Boys Don't Cry

by Jennifer Melzer

  But we sit there so long it starts to become too late. My eyelids get heavy, the warmth of the blanket wrapped around me is false in its security, but I start to drift away. Sleep pulls me away from this situation I don’t know how to face or deal with.

  I dream I’m standing in a pixelated wasteland, one of my video game alien space boyfriends—the one who died tragically in act three—stands before me, the black circles of his eyes flicking painfully across my face like he’s devouring my sadness and committing it to memory. “Commander,” His voice is deep, but soothing, and when his webbed fingers reach out to touch my shoulder, I shiver. As his green lips part to share what I’m sure is some profound wisdom, I stir awake.

  The candle still flickers on the bedside table, but the room is empty. Somewhere far away I hear music, the saddest song that’s ever touched my ears, and I don’t know if I’m awake or still dreaming, but I want to get up and go to him, put my arms around him and tell him that whatever it is, whatever’s hurting him this way—he should give it to me, let me take it away so he never has to feel it again, but sleep draws me back in, and I don’t wake again when he crawls back into bed and wraps his arms around me.

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  NINETEEN

  I wake up in Nate’s bed, grey dawn eking through the open windows and my body shivering despite the warmth of his body tangled into mine. There’s a part of me that wants to stay like this all day, but something about last night sours the bliss I feel, filling me with insecurity and doubt. I duck out from under the arm pinned across my shoulders without waking him, sit on the edge of the bed and hug my arms across my chest.

  My hair is a wild mess of tangles around my head. I can’t even run my fingers through it, and I imagine trying a comb will be a nightmare. Tugging the elastic band from my wrist, I twist it into a loose, heavy bun on top of my head, then look around the room. At some point after I fell asleep, Nate must have gone downstairs and grabbed the clothes we left there. My t-shirt is folded neatly atop my shorts on the chair near the closet door, my sandals tucked beneath and my purse atop them. His acoustic guitar leans against the same chair and there’s a brief flicker of memory, waking to the distant sound of his sorrow worrying the night with song.

  I should go.

  And then I remember his mother came home at some point during the night and I wonder how she will react if I sneak out of her house right now and she catches me. I’ve met her three times, and she seems to like me well enough, but I don’t imagine she’ll care much for me after discovering I spent the night in her son’s bed.

  The thought makes my stomach uneasy, but I saunter across the room to slide into my shorts and stuff my thin t-shirt into my purse anyway.

  Nate still doesn’t stir while I’m dressing, and even when I slump down on the edge of the bed again and lean over to brush a black strip of hair out of his face, the only part of him that moves is his chest as it rises with breath.

  Why does he have to be so attractive? Beyond that, why do I feel like I already love him?

  He looks so peaceful, not an ounce of sorrow furrowing his brow, none of the telltale signs of a guy who doesn’t believe he deserves to feel happy or loved. I trace the tip of my finger across the arch of his eyebrow, slide it down his temple and lean in to place a gentle kiss against his cheek.

  Last night still hurts, and I feel like the only thing that will help me put this into perspective is a run. Getting out of this room, this space and into the open air will help clear my head. Then I can sort through it all, let the emotions work themselves out before I face the day… and Nate.

  The greater part of me is still so confused, uncertain about my future with him and whether or not there will actually even be one. Sometimes a solid run is the only way to work through and sort out those kinds of problems, so I start to back away, figuring I’ll text him from home before I set out.

  I’m at the edge of the bed and about to stand when a lazy hand curls around my wrist and holds me in place. “Were you just gonna sneak out and never look back? Without even saying goodbye?”

  Turning my head over my shoulder to look at him, he’s squeezing one eye shut and staring up at me with the other, his tongue pushing around the inside of his dry mouth. The slack hand around my wrist tightens, tugging me backward against his chest, and he works his other arm around me to hold me close. He squeezes as if he’s afraid to let me go because what if he doesn’t see me again after I walk out the door?

  Snuggling in close, I burrow my face into his neck and taste the salt of his sweat on my lips when I kiss the skin there. “I need to go for a run,” I whisper.

  “Don’t run away from me, Tali.”

  “Nate, I’m not running—”

  “Stay with me.” Turning his head inward, he kisses through my hair, along my ear, and a parade of tingles sets out from the center of my body.

  “Nate…” I don’t put up much of a struggle. I pull against him just enough that I can almost ignore the way he makes my body feel with a single kiss.

  The arms around me loosen, and at first I think it’s because he’s going to let me go, but then I feel his hand slide down my side, over my hip to rest on the curve of my backside. He squeezes, nuzzling his face into my hair.

  “Let me make it up to you.”

  His nose is against my ear, warm breath exhaling and waking instant desire in the deepest part of me. I shouldn’t be feeling this aroused after last night, but the body betrays. I tighten and relax simultaneously. My hand drifts over his chest, rubbing across the taut muscle of his belly, through the soft trail of black hair there, before finding the stiffness of him straining against the fabric of his boxers.

