Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (36 page)

“Anyway, we were together for six months. My parents got to know him. They loved him, thought he was terrific. I don’t think they ever saw the dark side of him that I knew so well.
 

“Looking back, I’m surprised I didn’t break up with him. But the problem was, dating Damian Wolfram was like dating the King of England. Every girl in my high school was either jealous and wanted to sabotage my relationship, or wanted to be my best friend, just so they could be close to him.
 

“The guys were just as bad. Everybody wanted to sleep with whoever King Stud was dating, meaning me. I loved the attention. I excuse my stupid behavior because of teenaged hormones.”

“I remember those,” Christos chuckled. “I think I still have some leftover.”

“You’re so bad.” I swatted his arm.
 

“I hate to disillusion you, but I’m pretty sure those guys at your high school wanted you mainly because you’re hot.”

“Yeah, right,” I dismissed.

“It never ceases to amaze me, Samantha, how the hottest women I know have the lowest opinion of their own looks. You take the cake.”

I gazed at him silently for a long time. He stroked my hair. “Thank you,” I murmured. I sipped more tea, then continued my story.

“So, after six months of pressure from Damian, and constant talk from my girlfriends about how much sex everyone in my high school was having, I decided I didn’t want to be left out of the conversations any longer. I mean, how bad could it be? Just about everyone on the planet had sex. Why was I making such a big deal about it?

“One afternoon during class, I texted Damian that I was ready. He knew exactly what I meant. We were in luck because both his parents and mine would be out that night. We decided to use his house, because it was huge, he had his own private bathroom connected to his bedroom, and if his parents came home early, we’d have plenty of advance warning when they walked into the house.

“He tried really hard to make it special. He‘d bought me flowers and cooked me a fabulous dinner in his parents’ kitchen. He had dug up recipes on the internet, and made everything himself.

“When we finally made it up to his bedroom, with time to spare before his parents got home, everything was perfect. He had set up candles and had the perfect playlist on his iPod. The setting was more than a teenager could hope for. No fumbling in the back of a cramped car with foggy windows like most of my friends. Maybe it was too perfect, I don’t know.

“We fell onto the bed and started making out. For whatever reason, I wasn’t feeling it. I have no idea why. I didn’t know how to tell Damian, so we kept making out. When he tried to take my dress off, I stopped him.
 

“Maybe it was all the anticipation. Maybe he’d tried too hard to make everything just right. Maybe we’d waited too long and I should’ve slept with him months before.
 

“But it never occurred to me once that deep down, I knew Damian was not the right person for me to lose my virginity to. But I couldn’t admit that to myself in the moment. I had been denying the truth for too long.

“So I told myself that I wasn’t ready for Damian
that
night, that I just needed more time to get used to the idea. I remember folding my arms across my chest protectively. Damian asked me what was wrong.

“That was when everything took a nose dive.”

Chapter 21

THREE YEARS EARLIER…

At Damian Wolfram’s house.

“What’s wrong,” Damian asked.

“I’m sorry, Damian. This is my first time. You know it is. You told me we could wait until I was ready. I guess I’m just not ready,” I said regretfully. I gave him a sad smile. I knew he’d be disappointed. I worried he’d be angry. And I knew exactly how explosive he could be. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Damian rolled off of me and laid face up, staring at the bedroom ceiling. He didn’t say anything for a long time.

“Damian?”

He sighed deeply. Several times. That was how the tantrums started. Like he was building up a head of steam.
 

I was afraid to move. He slapped the bed with his hand. He was mad. I stroked his arm. “I’m really sorry. I know how hard you tried to make all of this special.”

I rolled my knee over his legs and cuddled up next to him. I squeezed his arm and tried to calm him. “Don’t be mad. We’ll do it next time. I promise.”

“What next time? Who said there was going to be a next time?”

I was confused. “I love you, Damian.” It wasn’t the first time I’d told him. I started saying “I love you” after about three months of dating. He’d never said it, but all my girlfriends had told me not to pressure him. “Of course there’s going to be a next time. We’ll have plenty of chances to make love. Just not tonight, okay?”

