Like Gravity (14 page)

His lips were demanding, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips and seeking entrance almost immediately. He backed me even more firmly against the truck, his body pressed flush against mine. My hands found their way into his unruly dark hair a
nd I pulled him closer, standing on my tiptoes to reach him.

He smelled deliciously of fall again, and tasted even better. I grumbled a complaint when his mouth left mine to trail kisses along my jawline and down my neck. He laughed at the sound, a dark
sexy chuckle that nearly set my panties on fire with want. Needing more, I hooked a leg around his waist and tried to pull him closer. He must’ve shared my thoughts – his hands immediately cupped my ass as he lifted me from the ground, allowing both my legs to wrap around his waist as he held me pinned against the truck. Tugging on his hair, I managed to get his lips off my neck and back on mine.

Usually when I kissed someone new for the first time, there was an adjustment period – a few fumbling moments spent learning how his mouth moved and adapting to it.

It wasn’t like that with Finn. It was like our mouths knew each other, like my lips had been designed to fit exclusively with his. I wasn’t a religious person; I didn’t believe in past lives or reincarnation. But if someone had asked me in that moment if I’d ever lived before, I would’ve said yes, because I must have known Finn before this lifetime. Kissing him was like coming home after an impossibly long journey – one so long I’d not only forgotten what home looked like, but that it even existed in the first place.  

Our mouths explored, a passionate melding of lips and tongues and teeth.  I wanted to drink him in, to bottle him up and carry him around with me so I’d never
be without this feeling again – this sensation of completeness, of utter
rightness
– that made me ache with the need to laugh and weep and lose myself in him.

I gasped when I shifted in his arms and felt the strength of
his arousal through his jeans. Finally seeming to realize that we were in a compromising position in the middle of the street, Finn pulled his face away from mine and looked into my eyes as he tried to slow his breathing. His eyes were dark, hazy with desire and surely matching the look in mine.

“We have to slow down,” he whispered, kissing my forehead.

I groaned in response.

Laughing, he set me down on my feet and wrapped his arms around me. My arms twined around his neck and my head nestled into the crook of his neck
. A feeling of contentment filled me when his chin came to rest on top of my hair, and I thought back to the first time we’d hugged like this. I remembered thinking how well we fit together, like two missing puzzle pieces. After tonight, that feeling was only amplified.

“Come on,” he said, detangling our limbs. “Let me walk you to your door.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “Don’t even try. I’m walking you to your damn
ed door, Bee.”

We walked quietly up the stairs, stopping outside my patio door.

“You could come in, you know,” I said, stretching up onto my tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. Finn groaned and pulled away.

“My self-control is hanging by a thread, here. Please don’t tempt me.”

“Fine,” I shrugged and turned to the door, not wanting him to see that his denial confused and hurt me. No one had ever turned me down before. “Your loss.”

“Hey,” he said, spinning me back around to face him. Tilting my chin up, he forced my eyes to meet his. “Believe me, I want nothing more than to stay with you. I want you pretty fucking desperately, if I’m being honest. The fact that you’d even doubt that is crazy.”

Suddenly, appallingly, my eyes were filling with tears. “Maybe I am. Crazy, that is. I’m fucked up, okay? You don’t know the first thing about me. And if you did, you’d probably just run.” I tried to break away from the grasp he had on my face, but he held firm. “I can’t give you what you want. A– a relationship. Even if I wanted to, I can’t make you any promises,” I hiccupped.

Finn
leaned in and slowly kissed each teardrop from my cheeks.  “First of all, I don’t want to hear you call yourself crazy, or fucked up, or anything like that ever again. Secondly, did I ask you to make me any promises? No.” His eyes radiated sincerity and warmth. “Nothing has to change. Well, other than the fact that I’m going to be kissing you as often as you’ll let me, because your mouth is amazing. Seriously, I may have to go home and write a song about it. We’ll play it at our next show; I’ll call it
Ode to Brooklyn’s Orifices
. It’ll be an instant Top-40 hit, just you wait.”

I deteriorated into giggles – he
was so ridiculous. “I hate you,” I sighed, my laughter gradually subsiding.

“Impossible,” he grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips and watching as I opened the door to my apartment. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’m sure that’s what you tell all the girls,” I teased.

