I Like You Like This

by Heather Cumiskey

  Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “What’s up?” Her voice seemed small and strange to her ears.

  Deacon looked like he wasn’t going to answer, but after a few breaths he finally did, his gaze steady and unchanging like the water. “Ever wonder what it would be like to walk into the sun . . . literally out on top of the lake, sinking deeper and deeper, until you were completely under and all you could hear was the water, deadening all sound . . . until there was nothing?”

  “Huh?”

  Deacon rested his elbow on his door window and ran his fingertips over his face and eyelids. He pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “I used to swim competitively when I was a kid. It was the only place where I could . . . you know, like, relax. Letting the water rush through my ears . . . slicing it with my hands . . . taking it on like it couldn’t break me. Nothing could, least I thought so. Every day, I couldn’t wait to get back in the water, to escape from all the noise, where it could just be me . . . at peace. Alone.”

  “Do you still swim?”

  “No.” He let out a strange laugh. “I once told my parents I made the high school swim team. And needed to go to practice at school, early in the morning.”

  “But—”

  “I know . . . the school doesn’t have a pool. Now you know how involved my parents are.”

  “Geez. Where do you go, then?”

  “I don’t sleep much, so I really do go to school early, but I just hang out. I don’t really tell people this, but I get a kick out of watching the janitors.” He looked over at Hannah. “I know, weird. They smoke their red cartons of Marlboros together before work . . . stand around laughing . . . sharing inside jokes . . . patting one another on the back. They’re like a family, it’s fascinating to watch,” he said, smiling—but his enthusiasm quickly extinguished itself. He pressed his lips together and his gaze hardened once again.

  Hannah looked out onto the water, then back at him. Not knowing what to do, she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

  “It’s not like I’m in a rush to go home after school. I hang out in the courtyard. Kids find me. If it’s cold or crappy outside, I chill in the cafeteria . . . basically watching the janitors move trash, sweep shit up, mop, whatever. Their lives seem so easy and uncomplicated, simple.” Deacon hesitated and intertwined his fingers with hers. “Every day, they get a chance at a fresh start.” He looked over at her; he seemed more tired than she’d ever seen him.

  “Don’t your parents ask why you don’t bring home any medals from swimming?”

  “I guess they think I suck.” He laughed darkly. “Most times, they don’t even know when I leave the house.”

  Hannah’s chest swirled with a familiar sadness that for once wasn’t hers. Her body felt stiff, her legs prickly from sitting so long. She still had no idea what to say. They both watched as the last bit of sun got completely swallowed up by the lake. It was then that Hannah realized she’d never felt closer to anyone in her life. With a shy smile, she climbed onto Deacon’s lap and nestled her head against shoulder. She could feel his heart beating against her body. He tightened his arms around her, protective and strong.

  Without words, Deacon began kissing her, cupping her face in his hands. He ran his fingers through her hair, sending tingles down her scalp and the back of her neck. His breath quickened when his mouth plunged deeper into hers. She could tell he was getting excited, and it made her feel high. He suddenly pulled away and peered into her eyes, making her chest do backflips. She kissed him then, her lips traveling over his smooth, flawless face, the one that had become a tantalizing drug for her, tugging on her like nothing she’d experienced before. Instantly, she felt insatiable as an addict, unable to take her eyes off his godlike features. Overwhelmed, she closed them and waited for him to kiss her once more, but Deacon withheld until she looked at him again. When she did, he ran his hand along the front of her neck, forcing her to tilt back her head, exposing what he was after. He dove back into her, devouring her neck, his kisses escalating, holding her all the while to keep her from pulling away.

  All at once, her body heat climbed and her coat and sweater became unbearable against her skin. Deacon helped her out of the jacket and then the sweater, maneuvering her around the steering wheel. His hand found her breast outside her blouse and stayed there. Hannah started unbuttoning his coat, suddenly wanting to inhale every part of him and press her lips against his sweet-smelling skin, starting with the warm spot between his neck and clavicle where his cologne lingered the longest.

