Being Kalli (15 page)

“How do you forgive after a massive blow out like that? I just keep thinking of scenarios
, and two pop into my head. One is you see each other and, flooded with memories that erase any harsh feeling, you hop right into hanging out in the same breath. Or, you smile when you greet, ask how she is, see if she still has sugar with her coffee. You leave, and feel like you made it. I think I know which it’ll be for both of you.”

Still, Aunty Nicole waits.

So, I add, “The thing is, why aren’t I as lucky with my blow out?” But I’m not done. I inch the phone away and grunt, “Hm?” as if the electronics in the phone can answer that one. I whisper sorry in my next breath.
Out of line, Kalli. She’s trying to help, so be nice.

“Hey, listen.
Calm, first. That always works,” Aunty Nicole starts. I roll my eyes. “But honestly, don’t roll your eyes at me because I
will
know you’ve done it.”

How the hell did she
—?

“
Time is the biggest healer. That became a cliché for a reason. Think about one time you were so mad you couldn’t stand to do anything else but be angry. You are remembering a time, yeah? Now you’re not all too mad, though? Not in comparison to that very moment when your control went out the door and rage took over you.

“My point is
, humans are defined by our emotions. Give us time, and we tend to assess a situation rationally. The worse the anger, the more time. Someone stole your eraser? Give yourself two days and you won’t remember it ever happened. Someone stole your boyfriend? Get drunk, whine to your bestie, date some douchebags, and then find a better boyfriend. After a few years, you’ll have to dig to remember all the little details.”

I smile to myself, forcing it to stay even after I just want to cry or punch something—or both. On my desk are still cut
-outs and a stack of photographs and pens I used for Nate’s photo book. I look at these and remind myself that did some good. That our relationship is better than it was when he first heard the gossip about what I did at that party with Donovan.

Better is not right, though, and for the first time, I find mysel
f longing for him. I have agonised over every moment of my betrayal, and how stupid I was to somehow believe we weren’t attached. We were, and are attached. Before, it was with hope and newfound obsession. Now it’s a link of pain and a world of suffering that I can’t take away.

“And if you do it right, things will turn out fine. I have lost so much with my sister that I don’t care anymore if she broke my heart in every way possible
, as much as that one fight cost me. Deep down, I’ve loved her infinitely forever, and that’s what’ll come out of all this.”

“So then what you’re saying is you’ve been waiting for the right time to see Mary?”

Aunty Nicole groans close to the phone, eliciting a harsh breathy sound on my end. “You’re a sly girl, Kalli. Sly. Only reading what you want.”

“But I’m right.”

“I suppose you are.”

“We’re free, like, all this week and next. And the one after.”

There’s a space where I’m afraid she’ll bite back.

I’ve pushed too far.

My shoulders tense up, and it works through my body.

Until
I feel her roll her eyes at me through the line. “Mm, I’ll see.”

I hang up feeling victorious
, until I realise she probably feels the same, getting under my skin about my “guy” issue.

Even though staring won’t change what Nate’s just texted me, I won’t focus on anything other than his words. After a month of little talk except for run ins and with Scout between us, I had honestly believed we’d continue for the next month, finish the uni year, and after the few-month break of no excuses to see each other, we’d lose contact.

But then the text hap
pened. That stupid head of mine chokes up again and I just blink, waiting to blink one of these times and have his words disappear:

Nate:
Have a magazine interested in using one of my shots of you. Can I come over with release forms to sign?

I should know what the hell he wants me or him to release, or what I need to do, but my focus is on the part I instead comprehend very well.

Me semi-naked, Nate adoring me from behind the lens, him, that first time making me come undone at his will, that bond.

Us.

And. My. House.

It’s as I rush to reply my fingers freeze up. I shake them out and re-grip my phone.

Kalli:
Sure, sounds cool. When do u wanna come?

Nate:
In half hr?

My first reaction is panic.
Me, a guy, alone? Seth and Tristan are at kindergarten, and Mum is at work, but I tell Nate yes. I’m not sure when or if I’ll be able to tell him what I need to, but I’ve been practicing, weaning out of my habit.

Scout suggested a desensitis
ation process. We decided on someone non-romantically involved to test out how I’d go alone. The first step was to ask a professor a question in his office. Closed door, chairs separated by a desk, cut-off space. I went in there after a shot of tequila.

Next was a group assignment. There was one guy and Scout. We were studying, and Scout ducked off a couple times
, once to go to the loo, and another later to grab some food supplies. I freaked with my study buddy, but I blamed it on asthma crossed with a freak attack over how I’d get the assignment done, and after losing it, the rest of the time with that guy alone was fine. Scout came back and when we left, I felt accomplished.

