The Unexpcted Complications of Revenge

by Jessica Sorensen

  He chuckles. “I already told you that, if that happened, I’d sacrifice myself to save you.”

  “You think that’d work?” I aim for a light tone, but epically fail. “That they’d take you over me?”

  “If they were female mermaids, they would.” His fingers wander to the collar of my shirt, and then he pulls the wet fabric away from my skin, exposing my collarbone to the warm night air.

  I know I should move away. After knowing Carter for a decade, I understand how charming and seductive he can be when he wants to be. A lot of times, he doesn’t even have to try that hard. I’ve seen him pull some moves out before.

  I should pull away. Stop him. This is too far …

  Then his lips graze the side of my neck and all my protests go peace out! as my eyes roll into the back of my head.

  Feeling as though I’m about to fall back into the water and sink, I clutch on tighter to his shoulders, my fingernails scratching his skin.

  He groans.

  I start to pull away. “Sorry. I…I didn’t realize I was hurting you.”

  “You’re not,” he says, his voice hoarse. Then he brushes his lips across the side of my neck again and whispers, “Put your hands back on me, Ens.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling as awkward as … well, me. Still, I place my hands back on his shoulders, loathing how my fingers tremble.

  He kisses my neck again and again, then starts gently sucking on my skin. In the back of my mind, warning flags go off, warning me that I shouldn’t be doing this. That this is only a game and I don’t even know what his real intentions are. That I shouldn’t be letting him kiss me like this when I’ve never been kissed before. That he doesn’t deserve to get my first kiss.

  But as he makes a delicate path up the side of my neck and along my jawline, I somehow stop thinking altogether. All I can focus on is the softness of his lips, the way his stubble lightly rubs against my skin, the feel of his hands as he places them on my sides, the way my heart pulsates.

  When he reaches my lips, he pauses, as if giving me time to back out. I should. I really, really should, but haziness has possessed my brain, as if I’m drunk and stoned, buzzed out of my mind. Part of me wishes I was. At least then I’d have an excuse for why I stay motionless.

  The sound of my ragged breaths fills the air as he leans in and seals his lips to mine. He doesn’t try to shove his tongue into my mouth, instead just letting his lips linger. And I swear I hear him whisper something along the lines of, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.” But maybe I heard him wrong.

  I inhale shakily through my nose, worried he can tell how nervous I am.

  “You want me to stop?” he whispers against my lips.

  “No.” My response is so automatic, making me wonder just how much I want this.

  I blame my reaction on the version of Carter I’ve seen tonight and for the last few days. He’s been different, at least to me. This isn’t the Carter I was supposed to be screwing over. Truthfully, I’m not even sure if I am screwing him over anymore, which gives him all the power to screw me over. And while I don’t know whether he’s being genuine, that falling sensation consumes me again and all I can do is grip on to him and pretend that this is all real.

  “Good,” Carter says, and then crushes his lips against mine.

  This time he really kisses me, slipping his tongue into my mouth. Our tongues tangle as he slides his hands up my waist, inching upward. He doesn’t cop a feel, though, letting his fingers wander from side to side. When I shiver, he kisses me deeper.

  He tastes like mint, and his tongue is so warm. The combination makes me feel as if I’m melting. How that’s possible when I’m in the middle of a chilly lake is beyond me. But I embrace the sensation, trying my best to kiss him back and hoping to God he doesn’t notice I’m a virgin kisser. I’m sure he does, though, by my uncertainty, by the way my body trembles.

  Seriously, I need to get a grip on myself. But the longer we kiss, the more I lose control over my body. Somehow, my legs end up wrapped around his waist, and my fingers tangle in his hair as I grind against him. He groans, sliding his hand down to my butt and holding me up.

  I lightly tug on his hair, and he moans again. The sound makes my heart skip a beat, and I start to grow concerned the damn thing is going to stop beating altogether.

