It took one entire year of Trish’s reassurances to get me to open up to her. Not all the way, of course, but I was able to tell her the basics of my past, skipping some of the darker memories. It was enough to move us from being roommates to being an actual family. It was because of Trish that I was able to find the passion to dance again. When I divulged to her that I used to dance, she insisted I start back up, saying that I could harness that desire and mend some of the scars I’d endured in my past. It took her six months to convince me to join classes.
Dance brought me a joy I hadn’t felt since I was in Ms. Cole’s studio. The moment I stepped onto the floor, it was as if I’d never left. When I was dancing, I was able to stop myself from recounting the bad memories from my past and eventually find peace that I was in a safe place. I could finally relax.
The inside of my purse vibrated, and I didn’t have to look at the screen to know who was calling. I watched the bag shake on the coffee table, over and over. Wren called repeatedly, knowing I was ignoring him, but not giving up. I admired his persistence. I unzipped the side pocket after the eighth missed call alert and stared at the irritating device, willing it to stop vibrating. My attempts weren’t working, so I slid my thumb across the screen and readied my voice.
“Stop calling me!” I yelled into the speaker.
“Kingsley, please.” Wren’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Just listen to me for one minute.”
“I answered this call because you’re relentless. I could silence my phone, but who’s to say you wouldn’t just show up if I continued ignoring you?”
“Kingsley,” Wren crooned my name like it was a depressing ballad, a song you would cry your eyes out to in a dark corner.
“You have sixty seconds.”
He sighed into the phone, staying silent for a few more moments. “You have to realize where I’m coming from when I say that we’re more than what we ever planned on being. I didn’t think this would turn into anything either, and I’m just as freaked out as you are.”
“You have no idea what I am, Wren. I’m not freaked out.”
“Please, just let me finish.” He sighed again. “I know you and I are on the same page because I know your body so much better than you think I do. You don’t immediately leave the bed after having sex. You stay. For hours. You stay wrapped in my arms with a smile on your face. I know that means much more than you claim.”
I kept silent. The walls I put up were mangled. I promised myself I’d never fall for someone again, yet I had become mesmerized by Wren. It was in the way he held my hand after we made love. How he’d push the tendrils from my face and then kiss my forehead. His warm embraces became the thing I lived for.
“Kingsley? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Can we talk about this in person?”
My immediate reaction was to say no, but Wren was right. I could continue to refuse the way I felt, but he’d see right through me.
“Fine, but give me a few minutes. I need to clean up some things,” I said while staring at the mess of papers on the floor.
“Okay. Twenty minutes.”
I walked to the bathroom and stared at my reflection. I looked as if I’d just been to a funeral. As I wiped away the streaks of makeup under my eyes, I prepared myself for what would happen when Wren walked through my door. I wanted to tell him that running away wasn’t the right thing to do. I should have stayed and admitted everything. I sighed. I knew that no matter what I planned on saying, the words would never come out. The fear I’d always felt would return.
Wren arrived fifteen minutes later. Just as I was putting the pillows back on the couch, the intercom alerted me to his presence.
“Hi.” He stared at me from across the threshold. His eyes flickered across my face, to my body, and then the ground. I stared at the top of his head, willing him to look back up at me. I wanted so badly to focus on his eyes, have our desire for one another come to life, and somehow let that solve everything.
“Come in,” I said, waving my hand sideways.
Wren took a step forward, our noses nearly touching. Having him that close and not being able to wrap my arms around him felt like a needle in my spine. I took a deep breath, hoping that oxygen could repair the ache, maybe numb the pain in the pit of my stomach.
He bent down, kissing the side of my cheek so tenderly it felt like his lips were the very thing that could keep my tortured soul alive. His arms wrapped around my frame, pulling me into his chest. All of a sudden, I was back in his bed, wrapped in the aroma of his sheets.
“Stop,” I said, pushing him away. “You came here to talk to me, so talk.” I sat down on the couch and crossed my legs.
“Okay.” He joined me on the couch, making sure to keep a slight distance between us. “So, maybe I don’t understand why the idea of going away has you in such a frenzied state, but I can’t understand it because you don’t explain things to me. Kingsley, I wouldn’t even have known where you grew up if it wasn’t for the night you got wasted and told me to take you to Barlow Drive. The only way to get to know you is to get you drunk, and I don’t think pouring alcohol down your throat should be the answer to our problems.”
“I’ve told you lots of things. What more do you want to know? Do you care to know what my grades were like in high school? What size shoe I wore in the seventh grade? What the hell do you want from me?” I shouted. I felt like I’d already opened myself up. I’d already crossed the line. I’d given Wren more of myself than I have to anyone else.
Except Porter.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Wren shot up from his seat and paced the living room. “I know nothing about you!” He kneeled in front of me, his hands on each side of my body. “I asked you to come to the Hamptons with me so it would give us a chance to get to know each other better. I know all about your body, but I want to know you, Kingsley.” He pointed straight at my heart. “Everything. I want to know what your favorite song was growing up. Who your first kiss was. I don’t care if it seems insignificant to you, because to me, the insignificant details make up the person I’ve been falling for.”