I’ve worked my way up, but knowing it’s actually happening—Nate and I in my house
, alone—hardly bothers me. Aunty Nicole was right, and I’ve spent the last month and a half without having Nate’s support, and instead with a constant weight everywhere I go.

I hate losing friends, and losing Nate? It’s oh so much more.

Truthfully, it’s much easier handling us in a house alone than it is bearing one more day pretending I’m fine with how things are now.

First thing, I check the time to know when half an hour will be. My room is a pigsty. I change my sheets in case they stink, pick up the clothes I dropped beside my bed from this morning, the one before that
, and from however many others. I vacuum up bits of fluff from the carpet. When I’m almost done, there’s a knock at the door.

I run-tiptoe there so I’m not pounding monster
steps in the guest’s earshot and chuck open the door.

He
is there, looking like he’s been on vacation this time apart. Unlike me, he doesn’t have bags under his eyes. He has a shirt on, rolled up to the elbows with a couple of buttons undone at the top. He’s wearing straight-fitted jeans and Keds-like shoes. Except Nate isn’t into brands, so I bet they’re just from Payless Shoes or something.

I gaze into his pale eyes, see his jaw working as he attempts a tight-lipped smile. It’s the kind of sexy that makes me remember exactly what I’ve lost.

He continues to work his jaw, muscles sinewy down his neck and out of necessity, I spin around and ask him to come in without looking, because I’d rather keep my composure, thanks.

“Oh,
err …” he starts.

I stop in the hallway down the house when he doesn’t seem to go on. Seeing me, he averts his eyes. “Did you need to get changed or anything?”

Horrified, I look away from him as soon as he looks up. It’s like a game of eye chase. And it feels all the more ridiculous knowing I haven’t played any type of chase with someone older than four in years. But the worst part is knowing I actually look like shit to him.

I don’t have a big ego, but my hair’s more on the just-rolled-out-of-bed-looking-like-Miranda-Kerr side than a bunch of knots, and I have yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner on, which also looks like sex makeup, which I assumed looked good
, as they do in movies.

Guess I’m wrong.

I dip my head and take a couple of steps, stalking off with zero confidence, until Nate says, “Sorry, just um, yeah.”

Whatever.

I have to remember he came here to use me. He needs my signature to release my rights. That’s it. I don’t even care if I’m making a mistake. I’ve done a total flip. I need him gone so I can continue my routine life—uni, study, work, family, parties. Seth and Tristan are my highlights, but Aunty Nicole, too, because she’s closer to agreeing to see Mum in the times we’ve recently spoken. Parties are a way to kill time. I haven’t kissed a guy since Donovan, and out of both parts—the “no kissing” and “Donovan”—the latter has left a sour taste in my mouth. That guy is starting to creep me out.

I turn the corner to head into my room, but notice Nate isn’t following me. Popping my head back around
to the hallway, I see he’s got one hand in his pocket, his knee bent, leaning against the wall, whistling to himself.

“Hey—” he looks up “—just come on in.”

Nate doesn’t have to ask, “Are you sure?” It comes out in his careful distance behind me, and in the way he sits on the furthest possible corner of my bed.

I pull out my desk chair, flip it around and sit down all the way across the room, facing Nate.

Then I realise.

Why his eyes haven’t been on my face.

Why he’s sitting over there, one leg tossed over the other, his arm shielding my view from his lap.

When I rest my arms on
the armrest of my desk chair and feel my boobs through my tank top, I do not feel my bra.

My eyes go wide, and two things happen.

One, I look down and see dark circles, and my nipples poking out. My breath goes in an instant and I can’t take another, let alone move. I just take in my nipples. Dark. Poking.

But then
I snap up my gaze and zero in on Nate’s hand ever-so-well-placed on his crossed leg that shields his lower abs, crotch and upper thighs. The meaning of his actions rocks my core, sending a hot, erotic wave spilling over between my thighs. I wonder how hard he is, if I’m making this all up. Because that is likely given my circumstantial celibacy and month-and-a-half bout of loneliness. I could imagine Nate kissing me now, too. Anything’s likely to be imagined.

T
he look in his eyes is real. Hot cheeks, a nervous lick of his lips, and the giveaway when he tries to cover his shifting in case I can see what he’s hiding.

I leave and come back in a bra underneath
, boobs restrained.

Getting into things, he says,
“Well, it’s pretty simple. I’ll explain it quickly, but you read the terms and sign the model release form.”

“What?”
What on earth are you talking about? Because that doesn’t at all have to do with cock, or nipples.

“Sorry. I’ll start from the beginning about how it all started and payments for the photo
and such. Well, photos, plural. They want to purchase the rights to use a few, in case they want to do a larger spread, or for a different look on their website version.”