His face turned serious. “Bee, there are no other girls. There’s never been anyone
real for me except you.” A wistful expression crossed his face. “It’s always been you.”

My heart stu
ttered in my chest at his words and I gripped the doorframe to keep myself steady.

“Goodnight,” I whispered, overwhelmed.

“Goodnight, Bee.” He winked at me before turning to walk down the stairs. I closed the door and brought a hand up to trace my slightly swollen lips, the only tangible proof I had of what had just happened between us. Otherwise, I might’ve dismissed it as some kind of misguided fantasy.

Could I do this? Could I get involved
with Finn and remain emotionally detached? He said he wasn’t going to stay away from me anymore, and I didn’t want him to. He was my friend and all I knew was that I’d missed him this past week. But could I sleep with him without letting all my walls come crashing down? I felt like I’d been asking myself that question for months as Finn and I slowly circled each other. And now that we’d finally collided, I still wasn’t sure what my decision would be.

Sure, I was getting better –
going to therapy, thinking about my mom and facing up to my past. That didn’t mean I was
normal
, and I was certainly not well adjusted enough to give myself to another person in a committed relationship.

I needed to sort out my own shi
t before I could even consider taking a leap like that. As if that wasn’t enough of a hurdle, I also doubted I would ever get to a place where I could be fully honest with Finn about my past – and he was too pushy to ever be content with being left dark. This relationship was a disaster, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode, even in theory.

I was confused,
and I definitely needed time to think about everything. I was also too tired to deal with the gamut of emotions battling for my attention.

Channeling Scarlet
t O’Hara, my all-time favorite literary lady and clearly a formative influence on my development, I decided I couldn’t think about the Finn situation right now – I’d think about it tomorrow.

After
all…
tomorrow is another day.

Bare Walls

I was afraid of the top bunk. It was too high off the ground.

At home, I
’d had a pink bed – Mommy always called it my princess bed. She’d painted my bedroom to look like a scene from one of my favorite fairytales, and the walls were covered with princesses and fairies and knights and even a magic castle. The ceiling was painted with stars and clouds and a green sparkly dragon. Every night, she’d read me stories before bed, and I would stare at my walls and pretend I was skipping down the paths of an enchanted forest, or locked high up in the tallest tower of the castle. Sometimes, Mommy and I would read a new story and afterwards she would get out her paintbrushes and add to my walls.

I wondered if another little girl was sleeping in my princess room now.

I looked up at the chipping paint of the gray ceiling in my new room, stained with brown and green splotches. My foster mother didn’t know how to paint castles or stars or dragons.

The house was quiet. I’d been lying in my bunk for hours but I couldn’t sleep. I was scared of what I knew I’d see when my eyes drooped closed.
I missed my room. I missed Mommy. I missed bedtime stories and the way she’d always sing as she painted.

Slipping quietly down the
bunk bed ladder, I adjusted the too-long sleeves of my pajamas and padded out into the hall. I shared a bedroom with three other girls, but they were all older than me and they snored and drooled and thrashed as they slept.

I
moved down the hallway on my tiptoes, trying not to make any noise. My foster mother got mad when she caught us out of bed at night, even if we’d had bad dreams. I’d been here for a few weeks now, but I’d learned the first night that there would be no bedtime stories or soft hands to tuck me in.

When I reached the back door
, I pushed it open cautiously; I knew from coming here almost every night that it would squeak if I moved it too fast. I stepped out onto the porch, my bare feet cold on the uneven wooden planks. Sitting down on the steps that led into the backyard, I propped my head in my hands and looked up at the sky. There were no stars, here. No green sparkly dragons, either. Just clouds and swirling darkness.

“You shouldn’t be out here, you know.”

I startled, my head whipping around to peer into the dark corner of the porch where the voice had come from. It was a boy’s voice, deeper and rougher than my own. I curled in on myself, frightened as I watched him emerge from the shadows.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said, sitting down on the step next to me. Close but not too close. “But you shouldn’t be out here.
It’s late and it’s cold.”

I stared at him.

“You’re the one who doesn’t talk,” he stated, looking down at me.

I nodded.

“I just got here a few days ago,” he sighed sadly. “I can’t sleep either.”

I looked up at the sky again, seeking a star, but there were still none
behind the clouds.  The boy didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt me. He was older by a few years, probably nine or ten. I was surprised he was even talking to me. Most of the older kids didn’t want to spend time with the “little mute freak.”

