“Are you coming?” he questions. I know he loves me, and I know that I love him, so much that I ache when he’s not near. So much that I can’t imagine my life without him in it, and at this moment I know, I’m ready. He’s the one. The only one. I take his hand and let him lead me up the stairs. We go to the bedroom, and he lights more candles. I’m not sure when he snuck up here and added candles, but I appreciate that he’s made everything perfect for me and is giving me a memory that I will never forget. That’s how much he loves me. He wants it to be perfect for me. I stand in the center of the room, and my breath is shallow. I can’t seem to breathe deep enough. Chase comes and stands in front of me. I look into his eyes and realize he’s unsure. His eyebrows knit together; I reach up and smooth them. He relaxes a little.
“Are you ready?” he asks breathily. He’s having the same breathing problems as I am.
“I am,” I say, as I take off the shrug and unzip the side of my dress. His eyes watch my hand as it moves down the length of my side. Then he kisses me with his soft sweet lips. His breath smells like mint, and I love his lips. I love him. Before I know it, my dress falls to the floor, and I stand in front of him in my new cream lingerie. He takes me in with his eyes. I can’t take that look, the way he looks at me takes my breath away. I look away, but he takes my face in his hands,
“You’re so beautiful. And amazing. And—” he begins, but I interrupt him, touching his lips with my finger.
“You don’t have to say all of that.” I feel a blush chasing my cheeks as I try to look away, but he’s holding my face.
“I do. You have to know that I love you. You changed me. Because of you, I was able to love again. I don’t ever want to lose that; I don’t ever want to lose you.”
My eyes feel glassy, like large rain drops of tears will fall from my eyes any moment. He kisses me again, so tender, so pure, and my hands are in his hair, suddenly desperate for him. His clothes fall off him. It’s a blur, and I don’t know if I take them off or if he pulls them off. Then we’re on the large bed, the comforter and sheets are pulled down, and he’s over top of me whispering, “I love you” every time his mouth leaves mine. His hands tremble as they gently caress me, and my skin goose bumps under his touch. We kiss for what feels like forever until I feel like my insides are about burst into flames. He fumbles with the condom and finally gets it on. Then he takes a deep breath and smiles at me. “Are you ready?” I nod. He’s slow in his movement at first, and my eyes water with the pain. “Sorry,” he whispers, but then after a few minutes, the pain is gone, and I have this overwhelming feeling of love and a desperate need to have him as close to me as possible. I crush him to me, and tears stream down my cheek for another reason because all I ever want is him. He kisses my neck and whispers his love in my ear, all the while making waves of goose bumps and excitement pulse all over my body as I match his movement; he weaves his fingers between mine squeezing every few minutes, maybe when it becomes intense for him. I can’t find any words. When I try to talk all I do is make ooh, aah, and oh sounds, barely audible. I’m breathing so fast that I think I’m going to hyperventilate, and my heart will explode. But I don’t, and he doesn’t stop what he’s doing to me. If anything, he begins to quicken his pace. He pushes off me and is over me. Our eyes lock. I try to look away, but he whispers, “Lacey, stay with me.” His eyes tell me everything: his love, his fear, his hope, his need for me, and his own excitement. This is the closest I’ve ever felt to anyone in my life, and I feel high, intoxicated with him. I bite my lower lip and try to say “I love you,” but it only comes out as “mmm.” He stops moving, stiffening. I inhale sharply, and he practically falls on me. He kisses me again. My lips, my neck, my chest, anywhere he can reach with his mouth. Everything about us is sweaty and moist from our kisses, but I don’t care. I want him to stay with me as close as he is now. I never want to lose this feeling. He pulls the covers over us, and we lie like that and fall asleep for a while.
All through the night, we wake each other up with kisses and make love; I’ve never had a night so wonderful as this night. The next morning, just before the sun rises, I put on his shirt and sit at the foot of the bed leaning against the log rail and watch him sleep. I watch the pink and orange sunrise spread across his beautiful face. I smell him all over me, and it stirs me again. The sun continues to seep in through the windows, and he’s glorious. I realize I might be insane for this kid. He stirs and opens his eyes slowly. He pats the bed beside him and then looks up alarmed. Then he sees me and smiles.
