by Peiri Ann
“You finished eating yet? You have been throwing food down your throat since my mom placed it on the table,” I joke.
“Your mom can cook. And considering my mom never cooks, I need to take full-advantage of the opportunity.” She smiles as she finishes her last fork-full. I take the plate from her, so she doesn’t have to move. “Thank you.”
“Yep.” I finish cleaning the kitchen and we head to the family room, where we’ll be sleeping for the night. I don’t like other people sleeping in my room. I know that seems selfish or unfriendly, but that’s my space.
“So…do you think I can try Scott?”
I look at her curiously. “Try him? What, is he a new candy?”
“No, Cey, you know what I mean. I don’t know…it’s—” She takes a short pause. “Something about that guy. I mean, not just that he looks good. We all know Scott looks good. But his matured attitude, and the way he acts and responds to certain things…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“Why haven’t you told me you had a thing for Scott before? With the way you’re talking, this isn’t something new.”
“I guess it isn’t. I mean, I have always been attracted to him, but I didn’t realize I wanted to possibly have a relationship with him until the other day.”
“What happened the other day?” I’m curious.
She smiles. “What happened?” she says, thinking to herself before answering. “I do not know where to start. Maybe a couple of weeks ago I passed him in the hall while class was going on. He was in his own world. You know, Mr. AllAboutBusiness. That was when I noticed him. I noticed his perfectly built body. He looked like he just came from the gym, dressed in a black tank and some black and white basketball shorts.”
She takes a breath before continuing. “But he was glistening in all his sweaty glory and his arms were protruding out the tank’s sleeves, which looked like the size of my thighs,” she exaggerates. “He ran his hand through his loose, wavy hair as he walked past me and said ‘Wassup Glen?’ and gave me the sexiest crooked smile I had ever seen. Stopped me right in my steps.” Her eyes float around the room as she tells her story. “Then I was in the stairwell, running down the stairs, and apparently I forgot how to walk. I think I missed two full steps, running down them, and right before I hit the floor, maybe about to break my face, he was there to catch me. Mr. Prince Charming, there to save my life.”
She smiles to herself and says, “He was flawless, grabbing my arm and turning me around to catch me in a cradle. He looked down at me while a tremor filled my body from him being so close. He asked me if I was okay, and all I could do was nod.” She thinks. “He gave me a full smile, and a new feeling came over me. He stood me up and said ‘good’. He told me to be careful, before he rushed out the door on the second floor.”
I don’t say anything, waiting on her to continue. She takes a moment, looking at her hands. “I don’t know. I just felt weird after that. It just felt like I needed to be with him.” A teeth-revealing grin steals her face as she replays her memories.
It’s cute. “Well, why haven’t you tried to talk to him?”
She is just staring into space, not paying attention to anything I’m saying. I smile to myself, letting her have her moment. It’s funny—I know just how she feels. But the craziest part about it all is that he is my guy’s cousin. My guy? What am I saying?
“Glen!” I half shout, not loud enough to wake my mom.
“What?” she answers, irritated.
“I have been talking to you, and while you were daydreaming in Scott Land—Wait, Scotland—” I laugh out loud at myself.
She rolls her eyes. “Really?”
Still laughing, I manage, “Come on, Glen, let’s go to bed.”
My mom pulled our blow-up mattresses out and brought down some sheets and comforters.
“You’re right.” She pulls her sheets back. “I’ve been having dreams about him too. It’s like I can’t get him out of my mind.” She pauses. I look at her, paying full attention to her every word. “Do you think he’s thinking about me, like this? I mean, it seems so girlish to be floosy over some guy. You know?”
What is she saying? That’s exactly how I feel. “Yeah, I do agree,” I say, without thinking. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“What do you mean?” she asks suspiciously.
Uh… “Nothing. I just mean I know what you mean about having something stuck in your head.” Even though she has told me her crush story, I’m still not ready to share mine.