The photo shoot. Release form.
Okay
.

“Ah, cool. Come sit here and we’ll get it sorted,” I say, turning my chair and leaving to bring back another for him.

“Wait, we’ll just lie on the bed. Do you have a hardback or something?”

I know I’d be much safer doing it at the desk. I can handle the possibility of rubbing shoulder
s or fingers when swapping a pen, but I am highly likely to snuggle into Nate or straight-out hook a leg over his thigh if he’s lying parallel to me.

“
Cool,” I say instead, again.

Don’t I have better control over sounding stupid? I’m nineteen, not sixteen
and smitten.

We start off by discussing how he was approached after
he featured the photos on his tumblr page. Everything sounds incredible, working his way up in exposure until he got offered $700 for the three photos. He wants to go 50/50 with me but I did nothing but cause trouble, and the fact he wants to pay me $350 for that is embarrassing, so we just spend the next amount of time fighting over it.

I get why he wants to pay me, but he doesn’t owe me anything in the general sense of our relationship, whatever that is. We aren’t close now, and he doesn’t have to pay me to get me to sign, which I’ve already done, stating nil payment to me.

“Just shut up and take it, Kall Bell,” he finally shouts.

We’re lying on our tummies, angled toward each other at our heads, resting on our arms. I’m sure my arms
, and the fact my boobs are resting against the bed mean they’re pushed together, and way past the exposure level for whatever type of friends we are.

“Did you call me Kall Bell?”

He looks around as if he missed the punch line. “Yeah …?”

I could say that he hasn’t called me that in so long
, and we could both go back to being distant strangers, or I could say this, “Oh, that’s okay, thought I heard something else,” and silently love it.

Deep down, my chest feels like it’s tingling
, knowing I’m good enough for my nickname still.

“You jus
t diverted the subject. I swear …” He reaches out and holds my shoulders still so I’m conveniently stuck looking directly at him. “You couldn’t be photographed without me
as much as
I couldn’t get that shot without having you in it. You. Deserve. It.”

“No, I don’t,” I mumble.

“What?” Nate looks down at me.

He’s testing my control. I could lean
up a few inches and taste those lips. Plunge my tongue inside his mouth and get lost in him like I’ve wanted and wanted.

He gulps, and I follow his jaw, his Adam’s apple
bobbing. It feels incredibly more intimate than the simple action it is.

“
You deserve this,” he says, staring at my lips in a way that makes me think
kiss
and nothing to do with whatever he means.

In fact, what where we talking about? I can’t focus on anything but his hair flopped over his forehead, and the way the sunlight streaming through the curtains filters through his eyelashes and brightens
the flecks in his eyes. I can’t even picture the rest of the room, but knowing our bodies are lying in touching distance, his lips in kissing distance is too much for me to handle.

I reach out to his stubble and graze his jawline.
The rough hairs bring back a stream of emotions, memories that I can’t box away. Tonight will be a bitch when he’s gone. It’s more sexy than I can handle from down here below his face with him stretched out and lying on my bed.

“Are you …” His eyelids flutter closed, and for several seconds he regains control to steady his breathing. “Are you scared with me right now, here?”

I don’t look around my empty room, door shut. And I think it for no more than that tiny moment. “No.”

Lowering his eyes
, he combs his fingers through the back of my hair. He wets his lips and takes my mouth. We melt into each other with that first touch, and since everything’s awkward and tricky, we both settle for a war to suck on each other’s bottom lips.

My insides
are definitely goo.

As we part and move i
nto our second kiss, we shuffle and peck at each other’s lips, him daring a tongue in my mouth, me plunging mine in, and both of us finding ourselves together. When we move our tongues together in sync, he starts shifting closer and up, moving against me.

It
must be a second later that I feel it.

Do I acknowledge the hardness against my thigh?

Do I turn so that it’ll find its way to mould against where he fits me so perfectly?

My body knows what it wants, turning to give him the option to access me.
It’s probably way too fast, but my heart is beating in my throat and I’m moments away from panting into his mouth.

He pulls away, leaving my lips to remember what it’s like being kissed.

“I’m trying to hate you right now,” he says, his voice raspy and totally not hating me. I’ve affected him big time, in both his physical response and mental.

“
Don’t, I miss you.”

He stares at my lips, licking his
, and I wonder if he’s remembering tasting me. He doesn’t look up when he says, “I’m also trying like hell not to miss the fuck out of you, Kall Bell.”

I feel ashamed again, remembering letting Donovan own me with his tongue, the public
hurt for Nate. It’s too much and I curl in, effectively making a human ball.