Confessions of a Kleptomaniac

by Jessica Sorensen

  We start to move to the beat.

  “You’re not going to do the robot this time, are you?” I ask him.

  “I wasn’t planning on it, but now that you brought it up . . .” He charms me with a grin before he backs up with his arms out to the side, clearing some room. Then he proceeds to do the robot right there in front of everyone, and there’s nothing left for me to do but to just roll with it.

  He laughs as I rock out, doing a head bang, and I giggle as he strikes pose.

  “You guys are so dorky,” Willow comments as she joins us, “and I love you for it.”

  “Of course you do.” Beck dances around her, grabs her arm, and spins her around.

  She throws her head back, laughing when he does it again. As the song lulls to a sexy beat, he hauls her against him, and they sway back and forth, rubbing against each other, getting down and dirty.

  I look away from the two of them, feeling as if I’m imposing on some sort of sexual moment.

  “Ari, dance with me?” I ask with my hand extended to him.

  “You know I suck at dancing,” he says but still takes my hand.

  We dance for what feels like hours, laughing and messing around. As I’m standing there in the middle of the packed living room, dancing with three people I love more than anything, I become hyperaware of how much fun I’m having, maybe the most fun I’ve ever had. I realize that, whether that makes me a bad person or not, this is the kind of person I am. The kind who likes to dance, who likes to laugh with their friends, who loves picking out music, who loves being . . . well, free, like the walls are wide and there’s so much space, so much air.

  “I need some water!” Ari shouts, fanning his face.

  “I’ll come with you!” I start to tell Beck and Willow we’ll be back, but Beck’s hands are wandering all over Willow’s body, and she seems perfectly okay with being fondled by him, even enjoying it.

  I quickly look away, startled. Ari appears as uncomfortable as I do, and we both silently agree to just let them be and head out to the back deck without them. Unlike the side porch, the back deck is an extension from Beck’s parents’ room, and not many people are out there.

  “Well, that was . . . interesting,” Ari says, digging a bottle of water out of a large cooler.

  “I know. Maybe they’re a little drunk or something.” I rub my hand across my forehead. “I don’t think Willow drank that much, though.”

  He unscrews the lid off, hands the bottle to me, and gets another one out for himself. “You don’t think we should stop them or something?”

  I take a swig of water and then shake my head. “I think we should just let them go. They seemed pretty comfortable with what they were doing.”

  Ari unenthusiastically nods. “I guess so. Still, it’s going to make things weird if they hook up.”

  I hadn’t really thought about that.

  Before I can say anything else, his phone rings from inside his back pocket, and he fishes it out. “Shit. It’s my mom. She probably forgot I was going to the party and thinks I’m still in the house.” He presses talk then wanders down the stairs and into the shadows of the backyard.

  I plant my backside down in a patio chair and sip on my water, staring up at the night sky dusted with stars, waiting for Ari to return. From the tidbits he’s told me about his family, his mom has some sort of mental illness, and the meds she’s on make her forget stuff, like picking him up from school, buying food, and paying the bills. Ari’s dad seems like a nice guy and tries to take care of the household, but he works crazy hours, and Ari and his older brother do a lot of things, like run errands and make sure the bills get paid. His brother even skipped going away to a college and, instead, takes classes online so he can be around to help out.

  By the time Ari climbs back up the stairs, his shoulders are slumped over, as if the weight of the world is bearing down on him. “I have to go home. My dad’s working the nightshift tonight, and my mom needs help with something at the house.”

  I start to get up. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  He motions for me to stay put. “It’s okay. Stay and have fun for the both of us, okay?”

  “If you need me, call,” I say, sinking back down into the chair.

  He nods then disappears into the house.

  The people who were out on the porch when we first came out have migrated to the back lawn to play Frisbee, so I relax back in the chair. While I’ve always been okay with being by myself, I find myself wishing I wasn’t out here alone. I think about going back inside and finding Beck and Willow, but what if they’re up in one of the rooms or something? I could always go find Grey, but I’m not sure I feel that daring just yet. And wandering alone . . . What if I run into Piper and Logan? I don’t want to put up with drama tonight. I just want to relax.