  Is this what all first kisses are like? Does everyone lose control of their body and mind? Do they worry their hearts are going to give out? Do they feel like they’re losing control over everything, but they don’t care?

  After what feels like hours, yet still not enough time, Carter finally breaks the kiss. But he doesn’t move back, resting his forehead against mine. His breath dusts against my lips as he holds me while keeping us afloat.

  He remains silent for so long I begin to grow self-conscious.

  Finally, he shatters the silence.

  “We should probably get going,” he whispers.

  That’s it. That’s all he says. Then he starts paddling toward the shore while holding my hand.

  And suddenly, that falling sensation alters into a sinking sensation.

  The sinking sensation that I may have just screwed myself—well, my heart—over big time.

  20

  Ensley

  After we climb out of the water, we hike up a short path to the top of the cliffs where the car is parked. My lips are swollen from the kissing, my chin burns a little from where his scruffy jaw rubbed against my skin, and my mind is a cloudy mess, crammed with questions about what just happened.

  By the time we reach the car, my mind is a muddy clusterfuck of a mess—metaphorically, of course—and my feet are a muddy mess—literally. Carter gets a towel out from his trunk so I can clean off my feet and dry off. Apparently, he came prepared for a midnight swim.

  I want to crack a joke about him being so sure I was going to jump, that I was going to trust him, but it seems silly when I actually did it. Besides, he’s barely uttered two words to me since we kissed.

  I feel stupid for letting him kiss me at all. Plus, I’m hurt, like third grade all over again kind of hurt. Which probably means this is no longer a game to me. Honestly, I question if it ever was.

  “You’re being really quiet,” Carter says as he slips his shirt back on.

  I shrug as I dry my hair with the towel. “So are you.” I cringe at the hurt evident in my voice.

  He frowns, squinting against the headlights as he studies me. “Something’s wrong.”

  I pick up my dress from off the hood of the car. “Can you turn around so I can get dressed?”

  He slowly shakes his head, his gaze fixed on me. “Not until you tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing’s bothering me,” I lie, hugging my dress to my chest.

  He shakes his head again then steps toward me, not stopping until he’s right in front of me and my butt is pressed against the hood of the car and the dress falls from my hands. “I can tell something’s bugging you. Ever since I kissed you …” An uneven breath fumbles from his lips. “Did you not want to?”

  “What? No.” My answer is immediate, and I internally cringe, loathing how desperate I sound.

  He visibly relaxes, his muscles loosening.

  “Then what’s wrong?” He reaches out and caresses my cheek with his thumb.

  He’s touched me like this a handful of times, and I’m beginning to wonder if he has some sort of weird fascination with my cheek. I don’t know why. It’s just a cheek. A freckly cheek. A cheek that’s on my face. A face that looks like a guy’s. I look like a guy. I’m not pretty. So why, why, why …?

  “Why did you kiss me?” I sputter out as a crapload of emotions pour through me.

  His brows dip. “Because I wanted to.”

  “But why?” I summon a deep breath, preparing to say something that I’ve wanted to say for a very long time. “Why would you kiss me when you don’t like me? Why would you kiss me when all you’ve ever done is tell me I’m n
ot pretty and that I look like a guy? Obviously, you’re not attracted to me, but … Why kiss me?”

  His hand freezes on my cheek, his lips parting. “You think I think you’re not pretty and that you look like a guy?”

  “I don’t know why you sound so shocked.” I grip the front bumper of the car as my legs wobble from the emotional overload whipping through my body. “You’ve said those things to me before.”

  “I’ve never said you weren’t pretty.” A deafening breath puffs from his lips as he reaches up and yanks his hand through his damp hair. “As for the whole looking like a guy part … that was back in third grade.” He drops his arm to his side, his gaze boring into me. “I said a lot of things back in third grade that I didn’t mean. I still say things I don’t mean. But I know that, after third grade, I’ve never told you that you aren’t pretty or that you look like a guy. In fact, I’ve told you you’re pretty a lot of times.”