  They moved into the backseat. Deacon slipped out of his coat and kicked off his boots. Hannah had never seen him in just his black T-shirt and jeans and it startled her. She lay down on the bench seat and Deacon followed her, scanning the area outside the car before letting his body sink into hers. The weight of him sent heavenly chills down her spine, into her limbs, and through her fingers, electrifying her all at once.

  “Oh, Hannah.”

  “It feels . . .” she whispered back.

  “I know . . . so good,” he said breathlessly into her ear, running his tongue along her neck until she let out a small moan. Hannah sheepishly buried her face until she saw him grinning. So this is what it’s like, she thought, to want someone, every part of him. Her mind drifted into a dream world where it was just the two of them, alone together, forever in love.

  Deacon pulled back. “Shh . . . do you hear that?” His eyes stopped on something beyond the window. Then Hannah heard it too: voices, and they were getting louder. Separate balls of light danced along the car’s front side window, bouncing ominously through the fogged glass. How long have they been there, were they watching us? Hannah worried, biting her bottom lip, her eyes darting around wildly.

  “Wait here,” Deacon said. He casually straightened his clothes, then climbed over into the front seat to grab his coat and boots. Hannah blinked a few times watching him, but the tears still came streaming down her cheeks. She hid her face when he opened the driver’s side door. When he slammed it shut, the whole car shook, along with her in it. Her arousal cooled, replaced by a sudden feeling of shame. Her parents’ voices storming her head: You slut. Whore. He’s cheapening you.

  Lying low on the seat, she quickly tucked in her blouse and pulled on her sweater with shaking hands. Then she cleared the damp curls from her face—and that’s when she heard them. Laughing. She tugged hard on the ends of her hair, grabbing fistfuls, straining to hear. He’s telling them, she thought. She closed her eyes. Whatever they had just shared together, the closeness she had felt to him, both were long over.

  Several moments passed and it felt like agony, but still Hannah couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was dark and she knew she had to get home. Her parents would surely kill her for this one. She hadn’t even called to say she’d be late.

  Finally, she crawled into the front seat to find her coat. Where the heck were her shoes? She felt along the floor and found them. She held her breath, trying to drum up the courage to open the passenger side door. It’s now or never.

  Over the top of the car, she saw the group—five of them, including her supposed boyfriend. Two of the boys held flashlights aimed at the ground while they spoke in low voices. There was a girl she didn’t recognize who nodded and smiled whenever the boys laughed, reminding her of Taylor. In the dark, she could have easily been Taylor’s twin with her slim build and long dark hair.

  The kids immediately stopped talking when they saw Hannah. She ignored them and stared at Deacon. He glanced at her then turned back to his conversation. Hannah felt the anger rising up both sides of her head, her jaw clenching until it hurt. She crossed her forearms and leaned them on top of the car. Soon her head followed, folding onto them. Her once-sweaty body began to shiver.

  Hannah’s mind raced between making a scene and obediently getting back in the car. She didn’t like either option. Then two of the boys, including one with a flashlight, reached into thei
r pockets, and one of them raised two fingers, leading Deacon to pull two bags from inside his trench coat. Hannah felt momentarily bewildered that he had drugs on him, and then realized her naiveté. He’s a dealer, not a Boy Scout.

  Deacon and Hannah barely said a word to one another driving back to her house, and even less when she slammed the car door behind her.

  CHAPTER 21

  “STAY AWAY FROM HER,” TAYLOR’S MOM TOLD HER DAUGHTER when Hannah passed their house Friday morning to catch the bus. Hannah rolled her eyes and pressed on.

  Taylor’s mom reminded Hannah of one of those impossibly skinny-legged models out of a Ralph Lauren catalog, complete with her plaid headband (like mother like daughter), uniform pearls, and crewneck top, paired smartly with her never-been-on-a-horse equestrian pants and stylish heels. She exuded enough pep and false empathy to equal a gymnasium full of Garden Club groupies. Hannah imagined that those gratuitous hugs she’d seen her bestow on her lady friends in public were really barbed wire in disguise once backs were turned.

