The Anti-Relationship Year

by Katie Wismer

  The smallest trace of moonlight trickled in through the windows on the far wall, offering the only light in the room. Jo kicked off her shoes, adding another four inches to their height difference, and Miller immediately reached down, cupping the backs of her thighs with his hands, and hoisted her into his arms, her back still firmly pressed against the wall. Her dress hiked up around her hips as she locked her legs around him, knotted her hands in his hair, and pulled his head back so their lips were an inch apart.

  “Bedroom,” she whispered.

  He nodded, crushing his lips back to hers as he carried her down the hall. She unbuttoned the collar of his shirt as he ducked into her bedroom, yanking impatiently at the fabric. He set her on the edge of the bed and bent over her to pull his jacket from her shoulders, his mouth now trailing to her neck. She finished with the rest of his buttons, and he rose back to his full height as he tossed his shirt aside.

  And for a moment, it was all Jo could do to look at him. He’d filled out a bit since freshman year. Fundamentally, he looked about the same, but it was like she’d never seen him before. She rose up slowly in front of him, her hand skimming over the flat planes of his stomach, and he shivered under her touch. He watched her, his lips parted, as she reached up and pulled the tie from her hair. The damp, wavy strands collapsed around her shoulders, the floral smell of her shampoo filling the space between them. She turned to face the bed and glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “Could you get my zipper?”

  He gathered her hair in his hands and gently swept it over her shoulder, his hands lingering on her skin for a moment before trailing to the zipper at the center of her spine and slowly pulling it down until he reached her lower back. His breath brushed the back of her neck as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her shoulder. His fingers slipped under the strap of her dress on the opposite side. Her eyes fluttered shut as he slid the strap down, then trailed his lips across her back until he reached her opposite shoulder, his fingers finding the remaining strap, and the dress pooled at her feet.

  Miller sucked in a sharp inhale, his breath coming out shaky against the back of her neck. “Turn around,” he whispered.

  She complied, biting her lip as she lifted her head. His eyes didn’t roam her body in the hungry way most men did. He stared right back, his gaze locked on hers, his chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. But when he brought his mouth back to hers, this kiss was slower, softer. A careful, deliberate exploration of her mouth, his hands slowly sliding up her back as her fingers unclasped his belt. He paused and pulled away an inch as she unfastened it, his eyes still closed.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered.

  It was a question she’d been asked several times before, but this time felt different. More loaded. This was Miller. Her Miller. And this was a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

  But maybe it already had.

  Maybe they’d been heading this way for a long time, and she’d chosen to turn a blind eye, because Miller was like a foundation. A safe place to land that she could always come back to. And shifting that, shifting this between them, maybe it would make the whole thing crumble.

  But maybe there was a reason the first word that popped into her head when she thought about kissing him was inevitable, and the fear didn’t come as readily as it once had. Maybe the only reason why it had any space in her head at all anymore was because she kept inviting it in.

  She nodded and pulled him back to kiss him again, trailing her fingers down to the zipper on his pants. He sighed against her mouth, cupped the back of her head with his hands, and pushed them both back onto the bed.

  As his weight pressed her into the mattress, her mind finally, mercifully, started to quiet. For now, this was all there was. All that was important. She could drown herself in this feeling, this skin against skin, the mouths and teeth and tongues and gasps—and everything else could wait.

  The tightness in her chest she’d had since the interview, the anxious buzzing of thoughts that grew louder every day they drew closer to graduation, the nauseating pit in her stomach every time she had to meet the disinterested gazes of her parents, Miller melted it all away like fire. His hands slid from her waist to her hips and the tension in her chest eased a notch. His teeth grazed along the hollow of her throat, and it eased a little more. His fingers slid between her legs, and she closed her eyes, letting the rest of it slip away.

  She reached for his pants, but he took her wrists and pinned them to the bed.

  “Not yet,” he breathed. “Just—let me.”

  The smallest flash of uncertainty and self-consciousness tightened in her chest. Men had gone down on her plenty of times before—dozens of men, if she were being honest. But the thought of it being Miller—Miller, Miller—made her cheeks warm and hands fidget against the bed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to. It just somehow felt…more than it ever had before.

  He leaned back over her, every plane of his body pressed flat against hers, as he pressed a kiss to her lips. Hard and deep enough that it drove the thoughts a little farther away.

  But still.

  Seeming to sense it, Miller pulled back. “We can stop—if it’s too—”

  “It’s okay,” she breathed. “I just—I just got a little nervous, I guess.”

  A small, shy smile crossed his face. “Me too.”

  “Okay.” She readjusted herself on the pillow and gripped his shoulders. “Just don’t make fun of me if I start laughing.”

  “Laughing?”

  A small laugh squeezed out, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, God. Like that.” Now that she’d started, the floodgates had opened. She giggled again.