“Maybe I should have been more vocal about this. That secret key you’re trying so hard to find—it doesn’t exist. My childhood was boring, my teen years were uneventful. I don’t know what else to say,” I lied. There was lots to say. There was a key that unlocked everything, but no one, not even myself, knew where it was.
“Then why are you so afraid of going away with me?” Wren whispered, his eyes focusing on my fidgety hands.
I’d never gone on a proper vacation. Trish had taken me to London once before, but that was all business. Her parents wanted to meet the child she adopted. We spent one week in Croydon, sitting at a dinner table with questions thrown at me constantly. I’d never given myself the opportunity to go anywhere with a man outside of his bedroom.
“It’s not that I’m afraid. You’re looking for a way to get inside, but you’ve already been inside. Deep inside,” I joked.
Wren’s bleak expression stayed the same. He made no movement in his face, yet his eyes said it all. He was angry with me. On the verge of giving up. “You think this is all a joke, Kingsley. You think feeling something is abnormal. Maybe I was wrong about you.” Wren stood up. His arms swayed as his stilt-like legs carried him into the tiled kitchen. He leaned against the island, folding his arms across his chest, and focused his attention on the ground.
I followed and stood in front of him. My hands cradled his cheeks, my eyes searching for some acknowledgement. Anything to fill the painful gap in my stomach. Wren didn’t look up at first. It took hours, or what seemed like hours, for him to finally focus on me.
“When I walked into the bar that first time I met you, I was so pissed off. All I wanted to do was drink myself into a coma, and then your voice filled my ears. I watched as you told some guy off. You were so strong and so effortlessly capable of handling the situati
on. Kingsley, I had given up on thinking I’d find someone who would make me happy, but then I saw you.”
“What are you trying to say, Wren?” My fingers fell to my sides, nervously pulling at the hem of my tank top.
Suddenly this moment, the room, everything felt like it was too good to be true. The way he looked at me was the same way you’d examine a bird’s broken wing. You would find it lying beneath a tree, on its side, fighting for its life. In Wren’s eyes, I was the broken bird trying my hardest to spread my wings and fly away.
“When we met, what were your thoughts? Did you feel anything or was I just another guy?”
At first, I stayed quiet. My answer would hurt him, but he continued pushing me, saying my name and demanding an answer. “All I wanted was a quick lay. Someone to fill me for an hour and make me forget who I was.”
Wren was furious with my response. He clenched his jaw and shook his head, focusing all of his attention on the ceiling. He hated me, and I should’ve felt happy knowing that, but I didn’t. I felt ashamed. Ashamed that I had gotten this far with Wren and allowed myself to feel things.
“You didn’t come into The Commodore looking for a girlfriend. You ask me if I felt anything, which is a dumb fucking question. You wanted to fuck me, too. You didn’t want anything else!”
Wren laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made you feel stupid. “Looks like you were right. We don’t know anything about each other.” He pushed his body off of the island and walked to the coffee table. “I made this for you. Listen to it and call me if you ever figure out what the fuck you want.” He dropped his iPod onto the glass and walked to the front door. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned and said the one thing that could pierce through the layers of concrete surrounding my heart.
“I love you.”
Three words. Eight letters. One single tear escaping as the concrete slowly chipped away.
I was smiling so wide my cheeks were beginning to burn. It had nothing to do with it being the last day of school, though that’s what I told Mrs. Wilkinson when she asked about my chipper mood. Porter Henning talked to me. He was nice to me; I made him laugh. In the thirteen years I had been alive, I could count on one hand the times someone had actually cared to make me feel good. I’d become so accustomed to being treated like a feral animal, that when someone showed kindness, I clutched at it as if it were the last life jacket on a sinking ship.
I discreetly turned in his direction, curious to see how far he’d gotten on the yearbooks stacked atop his desk. I could barely see Porter’s head, and that annoyed me. Everyone wanted his signature, including me. I saved a special spot for Porter to sign, and I was going to ask him to write in it...just not in front of everyone else. I didn’t want anyone else standing around us, seeing the message he’d leave. It was for my eyes only. So I waited. I watched the clock tick by. Tick tock. Tick tock. Until finally, the bell rang and summer began.
“This year was so lovely!” Mrs. Wilkinson shouted over all of the excited voices in the room. “I hope you all have a wonderful summer, and don’t forget to read a few books!”
Everyone jumped from their seats, ignoring Mrs. Wilkinson’s send off as they bounded toward the classroom door. Mrs. Wilkinson bent down, shaking the hands as they walked past her.
As soon as Porter approached her, I hurried out of my seat, grabbing my backpack from underneath my chair. I was gripping onto my yearbook so tightly, my fingernails left indents on the cover.
“Porter!” Mrs. Wilkinson smiled down at him, “You’ve accomplished so much this year, and I look forward to seeing you shine next year.” She held her hand out to him.