There are still parts of my own story I don’t understand. Swirling eyes, burning touches, weird dreams. Weird conversation.
“Oh, okay. Well, I’m tired. We’ll finish talking tomorrow. Thanks for letting me stay over.”
“No problem, you are always welcome.” Glen is one of those people who can lie down and demand herself asleep. I wish I had it that good. She is out within seconds. I climb into the sheets of my own blow-up mattress and snuggle up, staring at the dark ceiling.
4: Obsessed
Someone knocks on the front door the moment my mind blanks. “Now, who could be knocking on the door right now? And why are they knocking so quietly?” I say out loud to myself. I stand, feeling a demanding presence that makes my body cover in goose-bumps.
I walk over to the door. Opening it slowly, I peek out the crack that I leave available to look outside.
“Hello, Tracey. It’s Nathan.” My heart stutters as I open the door wider to the familiar voice. He looks at me with bright, expectant eyes. “I’m sorry for stopping by so late.” He looks around outside. “I just wanted to check to make sure everything was okay with your car.” He looks back to me. “I came by earlier and saw it was here, but you were gone.” He avoids making eye contact and his voice feeds my desperation.
“Umm, uh, yeah, erum.” I clear my throat to remove the mumbling. “Excuse me. Yes, everything is fine. My friend just wanted to drive. But I, um, drove my car to school this morning and everything was fine. I didn’t see or hear anything out of place.” I smile, hoping he will return it.
He does, flashing his perfect, white teeth behind those welcoming lips. I watch them as he speaks. “The other car in your driveway—that’s your friend’s?” He smiles wider, a little devious. “You having a sleepover?”
His smile turns cocky. Mine fades. Asshole. “No,” I say wryly, “she’s just staying over. Going to school together in the morning and then to this party, and she’ll probably come back over here after.” I stop myself from blabbering my entire life story. Why am I telling him everything? He didn’t ask for all that.
“Oh, okay.” He tilts his head to the side a little, leaning against the wall that’s beside the door. His expression darkens, bringing to my mind what Scott had warned me about not getting involved with him.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask, staring at him.
He gives me a wearily look. “Depends. But I didn’t come over to stay long. I just wanted to check on your car, make sure everything was okay for you.”
“Right,” I drag out slowly. Taking a glance at the moon, I yawn unexpectedly. An embarrassing, be alone, wide-mouth and watery-eyes yawn. “I am so sorry.” My facial expression matches how surprised I am at doing that in front of him and not covering my mouth.
A tear escapes from my left eye and runs down my cheek. He reaches up, wiping it away with the back of his hand. He follows, slowly wiping off the remainder under my eye with his thumb. His touch is soft. I unconsciously lean in against it.
“Looks like someone is sleepy.” He removes his hand quickly. “Go back to bed, Tracey. Sorry I bothered you this late.”
He turns away. I subconsciously reach out, grabbing his hand. Realizing what I had done, I want to let go. But I am flooded with the burning, then comfort, then happiness—contentment.
“Wait,” is all I can muster, becoming overwhelmed by the feeling his touch gives me.
He turns back to me, head low, looking at our hands.
It is hard to see his face with the moonlight behind him, but I can make out the light in his eyes when he looks at me. They look as if they want me as much as I want him.
But his mouth says, “Tracey,” in a whisper, “don’t.” Saying a lot, without saying anything at all. Why not?
“I’m, I’m s-so s-sorry,” I stutter as he removes his hand from my grasp. Chest cracking.
He moves closer, reluctantly, as if he is trying not to, but can’t resist. “Look, Tracey, don’t be sorry. I just don’t want to hold you up any longer. I know you have to get up early for school.”
“Nathan.” His eyes focus on me at the sound of his name. With him being closer, I can see him fighting his feelings. His eyes are calculated and his face is tight. “What are you trying not to say?” I ask, through questioning eyes. It irritates me that I can’t figure him out.
