somehow this has the opposite effect.

I push him off and he sighs as he lies back. ”I'm sorry,” I mutter. ”I'm just scared that it's going to hurt and then I'll feel different about you. I don't want to feel like you've hurt me.”

He turns onto his side and kisses my cheek. He slips his hand under my T-s.h.i.+rt and traces circles around my bellyb.u.t.ton as he says, ”I could never hurt you. You're my Claire-bear. But I can't f.u.c.king lie. I want to be inside you so bad.... I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.” He plants a soft kiss on my belly and I s.h.i.+ver. ”But I'll wait as long as it takes.”

I stroke his hair out of his face and whisper, ”I love you.”

He kisses my temple before he springs up off the bed, leaving me feeling a little used up. ”I'll be right back, babe.”

He comes back a minute later with his acoustic guitar and closes the bedroom door. No one else is home. Jackie and her new boyfriend Tim are running errands before we meet them tonight for a birthday dinner. If Jackie knew what Chris and I are doing right now she'd kill both of us. Somehow, we've managed to keep our relations.h.i.+p a secret from her. This makes it seem as if Chris and I are doing something wrong, though we're not.

The simple gesture of Chris closing the bedroom door makes me feel safe, like he knows exactly what I need. He always has.

I scoot back so he can sit on the edge of the bed next to me. He settles down with his guitar in his lap and strums a haphazard melody as he tunes the guitar by ear.

”I wrote this for you. It's about the day we met. It's called Sleepyhead'.”

I smile as I remember how tired I was the day we met from not having slept the night before, but somehow he still convinced me to go downstairs and listen to him play.

His lips start toying with the ball piercing in his tongue, the way they always does when he's working up the nerve to perform for me. He claims it's unintentional, but it's extremely hot. He starts plucking the strings and the melody that flows out is both haunting and sweet. I'm already on the verge of tears when he begins to sing.

”Feels so wrong to want this. You look so broken there. A flicker in the mist, as tired as the air.” He looks up at me and my breath hitches. He holds my gaze the entire time he's singing, except when he closes his eyes as he belts out the chorus. ”So frightened of the dark. You're my sleepyhead. Hiding with the stars. Put your dreams to bed, my sleepyhead.”

A tear rolls down my cheek and falls on his guitar as I grab his face and kiss him.

I open my eyes and Adam's face is blurry through the tears.

”Claire, why are you crying?” Adam asks as he takes the Red Vines from my hand and lays them on the coffee table.

”I'm sorry,” I whisper, wiping my cheeks as the song continues to play in the background. I scoot over to the other end of the sofa and hug my knees tightly. ”I'm a horrible, horrible person.”

”Don't say that.”

”It's true.”

I can feel him staring at me, but I keep my gaze focused on the ropes of red licorice on the table. They remind me of blood vessels and I think of how my mother abused her veins. I think of how I nearly took a razor to my veins six months ago. I think of all the secrets pumping through my veins, poisoning me, ruining me.

”There are some things that, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself they're for the best, always seem to cut a chunk out of your heart. And you know that no matter how many wonderful people and beautiful adventures you welcome into your life, you'll never be whole again. You'll never be you again.” My throat aches as I speak, but I keep going. ”I don't even know who I was before I dropped out. I feel like that person wasn't me. Or maybe who I am now isn't the real me. All I know is that I became the kind of person I always swore I would never be, and from here on out that will never change because no amount of apologizing can undo what I did.”

He scoots toward me and I ball myself up tighter. ”Claire.” Just the way he says my name makes me bristle. I know he's going to tell me something I don't want to hear. I close my eyes as he says, ”I know what it's like to feel like the guilt will destroy you. Those plans you found the other day, the day we left to my uncle's house, those plans are a manifestation of my guilt.”

I open my eyes and he's staring at the drafting table in the corner of the room with a distant look in his eyes. He rises from the sofa and wanders toward the corner where he lifts a few sets of plans off the top of the stack and slides the house plans out from the bottom. He comes back to the sofa and lays the plans on the coffee table in front of us.

”Myles' family never had a lot of money. His dad was always too busy getting on with his new family, he never really supported Myles or his mom and two sisters.” He flips the top sheet and a floor plan of the house is laid out before us. ”I've been designing this house for the past three years with the idea that one day I'll be able to build it for them. Maybe then I won't feel like I took away the one shot they had at a decent future.” He lets out a low laugh as he shakes his head. ”My dad found these plans and now he's holding my trust fund until I turn thirty so I can't build it. He thinks it would be like admitting my guilt. He doesn't understand that that's exactly what this house is. It's an apology and an admission. I can't live with this anymore.”

He finally turns to me and I can see the agony he's carrying. I draw in a shaky breath as he looks me in the eye, his eyes searching for a sliver of understanding. I want to tell him everything. He's shared so much of himself with me. He needs to know the kind of person I am. He deserves to know the kind of person he fell in love with.

But I can't.

I cover my face with my hands; afraid he'll see the razors of shame shredding my insides. These jagged lies I've told myself for the past year have rested comfortably beneath the delicate skin of truth. I can't allow them to pierce through to the surface. I can't allow myself to become a b.l.o.o.d.y mess again.

I need to meditate.

I stand quickly from the sofa and his eyes follow me as I walk quickly toward the door.

”Where are you going?”

”I have to go.”

He darts toward the front door and blocks it off as I reach for the doork.n.o.b. ”You can't keep pus.h.i.+ng this down or it's going to burn you from the inside out. Forget the f.u.c.king bet. I don't care about that. Just please talk to me.”

I stare at the b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt. I rarely see him wearing his work clothes in his apartment. He usually changes before I make it upstairs. He actually wrangled Linda into giving me today, tomorrow, and Sat.u.r.day off for my birthday. I've never had three days off from the cafe. Adam can convince just about anyone to do just about anything, but he can't convince himself that he's not to blame for Myles' death and he can't convince me to spill my guts to him.

”f.u.c.king s.h.i.+t, Claire!” he groans as I remain silent. ”You're self-medicating with that meditation s.h.i.+t. You might as well be shooting heroin in your veins. You're numb and you can't even see it.”

”I can't believe you would even say that.”