I stood behind Porter, waiting for a chance to tap him on the shoulder.
“I still think about that paper you wrote about the mystery girl. You know, you never did have a name for her,” Mrs. Wilkinson said.
“Yeah,” Porter responded, shifting his weight from one leg to the next. “I couldn’t reveal her name. That would have taken all of the fun out of it.”
Their conversation was taking forever, at least that’s what it seemed like. I was still standing quietly behind Porter, wondering who this mystery girl was and why he couldn’t even say her name. Porter only went out with one girl while he had been here, and that only lasted for one month. I remember the day he broke up with Charlotte. It was outside, right after school had ended. I may have been spying just a little, but no one noticed. I was leaning against a nearby tree, hiding my body from view. Porter and Charlotte were standing on the sidewalk, facing each other.
“It’s just not working out,” Porter said, his fingers tangling through his hair.
“How can it not be working out? We’re great together,” Charlotte cried.
Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail. She was the epitome of perfection and everything I could never be. Her skin was pale and marked with light brown freckles that covered her cheeks and nose. Her hair was shiny and straight, falling just below her shoulder blades. She wore clothes that I could only dream of owning.
“Charlotte, it’s just not working. Okay? I don’t want to date you anymore.” Porter’s tone oozed finality.
My ears were doing cartwheels and my heart was filled with a million exclamation points. The memory of their breakup gave me the extra push I needed. Now that Porter had talked to me, my tongue was filled with words and questions I was dying to ask him.
“Ah, the great storyteller!” Mrs. Wilkinson looked at me as she dropped Porter’s hand and reached out for mine.
Porter turned, smiled at me, and walked out of the room.
“Kingsley, I’m so proud of all of the wonderful work you’ve done this year. The essays you’ve written have been so moving and detailed. I can see big things happening for you in your future.”
Mrs. Wilkinson was speaking, but I had no idea what she was saying. I was too focused on Porter’s back moving farther and farther out of the classroom. I couldn’t be rude and cut Mrs. Wilkinson off, but I couldn’t let page 32, the same number of Porter’s locker, go unmarked. I quickly thanked her. She was such a wonderful teacher and one of the nicest people I’d ever known. I said thanks so many times that the word started sounding foreign as it left my mouth. Finally, Mrs. Wilkinson bent down and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me into a bear hug. The affection she was giving wasn’t something I was used to. For a moment, I forgot I was in a rush. Mrs. Wilkinson let go, pinching my cheek lightly. With a goodbye wave, I ran out of the room as fast as I could.
“No running!” A voice so angelic I could make a soundtrack out of it shouted in my direction. I stopped my body, almost toppling over my own feet. Turning around, I saw Porter leaning against one of the nearby lockers. A grin crept up on his rosy cheeks as he studied my face. “Late for something?” he asked.
“Oh, umm...” I cleared my throat, hoping it would help push the words out. “I... I was actually looking for you.” I looked down at the ceramic tile, making a point to hide my face. I couldn’t believe I confessed the truth. I meant to say something else. Anything else that wouldn’t make me seem like such a stalker.
“And I was actually waiting for you. I didn’t get a chance to have you sign my yearbook.”
This day had to be a dream. There was no way Porter Henning was waiting for me just so I could sign his yearbook. There was no way it meant that much to him. I looked up, half expecting him to start laughing and telling me he was only kidding, but he didn’t. He closed the distance between us, his face just inches from mine.
“Will you sign my yearbook, Kingsley?”
He held the book out, but I was so busy daydreaming about what it would feel like to kiss him that I didn’t hear his question.
“Guess that’s a no?”
“W-what?” I refocused my attention, this time trying to look him in the eye without feeling faint.
“I asked if you could sign my yearbook.”
He stared at me, and if it wasn’t for my skin p
rotecting my insides, I’d be a puddle on the concrete floor.
“Yes!” I answered, too excitedly.
Porter laughed, handing me his book and a pen. “Oh, wait.” He took his yearbook back and turned to a blank page. “I saved a spot for you.”
He saved a blank page entirely for me. My heart sped up as I stared at the white paper. He could have saved a tiny spot for me, right by my yearbook picture, but he didn’t. He saved a full, blank page just for me. I wasn’t prepared to write in Porter’s yearbook. I had no idea what to say, and what if I spelled a word wrong? I’d have to scribble it out and then it would ruin the entire page. I shoved my yearbook between my knees. This way, I could be more careful and use my right arm as a makeshift desk. My palms were sweaty, and the pen that I was holding slipped from my fingers. I was trying so hard to conceal my emotions, hold in my excitement, and nerves, and butterflies. I bent down to pick up the pen at the same time Porter did, causing our heads to smack together. We both fell back onto our butts, laughing so hard we were left gasping for air.
“Are you okay?” Porter sat up on his knees, reaching for my hand.
This had to be the moment I woke up, but it wasn’t a dream. No matter how I many times I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them, Porter was still kneeling in front of me, waiting for me to take his hand.
In Control (The City Series) Page 3