  “Over the last few days.”

  “Yeah, so? It takes a lot of balls to tell a girl she’s pretty.”

  “Not for you.”

  His intense gaze burrows into me. “When it’s a girl I like, it does.”

  I swallow hard. “But you did tell me I wasn’t pretty. On our last day of school.”

  He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “I knew you thought I was talking to you and I’m betting El played a part in it.”

  “El’s never played a part in anything that would hurt me. She knew you were directing those words at me, too.”

  He grinds his teeth. “No, I wasn’t. I was directing them at her, because she called me pretty boy. And because that’s what we do. We argue and see who can get the upper hand.”

  My mind is spinning in a whirlwind of confusion. Could he be telling the truth?

  “But you looked at me, too, when you said it.”

  “I may have glanced at you because you were right there, but I promise you that I wasn’t referring to you. Why the hell would I when I think you’re pretty?” He takes a step closer to me, his bare toes touching mine. “I’ve thought that since about the beginning of sophomore year. I’d just gotten back from a vacation with my mom and hadn’t seen you for, like, three months. You and El were sitting out by the pool when I got home and you were wearing these cut-off shorts and this swimsuit top with all these straps on it. When I walked out, you were laughing about something and you had your head thrown back. You were also holding a book. It had a witch on the cover. Well, either that or just a chick with a pointy hat. Anyway, you looked hot. I mean, you were always pretty, but that day, I thought you looked really pretty. And your laugh nearly did me in.”

  I stand there, stunned, my jaw hanging agape. My initial instinct is to deny the truth of his words, but considering how detailed of a story that was …

  “How do you remember all of that?” I ask quietly.

  He traces a line underneath my eye with his finger. “Because that’s when I started liking you.” Back and forth his finger moves, and it takes all of my self-control not to close my eyes. “I tried to flirt with you then, but you always seemed uninterested or acted like I was annoying you.”

  “I thought you were teasing me,” I admit. “It felt like you were.”

  “Yeah, but teasing and flirting are kind of the same sometimes.”

  “Okay, but …” I shrug, feeling so, so, so damn lost. “You teased me when we were in grade school. I just thought …” I shrug again, unsure of what to say.

  He wets his lips with his tongue, fear flashing in his eyes. “Do you want to know why I said that to you? Back in third grade?”

  I hesitate. “I don’t know.” If he says it’s because I looked like a boy, it might erase all those wonderful words he just said to me. And I don’t want them erased yet. I want to hold on to them, and then run back to that cliff and dive off, sink to the bottom, and hide there forever, where all I can remember is the words he just spoke to me, instead of everything else. And I mean everything. Because Carter wasn’t the only person who ever said cruel words to me. And each cruel word left a tiny scar on my self-confidence.

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” he attempts to assure me.

  I’m still reluctant, but I unsteadily nod.

  He splays his fingers across my cheek as he looks me straight in the eye, seeming nervous. “Back before third grade, my family didn’t seem to have it together as much as we do now. Most of that came from the fact that my mom didn’t come from money.” He pauses, as if giving me time to process that. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

  I nod. “My mom mentioned it once. And El told me the story you told her.”

  “Ah.” He nods in understanding. “Did she tell you about how our mom used to be an outcast from all the rich socialites’ inner circles?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t even realize there were rich socialite inner circles.”

  “Oh yes, they’re very important.” His tone is all sarcasm. “It’s basically like high school for old people. You have your popular circle, your prestigious circle, your rich, rich circle, and then you have people like my mom who are shunned from all the circles.”

  “All because she used to be poor?”

  “Yep.”

  I scrunch my nose. “You know, sometimes I’m glad I don’t come from money.”

  He winces at that, which throws me off.

  Before I can ask why he did that, he continues.

