by Karina Halle
“I had a feeling,” I admit. Stubborn as always.
I wish we could sit there for hours, just so I have an excuse to talk to her, stare at her and just be.
But Astrid and Lise soon come barging through, giggling and drunk, and take over the kitchen in a flurry of activity. The quiet moments between us are gone.
Later, after dinner, when it’s dark and the stars are out and it’s time for bed, I go down the hall. I can hear Lise and Astrid talking in Lise’s room. Uncle Per is snoring. Shay’s door is closed but light shines from underneath.
I pause outside, hoping I’m not interrupting.
I knock on her door. “Shay?” I say softly.
I hear the floorboards creak.
The door opens.
She’s in pajamas and a lacey white camisole that sets her skin off like fire. Her face is makeup free, making her look younger, vulnerable. Beautiful.
And to think someone like her is still searching for her happiness.
She’s staring up at me with curious eyes.
I smile at her softly, trying to keep my gaze focused on her face. “Just wanted to double check that you hadn’t changed your mind about tomorrow. Next time I’ll be knocking on this door it will be four forty-five in the morning.”
Her mouth drops for a moment. “You said five-thirty.”
“I said you have to be up at five-thirty. You’re going to press snooze more than a few times. Unless you think you can’t handle it.”
“Oh, I can handle it. I’ll be up and ready to go even before you knock,” she fires back, her hand on the edge of the door.
“All right then,” I tell her. “We’ll be up with the sparrows. Good night, Shay.”
“Good night,” she says, and I turn around before I see her close the door on me.
I walk down the hall, exhaling slowly, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet.
Lise’s door opens and Astrid pokes her head out.
“Hey,” Astrid whispers harshly, and walks after me.
“What?” I ask, pausing at my door.
She taps me on the shoulder, even though she already has my attention.
“I want to have a word with you,” she says, and looks down the empty hall and back. “It’s about Shay.”
I raise my brow. “What about her?”
“What did you do to her?”
I frown, swallowing thickly. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. Her eyes narrow, a few millimeters away from her death glare. “Girls can sense things. You fucked her over, didn’t you? What did you do? Cheat on her?”
Shame is a cancer of the heart
Eating away
Until your chest is empty
And the only thing that beats
That keeps you alive
Is hate.
“It was a long time ago,” I tell her quietly. “High school, Astrid. You know how I was.”
“I know how you were before you left, and I know you were even worse when you came back.”
“What’s your point?” I’m getting fed up with her in my business, especially the past.
“My point is, Anders, that I just spent hours talking with her and I like her. Okay? I like her.” She leans it close, her finger in my face. “Don’t fuck her over. I know you broke her heart once. Don’t you dare do it again.”
She turns around and heads back to Lise’s room without looking over her shoulder.
Her words sting, barbs in my skin.
I fall asleep still feeling them.
I’d do anything not to be that person again.
9
Shay
Then
We’ve been dating for six weeks now.
Tomorrow is Halloween.
We still have not had sex.
I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with me. Why won’t we progress beyond the hands down my pants and blow job stage? I mean, it’s pretty obvious that if I have his dick in my mouth, I’m up for something. And, well, so is he. Literally.
To be fair, he does want to go down on me, but I’m the one pushing him away. I don’t know. I just can’t imagine why he’d want to. It’s icky, isn’t it? And for some reason he keeps asking me. I don’t understand why any guy would want his mouth down there.
So I’m concentrating on making myself more attractive to him, in hopes we can get past the heavy petting stage (which, if I’m being honest, is more like heavy fingering). I’m pouring over my magazines, trying to apply the most “sex worthy” makeup, to make sure my legs and bikini line are always shaved, to have touchable hair and skin. Fresh breath is kissable breath, so I’m chewing gum and popping mints every time I’m in Anders’ presence.
Which is a lot. I’m with him literally every day after school and always at my house. I’ve only been to his place once, because his mother insisted on meeting me. That was a dinner from hell. You could have cut the tension between that family with a butter knife. His mother was kind, but had the resolve of their stainless-steel fridge. His stepfather was on the quiet side and barely looked at either of us. So after that, we decided to just keep hanging out at my house. After all, my sister is barely home and my parents are forever in India. You’d think that would be the perfect set-up for tons of epic sex.
Or just some sex.
Just once.
Even Everly asked me if we’d “done it yet” to which I gave her the same answer she gave me: “There are other ways to have fun.”
So for Halloween I’m going all out. I’m dressing as Cleopatra and wearing the skankiest thing I can get away with wearing at school, since we are allowed to wear our costumes, and then that night I’m taking away even more clothing. If that doesn’t get Anders’ attention, I’m not sure what will.
But, a few hours later, Anders shows up at my door unannounced.
I answer the door and he’s standing there on the steps. It’s raining lightly and the air smells like firecrackers and the threat of snow. His leather jacket is peppered with water, his hair damp and long. It’s nearly shoulder-length now. Everly says it’s the “Euro Trash” look, but I think it suits him.