He gently presses his hand to the side of my face, his palm covering most of my lower jaw and his fingers resting against the side—to the back—of my neck. “Don’t, Tracey,” he says again, softly, as he rubs his thumb back and forth against my cheek.
Feeling his touch makes me forget about whatever worry I had and whatever insecurity I was feeling. I lean into it, eyes closed, craving more. He leaves it pressed there and I can feel him staring down at me.
Please, I beg to myself. I feel the warmth go through my neck and down to my chest. It starts to burn and ache. I now realize it is him who causes the burning and aching I feel every time he is around and leaves my presence. It’s worse when he is gone, practically unbearable. But when he is around, it’s warm and comforting. Something else I can’t explain.
I press my hand against his, wanting to feel him under my touch. He lets me for only a second, before removing his hand completely. I’m immediately empty, cold, and the ache in my chest begins to cringe and tighten. I place my hand over where I feel the pain, and grab at my chest to suppress the pain, hoping to comfort it.
“I’ll see you around, Tracey.” I can’t turn to leave. I’m frozen in the cool breeze and the empty feeling that consumes me. “Go in the house and go to sleep, Tracey,” he says, looking at me like he’s ready for me to walk away, slightly angered.
I say nothing, standing, still looking at him with hurt-filled eyes. My mind is blank; I only feel pain.
He walks toward me and turns me around by my shoulders. He moves next to my ear and whispers, “I dream of you too,” and kisses the back of my neck—too softly. My heart forgets how to beat as he gently pushes me in the house.
My feet move, against my will, walking me into the house. The door closes behind me, once I’m completely in. I back up against it, sliding to the floor. My heart is still stuck in mid-beat. I listen as his truck starts up and pulls away. I listen to it until I can’t hear it anymore, and every car I hear, I swear it is his.
I am losing my fucking mind.
I force myself from the floor to the family room, chest still aching. Lying down, I close my eyes and his soft lips haunt my skin; his eyes haunt my memories, then his elusive words, confirming I’m not in this alone.
I can’t understand why he is fighting it. Why it seems like he is teasing me. Why doesn’t he want it like I do? I want to be with him, touch him. It’s so bad, and it feels like a need more than a want.
It takes me forever to fall asleep. I toss and turn, thinking about all the things I shouldn’t, trying to fight it. His words, ‘Don’t, Tracey,’ creep through my mind. I regret how much I love the way my name sounds in his voice.
I don’t remember at what point my heart decided to start beating again. That thought transitions to me, thinking about his touch and the way it makes my stomach drop, leaving room for butterflies to swarm. It makes my heart flutter and my skin shiver with goose-bumps.
Glen’s alarm goes off, playing a song by the Fall Out Boys. She wakes up instantly and cuts it off. She looks over at me looking at her. “Why is that your alarm?” I ask, staring at her. The alarm scared me awake.
She shrugs. “I love it.” She smiles wide. “Aw, Tracey,” she throws herself back on the bed, “Again, I dreamed about him. I am messed up in the head,” she says, covering her red-turning face with her hands.
Tell me about it. “It’s okay,” I say, my eyes un-focusing, seeing him instead of what’s in front of me. “Maybe you just need to talk to him, be around him, and share a moment with him, without him needing or wanting to leave or walk away. Maybe you didn’t get enough, and every ounce of you knows that too. So you want more. Maybe that one touch just wasn’t enough, or the looking into his eyes as God placed him there in that moment to save you from breaking your face as you were falling down the stairs.” My own situation plays back to me. “So your body is telling you it wants him, just as much as you do.” Even when you deny it. “It makes you crave his touch. Your brain clouds your head with images of him and he haunts your dreams. Your eyes deceive you every time you close them, and your ears play tricks on you—making you believe he is next to you by playing his voice repeatedly in your head.”
I shake my head, throwing myself back on the blow mattress. My head hits the pillow gently, but my chest aches horribly.