  “Anyway, back to my story.” With a little bit of pressure on my cheek, he angles my head to the side and smooths his thumb along my cheek again. “When I was in third grade, my mom told me that one day I’d need to make new friends. Then she gave me a list of names. All the kids belonged to families who were high up in the inner circles, so yeah, she was pretty much using me to get our family into those circles.

  “At first, I argued with her. I liked my friends and didn’t want to become friends with the kids on her list. With the exception of Holden, most of them were jerks. Yeah, I wasn’t perfect or anything, but I didn’t pick on people.”

  True. Now that I think about it, Carter didn’t turn into a jerk until a few weeks before he told me I looked like a boy.

  “But she told me I didn’t have a choice, and that, if I didn’t comply, I’d get sent to a foster home,” he continues.

  My eyes widen. “What? She said that to you?”

  He nods tensely. “My mom’s not the nicest mom in the world. I’m sure you probably already know that, considering how she treats Elodie.”

  “Yeah, but I thought she was only that way with Elodie.”

  He smiles sadly and shakes his head. It’s such a sad smile that makes me want to cry.

  “They only treat El like shit because she doesn’t do what they want. They treat me decently because I follow every demand they’ve made for almost all of my life. Even demands I shouldn’t have.” He steps closer until our bodies are aligned. “I should’ve said no when my mom told me to make those friends, but I was afraid she’d send me away, so I did what she wanted. The problem was, the only way these kids would accept me into their group was if I passed a test.”

  I swallow a shallow breath as I sense where this story is going.

  “The test was to walk up to the quietest girl in our school and ask her if she was a boy or a girl, even though it was clear she was a girl. And she was such a quiet, sweet, pretty girl who didn’t deserve to get picked on.” He trails his fingers up my cheek and tangles them through my hair. “I didn’t mean what I said that day, and if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t have done it. Unfortunately, time machines don’t exist, so all I can do is ask that she forgive me now and hope she says yes.” A hopeful look crosses his expression.

  I don’t answer right away, stunned into silence. All these years, I let his words, and other people’s, shape how I thought, and supposedly the words were never true? That makes me pause and really think about my life.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have let words affect me so much?


  “Yeah, I forgive you.” A bit of pressure releases in my chest. A pressure I never realized was there.

  A smile breaks across his face. “Good. I’m glad.” Then he dips his head and lightly brushes his lips against mine, the scruff on his chin scratching against my skin. “I’d hate myself if you didn’t.”

  “Well, it’s not entirely your fault.” I rub where his scruff scratched me and note how my lips are tingly. “It’s kind of your mom’s.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the one who made the choice.”

  “You were eight. You’re supposed to listen to your parents when you’re that young. And your mom shouldn’t have ever asked you to do something like that.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He shrugs. “But she’s never really been mom of the year. Neither has my dad.”

  “Neither has my dad,” I instinctively say. “Of course, I don’t know him. For all I know, he could have a new family by now and he’s a super father.” I shake my head at myself. “Sorry, I just piled some heavy shit on you, didn’t I?”

  “You’re fine.” He tucks a strand of my damp hair behind my ear. “I did the same thing to you, so consider us even.”

  “Even, huh?” My guilt level shoots up.

  He nods. “Unless you want to tell me about something you did to me that’s terrible that I don’t know about.”

  I tense. “Um…”

  He chuckles. “I’m just messing with you, Ens.”

  “Oh.” Now I’m nervous. And guilty. And I kind of feel sick.

  “Relax.” He cups my cheek, giving me a strange, perplexed look. Then he lowers his hand from my face, laces his fingers through mine, and pulls me with him as he sits down on the hood of his car.

  The hood is cool against my ass, reminding me that I’m only wearing a shirt and underwear. I want to get up and get dress, but instead find myself studying him, like I have several times. Only this time he looks different, like I’m seeing him for the first time.

  “I don’t want you to be nervous around me anymore. I know I might not deserve that, but I want it.” He swallows hard, his eyes dropping to my lips. “I want it really, really badly.”