Use Somebody (41 page)

While my brain was too drunk on hormones to consider the consequences, he eliminated the space between us. This time he didn’t let a second go to waste. A passionate and insistent kiss ensued, promising that all the answers to every question I could ever ask were hidden in his lips, and all he had to do was interpret.

It was the kind of kiss meant to change a stubborn girl’s mind, leaving no room for arguments or doubt. It worked. My brain was no longer in control. I was soaring through the clouds. I was bursting at the seams. I was home.

How did he do that? How could he get me so wound up by his words and his touches, that one kiss was the only thing in life that mattered? And how had a single kiss brought me to my knees? Hadn’t I learned my lesson?

Maybe I was a fool for falling for another man. But when our lips pressed together, I couldn’t bring myself to care. I just needed him to devour me. Now. Before I actually combusted.

He pulled back just long enough to breathe my name, then we collided again. Both desperate, starving for each other. His hands along my jaw. My fingers in his hair. It was need at its finest. All practical sense went out the window. The only thing I cared about was Vance’s hands on me. Vance’s lips mastering mine. Vance wanting me. Vance liking me. Vance. Vance. Vance.

I was free falling without any parachute to catch me.

And all too quickly the earth came rushing up to greet me.

“Don’t you see it, Rosie?” he said between pants, his forehead rested against mine. I, too, was struggling to catch my breath. “We could be something amazing.”

For a split second, I did see it. Being able to feel beautiful every day. To be kissed like this every night. To have someone like Vance want me, take care of me, look at me like I wasn’t a coward or a failure or damaged, but a woman worthy of adoration…

But what would it matter how he looked at me, when he didn’t know the truth of who I was? And what I’d done?

And even if he learned my secrets, and miraculously still wanted me, how could this relationship ever be equal?

Vance just named off all the things he admired about me, and why he wanted to be with me. Yet the list that I just formed in my own little fantasy consisted only of the ways I wanted to be taken care of. And being with him just because I wanted to be treated well was selfish. Vance and I were both givers by nature, but I had nothing of value left to give. And I couldn’t justify a relationship where I would only take, take, take.

I finally understood the depths of Vance’s feelings for me, but it only pointed out the selfishness of my own. How could we possibly have the kind of relationship he deserved? My heart was fatally damaged. My concept of trust, broken. I had haunting memories and issues up the wahzoo. I may never be able to give him a normal relationship. And he was the golden boy—he deserved so much more than just that.

If I agreed to be his, it would be yet another act of selfishness.

“We can’t,” I whispered and tried to pull away, but he held me in place. “I can’t.”

“You feel it too. I know you do,” he said, frustration evident in his voice. My chest tightened at the sound of it. If he only knew how difficult it was to tell him ‘no.’ Every other emotion inside me was dulled, but the physical pull was almost unbearable.

My brain fought to regain control. “You don’t know what I feel.”

“I can read you better than anyone. And not the mask you hide behind. I know it’s guilt that makes you bite that plump little lip. That any attention makes you blush. That your doe-eyed look means you’re uncomfortable or lying. That you get nervous meeting anyone new, but value loyalty above all else. That a song can completely change your mood. That you’ve been hurt, more than once, so badly you’re afraid to try again. And even though you act like you don’t care and you don’t need anybody, you care. You need. You feel. You still want to find that perfect love. You have hope that I can give that to you, that we can figure out what it means together, but that hope scares you.”

I tried to swallow past the painful lump lodged in my throat. “Is that all?” I asked in a small voice, trying and failing to mock his supposed assumption.

He grinned, as if he was hoping I’d ask. “No.” His voice dropped even lower. “I can tell when your lips want to be kissed. When your body wants to be touched. I can tell that when you look at me, you see more than just a friend.”

Right on cue, my cheeks blushed a fiery red. “What do you want me to say? That I’m attracted to you? That I enjoy it when you kiss me? That I never want to stop? Because that’s all true. I’m not denying it.”

A smile appeared. “Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“You don’t understand,” I shook my head, knowing my half-admission had already given him the wrong idea. “I’m addicted to the feeling of being wanted. I’m not in love with you.”

There. I said it.

And it took less than two heartbeats for the smile to drain from his face, dimming like taillights disappearing into the night.

I was a cruel, selfish girl for shooting him down after the way I made him display his feelings for me. But as much as I wanted to take it back, or to kiss him until the smile returned to his face, I refrained. I’d done what I set out to do. Everything was out in the open now; he felt one way, I felt another. We couldn’t keep dancing around the issue. This was one challenge we wouldn’t be able to overcome. An insurmountable and unsolvable conundrum.

“You ever climb that thing?” he questioned.

The guy had an unbelievable bounce-back rate.

I followed his gaze to the old oak tree. It was a historic piece of this city, and had been a staple in my childhood. As well as every other kid in town.

“Sure,” I answered warily.

Without taking his eye off his target, he straightened and walked through the sand and grass towards the tree, glancing up at its massive size. It was so large now, some of its biggest branches were supported by cement poles. I watched him for a moment before I got off my swing and followed him to the base of the trunk.

“Cole and I used to see who was brave enough to climb the highest,” Vance chuckled, looking up and knocking on the trunk with his knuckle.

I heard in his voice the yearning for simpler times, when friendship and bravery were only tested by how high you could climb. If only life were still that easy.

At the very same moment, we glanced at each other, wearing identical grins, and both reached out for groves in the trunk to begin our ascent. Side by side, we climbed together, in sync, as always.

