Isn’t it?
My inner voice sounded unconvincing even to myself, and I couldn’t quell the disappointment that was beginning to bloom in my chest like a cancer – a sharp pain radiating quickly from my heart out through my limbs.
I was an idiot.
Sex with Finn had been so different for me – more intimate and so far removed from what I’d experienced in the past – that I’d simply assumed he’d felt it too. Apparently he hadn’t. Maybe last night had been nothing to him; maybe I’d been nothing to him. No different from any other girl he’d – how had Lexi termed it so eloquently? – hit-and-quit.
This is fine. This is better, in fact. Now, things can go back to normal and I’ll forget all about the emotional, tear-ridden months I’ve had with Finn in my life. I’ll go back to having fun – who wants to cry all the time, anyway? He’s just a boy, nothing special. It isn’t like he took my virginity, for god’s sake. This will be no different from any of my other hookups. Snap out of it, Brooklyn.
They were paltry consolations, but they were all I had left. I clung to them desperately, my lifeline in a storm – unwilling to be dragged out into the endless ocean of my disappointed hopes. Breathing deeply into the pillow I clutched tightly to my chest, tears immediately prickled my eyes as Finn’s scent washed over me. I wondered how many other stupid girls’ empty pillows had smelled like the warm breeze of an early fall day, and how long they’d waited to wash them after he’d left. A day? A week?
I groaned at the ridiculous thought. I was being such a girl – what the hell was happening to me?
Don’t get me wrong, I was fully aware how hypocritical it was for me to feel this way. After all, hadn’t I pulled this exact maneuver on countless one-night-stands of my own? I was the expert at it; so good, I could probably teach classes at the university– How to Escape Your Awkward Morning-After: Avoiding the Coyote-Ugly and Sneaking Out the Window 101. I had no right to expect anything different from Finn; in fact, I was naïve for thinking it could have ever meant something more to him than just sex. He was Finn Chambers, after all.
Two months ago, I would’ve balked at the idea of sex meaning anything other than the mind-cleansing fulfillment only an orgasm can deliver. Now, here I was, brought down by the idea that sex hadn’t been meaningful – that I’d been nailed-and-bailed on.
Damn, karma really is a snaggletoothed, hairy bitch.
I took another deep breath, through my mouth this time, and decided to stop being a whiney, pathetic, doe-eyed little girl. I had things to do, like finish painting my room.
When memories of painting with he-who-must-not-be-named began to play through my mind in vivid high-definition color, I did my best to shove them way down into my triply-reinforced mental box labeled Narcissistic Assholes. He finally fit in the box, I realized with a despondent, detached sort of acceptance – a pyrrhic victory if there ever was one.
Flipping over onto my back, I startled when I caught sight of the deep blue ceiling above me. When I’d finally fallen asleep, utterly wiped out after Finn and I had finished getting acquainted for the third time, the ceiling was an unadulterated shade of midnight. Now, it was littered with a galaxy of white stars, so detailed and painstakingly crafted that they must have taken several hours to hand paint.
Finn.
As if thinking his name had conjured him, my bedroom door swung open and Finn strolled in, looking annoyingly bright-eyed and cheerful, clothed once-again in his paint-spattered coveralls. He clearly hadn’t just undergone a slightly embarrassing, utterly dismaying spiral into the land of self-doubt and rejection.
Crap.
Propped up on my elbows, a sheet covering my chest, I warily watched him enter, unsure what to expect.
“Sleeping Beauty awakens,” he said, smiling crookedly at me and coming to a stop at the end of my bed.
He was still here. He hadn’t left at all.
My heart stuttered in my chest, then started to race at what felt like twice its normal rate. The walls of the Narcissistic Asshole box started to rattle, then buckle violently, the wood straining under the pressure until the top exploded off altogether and Finn freaking Chambers escaped back into the forefront of my mind. I mentally acknowledged that he’d never fit in that damn box again – not that he’d ever really belonged there in the first place.
