Because of You (26 page)

“I’m listening,” he says gruffly, pushing against me again. Licking my neck.

“I-they have to do with my—”

Kyle’s amazing lips kiss the first tattoo, below my breast. “I love because I am loved.” He presses his hips into mine.

It’s too much. The alcohol. The exquisite passion raging inside my body. The world starts to spin. I wrap my legs around Kyle’s. Link them with his. And it feels like we’re one.

“I love you,” I whisper, and the spinning blackness swallows me.

Kyle

want to be mad. Never in my life have I wanted anyone more than I want Maddie. And she’s passed out. “What the hell? Maddie.”

I try shaking her awake, but she only moans and tightens her legs around mine. If this were anyone else I’d feel claustrophobic. But Maddie isn’t just anyone. She’s the girl I shared my dreams with.

I rest most of my body weight on my arms. “You love me, huh?” I whisper softly. I’ve heard that before. Words said in the heat of passion. They mean nothing unless they’re said while sober. “Freckles. What am I going to do with you?”

Her legs cling to me. I smile. Kiss the tip of her nose. When it comes to the ways of the world, she’s still such a child. It surprises me how naïve she is, but I love it about her. The truth is I love everything about her. Tattoos. Lack of drinking skills. All of it.

Maddie loosens her grip and I roll away. Carefully climb off the bed and cover her with a blanket.

My front door opens. Slams closed. “Kyle. Bro. You decent?”

I crack my knuckles and take a deep breath.

Evan is smiling.

“How did you get in here? I locked that.”

He holds up a key. “A spare.” Evan gives me a once over. “Nice outfit. Bet Pu… uh, Maddie loved it.” He laughs, obnoxious. “Now that you’ve got her all warmed up, can I play?” His eyes glance toward the spare room.

“No. She’s sleeping.”

“Not for long,” he says, walking toward the door.

I jump up. Block his path. “I said no.” My arms are crossed, my feet planted firmly.

“Dude. What do you care? She’s played you. Treated you like dirt under your feet. Why are you protecting her? Let’s have some fun. She des—”

“Evan, I swear to God. If you finish that sentence I’ll kick your ass into next Tuesday.” Obviously our little chat the other night meant nothing to him.

Evan snorts. Shoves me. “You sayin’ you’d choose her over me? Over your family?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Yes.” I nod once.

“Her parents drove a wedge between my dad and yours. She’s doing the same to you and me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get you. And my dad is going to be pissed. He isn’t going to like it.” Evan moves to the door. “Don’t choose her over your family.” He yanks open the door. Slams it shut.

Maddie

I open my eyes and am surprised to see that it’s light outside. “What happened?” My head is woozy, my mouth tastes like it’s stuffed with cotton. Too much alcohol. I sit up and am shocked to see I’m still in my bra and undies. Plus I’m in Kyle’s room, not the
secret
room.

Last I remember Kyle was touching me with a feather.

I look around. Listen for signs of life. Kyle isn’t here. Flustered, I climb out of bed. Grab my phone. There are two texts from Gina. One from last night.

Staying the night with Collin. Don’t worry.

Then, this morning.

Are you and KK still together? Still a V?

There’s one from Kyle.

Had an emergency. See you in class. Lock the door when you leave.

My heart sinks. I feel terrible—guilty. Kyle and I were supposed to be together. He wanted to do things and I was going to let him. But I must’ve fallen asleep. Or did something happen and I don’t remember it? I shift my body, trying to see if there’s anything different. Whether I feel pain, discomfort. I don’t.

The big V is still intact
, I think, somewhat disappointed.

I smack myself in the head. How can I be so stupid? He probably hates me. I can’t blame him. I’m so rude. The queen of rude. If there were an Academy Award for rudeness, I’d be the winner—hands down.

“Dammit.”

I quickly text Gina.
Yep
. I don’t go into details.

I stare at Kyle’s number, trying to decode whether or not his text tells me he’s angry, or that he’ll be fine if he never sees me again. But he did say he’d see me in class. That has to mean he still wants to see me. Right? Ugh!