  “You’ve uh…” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and bite down so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break the skin. I shouldn’t want him as much as I do, but I can’t help myself. Cupping my hand around him through the fabric, my fingers brush his length and thickness, making him suck in a quick breath through tightly clenched teeth. This is such a bad idea. It’s going to make me look cheaper than I felt last night, easier than I actually am, but when he moans softly as I stroke my fingers teasingly, the sound against my throat makes me tingle. “You’ve got a little morning wood there.”

  He snorts, a grin stretching against my cheek as he says the word, “Little?”

  “Oh, there’s nothing little about this.” When I tighten my grip on him, he gasps again. “It was just an expression.”

  In a swift maneuver, he’s got me on my back beneath him, the loose tangles of his hair hanging in between our faces as he rubs himself against me and makes me ache. I don’t think about things like the fact that I haven’t brushed my teeth since yesterday afternoon, or that I probably look like someone just dredged me out of a lake. I do worry about his mother, and as he nibbles across my chin, his hand sliding into my shorts to tease through my panties, I worry about what doing this again says about me.

  Pushover.

  I breathe out softly and bury my chin against my shoulder as I ask, “Isn’t your mom here?”

  “She’s asleep.” His fingers work like magic, fluttering over me like butterfly wings and stirring tension in my body that only one thing will release. That one thing will happen quickly if he keeps up this rhythm that’s making my hips rock and sway against the thigh he’s pressed between them. “I’m an adult.”

  There’s no questioning just how very adult we are right now, even if the choice I’m making is incredibly immature.

  Tickling those fingers across the most sensitive place on my body, the muscles in my stomach clench and I’m almost holding my breath because it helps me achieve release more quickly. Not that I want this to be over quickly. No, I could lay here all morning while he touches me this way.

  When he slides inside my panties, one finger slipping into me while he continues to tease with his thumb, I stifle a soft moan and bite my lip to keep from crying out when he pushes me over the edge. My whole body responds, flutters of
excitement and warmth spreading through me as I come, and when he begins to draw his hand away I want to grab onto him and hold him there, to come again and again while he watches my face with those devious, intense eyes.

  I’ve never seen him grin the way he is right now, it’s delicious, blissful, and when he lowers to kiss me, he works the button on my shorts and I wiggle out of them before yanking down his boxers.

  The slippery feel of the condom glides across the tips of my fingers when I reach down and guide him into me. His hips move forward slowly, our eyes lock as my lids grow heavy and my expression yields to the way he feels inside me. Nate closes his eyes, thick lashes fluttering across the tops of his cheeks as his mouth gapes and he lets a soft, strangled sound escape him.

  I’m weak and foolish, but my god, this feels so good. His mouth is everywhere, his hand squeezing the firm mound of my breast while easing himself in and out of me, and when he lifts his head to find my lips our eyes meet. He stares into me, every part of him experiencing the way it should have been the first time.

  I keep looking for the pain I saw last night, but I see only pleasure, excitement, an eager willingness to please me that intensifies the feel of him inside me. This is everything we could be, the way I feel when I push aside the guilt I keep trying to make myself succumb to for letting him back in so easily, there are no words for it, but I don’t ever want to define it.

  Experience it—yes. Wallow in it—absolutely. Wrap myself around it and fly away into the stars until I forget there was ever a me or a him—just us—oh God, yes.

  Tangling my fingers into the cropped hair at the back of his neck, I draw him down into my lips and breathe across them, “You feel so good inside me.”

  “Yeah?”

  My chest swells against him as I whisper, “Yes,” and he quickens his pace, making me writhe and dance and swivel my hips until we reach the synchronicity and oneness of rhythm that felt so right and perfect the first time we made love.

  Every daydream, every fantasy I’ve ever had before I met him, this is better, and I can’t imagine a world in which I will exist from this day forward without him in it… hormones are cruel. They make us so stupid.

  I think he’s going to let loose, reach climax, but he begins to slow the movement of his hips, rocking onto his side and drawing me with him, tugging my leg around his hip as he pulls back and then eases into me again. I bury the sound of my excitement in his shoulder, but he keeps nuzzling his head into mine, drawing me out of hiding so he can hear how good he makes me feel.

  It feels like hours go by while we play this game together, driving him right to the edge of heaven, then pulling him back again to start all over. He must ache, the delicious agony of denial tightening the features of his face like he’s concentrating too hard to hold it all back. I want to ask him what he’s waiting for, tell him it’s okay to give in, but then he drives me onto my back again and comes into me hard, striking something inside me that makes me keen. I tremble and quiver with release, something I’ve only ever felt with outside stimulation and foreplay, and the stifled sounds I’m making surprise me as rippling sheets of warmth continue flooding through me.

  “That’s right,” he growls against my throat, teeth nipping, lips tasting as I continue succumbing to euphoria. “Come for me.”

  And just when I think I can’t take much more, wondering if there are limits to this amazing brand of bliss, Nate’s muscles tighten and he gives in to denial, stretching hard against me in quivering ecstasy.

  This time he draws back, looks down into my eyes and I see only happiness in him. It’s beautiful. Emotional surges pulse through me after achieving orgasm in ways I didn’t even know were possible, and I swear I’m going to cry if he says anything, if he dips his head in to kiss me, but I hold myself together and murmur across his lips as they touch mine, “That was amazing.”