“Are you scared?” he asked softly. When I looked over at him, there was no teasing in his eyes
– only kindness and maybe some sadness too. He understood. He hadn’t asked
what
I was scared of, but it didn’t matter – fear is fear.

I nodded slowly.

“Want to hear a story?” he questioned, his voice unsure.

I felt my lips turn up in a small smile. I nodded again, turning to look at him.

“Okay,” he took a deep breath, his forehead scrunching up as he thought about where to start. I doubted his story would be as good as one of Mommy’s, but any story was better than none at all.

The boy looked up to the
dark sky before he began.

“Once upon a time, there was
a beautiful princess named Andromeda. When she was born, her parents, the king and queen, were so proud of her beauty that they bragged she was the most beautiful girl in their kingdom, in their country, in the entire world.”

The dark haired boy looked over at me to make sure I was following his story. I watched him quietly, enthralled by his words. It had been weeks since someone had talked to me – really talked to me. The therapist visited eac
h week, but she didn’t say much; she just asked too many questions that I had no answers for.

“When the sea nymphs heard what
the King and Queen were saying about Andromeda’s loveliness, they were enraged; until now, they’d always been the most beautiful creatures in the land, and they weren’t ready to give up their title. The jealous nymphs begged Poseidon, the god of the sea, to send a terrible monster to Andromeda’s homeland and to destroy the kingdom.”

I perched on the edge of
my seat, my eyes wide as I watched the boy and listened to his fascinating tale.

“The evil sea monster destroyed towns and killed villagers, and the King and Queen were desperate to end the suffering
of their people. They asked an Oracle – the wisest man in the kingdom – how they could stop the monster’s violent attacks.” He gazed up at the stars overhead. “The Oracle told them the only way to end the violence was to sacrifice their beautiful daughter Andromeda to the sea monster.”

I gasped.

“They had no choice, if they wanted to save their people. So, they chained her to a rock in the middle of the ocean and left her there – alone and defenseless. When the monster appeared, with its razor sharp teeth and evil red eyes, Andromeda knew she was going to die.”

The boy looked over at me, his blue eyes intense.

“Suddenly, out of the sky, the hero Perseus appeared, flying on his winged horse Pegasus. He took one look at the beautiful Andromeda, fell instantly in love with her, and killed the evil monster before it could even touch her.” The boy smiled softly. “The princess was reunited with her parents, who were thrilled to have their daughter back. The very next day Andromeda and Perseus were married, and from that moment on they lived happily ever after.”

The boy fell silent, his tale over.
I’d never heard a story like that before, and I was fascinated. Mommy had never told stories about sea monsters, flying horses, nymphs, or gods!

I had so many questions that
I wanted to ask this boy – where he’d heard such a tale, and whether he knew any more like it. I wanted to thank him for sharing his strange story, but I still hadn’t spoken to anyone since Mommy had…

I reached up and touched the cut near my shoulder. Though it was wrapped with bandages and the doctor
had put stitches in it, it still hurt. It didn’t bleed anymore, at least. The rest of my cuts and bruises had faded; it was the only mark I had left to remind me of that day.

I turned back to the boy and caught him staring at me.

“You should go to bed. Your name is Brooklyn, right?”

I nodded, climbing to my feet. The boy stood too, and he seemed shocked when I reached out and grabbed ahold of his hand. I squeezed
tightly, hoping it was enough to tell him what I couldn’t say out loud.

Thank you.

He glanced down at my small fingers wrapped around his and gently squeezed back.

“You’re welcome.”

I smiled my first real smile in weeks and disappeared back into the house, leaving the strange lonely boy in the dark.

***

I woke with a start.

I’d never had such a vivid dream about my time in foster care before.
It caught me off guard, startling me with its clarity. Sure, I’d had vague memories of the boy who’d told me stories at night. But nothing had ever been that specific. It had felt so real – like I’d really been there, standing on that porch in the darkness.

I absently ran a finger over the jagged scar on my collarbone. It was barely noticeable anymore, just a faint line of lighter pigmentatio
n. The slightly raised, permanent mark of my past was the only physical remnant I carried from that terrible day. Thankfully, my emotional scars weren’t nearly as visible.

