by Yessi Smith
“It’s enough,” he interrupted. “It’s more than I knew was possible to dream for.”
“I’m sorry for what I said that day, for pushing you away and not being there for you.” I sucked in a long breath. “I’m sorry for every bad thing I said about you through the years, for making fun of you with Nicole, when the truth is I never thought anything bad about you. I saw you disappear into yourself and I let you. I’m sorry, Roderick. So sorry.”
“It’s over,” he whispered. “No more sorrys for tonight.”
“Your birthday present is in my room,” I continued speaking. “It’s a bunch of poems and short stories I wrote, a couple of my favorite books, a playlist of my favorite songs. Do you know what they have in common? Why I’m giving them to you?”
“No.”
“Every time I write, listen to a song, read a book or dream, I see you. The boy I ran off. The boy I couldn’t turn away from. The boy I disappointed. The boy I’ve loved since we were little kids. Every love poem I’ve written, every poem about hope or despair I’ve written has you in it and I didn’t realize it until I was reading over them a couple weeks ago.”
He didn’t reply but kissed my shoulder.
“You’re all I’ve ever seen, all I’ve ever wanted. You’re every love song, every love story. You’re my heart.”
“These are the words that matter,” he whispered. “Not what was on that paper, not what you said four years ago.”
My heart soared. I didn’t deserve him. This love, so fragile and tender. So hopeless and messy. So beautiful. This love that made me feel alive, made me feel like living without fear of the future.
Eyes the deepest of blue
so much like the endless sea.
Now they remind me of the sweeping current,
fierce but beautiful.
They remind me of stormy seas
with thunder rumbling from his irises.
He’s the oncoming storm,
fierce but beautiful,
but he only destroys himself.
If only I could be his safe haven
But I let him go,
and he never came back.
Poem after poem, I read Brinley’s words, immersed myself in her heart. Like she said, they were all about me. A boy with inky black hair, lips that no longer smiled, but she dreamt of that smile, of making me smile again.
I hadn’t gotten to the short stories she’d written yet, but had already downloaded the songs on her playlist even though she said she had them on her phone. But I wanted them, wanted to find myself in them and see how she saw me.
“Roderick,” she whispered from the bed beside me, “it’s almost midnight.”
“Yeah?” I didn’t look up from the next poem.
He saw me today,
saw past the words
I use like a harsh cord,
past the ugly exterior
I hide behind.
He saw me today
I was his princess,
not the vain one,
but a beautiful queen
to his noble king.
And he loved me.
I looked up to the top of the page at the date, saw it was written a few months into our freshmen year, around the same time I started calling her princess. The turmoil that settled in my gut twisted my insides. I hurt her, the same way she hurt me.
After putting the folder she gave me on her night stand, I turned back to face her. Ran a finger over her sleek cheek.
“I hurt you a lot,” I said, my heart bleeding with the words.
“We’re not doing anymore sorrys, remember?” she asked. “Those were your rules back at the beach – no more sorrys.”
“Okay.” That didn’t mean I wasn’t and that I wouldn’t do everything to make it up to her.
“Besides, I didn’t give you those poems to make you sad, but so you could see I never let you go. Not really.”
I leaned in a bit closer so that my lips barely grazed hers. Her hands found my hair, and I closed my eyes at how perfect it felt. How perfect she felt.
We’d hurt each other, but I was done hurting her. Never again. And I hoped she was done hurting me.
“One minute before you turn eighteen,” she said with an excited lilt to her voice.
“And I’m spending it with my favorite person.”
She smiled. “The only thing that would make this moment even better is if we had a cake.” Her eyes lit up when she jumped out of bed.
I sat up. “Do you have a cake hiding in here somewhere?”
“Not a whole cake.” She made a dash to her closet.
“So like half a cake? A slice of cake?” I teased.
“Close your eyes.”
I did. When I felt her sit down beside me, I reached for her, and she took my hand in hers.
“You can open now,” she said.
My eyes fluttered open, and I felt my lips spread in a big smile when I saw her holding a cupcake with white icing and a carrot on top.
“Carrot cake?” I asked.
“Your favorite.” Her face changed, uncertainty crossing her features. “Is it still your favorite?”
Dipping my finger in the icing, I brought it to my lips and smiled. “Still my favorite.”
“You cheated!” She batted my hand away. “You’re not supposed to have any until I sing happy birthday.”
Bringing my hands to the back of my head, I leaned against a pillow and waited. “You better start singing then.”
She did. She lit a candle and sang to me. It was the sweetest sound I’d heard. I was the happiest I’d ever been. When she finished, I blew out my candle and for the first time in five years I didn’t wish for a past I couldn’t outrun, but for a future I could look forward to.
When I dug a finger into the icing again, she placed one hand on my chest and the other around my wrist where she guided my finger to her mouth. I moaned, a deep ache built when she licked the tip of my finger. Her fingers moved against my shirt over the collar until she touched my neck, and I loved the feel of her soft hand on my heated flesh. I leaned up, set my cupcake on her nightstand and crushed my lips to hers.