I should’ve been angry that he’d caused my minor – okay, major – freak out, but I was overwhelmed by equal parts giddiness that he was still here and paralyzing terror at the undeniable attachment I felt for him. Anger had to take the back burner, for the moment – I could only handle one mental breakdown at a time, pre-caffeine fix.
Covering up my extreme internal distress, I aimed for nonchalant indifference – rolling my eyes at him and flopping backwards onto my pillow, my gaze alternated between the painted universe of stars and the mind-fuck of a man before me. He looked completely at ease and self-assured, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be waking up in my apartment and doing god knows what while I was still asleep.
“How long have you been awake?” I asked somewhat grumpily. I was unprepared for this conversation, for this day, without first having my coffee. My brain didn’t even begin to function normally until after cup number two. In fact, that debilitating pain that had lanced through my chest when I’d thought Finn had left me? Maybe it had just been caffeine deprivation.
One could only hope.
“A few hours,” he said, shrugging and walking closer to me. Leaning over the bed, careful not to get any paint on my comforter, he kissed me. Though our mouths were our only point of contact, it wasn’t the gentle good morning peck I’d anticipated. Finn’s kiss was consuming, near-painful in its irrefutable desire – a reminder of what last night had been, and a promise of more nights to come.
“How did you sleep?” he asked, pulling away.
I tried to slow my breathing so I didn’t sound like an asthmatic who’d just run a half-marathon when I answered him. I cleared my throat and pulled a deep breath into my lungs, praying I wasn’t as transparent as I felt. For fuck’s sake, I was nearly panting.
“Like the dead, apparently,” I said, glancing up at the ceiling. “I didn’t even hear you do all this.”
“I was quiet. Stealthy. Some might even say ninja-like,” he grinned down at me, his cobalt eyes warm on mine.
“Who? Who might say that?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Me.”
“It doesn’t count if you’re the only one saying it,” I grinned back at him and rolled my eyes at his ridiculousness. “And I was so tired I could’ve slept through an earthquake.”
“Is that you admitting I wore you out last night?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Cocky.”
“Confident,” he countered, dropping a light kiss on the end of my nose. I wrinkled it at him in response, watching as he made his way back to the ladder in the corner of my bedroom. “So, do you like it?” he asked, voice deceptively casual as he gestured up at the stars on my deep blue ceiling. Despite his blasé tone, I thought I detected a nervous undercurrent in his question, as if he were genuinely worried about my reaction.
“I love it,” I whispered honestly, looking anywhere but at him. It was enough that he could hear the emotion making my voice crack roughly; I didn’t need him to see the moisture clouding over my eyes as well. This gesture was more than anyone had done for me in all the years since my mom died, and I was utterly overwhelmed by it.
It was as if he’d somehow dipped into my memories and known exactly how my childhood walls had been painted; like he’d sensed that this would be the perfect addition to my new bedroom. It was uncanny how well he seemed to know my tastes, to recognize and anticipate my likes and dislikes – almost as if he were innately attuned to my every thought and feeling.
When I was confident that my tears were under control, I turned back to look at him. He was standing at the base of the ladder, staring straight at me
. I knew he could read my face like an open book, watching as I struggled to weather the storm of emotions brewing within me. Thankfully, he didn’t push me to talk about it.
“I’m glad you like it, princess,” he replied, a small smile twisting up one side of his mouth.
“Princess?” I asked. The only time I’d ever heard the nickname ‘princess’ used, it was said sarcastically or condescendingly. Finn said it affectionately, though – a sincere, reverent endearment I wasn’t sure how to process. He grinned at me, failing to elaborate any further. Apparently, I was going to have to drag it out of him.
“Why princess?” I didn’t think he was making fun of me, but considering how off base some of my assumptions about Finn had been in the past, I decided it was safest to simply ask him.