  “Nervous.” Laugh. “Laughter.” Laugh. “Oh, God.”

  Miller leaned back on his knees and looked down at her with a wide grin as she clamped a hand over her mouth in a pathetic attempt to control it. He leaned down, took her face in both hands, and kissed her again, gently this time.

  “Jo, that’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

  He trailed his lips down her jaw, to her neck, her chest. “But I appreciate the warning.” He reached her stomach, his tongue tracing lightly along her skin, until he reached her hips. “Because at least I know you aren’t laughing at me.”

  She let out a shuddering breath and stared up at the ceiling as he hooked a hand under her knee and pulled her leg over his shoulder. And suddenly, she didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

  15

  Freshman Year - December

  “You promised,” Jo complained.

  Miller hesitated outside the door, looking at the room like he was walking into an execution. His hands were tightly fisted around his backpack straps, his feet already pointed in the opposite direction. Jo grabbed his shirtsleeve and yanked him toward the classroom. It was the first time she’d managed to pull herself out of bed for anything other than class in weeks, and she refused to chicken out now.

  “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not,” she said.

  He let out a small groan but allowed her to pull him along, because they both knew she wouldn’t have been able to move him if he really didn’t want her to. And they also both knew he wasn’t nearly as reluctant to be here as he was pretending to be, not when he’d been the one to slip the interest flyer under her door.

  The classroom was mostly empty when they stepped inside, aside from a petite girl with dark brown skin in the back and an Asian guy with glasses in the front row. Both looked up and beamed at their arrival, something like relief washing over their expressions.

  Jo glanced at the clock to double-check if they’d gotten there early, but the meeting was supposed to start in two minutes. The meeting was at a weird time, sure—usually people were still at dinner at seven—but surely this couldn’t be the only turnout. Miller glanced at her sideways, clearly not impressed, but she just pointed at some chairs in the middle. Sighing, he slid into one and dropped his backpack on the floor be
side him.

  Jo was about to turn around and ask the girl if they were in the right place when a man strolled into the room. He was tall, almost as tall as Miller, with inky black hair all the way down to his shoulders. He paused at the whiteboard, hands on his hips, and looked around, his expression stoic. Then his face transformed into a grin so quickly, he looked like a cartoon.

  “Great turnout! Welcome to the newspaper interest meeting! I’m Rodney, the editor in chief. I’m going to pass around a paper for you all to write your names, your majors, any positions within the newspaper that you’re interested in, and your school email. And I’ll list all of the available positions on the board for you to choose from. Unfortunately, our sports editor and our copy editor couldn’t make it tonight, but they’re excited to meet you all at our first official meeting next week.”

  As Rodney turned around to list out the remaining positions on the board, Miller kicked Jo under the desk.

  “What?” she mouthed.

  He raised his eyebrows at her.

  Jo pointed at the position Rodney was currently writing on the board. Photography Director. Until she’d seen the open position listed on the flier, she hadn’t even known a photography director of a newspaper was a thing. And since all of her photography clients for her budding business were back in Colorado and she was practically starting from scratch again, this could be a great opportunity—not to mention how it would look on her resume. Maybe it would even be enough to make up for the pitiful turn her grades were taking this semester.

  And she just desperately missed using her camera.

  Miller’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he leaned back in his desk, apparently done complaining for now.

  “A lot of our pieces come from outside submissions,” Rodney was saying. “But if any of you are writers and are interested in writing a piece, we have a few upcoming events on campus this week. Just a few hundred words for each of them.” He sent around another stack of fliers. Jo barely glanced at the papers as she slid one off the top and passed the rest to Miller. Writing was definitely not her forte. As Miller shuffled through the pages, he sucked in a sharp breath.

  Jo glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. A vein bulged in his neck as he got up to walk the papers over to the girl in the back. Jo shot him a questioning look as he slid back into his seat. She picked the paper back off her desk. The first few events listed were boring—speakers, a fundraiser for Greek life—but the third item on the list made Jo’s heart come to a complete stop in her chest.

  Local rising star United Fates performing at the annual Winter Ball.

  Black crept into the corners of her vision until the entire room was blurry and her hands shook around the page.

  She couldn’t escape it. She couldn’t escape him. Everywhere she went, that song was playing. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself alone in that bed, on the bathroom floor, or waiting in the doctor’s office. How she’d cried into her pillow every night for a week afterwards. How every piece of clothing she owned, the first thing she thought of was the last time she wore it with Grey. She’d had to get rid of the outfit she’d worn to the doctor’s office that day all together. Just looking at it made her sick.

  And now this?

  They were coming here?

  And of course they were going to play that fucking song. A song about her, the girl he threw away, but not before he got a song out of her that finally got them on the radio.

  Not before he got her to trust him enough to get what he wanted.