“Hey, love,” he says in a scruffy morning voice. “Hi,” I reply softly.
“Come here.” He sits up and pulls me up to him and snuggles in close to me, taking a deep breath of me.
“We can’t spend the whole day in bed,” I say, trying to be the voice of reason.
“Who says?” he mumbles.
“The world. We’ve got to be checked out by noon,” I say sadly. He checks his phone and groans, but we still lay there awhile longer basking in each other.
After breakfast, and we pick up, pack up, and load his car. I scoot across the bench front seat and snuggle in under his arm. I fall asleep before we reach the state road. The next thing I know, he is pulling into my driveway. Neither of my parent’s cars are in the driveway, so he comes in with me as I put my bag up in my room. I walk him back downstairs, and we stand at the hood of his car. He leans against it and puts his hands on my hips, pulling me close to him.
“What are you gonna do now?” I ask, draping my arm around his neck, loving our glow.
“Sleep,” he chuckles.
“That does sound tempting,” I agree, stifling a yawn.
“You sound tempting. I’m not going to be able to put last night out of my mind for years, maybe ever.” He shakes his head and kisses my forehead.
“Good,” I say.
Lana
“My mom wants you to come over for dinner,” Tomas says as he stares at the TV. Dad is in the kitchen seasoning up some hamburgers. It’s late March, still cold, but as soon as the snow melted he began cooking out about once a week. My parents love the back patio.
“When?” I ask, glancing at my dad. He whistles as he mixes.
“Friday,” he says, still not looking at me. I groan and lean back into the couch. “We’ve been together for almost six months. Mom wants us to come around more.” Six months? It seems like yesterday we met on the first day of school, but then I realize it’s almost April. The school year is nearly over. I’ve not felt this healthy mentally and even physically in a long time, if ever. My scars from cutting are now faint white lines. You can still see them, and they’ll always be there, but they aren’t as noticeable. My scars from my suicide attempt are just thin, brown lines. I feel like, just as the scars are fading, the pain of that whole experience, that dark period in my life, is fading too. With Dr. Mase’s help, I hope that if I’m ever in that situation again, I will make the right decision. I wonder if Tomas is tired of hearing about who I was versus who I am now. I think he understands that it’s a part of who I am. Each day I have to accept that I can’t change the past. I can only learn from my mistakes and move forward. “I think we should talk to my dad,” he finally says, as if he’s been having his own internal monologue too.
“About me?” I actually gulp when I ask it.
“Yeah, I think he needs to understand that whatever stereotype he’s placed on you isn’t the right impression. I think we should talk to both of my parents about it. My dad is old school when it comes to his views of people. It’s not fair, but I think we could convince him.” He drapes his arm around my neck and drags me into the crook of his arm as my arm lands across his chest. He kisses the top of my head, and I want to feel relieved, but I don’t. I’m not sure if I can feel relief until after Friday.
Lacey’s short shorts are back. All fall and winter I think she missed them more than anything, but she’s wearing her
short grey dress shorts with a silky, flowing, black top and a lightweight mint green sweater. We are driving to school with the windows down. Lacey’s different these days. I’m not sure I can put my finger on it exactly. She and Chase are like no other couple I’ve seen before. They don’t fight over stupid stuff or play games with each other. They don’t fight at all. They are in synch with each other on almost every level. Me, I’m in skinny jean Bermuda shorts, and a thin, brown plaid button-up shirt wavy hair and sandals. My shirt is long sleeves. I’m still not ready to reveal my scars to the world. Maybe I’ll be ready by next school year.
When we arrive at school Stacey, Henry, Bea, and Byron call Lacey over to them. I don’t understand why Lacey’s so trusting of them now. The way I see it, a zebra can’t change it’s spots. This is where you tell me zebras have stripes, and I say, “My point exactly.” We walk over to them just outside the entrance to school. I wonder if Chase is pacing yet, worried about where Lacey is.