  I take out my phone to read the email that is supposedly from Aunt Ashlynn as I work up the courage to go track down the guy I like. As I’m typing a quick response, asking her when her birthday is, I hear the back door coast open.

  “I was beginning to worry that you didn’t come,” Grey’s voice sails over my shoulder.

  An uncontrollable, goofy smile rises on my face. I quickly hit send then look up at him. “I was starting to wonder the same thing about you.”

  He steps onto the deck beneath the porch light, and I discreetly check him out. He always looks good, but he looks extremely sexy tonight in a pair of loose-fitted jeans and a black, thermal shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Like Beck, he has a backward baseball cap on his head, but unlike Beck, Grey’s eyes aren’t glazed over and bloodshot.

  He pulls the door shut, his eyes all over me, taking in every inch of my body and face. “You look nice.” When his gaze lingers on my chest, I fight the urge to cross my arms, remembering what Piper said about me being flat chested. He drags his eyes off me and notes the vacated back deck. “Why are you sitting out here alone?”

  “Ari was out here with me a few minutes ago, but he had to go home.” I lay my phone down on the table and cross my legs. “I was inside for a bit, dancing, but it got too hot.”

  His brow teases upward. “You dance?”

  “What can I say? Apparently, I’m a closet DJ and dancer.”

  “Really?” He seems particularly interested in my declaration. “Do I get to see these dancing skills anytime soon?”

  “Sure.” I rise to my feet, preparing to go inside, but he moves away from the door, takes out a phone from his back pocket, and swipes his finger across the screen.

  “You got a phone?” I ask, tucking my hands under my legs.

  He nods, glancing up at me. “My mom gave it to me when I got home from the session. She called it a congrats-you-are-no-longer-a-criminal present.” He taps his finger across a small crack in the screen. “It’s actually used, but it works.” He shrugs. “The house finally sold, so she says she can afford to turn the service back on now.”

  “That’s good,” I say with uncertainty. “You seem sad about it, though.”

  “I’m not sad. I’m just . . .” He sits down in the chair across from mine, setting his phone down on the table beside mine. “I know it’s a good thing, that we can’t afford the house anymore now that my dad’s gone, but it was the house I grew up in, and a lot of my memories with my dad happened in that house. I kind of feel like I’m losing him all over again.”

  I reach forward and thread my fingers through his. “I’m sorry that’s how it feels, and I know it’s going to be hard, but I don’t really think you have to lose him all over again. The memories belong to you, not the house, and you can always think about him whenever you feel like you need something to hold on to.”

  He studies me like I’m a complex puzzle he’s trying to solve. “You really are an amazing person. You always make me feel better when everything’s so shitty.”

  “Grey, you know that’s not true. You heard what I admitted when we were running through the forest that day. I wasn’t lying. I don’t steal becaus
e I’m poor. I steal because I’m messed up.” I start to pull away, but he tightens his hold on my hand, trapping it against his knee.

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and you don’t have to answer me, but why do you do it?”

  My chest tightens. “You really want to know?”

  He nods. “But only if you feel comfortable telling me.”

  “You’ll hate me when you find out,” I whisper.

  He swiftly shakes his head. “I don’t think I could ever hate you, Luna.”

  I don’t believe him, but I still feel like I need to tell him the truth, feel like I need to get it off my chest. I need to spill my secret to someone.

  “It’s just this thing I started doing . . . to get control, I guess.”

  “Control?” He looks lost.

  I sigh and tell him about the first time I stole, how I felt this need to gain control over my life somehow and how stealing briefly gave me that. I confess how many times I’ve done it, how badly I felt afterward, and how I wish I knew I could stop, but I’m not so sure I can.

