All of It (17 page)

I put my hand on his chest and hold him firmly before he closes the gap entirely. I look down at my lap and the words come tumbling out as an apologetic whisper, “Dimitri, I can’t do this … I mean, I know what you must be expecting right now and I am
so
sorry if I gave you the wrong idea … I mean, if I led you on in any way.” I pinch my eyes shut. “I know I did. I’m so, so sorry.”

He puts his hand under my chin and raises it slowly until it’s even with his. Tilting his head he pulls his face back slightly from mine. He’s studying me. There is no trace of a smile on his face. I wait. His eyes are so mature, but there’s a softness that makes the knot in my stomach begin to unwind. His voice is low, that of a man twice his age, “Ronnie, please don’t let me give you the wrong impression. I know I tease you a lot, but we aren’t going to do anything that you don’t want to do. I know you have boundaries.” He pauses, obviously searching for the right words. He gently strokes my hair. “
You
are what I want … sex can wait.”

I look down again fumbling with the frayed hem on the T-shirt I’m wearing, unable to meet his eyes. “What if it has to wait a long time? You’re a sixteen-year-old guy. I know how sixteen-year-old guys think. My best friends are guys remember? We talk. It’s almost all they think about. Don’t tell me you’re the exception to that rule. I’m sure there a dozen girls that I could call right now that would come over this minute and sleep with you without hesitation. It’s not that I don’t
want
to be with you that way … God, it’s almost all I think about—kissing you, touching your bare skin. But I can’t be
that
girl. Accidents happen. I
have
to be responsible. Everything has a certain order in my world.”

His voice is soft and deliberate. “Ronnie … Ronnie,
please
look at me
.”

I slowly raise my head. There are tears in my eyes. His eyes are pleading, “Ronnie, please believe me when I tell you this: even if you told me you would never sleep with me … if I had to trade that in return for spending the rest of my life with just you … I would choose you. You’re right, I am a guy and you’re the most attractive woman I’ve ever seen. I think about you physically, about you and me together physically, two hundred times a day. I dream about it. But that’s enough for me for now. I can wait. Think about the conversation we just had, was sex on our short list?”

I shake my head.

He cradles my face between his hands with the lightest touch, as if I were breakable. “No, it wasn’t.”

A sense of relief washes over me. I whisper, “Thank you … for understanding. Most guys don’t.”

He smiles. “And those guys were incredibly stupid if they were willing to lose you over it. Lucky for me though,” he says, winking, “Patience is one of my best qualities.”

I sit there staring at him leaning on the sofa in front of me. It’s as though I’m looking at him through a new set of eyes and he’s more attractive than ever. It’s funny how beauty radiates out of some people. It’s at the core of their being and reveals itself bit by bit as you get to know them. Dimitri is flawless on the outside, but it appears the real treasure is inside. Where did he come from?

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and manage to find my voice. “I realize I’m pushing my luck here and this is going to sound incredibly bold, but can I ask you for a favor?”

“An-y-thing,” he says, enunciating every syllable as if it is three separate words.

“Now that you know the rules … will you kiss me … now … please?” my whispers are practically pleas.

“You, my dear, may push your luck anytime.” He smiles playfully, raising an eyebrow. “And I implore you to be bold more often.”

We lay on the sofa facing each other. The kisses are sweet and go on and on into the wee hours of the morning. I’ve never been so comfortable or felt so safe with anyone before in my life.

To say that Dimitri is a dream come true is an understatement. I couldn’t dream up someone this perfect.

Life is sometimes … sexy.

Perfect (pur’fikt) adj.
Complete in all respects; without defect or omission; sound; flawless.

Sounds … well … perfect, right? Wrong.

Let me explain. My life has always been virtually perfect in all respects. Things generally go my way. Okay, they almost always go my way. I am admittedly spoiled and cannot remember a moment of true difficulty, let alone crisis, that I’ve personally experienced in all of my eighteen years. I’ve been there for friends who’ve been faced with some pretty unpleasant realities, though watching someone battle an inner demon is nothing like experiencing it yourself. There’s a degree of separation, a buffer. As much as it kills you to know they’re suffering, at the end of the day it’s something you can distance yourself from if you choose. They can’t. It’s too intimate. I’ve never known that kind of intense turmoil and hope I never do. I’m not quite that naïve though. As the bumper sticker saying goes: shit happens.