I was cautious and a little less coordinated than I had remembered from my younger years. I’d hardly moved a few feet when I made the mistake of looking down. I couldn’t recall feeling so high off the ground. Was I fearless as a small child? Why, oh why, did I have to lose that?

Vance was faster, confidently reaching one hand above the other until he pulled himself up and stood on the high branch. He looked comfortable up there with the best view in the whole park. He didn’t even need to spread his arms for balance.

As I paused my climbing, he caught me watching him and offered me his hand.

I shook my head. “I can do it myself.”

He retracted his hand and took a step back to give me room. “I know you can. But you don’t have to.”

Determined, I lifted myself a little higher. Kickboxing here and there over the last few months had made my muscles a little stronger, but my limbs were still shaking under my weight, and the rough bark scratched my palms.

“You can do it, Rosie, almost there.”

I gritted my teeth and used his encouragement to spur me on.
I can do it.
One step higher. Then another. Until I reached the final branch. I was breathing hard as I pulled myself to my feet and leaned my back against the trunk. But the grin I wore was huge.

Vance sported a look of pride, with just the barest hint of sadness in his smile.

We stood there in the old oak tree, staring at one another as I tried to catch my breath. The street lamps casted an orange glow over everything, but he was close enough that I could see the greens of his irises. I licked my lips to evoke the lingering minty taste of him. His gaze dropped to follow the movement. A breeze picked up and blew through the branches, tossing my curls in the wind. Neither of us spoke.

This park had become a special place for us, connecting memories of the past and present. I drew upon the comfort and courage this tree had given me so many years ago when I was young and ruled by my heart. Tonight, everything felt complicated and I learned that Vance was right—I’d let fear dictate my relationships. My life.

I was afraid of facing my feelings for Vance. I didn’t know the first thing about giving him the kind of relationship he deserved. I was afraid of moving on from my last, and felt guilty and wrong wanting to try again so soon.

With all of that being said, something about him called to me. He embodied everything I wanted, yet everything I feared. His light kept pulling me towards him. I had to be near him. I couldn’t stay away. I was already addicted… maybe even attached.

Breaking the moment, he turned from me, stepped further out on the branch and took a seat, legs dangling high above the ground. I couldn’t not follow. It was as if an invisible cord tied me to him. Treading lightly, I walked across the branch like a large tight rope and sat down beside him.

We could see the whole park from this height. The slide where I used to play. The path that led to the canyons. The swings where we talked about life and love… the grassy area where our entire friendship changed, just days ago…

Surrounded by nothing but oak leaves and twinkling stars, we sat quietly, both lost in our own memories on this still, peaceful night.

Finally, he sighed and spoke softly, “We didn’t break up because I wanted to pursue you, but in a way, it was because of you.”

I looked at him, shocked, but resisted the urge to interrupt.

Still gazing out towards the park, he continued. “Evelyn was my girlfriend for four years, but I don’t think we were every really friends. When we were together, we were a couple. But when I’d want to go hang out with
friends,
well, that was Cole and the guys.

“She was pretty high maintenance. She liked the expensive dinners and gifts. And I didn’t mind giving that to her. It was my first relationship, I thought that’s what it meant to be a good boyfriend. But looking back, I don’t think I ever got so much as a ‘thank you’ for any of it.”

Immediately this made me angry. Vance was a giver. He gave of his time, his words and his help and never asked for anything in return.
“Anytime,”
he always said. Even when I was a stranger. And a bitch. How could his own girlfriend take advantage of something so rare and so sweet?

“She constantly wanted to change me. My clothes, my friends, my hobbies. She hated that I work at Mooshi. She hated that I like to fish. But she couldn’t remember that I was allergic to sushi if her life depended on it. She wanted me to be this perfect accessory. Whenever I did something she didn’t like, she used to say, ‘you’re being
you
again!’ As if that was her biggest pet peeve. I should’ve told her, ‘this is me. This is who you are dating. If you don’t like it, why are you with me?’”

I scoffed, feeling incredibly defensive of him. Just what was so wrong with being Vance? And what did she have against her boyfriend being himself?

He deserved so much better than that. He needed someone who would appreciate his big heart, and his goofy side. Cookie cutter tools were a dime a dozen. Vance was special. How dare this girl try to change him?

“Why did you let her treat you like that for so long?”

At last he met my eyes. “I didn’t realize it could be any different.”

Ever so slowly, I nodded in understanding. I’d had my fair share of dysfunctional relationships as well. At sixteen, I dated
Nathan
for goodness sake. So who was I to judge?

When you’re young, you just don’t know any better. No matter what parents try to instill in you or what you watch friends go through, relationships are something you have to figure out for yourself.

Hearing him admit this, it didn’t make him seem weak, the way I felt when I relived my mistakes. It made him seem… human. Relatable. And it humbled me.

Regardless if he was the golden boy in my eyes, that didn’t mean he was infallible. He invested his heart and soul into one person for the last four years of his life when she did nothing but treat him poorly in return. And in the end when it all fell apart, he wasn’t carrying around bitterness or regrets. He was ready to dust himself off and try again, a little wiser from the experience.

I envied that. But I was also really, really proud of him.

“One more thing,” he said, taking my hand and interlocking our fingers. “I didn’t break up with Evelyn because of how I felt about you. I broke up with her because of the way you made me feel about myself. You make me feel like I’m something just the way I am. That I deserve more. That change is possible. And I… I want to make you feel like that, too.”

The moment was too perfect to ruin by pulling away. So I clutched his hand in return, reveling in the beauty of his sentiment. In so many ways, he did make me feel those things. And so much more. And if I wasn’t such a coward, I would’ve told him so.