  “When’s the last time you’ve done it?” he asks, his voice giving nothing away about how he’s feeling after hearing my confession.

  “That time you saw me at Benny’s was technically the last time I ever put anything into my pockets.” I tip my chin down and focus on picking at my nails because it’s simpler than looking him in the eye. “It doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about doing it. The other night, my mom told me I’m going to have to cut my hair, even though I love my hair the way it is . . . and I wanted to climb out my window, run to the store, and stuff as many things as I could into my pockets just so I could breathe again . . . And this morning I was at the gas station . . . I almost put a candy bar into my pocket, but the cashier saw me and said all this stuff to me. It was so embarrassing.”

  He stays quiet for what feels like an eternity, and it takes me forever to work up the courage to look at him. I instantly startle back from the intensity in his eyes when I do, unsure what the look means.

  “I want to stop,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I do it, I promise myself never again, but then something happens with my mom or dad, and this pressure builds inside my chest, and it feels like I’m going to explode and say stuff that will make the situation worse. So I bottle it down and deal with it the only way I can.”

  “Have you ever told anyone how you feel?” His expression remains indecipherable, making me very uneasy.

  I shake my head. “You’re the first person I’ve ever talked to about this. Even my friends don’t know that I do it.”

  He reaches out and molds his hands around mine, bringing me the smallest amount of comfort. “Can you do me a favor? The next time something happens when you feel that pressure, can you talk to me first before you do anything?”

  “You really want me to keep talking to you after what I just told you?”

  “You think I’d stop liking you because you steal sometimes?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Luna, I let my friends torture you for years. If anything, you shouldn’t be sitting here, talking to me.”

  “You’re not that guy anymore, though,” I say. “You’re nicer, and you care about people more.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t do those bad things. Things you forgave me for, even though I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he says. I open my mouth to say he deserves forgiveness, but he cuts me off. “Just let me get this out, okay? Before you say anything.”

  When I nod, he continues.

  “What I did to you back in sophomore year . . .” He struggles for the right words. “I never should’ve turned you down like that. I acted like an asshole on purpose, showing off for my friends because, back then, I thought their opinions mattered. And when Logan spread those rumors about you, I should’ve stopped him instead of shrugging it off. I should’ve been a better guy, like my dad thought I was, but I wasn’t. I was a self-centered jerk who only saw things from his point of view.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “But I get it now, that not everything is one layered. People have so much shit they’re going through, and a lot of them are struggling just to get through the goddamn day. The last thing they need is for some arrogant prick who thinks he’s better than everyone else to beat them down and make their life even more complicated.” He turns my hand over, palm up, and sketches his fingers along my scars. “You have to deal with so much, and I wish I could’ve seen that.” He looks up at me with shame written all over his face. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” My voice is thick with emotion. I might have said I was okay throughout the years and didn’t care who said what to me, but the truth is, hearing him apologize makes me realize just how hard it was to deal with all the teasing and ridicule. “And I forgive you.” I already forgave him, but it feels like he needs to hear me say it aloud.

  “I’m going to make it up to you somehow,” he whispers, his gaze skimming across my lips.

  Yes, please, pretty please, make it up to me by kissing me.

  He gives me exactly what I want, leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine. My skin hums from the contact, and I let out this uncontrollable, somewhat embarrassing gasp. He seems to like the noise, though, and groans in response, slipping his tongue into my mouth.

  Oh. My. God. This is way better than just using lips.

  My lips part as my head angles back, giving his tongue full access to explore my mouth. Every graze of his lips and brush of his tongue drives my body into a mad frenzy. My mom may have told me kissing was a horrible thing and that I shouldn’t do it more than I have to, but God, was she wrong. Really, really, wrong. Kissing is amazing.

  His hands glide down my arms and come to rest on my waist. Gripping tightly, he lures me forward, toward him. I’m not sure what he’s doing until he suddenly picks me up and sets me on his lap with one of my knees on each side of him.