I bunched my down comforter around me more securely as I stared up at my plain white ceiling
, instead envisioning a swirling canvas of cyan and cobalt, dotted with brilliant yellow stars and a luminescent jade dragon. I’d nearly allowed myself to forget the fairytale world my mother had created within the four walls of my tiny childhood bedroom. The dream had brought it all back.

Suddenly, the walls of my room seemed too bare. I had no pictures, no posters, not a single work of art – just plain white walls as unadorned as the day I’d signed my lease.
They’d never bothered me before, or maybe I just hadn’t noticed the bleak, impersonal nature of my living space. My clothes hung neatly in my closet, meticulously arranged by color and season. My laptop sat on a clutter-free desk. My carpet was vacuumed and there were no piles of clothes or discarded papers anywhere. It looked like a ghost lived here, leaving no footprint as she moved through life.

And after all, wasn’t that who I’d become? A girl with no family, no true f
riends, no emotions to speak of. Had I let myself disappear? Had I forsaken that little girl who’d believed in fairytales and happily ever afters?

Yes. Because it had been easier.

But I wouldn’t do it anymore. I would find that little girl again, somehow. I would take back my life from the apparition I’d become.

For the first time in years, I
was thankful for one of my nightmares. And as I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, I smiled.

***

I awoke the next morning near dawn, feeling more refreshed than I had in weeks. After making coffee, I sat on the roof and studied for a few hours. I had several exams coming up, and between Finn, therapy, and mysterious flower deliveries, I hadn’t had much time to focus on my classes.

When ten o’clock rolled around, I walked into Lexi’s room and grabbed the
picture frame I was looking for from her desk. One pedicured foot dangled over the side of her mattress and a fuzzy halo of red waves quickly disappeared as she yanked her fuchsia comforter up to block the light I’d let in. Growling, she blindly threw a pillow across the room at me, evidently pissed I’d woken her up. I laughed and closed the door gently on my way out.

Looking down at the picture in my hands, I smiled. It had been taken last year at a Halloween party. Lex and I had dre
ssed up as Mario and Luigi, and we looked carefree and happy in the photo – smiling so hard our lopsided black stick-on mustaches threatened to fall off our faces.

Returning to my room, I opened a drawer in my desk and moved aside several
neatly stacked spiral notebooks. At the bottom of the drawer, I finally found what I was looking for. Two small, faded photos of my mother were all I had left. They were timeworn and tattered, but they were precious to me. She looked beautiful in them – young and incandescently happy as she grinned at whoever had taken the photos.

One was a portrait of her alone, leaning into the wind on a pier in California. Her arms were thrown up as she raced
through the salty ocean spray toward the photographer. The second was a photo of the two of us. I was young, probably three or four, and she held me suspended in her arms. She was looking at me with the pure, unadulterated love only a mother can give, and I was looking back at her like she was my whole universe. Because she had been.

Tears filled my eyes, but
they were happy. I’d been loved – I had the proof right here in my hands. And it had been neglected that drawer, gathering dust, for far too long. Dashing the moisture from my eyes, I grabbed the three photos I’d collected and made my way to the driveway. I hopped into Lexi’s car and drove straight to the closest photography store, where I knew I could have the prints enlarged and enhanced.

After explaining exactly what I wanted, I left the photos in the capable hands of the sh
op owner and headed across town to Andler’s, the only local mom-and-pop hardware store that was still in business. Most of the others had crumbled under financial strains in the recent recession, unable to compete when a national chain home improvement superstore had opened just outside of town. I wasn’t much for DIY, but whenever I needed to buy replacement light bulbs or duct tape, I’d head to Andler’s. I liked to think I was supporting the little guy.

Considering the early
hour and the fact that it was Saturday morning, I was unsurprised to find that I was the youngest customer in the shop by at least three decades. I was also the only female.

As I walked in, six male heads swiveled around and performed a
frank assessment of me. Equally quickly, they dismissed me and returned their attention to the items they were purchasing, undoubtedly assuming I was a lost sorority girl who’d wandered in by accident. I typically would’ve been peeved, but a glance down at my attire had me swallowing my indignation; my candy-apple red, plunging v-neck, emblazed with the words
Surrender Dorothy
in black script across my chest, was a far cry from the plaid lumberjack look most of these men were sporting. The wedged strappy red sandals and slim black capris I was wearing probably weren’t helping my credibility as a DYI’er either.