I make a mental promise to stop drinking. I survived the first eighteen years without it. No amount of warm fuzzies is worth falling asleep on the only guy I’ve ever cared about while he was in the process of doing things to my naked body. Double ugh!

The clock on his bedside table says it’s eight fifty-five. My English class starts in five minutes. I’m not going to make it. And since I have Kyle’s place to myself for the next hour at least, I decide to take a look around.

On the desk in his room is a computer. The screensaver is an image of scrolling musical notes. A piano rendition of
Titanium
. I can hear the melody in my head as it crosses the screen. His window has blue curtains. They’re open. I peer out the window and can see the Bellam Springs campus. What few trees there are have lost all of their leaves. The grass is yellow. It’s windy out, a Bellam Springs standard. Most days are windy. A big tumbleweed bounces across the park, gets stuck on a silver slide.

My stomach grumbles and I head toward the kitchen. Taped to the small white refrigerator is a piece of paper.

Hungry? Try the strawberries. They’re delicious.

I open the fridge and see them sitting in a ceramic bowl. Next to it is a smaller bowl of what looks like chocolate sauce. Underneath is the chocolate soufflé.

The guilt in my chest grows bigger.

“You’re such an idiot.” I grab a strawberry and pop it in my mouth. It is delicious. I get a bottle of water and open it. Chug half of it down. Place it on the counter and go to the bathroom.

It dawns on me his apartment is big, especially for the
poor son of a dirty cop
. Douchebag Stuart’s words, but there’s a glimmer of truth to them.

Three bedrooms, two full bathrooms and no roommates. How can Kyle afford this? Why isn’t he living with his dad? This is his hometown. It would make sense. And even if he wanted a place of his own, why wouldn’t he have roommates?

I flip on the bathroom light. It’s nice. Thick forest green towels hang on the rack next to a glass shower. Inside are the necessities. Shampoo. Soap. Body wash. A razor. It’s pink, and I wonder if he put those there for me or if they’re standard for all female guests.

When I finish peeing, I wash my hands and go into the spare bedroom. The secret room. The room I thought would be filled with all manner of kinkiness. Turns out Kyle isn’t kinky—not really. He’s wonderful.

I’m practically drowning in guilt.

The feather and the blindfold are sitting on the bed, laying there in all of their black glory as though they’ve been shunned, have died, and are displayed for mourning. I can’t help but sigh.

The vodka is gone, probably put away. My clothes are folded and on the bed as well. I quickly pull them on, and debate whether I should leave, but then I remember the piano room.

I want to play, lose myself in the music for a little while. The room smells like old paper, and Kyle. A heady combination. I sit at the bench and run through a few exercises. Limbering up my fingers. While I’m playing I allow my mind to wander. To think about my life and the way everything is topsy-turvy.

I think about Gina. My aunt and uncle. The reasons behind why my aunt forced me to stay away from Kyle.

After thirty minutes of playing, I stand. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off the closet. I have to know what’s inside. I open it and my nose is pummeled with dust. Crate after crate filled with old books and yellowing music. One is loaded with piles of sealed envelopes.

That’s different.
I pull the crate closer and peer inside.

My breath hitches in my throat. They are letters. Addressed to me. I pull out a few from a stack of hundreds. They all have my aunt and uncle’s address on them. They all say, in bold letters,
RETURN TO SENDER
. None of them are open. All of them are from Kyle.

The most recent letter has a date of three months ago.

He never stopped trying! He never gave up! My heart pounds at the realization that I’m holding Kyle’s words in my hands. They are written to me. For me. An electric current rocks my body to its core. I have to know what’s inside.

I pick up the crate, thinking I’ll carry it back to my dorm. But what if Kyle saw me? The crate is too conspicuous. I search frantically for a bag, something. Anything. I run into the kitchen and throw open cupboards. I spot bowls, plates, cups, wine glasses. Cereal, boxes of macaroni and cheese. Bread, peanut butter and jelly. But no bags. Finally, I spot a wadded up grocery bag on the floor near the trash can.

“Yes!” I cheer.

I shove all the letters inside. Seven years’ worth. The sheer number is overwhelming. When I leave his apartment, I lock the door like he asked, and turn the handle to make sure it’s done. At that exact moment I consider the consequences of my actions.