“I like your outfit,” Bea says immediately, and Lacey thanks her.
“Saturday night, do not make plans,” Byron interrupts demandingly. Lacey looks between them, confused. I glance around the group and really look at them. Byron, Bea, and Stacey are smiling at her sincerely; Henry’s expression says something else, though I can’t really decipher it. He’s smiling, but there’s a sadness in his eyes, too. He watches everything she does. As a breeze blows us, and she moves the hair from her face, his eyes go to her neck; as she shifts her bag on her shoulder, his gaze follows her hands to the strap, and when she leans on her side, his ogling, that is apparently obvious only to me, travels discreetly up and down her whole body. She doesn’t pay him any attention; she’s focused on Byron and Bea as they glance between each other like they are sharing a secret. “It’s our birthday. We’re having a little get-together, and you have to come,” Byron continues. “I’ll text you all the deets.” He smiles, and Lacey nods as we go on toward the doors. Just before we go through, I turn and look at them again. The others are talking to Derrick Chandler, but Henry is watching us. He looks away when he notices me.
By Friday after school, I’m literally a ball of energy moving at kinetic speed. Tomas comes up to my locker as the final bell sounds.
“Hey,” he smiles. I jump and grab my heart as it explodes in my chest. “Sorry,” he adds as he shifts nervously on his feet.
“Sorry, I’m just. . . anxious,” I offer.
“It’s going to be fine, are you ready?” He takes my hand as I close my locker.
No. “Yep.” I grip his hand so tightly, and our hands begin to feel clammy as we stroll toward his truck in the parking lot.
“Calm down,” he says as he unlocks the truck and opens my door for me. I climb in and sit down, but he stays there and looks up at me. I turn to face him and put my trembling hands on his steady shoulders.
“I don’t want to do this,” I whisper.
“I know, but we don’t have any other options.” He puts his hands at my waist, and leaning in, he kisses me. “Trust me on this. Once my dad understands everything, he’ll see you like I do, as you are, a loyal friend with a genuine honesty. Beautiful on the inside and outside.” I nod, unsure as I turn forward and he shuts the door. The drive to his house is quiet. As we enter his house, I smell the most delicious scent of Mexican food.
“Mmm, Chilate,” Tomas smiles at me. “It’s like a spicy tomato and chicken soup. You’ll love it.” He leads me through the house into the kitchen where we find his mother standing at the stove.
“Hi, guys,” Bridget smiles as she pulls Tomas into a hug. Then she hugs me and smiles at me, smoothing my hair from my face. I wore khaki capri shorts with a linen cream top, I hope that I am presentable enough. Nothing like a first impression take two. Tomas’ dad rises from the recliner in the great room just off the kitchen, and it’s all I can do not to jump when he appears.
“Hi, Dad,” Tomas says casually.
“Tomas. . . Lana,” he says as he nods to us. “I thought dinner was at five.” He looks at Bridget, and she smiles nervously.
“We wanted to talk to you guys about something if that’s alright,” Tomas begins, bravely if you ask me. His dad crosses his arms and leans against the cabinet. Tomas looks at me, as if to say “go ahead,” and I take a deep breath.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gonzales, I know things have been tense between us since we met at Thanksgiving. I’m not sure I was completely forthright with you.” There I go, talking like an adult again. “Last spring I had a sort of breakdown emotionally. I was dealing with a lot of hardships at school, and I began to deal with it in a destructive way.”
“You cut yourself on your thighs and arms and stomach. You tried to kill yourself by slitting your wrists up to the middle of your forearm. You wanted to die and begged the doctors to let you die. You said you deserved to die.” My jaw falls slack as I stare at Mr. Gonzales wide-eyed. Tomas stumbles backwards until he falls in a chair at the breakfast table. “You said you’d be better off, everyone would be better off.” He pauses and watches me as the tears well in my eyes, making them glassy. “It was me who saved you. I saved your life.” I try to think about that night and all the faces I remembered seeing. His wasn’t one of them.
“You saved me?” I ask stupidly.