“You look so small in that big white bed of yours, swallowed up in all those pillows and fluffy blankets. And when you were sleeping, with all that dark hair spilling across your pillow, and your face so peaceful…You were beautiful. You are beautiful.” He swallowed roughly, eyes intense as he stared at my face like he was committing every feature to memory. “Angelic. Like some unattainable fucking fantasy I dreamed up.”
He left the ladder and approached the bed, leaning down so his mouth brushed the shell of my ear. I shivered, and felt his lips curve into a knowing smile as they brushed against the lobe. “You are, without question, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, Bee,” he whispered. “Sometimes, I look at you and wonder if you’re even real. Girls like you aren’t supposed to exist in real life – you’re the stuff of legends and bedtime stories. So, no, I don’t give a shit if you think it’s lame as hell – you’re my princess.”
Okay. He could call me princess. He could call me whatever he wanted if he kept talking to me like that.
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I threw back the covers, hurdled out of bed, and slammed my frame against his. When my bare legs wrapped around his waist, my mouth found his and my hands slipped into his hair as I let my body do the talking.
Much later, we emerged from the shower and Finn took his time drying me off, using a towel to gently wipe every droplet of water from my body. We’d once again had to scrub ourselves clean of blue paint, as our earlier activities on my bedroom floor had gotten unintentionally creative and we’d ended up looking like aspiring Blue Man Group members. Again.
Finn finally allowed me to leave my bedroom and I greedily consumed half a pot of coffee as soon as I entered the kitchen. He laughed at me, taking only a single cup for himself and downing it black.
Yuck. What was coffee without cream and sugar!?
Lexi was still at Tyler’s apartment, so it was just Finn and I. I shouldn’t have been surprised that there was no morning-after awkwardness, but I was. I guess, despite everything Finn had said and done in the past twenty-four hours, I was still insecure about where this whole thing was heading. I could finally admit to myself that yes, I had definite feelings for him. And yes, the sex had been off-the-charts amazing – better than I’d ever imagined sex could be. But I still was nowhere near ready or eager for a relationship. The idea of Brooklyn Turner, irrefutable ‘Ice Bitch,’ as someone’s girlfriend was laughable. The idea of being the girlfriend of someone like Finn Chambers, however, was downright scary.
“Stop,” Finn ordered, shaking me out of my reverie.
“Stop what?” I looked at him, confused.
“Overthinking us.”
Us?
He set down his empty cup on the kitchen island and made his way around to the stool I was perched on. Bringing one hand up, he lightly smudged a finger across the tension lines that were pulling my eyebrows together.
“Princess, can I ask you something?”
I nodded reluctantly, automatically anticipating the worst.
“Did you have fun with me last night? This morning?”
I nodded again, waiting to see where he was going with this.
“Well so did I. In fact, I had more damn fun last night than I’ve had in a long, long time. So please don’t get all wiggy and female on me. Don’t twist this around into something bad, because what we’ve had these past few days is beautiful. You know that deep down, princess. And if I know you the way I think I do, then I bet it scares the ever-living hell out of you.”
I took a deep breath, met his eyes, and nodded again. His crinkled up in amusement.
“I don’t mind the silent treatment,” he grinned. “If I’d known sex was all it would take to stop you from being so sassy all the time, I’d have made my move a lot sooner. Give the girl an orgasm and she’s finally complaisant.”
“Complaisant? Did you get that off your word-of-the-day calendar, caveman?” I smiled, jabbing a sharp elbow into his stomach. He let out a small oof as I connected, though my arm probably took most of the brunt from colliding with his steely abs. I fought the urge to rub feeling back into it, not wanting to look like the weakling I totally was.
“You’ll have to come over to my apartment and see,” he said with a wink. I’d never been to Finn’s apartment – I hadn’t really allowed myself to think about the fact that this god-like specimen of man actually had a bed and a toothbrush and maybe even a damn word-of-the-day calendar somewhere out there. The thought was staggering.
“Maybe sometime,” I murmured noncommittally.
“After my show tonight,” Finn countered decidedly. He hadn’t invited me or asked if I would be going – he simply informed me that I’d be there, as if my plans for the night were predetermined without any necessary consent on my part.