I used to think of myself as a strong, confident, independent young woman who could meet any challenge head on. That was the Veronica in my mind. But lately, my belief in
that
Veronica is starting to waver, and it scares the hell out of me. Real life is rearing its head—a reality both beautiful and overwhelming—and I have no idea how to deal with the resulting stress. It’s hard to know how much of that stress I’ve created in my over-active mind.

My life, on the outside, still appears perfect. This makes me feel even worse, which undoubtedly adds to the stress. My guilt drives me to strive for perfection to perpetuate the illusion. It’s an exhausting cycle.

The past few months with Dimitri have been surreal. He’s the type of guy every girl dreams about. He’s gentle, kind, intelligent, and mature, all wrapped up inside a confident, attractive human being. One word sums up Dimitri—unbelievable. To anyone else, this sounds like an ideal partner, but to me, five months of “unbelievable” has gradually become
un
-believable. A distinct difference.

I don’t know what to believe anymore. I haven’t been able to find a flaw in Dimitri in the five months I’ve known him. It’s not an act. He is simply, genuinely amazing.

Perfect.

For some reason this makes me incredibly anxious. He’s so perfect that he doesn’t seem real. I can’t keep up. And I can’t measure up.

This relationship isn’t indicative of my past relationships (and I use the term “relationship” loosely within that context). I’ve dated several guys over the past few years. Attracting male attention has never been an issue for me. It’s not that I go looking for it, at least not the way someone like Chloe Murphy does. I don’t devise plans to lure boys in by being superficial or dressing like a slut. I just relate well to guys, they’re easy to talk to. Attraction seems to be a side effect. At least that’s my theory. I’m selective about who I date, though. I’m not generally one to date someone who pursues me. It somehow seems like settling or giving in if I’m not the one initiating the relationship. I realize that sounds completely self-absorbed and narcissistic, maybe it is, but I like to be in control. Obviously, I’m doing something wrong because none of the “past relationships” ever lasted. It’s equally divided as to who pulled the plug:

If they didn’t hold my interest or meet my expectations, I quickly broke it off (would it kill them to bring some interesting, intelligent conversation to the table? Or have an elementary grasp of manners? Kindness and wit seem to be in short supply as well.) And if they did hold my interest, when they figured out I wasn’t going to have sex with them, they broke it off (my virginal status is legendary around school. It precedes me “like a police escort complete with flashing lights and sirens,” so Teagan and Tate tell me. You’d think they would’ve known what kind of a dead end they were getting into. Why did they even bother? My name is apparently synonymous with “conquest.” A challenge. A
game
.)

Even stranger, after the breakups, the guys and I almost always remain friends … even after all of the weirdness. It seems I’m fantastic at being one of the guys, the buddy, the friend. I just suck at being the
girlfriend
.

And now, my dilemma. I’m now (
finally
) in a relationship with someone who I adore. He’s well aware I’m not going to sleep with him any time soon, and he’s actually sticking around. On several occasions he’s been on the verge of using the
L-word
. I’ve stopped him. Maybe I don’t believe he can really love me; maybe I fear the feeling is mutual … or maybe (and more likely) I’m just a complete, fucking moron. I’m no good at this; I’m only supposed to be the friend, the buddy. Being the girlfriend makes me feel vulnerable.

And being vulnerable is scary.

Spending time with Dimitri is irresistible, but it’s also alienated me from my friends. Keeping everyone happy has begun to feel impossible. The comments range from the genuine “I miss hanging out with you,” to the snide “I guess you don’t need friends anymore now that you’ve got a boyfriend.” I know some of the girls are just jealous, but it makes their comments no less hurtful and cutting. And when my guy friends start commenting, I know there’s something wrong. My world feels completely out of balance.