  Taylor definitely favored her mother in the looks department. She was by far the real beauty between the two of them, but still, her mom looked pretty great for her age. Hannah wondered what it was like for Taylor to have a hot mom who strutted around like she owned the town, her spry, wiry body wrapping itself around all the right people.

  It’s fine, Hannah told herself, shrugging off Taylor’s mom’s words. Those girls didn’t mean much to her now. It was actually a relief to not be so preoccupied with them and trying to fit into their fake world. The real problem now was with Deacon and the never-ending stream of losers who appeared out of nowhere wherever he went, like at school or in the park when they were making out last night.

  Luckily, her parents had been upstairs when she got home and didn’t seem to have noticed her absence. Kerry and her mom went to bed early, while her dad stared at the downstairs TV late into the evening. Still Hannah tortured herself, tossing in bed, running through everything that happened. Deacon hadn’t called and she was sure he was pissed. Times like this, she didn’t even know what they had together. Obviously not good communication skills. Was it just physical between them? But he didn’t pressure her sexually and had moved pretty slowly so far, she reasoned, especially for a senior. He could be so sweet with her, too—protective, even.

  But his ever-present beeper was definitely the third wheel in their relationship.

  Hannah chewed on the ends of her hair, telling herself that what he did on the side didn’t matter. She thought about what Peter said. Was Deacon putting her in danger? She knew she was falling for him and becoming more dependent on their relationship. She’d hated her life before him, and the thought of them being done summoned a lump in the back of her throat. She tucked the wet strands of hair behind her ear. Did I just screw the whole thing up?

  “Hey,” Hannah said, sliding into the seat next to Peter. The bus’s screeching air brakes sounded louder than normal against Peter’s silence. It’s just as well, Hannah thought, feeling her stomach drop as the bus chugged up the final hill to school like the train in one of Kerry’s favorite books, The Little Engine That Could.

  She closed her eyes, thinking of what she was going to say to Deacon . . . if he was even waiting for her.

  “Read the assignment for Myers’s class?”

  Hannah opened her eyes. The furthest thing from her mind was homework. “Yeah, it sucked. So boring.”

  “For sure,” Peter said, giving her a small smile.

  “Now you sound like a Valley Girl.”

  “Fer sure, fer sure. She’s a Valley Girl,” Peter sang, mimicking that infectious Frank and Moon Zappa song that still played unmercifully on the radio.

  “Gag me with a spoon,” she teased back, relieved that they’d moved past their awkward moment.

  Hannah stepped off the bus, knowing that Deacon wouldn’t be waiting for her. Taking a deep breath, she walked up the long path into school, dreading what awaited her behind its large steel-gray doors.

  She soldiered on through the crowded hallway, rounding the bend toward homeroom, and that’s when she saw the black trench coat and crossed combat boots leaning leisurely against her locker, watching her make her way through the stream of kids. She immediately felt something pick her up by the elbows and practically float her over to him, and she knew he could see it too. She tried not to smile, averting her eyes, but it was too late. He kissed her forehead and held his face close to hers. She inhaled his delicious, spicy scent, and tilted up her face to kiss him once then again, this time longer. His lips were warm and soft, inviting her back into his world. Her chest twisted with a longing to be alone with him, like they had been in the park. She pulled back, hoping to see her thoughts reflected in his eyes, but she couldn’t read them. A white blur caught her eye: in his hand was a long-stemmed rose.

  “Wow, didn’t see that coming. It’s beautiful,” she said softly.

  “For you . . . for yesterday.”