“Did you walk?” I ask him, looking over his shoulder and not seeing the Mustang he usually borrows from his stepdad.
“They went out, hid the keys,” he says. There’s something weird about the way he’s looking at me. It’s intense. I know he can be an intense, brooding guy sometimes, prone to flights of fancy one moment and hot-headedness the next, but this look, this look, has me in its hold.
“You should have told me,” I tell him. “I could have taken Hannah’s car and come and got you. Or my mom’s, she said ‘emergency only’ but who cares.”
“You’re my emergency,” he says. “I couldn’t wait.”
I smile warily, intrigued. “Wait for what?”
“To tell you something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time now.”
My chest constricts. Dread. There’s something too wild about his look.
Dangerous.
Real.
Holy shit. He’s breaking up with me.
My eyes grow large, my lungs stop working all together.
He can’t…he can’t…
“Shay,” he says, walking up and stopping at the step below me, so we’re the same height. His voice is soft but ragged. As if what he’s about to say will break both of us.
He grabs my face in his hands and I watch the rain droplets slide down his cheekbones, his wet, black brows furrowed together. His eyes stare so deep into mine that I know he sees everything that I am.
He has so much power right now. So much.
“I love you,” he says.
I blink, not sure if I heard him right. All feeling leaves my body.
“What?” I ask, barely a whisper.
“I’m in love with you,” he says again, and now I recognize the look in his eyes. Feverish. Mad. “I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”
He lov
es me.
“I…,” I start to say.
He loves me!
He runs his thumb over my lips. I’m glad I wore flavored ChapStick. “I don’t want you to say it back. Not ever.”
I’m dumbfounded. “Not ever?”
“They’re my words for you.”
“And what if I feel the same way?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll know it when you do,” he says, before kissing me.
And if those words, those words, hadn’t stolen all my breath away, this kiss does it.
This kiss is oceans deep.
Fingers in my hair, on my face, the small of my back.
This kiss is the prelude to my dreams.
Lips locked, we stumble back into the house.
Up the stairs.
To my room.
The door shuts.
I lay back on the bed.
I’m nervous. I’m so nervous. Anders isn’t moving, he’s standing at the foot of the bed, pinning me down with his eyes. There are so many emotions swirling in them that I don’t know which one to latch on to. There’s hope and awe and pain and anguish and lust. Pure lust.
I decide to latch onto the lust.
Because that’s what I’m feeling too.
Right down to my bones.
But still Anders doesn’t move. He continues to stare.
And the more he stares at me, the more my mind begins to drift. To think. To over-think. To worry.
But then he snaps out of it.
Moves fast.
A blur, removing his jacket and throwing it on the floor, then his shirt.
Then he climbs on the bed, hovering over me, hands skimming up the sides of my shirt. His skin is fire against mine, his palm melding to my breast as he takes off my bra, my top.
I’m bare now, my skin burning under his touch, under his gaze as he takes me in.
Please don’t hurt me, I think.
And I don’t mean the sex. I know it will hurt a little, that it will feel strange at first.
But this boy loves me.
And I love him.
And I’m about to give him my virginity.
If this doesn’t last, if this doesn’t work, I’ll be ruined. I know it. He’ll always live large in my life as the guy I first slept with. That’s something that can never be erased or taken back.
“I love you,” he whispers to me as he undoes my jeans, pulls them down over my thighs.
“I love you,” I say back, even though he told me not to.
His eyes flash with darkness and desire and something else I can’t describe.
The thrill shoots right through my heart.
He takes off his pants, presses his body against me, the hard length of him between my legs and I know this is it.
He pushes himself inside me.
It hurts, a little. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.
But it’s him. All of him. It’s what I wanted.
I try to keep it from my face but he pauses, kissing my lips, my jaw. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”
I shake my head, wincing, pressing my hands onto the hard muscles of his back. “Don’t stop.”
We can’t stop what’s already in motion.
10
Shay
Now
I’m dreaming about a swimming pool. My tears filling it, spilling over and drowning the whole world. Then there’s knocking. Always knocking, like someone is at the bottom of the pool, wanting out.
Anders.
I groan and roll over, scratchy wool on my cheek.
Where the fuck am I?
The knocking again. Louder now.
Here.
Not dreaming.
“Shay?”
The sound of a door creaking open.
I roll over again and try to sit up, to open my eyes. The room is hazy grey, on the cusp of darkness. I see a familiar silhouette in the doorway.
“Are you awake?” Anders asks, his throat extra husky in the dim of morning. “It’s five. I gave you fifteen extra minutes to sleep in.”
Good lord am I ever tired. And disoriented as fuck. I’m only now realizing I’m at his house in Todalen. Still don’t know why he’s waking me up at this ungodly time.
Oh right. I was buzzed last night and told him I’d like to help with the farm chores.
I am such a moron.
“Uh,” I say, my throat feeling stuffed with cotton. I cough. “I’m up. I, uh…was in a very deep sleep.”