  My eyes widen in shock, and for the briefest second, I hear that voice in the back of my head telling me what I’m doing is wrong. But I shove the voice aside with surprising ease and fall blindingly into the kiss, letting his hands rove all over my body.

  I’m still nervous, though. With each touch of his hands, I worry he can feel all my flaws, and my self-doubt starts to wear on me.

  He finally pulls away, sucking on my bottom lip.

  “You can tell me to stop whenever you get too uncomfortable,” he says.

  “I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never . . . done this before.” My cheeks stupidly warm.

  He grazes his knuckles across my cheekbone. “Do you want to stop? We can go dance, get something to drink, whatever you want.”

  “Whatever I want?” I muse over the foreign concept. “I like the sound of that.”

  He smiles at me as I slant forward, sealing my lips to his again, kissing him because it’s what I want.

  Luna and I stay out on the porch, kissing for what feels like hours. I don’t take things too far, even though I desperately want to. I can tell she’s tense, and the last thing I want to do is make her feel like I’m pushing her.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I hear myself saying over and over again as my hand wanders up her legs, across her smooth skin. My mouth leaves her lips to make a path down her jawline. A shudder vibrates through her body as I sweep her hair over her shoulder and place a soft kiss against the hollow of her neck. “And I don’t think you should cut your hair . . .” I murmur, sucking on her skin as my hand drifts down her arm.

  “I don’t want to, but I’m not sure how . . . I’m going to get out of it. She said, if I argued, I had to move out.” She shivers again but winces as my knuckles brush her wrist, and I remember the bruises I saw there earlier.

  Even though it kills me, I move back to look her in the eye.

  “The bruises on your wrist . . .” I say, out of breath. “Where’d they come from? Because I know they didn’t come from trampoline springs.”

  She stares down at the purplish-blue
imprints on her skin. “I had an argument with my dad . . . He didn’t mean to, though. It’s not as bad as it seems.”

  I hook my finger under her chin and force her to look up at me. “Luna, I know it’d be hard, but have you ever thought about just moving out?”

  “I’ve actually thought about it a lot. I mean, I’m eighteen, so technically I could, but I don’t have a job, and my parents won’t let me get one. I think, in this twisted way, they like that I have no money of my own. I am going to be working for Benny for a while, but I’m not getting paid. My parents set it up so it looks like I’m helping, but really it’s another punishment for me.” She shrugs again, dejected. “It’s okay, though. I don’t mind doing it. I just wish I could get a real job, you know.” Sighing, she leaves my lap to go stand near the railing. “I feel like I can’t win either way. Either I break my parents’ rules and go get a job, which will instantly get me kicked out of the house, or I walk out and live on the streets.”

  “There’s no one you could stay with for a while?” I get up and move beside her. “Just until you got on your feet.”

  She lifts a shoulder, staring at a group of people passing a Frisbee. “Wynter offered for me to move into her pool house, and I kind of want to, but”—she rests her arms on the metal railing—“I’m afraid.”

  “Of your mom and dad getting upset?”

  “Of them getting upset, of being a burden to Wynter . . . of her finding out stuff about me that I’ve kept from her. I’m kind of coward.”

  “You’re not a coward.” My tone comes out sharper than I intended, which causes her to glance up at me. “Not at all.”

  “Grey, I keep so many secrets from people because I’m afraid of what they might think of me, and I can barely stick up for myself.” Her voice is heavy with doubt.

  I completely disagree with her and feel this overwhelming need to prove it to her.

  “Do you know what my father’s last words were to me?” I turn away from her to hide my shame. “He told me that I was a good son and that he was proud of the man I’d become. And you know what I did? I looked him straight in the eye and nodded. I didn’t tell him that I wasn’t the man he thought I was, that I was a horrible person who acted like he was better than everyone else. My dad was dying, and I lied to him. I let him believe I was the nice guy he saw when I was at home . . . That’s a coward, Luna.”