Overbearing caveman.
Casting a look at the microwave clock, he winced. “Speaking of, I have to get going. It’s already past three and we have a rehearsal before the set. We go on at nine.”
“At Styx, right?” I confirmed unnecessarily. Apiphobic Treason rarely played at any other venues on campus because Styx was one of the few places that could accommodate such a big crowd. On a good night, their shows drew in over two hundred people.
Finn nodded, then leaned down so our faces were aligned and brought up both hands to cup my face. Staring into my eyes, he shook his head back and forth so our noses grazed lightly before tilting his head and giving me a light kiss goodbye.
“I’ll see you tonight, princess,” he whispered against my lips.
“If you’re lucky, caveman.”
“Oh, I’m lucky, all right,” he returned cockily, eyes twinkling as he no doubt remembered how very lucky he’d gotten both last night and this morning. I rolled my eyes as I watched him walk out of the kitchen, but even my exasperation with him was starting to feel forced. If I were being honest with myself – which, let’s face it, was a rare occurrence – I’d have to admit how happy I was feeling at that exact moment. I was the lucky one – and ‘lucky’ was definitely not something I’d ever considered myself before now.
My heart literally fluttered in my chest as I heard the distant click of the front door closing, marking Finn’s departure. He’d only just left, but I already found myself checking the time and counting down the hours until his show tonight, when I’d see him again.
I barely recognized this girl I was becoming, and I knew it was all because of Finn.
What in the hell have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Twelve
Cliff’s Edge
“And you have no memories of this boy other than those from your dreams?” Dr. Angelini asked.
If I’d been expecting her to express shock or even mild surprise at my revelation of the sad-eyed boy in my dreams, I would have been sincerely disappointed – her face was utterly unresponsive as she leveled me with her clinical stare.
“I don’t have many clear memories from my time in the foster system,” I admitted. “Until now, it’s mostly been fuzzy images. Sometimes, a particular smell or taste would trigger a vague memory, but nothing has ever been this vivid before.”
“When you say vivid—” Dr. Angelini began, seeking clarification.
<
br /> “When I have one of the dreams, it’s like I’m six years old again, reliving things in real-time. It’s so real – more real than almost anything I’ve ever felt.”
My mind reeled through a series of images: the hands of two lost children clasped tightly; a swarm of fireflies meandering through untamed bracken; the dark night sky, swirling with stars far beyond our reach.
I looked away from her unflinching stare, steering my gaze out the large windows over her shoulder. She had a great view – I wondered absently whether she ever took the time to enjoy it. It was hard to imagine Dr. Angelini looking anywhere other than inside the skulls of her patients.
“Do the dreams upset you?” she asked.
My eyes drifted back to her face, which, unsurprisingly, was blank of any true emotion. Despite her unruffled serenity, I could see the alertness in her eyes and knew that she was highly focused on everything I was saying. The mind hidden beneath that smooth blonde chignon was constantly analyzing and evaluating, picking apart everything I said and inferring the things I’d purposefully left out. More than once, I had to remind myself that this torture was self-imposed – that it was good for me.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But not because of what happens in them. It’s more upsetting because I feel like I don’t even know my own mind. I suddenly have all these memories I never knew about, just locked away in my subconscious – it makes me wonder what else I’ve forgotten or blocked out.”
“The human mind is a complex thing, Brooklyn. Even after decades of research and despite the revolutionary development of brain imaging machines, we still are virtually no closer to understanding how the brain functions, let alone why it works the way it does.”
I nodded in agreement; I’d taken Pysch 101 freshman year – none of this was news to me.
“And memory is one of the most mysterious and complex mental processes of all,” she continued. "We really don’t know how the brain stores and recalls information; all we do know is that memories are rarely brought to the surface randomly. Typically, there is a trigger of some kind, which creates a mental association between a current sensory stimulus and one that has been stored away in the mind.”
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