  By the time the meeting let out, the sun had long-since set, and the campus was quiet. Small puddles lingered on the paths as Miller and Jo headed back to the dorm, the air still smelling of rain. They walked in silence. Jo’s entire body was still hot with rage, its hold on her so strong, it was hard to think through the fog it had created in her mind.

  As Jo turned for the steps leading down to their dorm, Miller caught her arm and pulled her to a stop.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What?”

  He nodded toward the building they’d just passed. “Hold on. I want to show you something.”

  “Miller,” she sighed. “I just want to go home.”

  “Hey, I just gave you an hour of my life. You can give me five minutes of yours.”

  She threw her head back and let out a groan, but followed him back toward the building. “It’s probably locked,” she muttered.

  “You’re right,” he said simply, but his pace didn’t falter. He slipped something out of his pocket as they reached the looming red doors to the gym.

  “Why the hell do you have a key?” she asked.

  He winked at her over his shoulder and shoved the doors open.

  “And why are you taking me to a gym that smells like sweaty boys?” she called, though he’d already left her behind and was halfway across the glossy basketball court. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they wouldn’t get caught before slipping inside and closing the door behind her. “Why are we here?”

  Miller threw open a different set of doors at the back of the gym and disappeared into the closet without a word.

  “Miller!” she whisper-screamed.

  All of the lights were off, and elongated shadows stretched across the floor from the large windows overhead. Miller flipped on the closet’s light, adding an orange glow to the room. She was about to call out to him again when he reappeared through the doorway, his arms full of black equipment.

  “Put your bag down,” he said.

  “What is that?”

  “You’re really bad with directions. Has anyone ever told you that?” He stepped into a pocket of moonlight and held up two sets of boxing gloves.

  “You’re asking me to punch you?” she asked, incredulous. “I mean, I’m definitely in the mood to right now.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh as he dropped his backpack to the ground. “Are you really telling me you don’t have any anger you want to work out right now?”

  She shifted on her feet, gaze trained on the gloves in his hands. “I don’t know anything about boxing,” she finally said.

  A slow grin crept onto his face. “Well, you’re in luck, because you’re looking at the new group fitness boxing instructor.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t know you applied for that.”

  He shrugged off his sweatshirt and tossed it aside. “Stop stalling and get over here.”

  “Well, now I really don’t want to do it if you’re going to kick my ass.”

  He pushed a set of gloves into her hands. “Put these on.”

  She glanced over her shoulder again, half wishing someone would catch them in here. But also, the idea of punching something right now was a lot more appealing than she wanted to admit. The thought of him coming to her school, singing those lyrics about her in front of her classmates. And worse, having them all sing along. Like she was the punchline, and suddenly everyone else was in on the joke.

  She tossed her backpack beside his and yanked the jacket from her shoulders. “I don’t even know how to put these things on,” she mumbled, struggling to attach the Velcro once both hands were in the gloves.

  “Here.” Miller reached over and secured the straps for her, then took a step back and held up both of his hands. His pads were different, she realized. Just flat, circular targets. At least she didn’t have to worry about his fists flying at her face. “Okay, now give me a punch.”

  She stared at him.

  He rolled his eyes and waved one of the pads at her.

  She sighed and brought both hands up to guard her face—at least she knew that much—and threw her right arm forward. It connected with the pad in a pathetic, tiny smack. “I don’t even know what the proper form for this is.”

  “So fuck proper form. Just hit me as much as you need to until you feel better.”

  She halfheartedly threw one punch, then another. “You’re not.” Punch. “The person.” Punch. “I want.” Punch. “To hit.” Punch.r />
  “That was a good one!”

  She clenched her teeth and focused on her breath as she pounded her fists into the pads again and again. The more she punched, the more she got into it. The more her thoughts began to quiet, the more she could forget about the concert, the lyrics, the look on Grey’s face the last time she saw him. The choice he’d forced her to make alone.

  The cold tone of his voice right before he hung up the phone.

  The way he never checked in on her after that.

  Not even once.

  “Jo, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but have you thought about going to see the school’s counselor to talk about all of this? It might help. She’s pretty cool, actually.”

  Jo stopped mid punch, panting for breath, and let her arms drop. Sweat had started to break out on her forehead. “You’ve gone to see her?”

  Miller shrugged. “Yeah, well, my mom is a psychologist, so she’s like a hardcore advocate for therapy. She’s had me seeing someone most of my life. I don’t know. It’s nice sometimes. Just to have someone to talk to. Someone impartial.” A flicker of discomfort crossed his features, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “And I know we haven’t really talked about it, but I’m here too, just, if you ever wanted to talk about it.”

  “I think I like the punching better,” she muttered.

  He raised the pads again. “Have at it.”

  “I feel like”—she grunted around punches—“he could have at least changed my name for the song, you know?”

  “Definitely.”

  She focused all of her energy on her right side, punching the same pad again and again. “Or, I don’t know, called back at some point in the last few months to see what happened to me.”