“Yes, I was the ER doctor working that night. That’s my department. I recognized you on Thanksgiving even though you changed your appearance.”
“Then you understand how desperate I was.”
“Yes, and how weak you were. What kind of girl throws her life away so carelessly? Not a girl whom I want my son associated with, and the stigma that follows,” he says it almost compassionately, but the words sting me.
“I’m not that girl anymore. I was spoiled and a mean person. I did die that night. The old me did; now I’m a girl who appreciates every day because it’s a gift. I’m learning to forgive myself.” I hold my chin up defiantly. “I was shunned, ridiculed, and humiliated at school. Lies and vicious rumors were spread about me, and it could have been because I was such a wretched person who treated people like that first, but that didn’t make it right. I was alone, I felt abandoned, and as dirty as the things that were said about me. I thought I had no one. Only someone who has reached that depth of despair and depression can understand it. Sometimes now when I think about it, I don’t understand it. I have the scars and will carry them with me as a reminder of my selfishness. I’m not that girl you saved. I’m stronger. Tomas saw that in me. I hope that you can too someday.” A large teardrop falls from my eye.
“I know all about what you went through. I sat with your family as your sister told your parents the secrets and lies you were hiding from them. I hoped that you would learn your lesson and grow. I’m pleased that you have been able to move on from the whole experience, but for now I still stand in my decision. I hope that I can see what my son sees in you someday too.” He straightens himself and returns to the great room without saying anything else to me. Bridget steps closer to me and embraces me in a tight hug.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tomas calls after his dad as he rises. Mr. Gonzales turns and looks at Tomas. Bridget releases me as Mr. Gonzales’ words roll around in my head.
“Because whether or not you chose to be with Lana was your decision. I hoped that she was honest with you, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell you about her.” They stare at each other. Not angrily, not menacingly, they just stare.
“All we are asking is for a fresh start. I love her, Dad. She makes me happy,” he says as he takes his eyes away from his dad and looks at me.
“As long as you follow our rules, you can see her. If you break them, your relationship is over.” He sits again in his chair, and Tomas looks at me with hopelessness on his face.
“You two go wash up. Dinner is ready now, and we’re all here. It doesn’t make sense to wait to eat.” Bridget says as she goes to the cupboards an
d begins taking down bowls. Defeated, we follow her instructions.
Lacey
I’ve never been to Byron and Bea’s house. It’s a few blocks from my house and looks similar to our house, a remodeled historic home with an in-ground swimming pool in the backyard. Byron greets us at the door, excited that we are there. He tells us to make ourselves comfortable, and drinks are in the kitchen. We go there and get sodas. A lot of people are here; this is not a little get-together.
“We’re just making an appearance.” I pull Chase toward me and whisper in his ear.
“I just don’t understand when appearances became so important to you.” I look at him confused as Bea squeals from across the room and runs to me embracing me in a hug.
“You made it,” she slurs.
“I told you I’d come.” I offer a smile as Chase looks away.
“Well, make yourself at home,” she says. “I’ve got to get back.” She motions to her clique in the corner.
“Let’s explore,” Chase whispers in my ear sexily. When I look at him, he’s now wearing a wicked grin, so I follow him back through the house toward the stairs. We begin to climb as Byron notices us.
“You guys can go wherever; just don’t go into my parent’s room.” I nod as Chase drags me upstairs. We peek into the first room and assume it’s Bea’s because it’s hot pink and zebra print with white furniture. We giggle because that’s her. Across the hall is a room with grey walls and black and white linens. No messy, dirty clothes piled up, neatly made bed, desk in the corner with his laptop sitting on it. The carpet looks freshly vacuumed. Yeah, Byron is so gay. I’d totally live in this room. Chase looks confused as he closes the door. The third doorway is a bathroom with a simple boardwalk beach theme. The fourth room is an office, big desk, lots of large leather bound books in a bookshelf, computer in the corner. Chase goes to the fifth door and looks at me then past me down the hall before he opens the door.
Mia Castile - [The Butterfly Chronicles 02] Page 24