I looked up at him. He tilted his chin down and scowled at me. “If you loved me, we would be having sex right now.”

There was a coldness to the way he’d said those words that shocked me. I suddenly doubted every kind word he’d ever said to me.
 

“If you loved me, you would already have your dress off.” There was venom in his words. Not love.

I rolled away from him until my back faced him. I hugged my elbows to my chest and pulled my knees up. He didn’t love me. That much was clear. I wondered if he’d ever come even close to loving me. I started to cry quietly. Why hadn’t I seen it sooner?

“Quit being such a baby. Do you want to have sex or not?”

That made me cry harder.

He sighed petulantly. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it.”

I choked back a sob.

“Put up, or shut the fuck up!”

I sobbed freely. Part of me wanted to turn to him and tell him how angry I was, how much he was hurting me. But Damian always had to be the angriest person in the room. I knew it was pointless. I slid my legs off the bed, looking for my heels. “I want to go home.”

“You want to go? I bought flowers. I made you dinner. I set up my room to make everything special. I held up my end of the deal. Why didn’t you? Huh? What’s wrong with you?”

I slid my heels on one at a time. I stood up, grabbed my coat, and draped it over my shoulders. I picked up my purse and folded my arms protectively across my breasts. “Please take me home.”
 

He jackknifed off the bed. “You want to go? Now? Fuck, Sam, you’re the worst fucking girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

“Please.”

He slammed his fist onto his dresser, rattling everything on top. “What the fuck, Sam! We’re supposed to have sex tonight! You’re not going anywhere!”

I looked at him. He was gearing up for a titanic tantrum. I couldn’t deal with it. “I’m going downstairs. Please take me home. Or I’ll call my parents.”

That triggered him. “Fuck you, Sam! Fuck you! Fine! Go downstairs. I’ll drive your fat ass home!”

Normally, I always let Damian win the “who’s the angriest” contest. But that night, my anger flared bright. “I don’t need you, Damian! You’re nothing special!”

“Not special? I’m the only thing special you’ve got, honey.” The way he said “honey” didn’t sound like a term of endearment. “Once I’m gone, say goodbye to the lavish lifestyle. Go back to the monotony of your parents’ boring-as-fuck middle-class lifestyle.”

I bit back tears. On some level, I knew he was right. My parents
were
boring. They had boring jobs and boring lives. Damian’s entire family was like some Fortune 500 cover story.
 

I’d be lying if I said his behavior surprised me. It was just more of what I’d already seen. “You make it sound so bad, Damian. Maybe I’m the one who’s special, and you’re the monotonous one.” Points for me.

“You’re nothing, Sam. Without me, you’re nobody. You and your boring fucking family. I’m all the spice you have.”

I turned my back to him and walked downstairs as quietly as I could. I heard him banging around in his bedroom while I waited in his parents’ gigantic foyer, near the elaborate etched glass double doors.

 
I thought about how such a beautiful mansion could contain such a terrible person. Both were beautiful on the outside, ugly on the inside.

A few minutes later he trotted down the stairs. He’d changed into a t-shirt and sweats. “Let’s go,” he growled.
 

I held one last shred of hope that somehow he’d calm down and we could spend the rest of the evening watching a movie or something. Anything. I just didn’t want to end it like this. “Damian, please, can’t you understand where I’m coming from?” I pleaded.

His eyes flashed and his anger stabbed into my heart. “It’s too late for that, Sam. Maybe you can give your virginity to some night cashier at a convenience store. We’re through.”

I was stunned. I stared at him blankly.

“Outside.” It was a command. “Get in the fucking car already!” He opened one of the etched glass front doors in the foyer. “Go!”

I’m surprised he didn’t shove me, or boot me in the ass on my way down the slate front steps. I walked stiffly toward his BMW, across the crushed gravel roundabout, and climbed in. I clutched my coat tightly around me, wishing it was some kind of magical, emotion-deflecting armor. I didn’t want to feel any more of the anger scorching off of Damian.