She closed her eyes and I followed suit. My tongue met hers. She trembled.
Her fingers roamed to my hair while she used her other hand to slide it under my shirt. She splayed her palm over my chest where she caressed me with a feather light touch.
A groan rumbled from my throat but I kept the kiss soft. Slow.
The air in the room felt heavy. As if the room itself felt my desperation. My need for this girl. My girl.
Her fingers dug into my scalp. I only left her lips to move mine over her neck. My hands reached for her shoulder. With a single finger, I shifted the strap of her tank top down and grazed my lips over where the strap had rested.
Trailing over her shirt, I traced the bottom of it and let my fingers touch her stomach. Heaven. I’d found heaven.
Her breath became ragged. I edged away to look at her face. Her lips were parted, her eyes wide with the same raw desire pulsing in my veins.
She clasped the bottom of her shirt and lifted it over her head.
“Brinley,” I rasped out. “You don’t have to…”
“Touch me, Roderick.” With both hands, she pushed my hair back, out of my face. “Kiss me.”
I kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks and lips. My fingers followed, memorizing everything. I needed to take in everything about her, all the details. Everything she hid, everything she gave me.
With soft movements, I moved her so that her back rested against the pillow, and I hovered over her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Cupping her bra, I moved a hand over the soft fabric. The ache that had been building surged in the pit of my stomach. I held it back, or tried to, but a moan fell from my lips when she arched her back.
“Touch me,” she all but pleaded.
I skimmed a thumb under her bra and inhaled a sharp breath when I made contact with her breast.
Closing my eyes, I brought my lips to her chest. I kissed her. From her neck to her stomach, I covered her with everything I had to give.
This crazy, intense love swam through me. I loved this girl. Forever.
Ecstasy. Euphoria. Total bliss.
I slipped my hand under his shirt, over the lean muscles that rippled at my touch. Needing to see him, I edged his shirt up, hating the absence of his lips on me when he pulled the shirt over his head. But his bare chest was beautiful. He was beautiful.
Roderick gripped my waist when I leaned up to kneel in front of him.
It didn’t make sense, how much I needed him. Needed everything he could give me. Needed to give him everything I had to give.
With my hands splayed on his shoulders, I brushed a kiss over his chest, swept my tongue every now and then to sate my desire to taste him. As I explored him, he cradled the back of my head. He tugged my face closer to his and weakened me when I felt his lips back on my neck, trailing down to my shoulder and across my chest.
Long, beautiful fingers dug into my hips. When I traced my lips to his neck, he leaned his head back on a guttural moan. My own hands reached for his waist, brought his body closer to mine and when his pelvis met mine, I felt his excitement.
Lust. Love. They blurred together.
I leaned back, rested my back on the bed, while bringing Roderick down with me. With his weight on top of me, he pressed his body pressed between my legs where I throbbed the most. My hips pushed up on their own accord, and I sucked in a breath when I felt how badly he wanted me.
Friction. I wanted friction.
He inched his face down, our lips touching again. This kiss was wilder. Rawer. More desperate. I moved my hips against his again.
It was my turn to moan. Maybe he did too.
“Roderick,” I breathed his name.
A tremor shook my body. I wanted more. Needed more.
He ran a hand over my thigh, across the side of my stomach to my breast, where he lingered.
“Take it off,” I begged.
He fumbled with the back of my bra when I sat up. Breaths heaved loudly in my ear where he continued to tease me with his lips and tongue.
“Take it off,” I repeated, my tone on the verge of breaking.
He laughed, but it sounded more frustrated than amused. “I’m trying.”
Twisting in his arms, I reached behind my back where I unhooked my bra. It dawned on me so quickly, it hit me in my gut. I’d taken off my bra. I was mostly naked in front of Roderick.
I didn’t have time to feel shy or insecure. Not when Roderick’s heated stare took in every inch of me with appreciation.
“Beautiful.” His voice was like gravel, and it sent an electric shock down my spine.
He filled both his hands with my breasts. The corners of his lips curled in a smile that made my stomach twist.
Heat flashed in his eyes before he kissed me.
And love, love settled in my chest.
I planned on having sex with Roderick last night. It was one of his birthday presents. But we never got to the part where our pants came off before we reached a sense of pleasure that was new to both of us.
He was embarrassed, made all sorts of apologies only for me to reassure him the same thing had happened to me. After a quick peck on his lips, I rushed to the shower and kept it running after I finished so he could clean up.
His stare raked over me while I fumbled into clean clothes after I dried myself. I would’ve felt self-conscious if he didn’t make me feel so beautiful.
Sleep came to us quickly after that. If my mom had an episode that night, I didn’t hear her. And when I woke up this morning, I felt more refreshed than ever before.
“What’s this?” Roderick asked when I handed him another present.
I grinned, my heart hammered in my ear. “Open it and find out.”
He gently tore through the wrapping paper. He held the envelope in his hand, flipped it from one side to the other. Anticipation weighed in my belly, and I had to fight myself from tearing it out of his hands and ripping the envelope open. Years might as well have passed by the time he finally opened it and unfolded the letter. While he read, his eyes bounced from the letter to me.