“Umm,” Glen starts, “yes…exactly.” Getting up, she walks over and lies down on my bed, propping her head on her hand, turned onto her side. “And how do you know that?”
My eyes widen as I stare at the ceiling, now realizing what I had just said. “Huh?”
“Tell me the truth, Tracey. Do you like Scott too?”
“Ew, no!” I say, showing as much disgust as I feel. She flinches away. “Not saying that there’s something wrong with him,” I follow quickly, “just that I am not attracted to him. He is cute though,” I add for her comfort.
“Okay, so spill! Tell me what is going on and how you know exactly what I’m feeling!” she says with expectant eyes.
I still do not want to tell Glen about my mysterious new friend, feelings, and attraction. We’ve been friends forever, yes, and I can trust her with anything. But this just isn’t a comfortable situation for me.
She did tell me hers though, right?
“Come on, Tracey, spill. You look worse than me, so I know it has to be something.” I steal a peek at her through the corner of my eyes. She’s staring at me like I am going to give her the secrets to the world.
“It’s not that serious, Glen.”
“So tell me then.”
I’m having a mental fight with myself over telling her and not telling her. I’ll tell, but how much detail I’ll share all depends on how she reacts to the beginning. “The other day,” I start, “this guy hit me while I was in my car in the parking lot at school.” I look at her, expecting a reaction, but I get nothing.
“He came to my window to check on me, and when I looked at him it was all downhill from there.” I tell her about everything, except the swirling eyes, burning touches, nurse’s office, details in my dreams, and how he showed up here last night.
I stole Scott’s story, basically.
“Okay, he sounds hot,” she says, smiling from ear to ear.
“And, he is Scott’s cousin.” Popping whatever giddy bubble she was in, a wider smile spreads from shoulder to shoulder, consuming her face. I’m not sure if I should have said it or not.
“OMG, are you serious?” she is eager.
“Yes, but Scott tells me not to talk to him,” I sit up, my excitement is nowhere near hers, “and he seems like he doesn’t want to either.”
She rambles through our showers and as we dress, about how we could end up a family, why wouldn’t Scott want me to talk to him, why I didn’t tell her when it had happened, why he wouldn’t want me being as cute as I am, and a lot of other comments—completely ignoring the hurt in my statement.
I refuse to tell her his name, because I can’t speak it or hear it, thanks to the spasm it sends my stupid heart through. Every time I think about him and it flutters, I ask it, How could you feel something for him when you don’t even know h
im? And it responds by beating roughly, as if it wants me to rip it out and hand it to him, to comfort it until it stops hurting.
“Glen,” I cut off her rambles as we walk out to my car, “I cannot talk about it. Okay?” It is bad enough I think about him all damn day. I don’t want to—no, I can’t—talk about him too. This could be why I didn’t want to tell her in the first place.
“Is it that bad?” she asks sympathetically.
I nod, as we get in the car. “But what makes it worse is that, I can tell he’s into—” Her phone rings, cutting me off, playing another verse from the song from earlier. “Really?”
“What? I love it!” she chuckles at herself.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I ask as she stares at the screen.
“No, it’s just Rachel. She wants a ride to school. But I am just not feeling company right now.”
“Humph, well aren’t you my company?” I ask, starting up the car, and feeling grateful the phone rang in the first place.
“Yes, but you’re different.” She puts on her seatbelt. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but have you seen him since he dropped you off?”
“No.” A lie. “But let’s just drop it. It’s bad enough that it’s in my mind 24/7 and I can’t figure out why it’s affecting me the way that it is. I can’t take talking about it, okay?” I just need her to let it go.
“I got you, Cey,” she says, pulling the visor down to block the sun as we pull out of the driveway. “I think I am going to talk to Scott tonight. I just need you to do something for me today.”
“What?”
“Can you find out if he’s talking to anyone? You know, has a girl? You all seem cool by the way you both were talking yesterday.”