He jumped in the driver’s seat and slammed his door. While jamming his key in the ignition and revving the engine, he gave me a final glaring sneer.

The only thing running through my head was that I was surprised he didn’t make me walk home.

PRESENT DAY.

“After that night, my heart was broken. I couldn’t believe the young man I thought I’d loved could be so hateful.”

Christos was silent, his eyes lowered. Was he going to say anything?

I waited, and waited. Dread crawled into my stomach and took root.

When Christos still hadn’t spoken, I panicked. I think he felt my tension. His eyes narrowed in a combination of pain and I think revulsion. It was in that moment I realized the infinite power of words. They had transformed the man who had been holding me lovingly in his arms mere seconds ago into a complete stranger.

Christos didn’t know me. He never had. He only knew an idea of me, a thin slice of the whole rotten pie. Would it have helped if I’d told him everything sooner? Or would he still turn away no matter when he found out? I started to cry. Me and men were not slated to work out in the end.

“What a total fucking prick,” Christos whispered. “He was no King Stud. He’s King Douche. How could he do that to you?”

“Wuh, what?”

“If that asshole were here right now, I’d feed him his teeth. You deserve so much better than that, Samantha. That guy was heartless.”

I wept tears of relief and hugged Christos. He tucked my head into his chest and comforted me.

After sitting in silence for awhile, we went inside and put our teacups in the sink, then drove back to my apartment.
 

It was late, so we undressed and climbed quietly into bed. When the lights were out and Christos’ arms were around me, I kissed him briefly. “Good night, Christos. I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too,
agápi mou.”

“So, um, I know you don’t like labels, but what
would
you call us now? Are we dating?”

“I don’t think there are words big enough or grand enough to describe what we’re doing. The first one that comes to my mind is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. After that, I run out.”

“Isn’t that from Mary Poppins?”

“Yeah. I loved that movie when I was a kid.”

Everything about Christos was unexpected. He always surprised me. “I never pegged you for a Disney fan.”

“Why? Because tough guys don’t like cartoon musicals?” I could tell he was dimpling in the darkness by the sound of his voice.

“Yeah.”

“I defy all stereotypes,” he said proudly.

“That you do. But is it possible for you to abide by one stereotype?”

“Which one did you have in mind?”

“The one where we agree to be exclusive?”

“You mean you don’t want to see other people, and you don’t want me seeing other people?”

I worried that he had to ask for clarification. Didn’t everyone know what exclusive meant?

I think he sensed my unease. “Don’t worry, Samantha. There’s is only one perfect woman for me on this planet, and you are her. I want you, and only you. You are my one and only.”

I sighed audibly. “I can live with that.”

“Good, because you have all of me.”

“I love you Christos. I love you very much.”

“I love you too,
agápi mou.
”

“No matter what?”
 

“No matter what. I hope you feel the same way about me.”

Did I detect a note of doubt in his voice? The slightest strain? Was I missing something? Was there something Christos wasn’t telling me? Or was I imagining things?
 

I felt sudden trepidation. Not because of that hairline crack of doubt that had suddenly appeared in my perception of Christos.
 

But because of what I hadn’t told him.

All the parts about the Damian story I had left out. Everything that had happened
after
I’d gotten in Damian’s car. The parts of the story I was afraid to tell even Christos because I was so ashamed of what I’d done. The ones that proved beyond all doubt that I was a terrible person.

The ones that if Christos heard them, he’d surely run away as fast as he could.

The part of the story about Taylor.

The next morning, I woke up feeling pretty good. The night before had been very cathartic, even if Christos didn’t know the whole truth. I drove him to his grandfather’s on the way to campus so he could get his motorcycle. The sun was just beginning to peak over the hills to the east.

“Are you going to be our secret drawing model again today?” I asked while we still sat in my car.

“Sorry, I’ve got actual work to do,” he grinned.

“Are you saying having Genesis hanging nude all over you wasn’t work? Because it was fun?” Did I sound jealous? Geez, it never stopped with me.

“Are you still worried about that?”

“Sort of.” I felt so immature.