Fallout (28 page)

THAT MAKES HIM WANT

A cigarette. He reaches into

the glove box for a pack

of Marlboros.
Want one?

I shake my head. “Don’t

smoke. It’s seriously

bad for my asthma.”

He looks at the cigarette

he’s about to light up.

Asthma?
Does he think

it’s a test? “Yeah. But go

ahead if you need to.

Not like it’s anything new.”

He thinks about it for

a second or two.
Put your

shirt on. Let’s take a walk.

It’s a brisk fifty degrees

outside—by Bakersfield

standards, a cool fall day.

Kyle lights his cancer

stick, takes my hand,

and steers me along

the riverbank. Summer-

fried grass chatters

beneath our feet, and

the water mutters along.

Smoke bothering you?

Kyle asks, blowing it

downwind, away from me.

“Not at all.” He finishes

his cigarette, stubs it out,

pulls me down into a soft

tuft, sits close, and leans

his face into my hair. Sighs.

Tobacco breath escapes

his mouth, yet somehow

it doesn’t make me gag,

and when he lays me back

to see the sky, I find myself

very near heaven.
Kiss me.

It’s more order than request,

but I don’t care. All I want

to do is lose myself in him.

I’M SO LOST

I barely notice when my shirt

comes off again, or how the cool

breeze plays strange melodies

up and down superheated skin.

The sharp tang of Kyle’s desire

rises into the chuffing wind,

and when my lips journey

his body, they come away

with a thin lick of salt. We are

moving quickly toward what

I didn’t come here for, but I am

powerless to stop him from

unzipping my jeans and peeling

them off me before sliding out of

his own. Am I ready for this after

all? The only things in the way

of “all the way” are red cotton

boxers and a pair of barely there

panties. Ninety-eight percent

of me is ready to say okay.

I close my eyes against the azure

glare. Kyle moves over me,

expertly tries to convince the last

two percent. Riffs of pleasure

trill through my veins. Excite

me. Frighten me. Delight me.

Off go the boxers. On goes

the latex. But just as he pulls

at the panties, I remember

that other girl, in that other

town, how she watched, terrified,

as the man who was supposed

to protect her chose instead

to harm her. My muscles go

rigid. I never told anyone. Now

someone will know. “Wait.”

He pauses, confused at jumbled

signals—my body screaming

yes, while my mouth says no.

It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.

My eyes sting. “I want to. I do.

But …” My face heats to flush.

I don’t want him to know. Don’t

want anyone to know. Tears spill.

Kyle brushes them gently away.

What’s wrong?
The answer

he waits for is painful. But for

us to work, I have to tell him.

AN INTENSE

Shiver

quakes me, initiates teeth

chatter. Kyle hands me my shirt

like an offering. Waits,

silent,

as I launch the lurid account.

I can’t look at him while I recite

it. Instead I focus on a skinny

sapling

wearing a single crimson leaf.

I am the fledgling tree, weighted

not by wind, but by memory. I

bend

but refuse to break. I finish

with a plea. “I’ve never told

this story to anyone

before.

Can we just keep it between

you and me?” The question

floats, a fallen red leaf in

the breeze.

KYLE HAS LISTENED

Without comment. Finally he says,

Who would I tell?
He cocks his head,

looks at me in an assessing way.

That’s why you never did it with Matt?

“Not with Matt or anyone else. But

how do you know we never did?”

He grins.
Because Matt isn’t the type

to get laid and not brag about it.

I, on the other hand, am very good

at keeping secrets.
He moves closer,

puts his arm around my shoulder.

I’m sorry that happened to you.

But it doesn’t change how I feel.

I love you. And if you really love

me, you have to trust me.
In one

swift motion, he shifts his body

and I am again reclining in autumn

gold grass. I learned a long time ago

not to place my trust in anyone.

You always get screwed in the end.

But when Kyle lowers himself over me,

the kiss that finds my lips is brimming

with promise. He lifts my wrists above

my head, pins them purposefully to the ground

with one strong hand, as if I might complain

about his other hand, voyaging over

my body, lingering in all the right places.

It already knows me. Such intimate

awareness deserves trust, and so I open

myself to it. And to Kyle. He takes complete

control. Instinct or experience? No matter.

My body surrenders. Reacts. Invites.

He is not gentle. But I am not afraid.

And as we rise and rise in symphony,

each note completely new to me, I think

I might never be frightened again.