There’s also the small matter of what to do after graduation, which looms on the ever-closer horizon. There are only four daunting months until I graduate. My grades have afforded me with the choice of many universities and I don’t want to make a mistake and screw up everything I’ve worked so hard for by making the wrong decision. This is an expensive and life-changing decision. Many of the schools are out of state, and the thought of being away from my parents is terrifying. They’re not only my support system, but they’re also my friends. My mom just went through a breast cancer scare (which she didn’t tell me about until after the fact) and even though it turned out to be benign (thank God), it made me painfully aware of the fact that my parents are fragile humans just like everyone else, not superheroes like I’ve always thought. What if something like that happens again, and the outcome isn’t so good? I don’t want to be away from her. So, where to go? How to pay for college? Student loans? Scholarships? What to major in? These are all questions that should’ve already been answered months ago, but I’ve procrastinated, and now I’m behind schedule. I can literally hear the clock ticking like a time bomb. The timeline is one pressure, and making the right choices is another.

Lastly, the optometrist office where I work is closing in less than a month. One of the doctors has decided to retire, and the other is joining another practice on the other side of town. That means I’m out of a job. Looking for a new job doesn’t scare me, but the thought of not seeing these people anymore makes me sad. I make it my job to take care of each one of them, and soon they won’t need me anymore. I like to be needed.

I feel like a juggler who keeps adding more and more balls until there’s no option but for some of them to drop. My boyfriend, my friends, my family, my future, my job … suddenly there are too many balls in my routine. The emotional and rational parts of me are at odds. The worst part? It’s all
my
fault. I’m the one out of control.

I
hate
being out of control.

I spend the entire weekend locked in my bedroom and vow to come up with a plan to regain control. I don’t answer my phone. I don’t talk to anyone except my mom and that is kept to a bare minimum. In the end it appears that the only ball I can’t juggle, no matter how desperately I want to, is … Dimitri.

Getting out of bed Monday morning is agonizing. It hurts, in a quantifiable and very real way. It feels like a five hundred pound weight is bearing down on my chest making it almost impossible to breathe. How am I going to face Dimitri? I’ve avoided his calls and visits all weekend. My mom told him I was sick, which is true. This decision has made me physically sick. I haven’t eaten anything or slept in two days. The moment I decided to break up with him, my heart broke as well. How will he react? He never does anything like a typical teenager. Will he be angry? Hurt? Maybe he’ll be relieved that he’s off the hook. My mind runs itself in circles. I can’t think about any of the possibilities—they’re all equally painful.

On my drive to school, I consider my terrible plan. It’s January, which means a new semester is underway and Dimitri and I have two classes together: Literature and History (third and sixth period). I can avoid him for a few more hours if I don’t go to my locker. I park in the lot on the backside of the school. I’m embarrassed by my cowardice, but I push it aside as I run across the lot and straight to my first class. My palms are sweating and waves of nausea roll through me. My first two classes pass by too quickly. It’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other to walk to Literature. I look longingly at the parking lot through the doors and consider making a run for it—but I can’t. I need to face him.

As I open the classroom door, I keep my eyes glued to the dark tile floor. A tiny voice in my head reminds me that I am, without a doubt, the most horrible person in the world. I just don’t know what else to do. I can’t see any other alternatives. I take my seat and open a book and begin pretending to read. When I can no longer fight the urge, I risk a glance sideways through my hair at his seat. To my surprise, it’s empty. I breathe a small sigh of relief. The room fills quickly and as the bell rings I steal another glance. Still empty. Mrs. Santo starts her lesson promptly, as always. Not two minutes later, she’s interrupted by the creak of the door opening. She whips around to face Dimitri as he enters.

“Mr. Glenn, I’m so glad you decided to grace us with your presence today,” she says sarcastically. Kind and understanding are not two words I would use to describe her. Tact isn’t at the top of the list either.

“I apologize, Mrs. Santo,” Dimitri says quietly. I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, or my guilty conscience, but he sounds tired … and worried … and sad.

I stare at a chip in one of the bricks on the front wall of the classroom the entire period. I don’t listen. I don’t feel. I don’t even blink. I just stare.