  She pursed her lips, stripping them of color, then brought the flower to her nose, letting the creamy petal caress her upper lip. Wait, this doesn’t erase what happened, the voice in her head wailed. But this isn’t the place, she told it. Besides, how could she now? She managed a small smile and he drew her into his arms. She surrendered to his lips once again and it felt right—more than right, it fed her. Hannah floated back into her dream world where it was just the two of them, alone and always feeling like this. Dizzily, she opened her eyes to watch him kiss her. But instead, she caught him staring at something behind her. A dark shadow crept across his eyes before he pulled away.

  “Let’s go,” he said with a sigh.

  “Okay, one sec, let me get my books first.” Hannah fumbled with her locker, aware that Deacon’s body was shifting with impatience. She looked to either side of her. The hallway was empty.

  Fucking white rose. Toby smirked. He pulled on his varsity football jacket and ran his fingers through his thick auburn hair, glancing around to see if anyone was checking him out. No one was. His eyes rested again on the picture of the famous family he’d cut from the newspaper and taped to the back of his locker where you could only see it if you’d emptied the space of all its contents.

  He glowered at them, the fairy-tale family—wholesomely promoted, never ostentatious, perfectly manicured and maintained like one of those lawn commercials. Toby guffawed, letting his spit fly in their faces: the esteemed, enviable parents, good-looking and capable in their own right, each with a hand on the shoulder of their ever-dashing, popular teenage son, all dressed in black.

  CHAPTER 22

  “HANNAH ! GET THE HELL OUT HERE,” HER FATHER CALLED, storming through the house. Hannah quickly pushed her math book aside and opened her bedroom door. An audible gasp escaped from her lips as she stepped nervously back into her room. Her father’s face burned purple with rage. His yard jacket was covered in leaves, and clumps of mud traipsed along his sleeve—all the way down to the stepstool shaking in his hand.

  Oh Christ, the stepstool!

  “What the hell is this?” he spat.

  “I-I don’t know, Dad,” Hannah stammered. Think, think! “Maybe Kerry was playing with it outside?”

  “How do you know I found it outside?”

  Shit. “The mud?”

  “I fell over this in the flowerbed under your bedroom window. There were muddy shoe marks on the siding, Hannah!”

  “Dad . . . I don’t have any . . .”

  “Have you been sneaking out? You . . . you whore!”

  “No, I haven’t. Dad, stop! Please.” Hannah tried to close her door, but his left arm shot out and blocked it as he took two more steps into her room, spraying the mud across her floor.

  “Stop, Daddy! Stop!” Her bedroom began to swirl like a merry-go-round; she was falling, really falling. Her legs folded underneath her, and the carpet rose up toward her face. She caught herself before her nose hit. Slumping to the ground like a rag doll, she begged for it to stop:
her dad’s yells, the spinning room, for it all to stop.

  Whore. Whore. Whore.

  Hannah didn’t know how long it was before she opened her eyes, but when she looked back at her doorway, he was gone.

  She stumbled out of her room to the kitchen. Her hands fumbled with the phone. Please, please be home, she prayed.

  He answered on the second ring.

  “Deacon, I have to get out of here. Can you come get me?”

  “You had a flashback from the trip. It happens.” He sighed and stroked her hair until she felt like she was going to pass out. If she could just die in Deacon’s arms right then, sitting in his car around the block from her house, Hannah thought, that would be all right by her.

  “How can I ever go back?” she asked, setting off a fresh wave of tears. Her thumbs ached, and for a moment she thought about how much she loved to suck them as a child.

  “Shhh, don’t worry about that. It’s all going to blow over. Eventually, he’ll forget about it. They all do,” he said, staring out the front window. It was beginning to rain.

  “I can’t go back there!” Hannah cried.

  He pulled her into his arms. She felt broken and small. “Where do you want to go, then?” he whispered into her hair.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  Deacon’s house was perched on top of the tallest hill in town, peering down at the rows of cookie-cutter homes below. The mansion, replicated from an old English Tudor in South Wales, bore a brass plaque at its driveway entrance with the name Highfield Manor inscribed in it. Hannah couldn’t recall visiting a home with a name before—except for her fifth-grade field trip to the White House, but that didn’t really count.