  “There’s something to be said for morning wood,” he grins, collapsing into me as we start to laugh. This time when he rolls over onto his back, he pulls me with him, holding me in his arms and kissing the top of my head when he asks, “You still want to run away from me?”

  “I wasn’t trying to run away.” Tracing my fingertip across his chest, I touch my lips to the last place my finger was and lift my head to look up at him. “Running is just something I do to ground myself. It helps me think.”

  “Mm,” his lips purse in thought, and he closes his eyes and expands his chest as he inhales. “And what are you thinking about this morning?”

  Us? How stupid I feel? How utterly screwed—no pun intended—I am every time I look into his eyes.

  “I don’t even remember now. Probably something about how much your mom is going to hate me, especially after…that.” A low groan escapes me and I roll back, my arm draping over my brow.

  “You were not thinking about my mother.”

  Okay, he’s got me there. “No, but I am now. God, she’s going to cast me out, call the villagers to arms with pitchforks and burn me at the stake.”

  “I think that might be a little bit melodramatic,” he grins. “Which is one of the things I love about you, by the way.”

  He loves something about me? That does sort of soften the blow, alleviating the guilt and shame over how easily I let him slip past my guard and between my legs again.

  “I’m almost twenty years old, Tali,” he points out, digging his elbow into the pillows as he rolls me onto my back and props up beside me. “What I do behind closed doors isn’t really her concern.”

  “Um, she’s your mom. Mothers don’t just stop concerning themselves with our lives because we reach a certain age. Don’t you know anything?”

  “I know she’s not going to say anything to you.” After a moment of silent contemplation, the words I just said seem to strike him, and his brow rises curiously. “Wait, am I going to have a problem with your parents?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll probably get a few looks when I go home, but they know I’m no virgin. All they’ve really asked of me is to be responsible. I’m the epitome of sexual responsibility.”

  “Have you…” He stops himself, changing his mind with a shake of his head before rolling in to touch his lips to my cheek before getting out of bed to dispose of the condom.

  I sit up, draping the sheet across my body as I prop on my elbow and watch him draw his boxer shorts up over his thighs. “Have I what?”

  “Nothing, it’s not important.”

  “Now I’m going to die of curiosity.” I flip the hair that came loose over my shoulder, rolling my muscles under the tickle of it. “You can’t start asking me something then chicken out.”

  “Seriously, Tali, it’s not important. Who you were with before you knew me doesn’t matter.”

  Ah, so that’s it? He wants to know how many men have gone where he’s just been, and the fact that he’s trying to play like the mere thought doesn’t make him a little jealous is sort of endearing.

  “If it’s any consolation, there weren’t exactly a lot of them.” I’m sitting up now, knees drawn and my arms circling around them as I tip my head down to study him. “Three.”

  “Three guys before me?”

  “Just three.”

  He nods, thinking something through before walking across the room to pull a pair of shorts out of the dresser and drag them on. When I don’t ask, he turns back to look at me, “Are you gonna ask?”

  Do I really want to know how many girls he slept with before me? Does it even matter, so long as he’s not sleeping with anyone but me now? It probably should matter, but I shake my head. “It’s really none of my business.”

  Reaching up, he itches his fingers through the stubble on his cheek and says, “Thirty-six.”

  My eyes must widen a little as a thousand questions rush through my mind. Does he remember every single one of their names? Are there notches on his bed post? I actually turn my head a little, then stop myself from checking because I don’t think I want to become one of them if there
are. I didn’t expect to feel jealous. I mean, obviously he’d been with other girls before me because you don’t learn how to move like that without a bit of practice, but that many?

  When I don’t say anything he looks down and says regretfully, “I wasn’t exactly the nicest guy in high school.”

  I stretch across the bed, hold my hand out to him and draw him back to me. He bounces a little when I pull him down, his hair jostling against his face before he swipes it away. I bring my other hand in and tilt his face toward mine, asking, “Break a lot of hearts, pretty boy?”

  He jerks his chin from my grip, closes his eyes and says, “Too many,” as he looks away.

  “Smoking hot and dangerous. Like a gun.” I start to laugh, but he’s so serious the sound catches in my throat and lodges itself there.

  “That’s not funny, Tali. You have no idea.”

  I start to ask him to tell me about it, but when he opens his eyes again the melancholy’s back and all I want to do is make it go away. I want him to be happy. To feel good, and after the twenty minutes he just spent making me feel like I’d drifted through the highest levels of some heavenly realm, he deserves to smile.

  “Well, you’re not in high school anymore. High school should be like Vegas, I think. What happens there stays there. And unless you’re thinking about breaking my heart, it doesn’t matter to me where you were or who you were with before you were with me.”

  “I wish it was that easy.” His cheeks puff out as he huffs hot air through them, stirring the locks of hair that fall into his face again. “I was really not a nice guy back then.”

  I put my arm around him, lean into his shoulder and rest my head there after turning inward to place a soft kiss against his skin. “What about now?” I wonder. “Are you a nice guy now?”

  “I really want to be.”