“I can let you go back to sleep,” he says. “I won’t think less of you.”
“I’ll think less of me,” I tell him, even though I already hate myself for being so stubborn. I fumble for the light switch on the bedside table and flick it on. Even the low glow burns my eyes and I quickly cover them with my hands. “How do you do this every morning?” I mumble.
“Imagine only getting two hours of sleep, in a smelly bunk, in a rolling ship, in the freezing cold, day after day,” he says. “This is a piece of cake.”
I peer at him through my fingers. He’s fully dressed in jeans, a forest green flannel shirt and a brown waxed cotton jacket, a black beanie pulled low on his head. He’s holding two cups of what I pray is coffee in his hands.
“If you get up,” he says, raising the mugs. “You can have one of these. It’s coffee, it’s hot, and it’s strong.”
“Sold,” I say, about to step out of bed but then realize I kicked off my pajama pants in the middle of the night. I’m just in lace hip-huggers and a camisole. “Uh, maybe you could bring it over here, I’m not that decent.”
He gives me a wicked grin that causes some serious shivers down my back. “Oh really?”
And I know what he’s thinking—it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.
I give him a pointed look until he comes over, placing the mug in my hands. “You have five minutes to get ready. We get to eat breakfast after.”
I couldn’t even imagine eating right now anyway. I’m supposed to be asleep.
He leaves the room and I sit in bed for another minute, drinking as much as I can of the coffee without scalding myself, praying it will wake me up. Then I get dressed in a jiffy, slipping on jeans and several layers under a sweater. I can feel the cold against the single pane windows.
I finish the rest of the coffee and hurry down the stairs, noting that Lise and Astrid’s doors are closed, the lucky bitches probably sleeping soundly.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says, standing in the kitchen and pouring coffee into a travel mug. “This is for the road.”
He strides out of the kitchen to the foyer and I follow him out into the morning.
I’m surprised at how bright it is outside, to the point I should have brought my sunglasses. The sun is already peeking over the tops of the mountains and shining on dew drops.
“Jesus,” I say, “what time does the sun rise here?”
“Four a.m.,” he says. “By the time June rolls around, it comes up at two.”
I shake my head. “That’s nuts. No wonder you Norwegians are crazy.”
He laughs. “That we are.” He hands me to the travel mug of coffee. “Come on. My Uncle’s tending to the lambs, so we’ve got the cows.”
We walk toward the barn, the morning air chilled. Birds sing from the pines at the corner of the property, and when I crane my neck back to stare at the shadowed mountains, I almost have to hold on to something. Their mass and height are so overwhelming, I’m slayed by vertigo.
“Ever been on a motorbike before?”
I look forward to see Anders standing by what looks like a dirt bike/motorcycle hybrid resting against the side of the red barn.
“Uh, what?” I ask, coming forward.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he affectionately pats the bike.
“This is how we round up the cows.”
He grabs the bike by the handles and pulls it forward before swinging his leg over it and turning it on. The engine roars and sputt
ers loudly.
“You seriously expect me to get on that?” I ask. I’m reminded of my time in Capri. My friend Amber was dating a motorcycle racer (they’re now married) and I would often see them zipping all over the island. I have to admit, it did look like fun, but hanging onto some hot Italian guy while zipping past lemon groves and crystal clear coves is a lot different than hanging onto your ex-boyfriend while bouncing across a field dodging cow pies.
Not that Anders isn’t a hot Norwegian guy. I mean, as he’s straddling the bike, large tatted hands on the handles, staring up at me with a wicked glint in his stormy blue eyes, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a manlier, hotter specimen in my life. Which makes getting on the bike a no-brainer.
At least my hormones seem to think so.
I place the coffee mug by the barn and square my shoulders, giving him a cool look. “Make some room then,” I tell him.
He arches a brow and moves forward on the seat. I grab hold of his shoulder—holy hell, that’s a lot of muscle—and swing my leg on. Okay, I’m short so it’s less than elegant, but eventually I’m on.
“You better hold on,” he tells me, eyeing me over his shoulder. “If you fall off, you’re probably going to fall in shit.”
I rub my lips together anxiously for a moment before gingerly putting my hands around his stomach. His rock-hard, abs-for-days, stomach. My whole body starts to wake up, from my fingers to my toes, a slow burning starting at my core. It doesn’t help that my crotch is pressed against his ass.
“Ready?” he asks, and before I can answer, the bike jolts forward. I go from holding onto him gently to fully wrapping my arms around his abs of steel. My nose is against the back of his neck and I can smell his skin and soap and something fresh, like the meadows are permanently embedded in him.
It doesn’t smell like the Anders I remember. That boy smelled like Davidoff Cool Water and cigarettes. This smells like someone new, like the quasi-stranger I want him to be. He smells like a man I want to get to know properly, and all over again.
“You okay back there?” he shouts into the cold wind as he drives the bike through an open gate and we’re bouncing, flying over the grass.