“Is this real?” he asked, holding the paper up. His eyes were huge, merriment spilling from behind them.
My smile widened and I nodded.
He threw himself at me, locked his arms around me. “You’re serious?” Disbelief and awe washed over his words. “You got accepted in to the Art School of San Diego?”
I hugged him back, inched onto the tip of my toes to kiss his neck. “Yeah.”
“And you’re going?”
“Yeah.”
“What about UCLA?” He stopped, ran a hand over my back and into my hair. “You were so excited when you were accepted. You can’t throw that away. I told you, Brin, I got into UCLA and should be approved for financial aid.” He paused again, blew out an agitated breath. “You can’t give up UCLA. It’s too important.”
“I’m not giving up anything. UCLA is…” I kissed his cheek. “I dunno. I thought I wanted to go there, but I looked up the school in San Diego. They have so many classes I can take for writing. I can be an editor, journalist or even write the next great novel.” I giggled. I seemed to do that a lot lately. “I looked into it for you, so we could stay together without you giving up your scholarship,” I said softly. “I’m doing it for both of us – you and me. I want this. I wanna see if writing takes me anywhere, and I want to do it with you right beside me.”
He sighed. It sounded content, like I’d said the right thing. It was one of my truths he’d helped me unbury, one I wouldn’t keep hidden now that I’d told him my plan. I wanted to write. I wanted to be a writer.
“I spoke to my dad, and we’re actually going to drive up there to look at apartments on Wednesday. He took three days off from work, so we’d have plenty of time to look around. And,” I dug my face in to his neck to hide my blush, “I asked your aunt, and she said you could come with us if my dad was okay with it and if… if you wanted to.”
He stepped back, his brows reaching his hairline. “Yeah, of course I wanna go with you. Is your dad okay with me going?”
“Yeah.” I giggled. “I ran the idea by him before I called your aunt. They talked – my dad and your aunt, and we’re all set.”
“We’re going to San Diego in five days?”
“We’re going to San Diego in five days,” I repeated.
Strong arms wrapped around me again. He bent his head down, rested it on my shoulder and breathed. He felt relaxed in my arms. At ease, as if everything in life was right. And maybe it was. Maybe we were doing more than fighting desperately together. Maybe we were healing.
“I have one more present for you,” I said.
He chuckled. “Pretty sure you’ve already given me enough.”
“You’ll like this one.”
He laughed harder. “Pretty sure I liked them all.”
“Yeah.” I ran my hands under his shirt and across his back. “Which was your favorite?”
“Was us making out on your bed one of my presents?”
My cheeks heated.
“Then that was my favorite.”
Mine too, but I didn’t say anything. Pretty sure the blush on my cheeks spoke enough for me.
“You coming to San Diego with me… Brin, do you know what that means to me?”
“You giving up your scholarship to be with me… do you know what that meant to me?”
He grinned. It made him look like the sweet boy I grew up with. “You love me.” The way he said it, made it sound like he was accusing me.
“You love me back,” I threw at him.
“I do.”
“Me too.” I rested my head against his chest. It was my favorite place to be, where I could listen to his heart thump against my ear. “My dad wants to take us out to breakfast.” I tilted my head up to look at him. “Is that okay?”
; “Yeah.” He kissed my nose.
“After that, I’m yours until three-ish. We can do whatever you want.”
“What happens after three-ish?”
I tsked. “It’s a surprise which means I’m dropping you off at your aunt’s house, and you can’t sneak out to try to find out what I’m planning.”
“Bossy.”
I stuck out my tongue.
“It’s cute,” he said.
“You’re cute.” The blush that had crept over my cheeks before? It was nothing compared to the way my cheeks lit up in flames at that moment.
“Yeah?” He stroked my face with his knuckles.
Jutting out my chin, I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah.”
He braced a hand to the small of my back and brought me closer to him. When he tipped his head down and traced his lips over my throat, a breath trembled from my lips.
“You’re beautiful,” he said between kisses. “And you’re mine.”
It was an exhilarating declaration that left me breathless.
I was his. His girl.
“You’re mine,” I replied.
My guy, my heart, my world, and my truth.
With my stomach full of pancakes, eggs and bacon, I practically crawled back to my car with my dad on one side of me and Roderick on the other.
“What are you kids up to the rest of the day?” my dad asked.
“I dunno,” I answered. “Birthday boy gets to choose what we’re doing today.”
“I shall remember this day as the day Ms. Brinley Crassus relinquished command of her schedule and let another rule for the day,” my dad teased.
“Ohmygosh,” I groaned. “You’re such a dork.”
“A monumental day indeed, Mr. Crassus,” Roderick joked with him.
I loved seeing them together, how easily they formed a bond. Even if it was a bond built on teasing me.
“I told you, Roderick, call me Phil.”
“Right, sorry… Phil,” Roderick said.
“But Phil is such a dumb name,” I said.
My dad grabbed me in a headlock. I laughed while I tried to wiggle away.
“Dr. Crassus, now that has a ring to it,” I said once I escaped his clutches.