Like Gravity (20 page)

Flipping over onto my back, I startled when I caught sight of the deep blue ceiling above me. When I’
d finally fallen asleep, utterly wiped out after Finn and I had finished
getting acquainted
for the third time, the ceiling was an unadulterated shade of midnight. Now, it was littered with a galaxy of white stars, so detailed and painstakingly crafted that they must have taken several hours to hand paint.

Finn.

As if thinking his name had conjured him, my bedroom door swung open and Finn strolled in, looking annoyingly bright-eyed and cheerful, clothed once-again in his paint-spattered coveralls.
He
clearly hadn’t just undergone a slightly embarrassing, utterly dismaying spiral into the land of self-doubt and rejection.

Crap.

Propped
up on my elbows, a sheet covering my chest, I warily watched him enter, unsure what to expect.

“Sleeping Beauty awakens,” he said, smiling crookedly at me and coming to a stop at the end of my bed.

He was still here. He hadn’t left at all.

My heart stuttered in my chest, then started to race at what felt like twice its normal rate.
The walls of the
Narcissistic Asshole
box started to rattle, then buckle violently, the wood straining under the pressure until the top exploded off altogether and Finn
freaking
Chambers escaped back into the forefront of my mind. I mentally acknowledged that he’d never fit in that damn box again – not that he’d ever really belonged there in the first place.

I should’ve been angry that he’d caused my minor –
okay, major
– freak out, but I was overwhelmed by equal parts giddiness that he was still here and paralyzing terror at the undeniable attachment I felt for him. Anger had to take the back burner, for the moment – I could only handle one mental breakdown at a time, pre-caffeine fix.

Covering up my extreme internal distress, I aimed for nonchalant indif
ference – rolling my eyes at him and flopping backwards onto my pillow, my gaze alternated between the painted universe of stars and the mind-fuck of a man before me. He looked completely at ease and self-assured, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be waking up in my apartment and doing god knows what while I was still asleep.

“How long have you been awake?” I asked somewhat
grumpily. I was unprepared for this conversation, for this day, without first having my coffee. My brain didn’t even begin to function normally until after cup number two. In fact, that debilitating pain that had lanced through my chest when I’d thought Finn had left me? Maybe it had just been caffeine deprivation.

One could only hope.
             

“A few hours,” he said, shrugging and
walking closer to me. Leaning over the bed, careful not to get any paint on my comforter, he kissed me. Though our mouths were our only point of contact, it wasn’t the gentle good morning peck I’d anticipated. Finn’s kiss was consuming, near-painful in its irrefutable desire – a reminder of what last night had been, and a promise of more nights to come.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, pulling away.

I tried to slow my breathing so I didn’t sound like an asthmatic who’d just run a half-marathon when I answered him. I cleared my throat and pulled a deep breath into my lungs, praying I wasn’t as transparent as I felt. For fuck’s sake, I was nearly panting.

“Like the dead, apparently,” I said, glancing up at the ceiling. “I didn’t even hear you do all this.”

“I was quiet. Stealthy. Some might even say ninja-like,” he grinned down at me, his cobalt eyes warm on mine.

“Who? Who might say that?”
I asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Me.”

“It doesn’t count if you’re the only one saying it,” I grinned back at him and rolled my eyes at his ridiculousness. “And I was so tired I could’ve slept through an earthquake.”

“
Is that you admitting I wore you out last night?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Cocky
.”

“Confident,” he countered, dropping a light kiss on the end of my nose. I wrinkled it at him in response, watching as he made his way back to the ladder
in the corner of my bedroom. “So, do you like it?” he asked, voice deceptively casual as he gestured up at the stars on my deep blue ceiling. Despite his blasé tone, I thought I detected a nervous undercurrent in his question, as if he were genuinely worried about my reaction.

“I love it,” I whispered honestly, looking anywhere but at him.
It was enough that he could hear the emotion making my voice crack roughly; I didn’t need him to see the moisture clouding over my eyes as well. This gesture was more than anyone had done for me in all the years since my mom died, and I was utterly overwhelmed by it.

It was
as if he’d somehow dipped into my memories and known exactly how my childhood walls had been painted; like he’d sensed that this would be the perfect addition to my new bedroom. It was uncanny how well he seemed to know my tastes, to recognize and anticipate my likes and dislikes – almost as if he were innately attuned to my every thought and feeling.

When I was confident that my tears were under control, I turned back to look at him. He was standing at the base of the ladder, staring straight at me. I knew he could read my face like an open book,
watching as I struggled to weather the storm of emotions brewing within me. Thankfully, he didn’t push me to talk about it.

“I’m glad
you like it, princess,” he replied, a small smile twisting up one side of his mouth.

“Princess?”
I asked. The only time I’d ever heard the nickname ‘princess’ used, it was said sarcastically or condescendingly. Finn said it affectionately, though – a sincere, reverent endearment I wasn’t sure how to process. He grinned at me, failing to elaborate any further. Apparently, I was going to have to drag it out of him.

“
Why
princess
?” I didn’t think he was making fun of me, but considering how off base some of my assumptions about Finn had been in the past, I decided it was safest to simply ask him.

“You look so small in that big white bed of yours
, swallowed up in all those pillows and fluffy blankets. And when you were sleeping, with all that dark hair spilling across your pillow, and your face so peaceful…You were beautiful. You
are
beautiful.” He swallowed roughly, eyes intense as he stared at my face like he was committing every feature to memory. “Angelic. Like some unattainable fucking fantasy I dreamed up.”

He left the ladder and approached the bed, leaning down so his mouth brushed the shell of my ear. I shivered
, and felt his lips curve into a knowing smile as they brushed against the lobe. “You are, without question, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, Bee,” he whispered. “Sometimes, I look at you and wonder if you’re even real. Girls like you aren’t supposed to exist in real life – you’re the stuff of legends and bedtime stories. So, no, I don’t give a shit if you think it’s lame as hell – you’re
my
princess.”

Okay. He could call me princess. He could call me whatever he wanted if he kept talking to me like that.

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I threw back the covers, hurdled out of bed, and slammed my frame against his. When my bare legs wrapped around his waist, my mouth found his and my hands slipped into his hair as I let my body do the talking.

Much later, we emerged from the shower and Finn took his time drying me off, using a towel to
gently wipe every droplet of water from my body. We’d once again had to scrub ourselves clean of blue paint, as our earlier activities on my bedroom floor had gotten unintentionally creative and we’d ended up looking like aspiring Blue Man Group members. Again.

Finn finally allowed me to leave my bedroom and I greedily consumed half a pot of coffee as soon as I entered the kitchen.
He laughed at me, taking only a single cup for himself and downing it black.

Yuck. What was coffee without cream and sugar
!?

Lexi was still at Tyler’s apartment, so it was just Finn and I. I shouldn’t have been surprised that there was no morning-after awkwardness, but I was. I guess, despite everything Finn had said and done in the past twenty-four hours, I was still insecure about
where this whole thing was heading. I could finally admit to myself that yes, I had definite feelings for him. And yes, the sex had been off-the-charts amazing – better than I’d ever imagined sex could be. But I still was nowhere near ready or eager for a relationship. The idea of Brooklyn Turner, irrefutable ‘Ice Bitch,’ as someone’s girlfriend was laughable. The idea of being the girlfriend of someone like Finn Chambers, however, was downright scary.

“Stop,” Finn ordered, shaking me out of my reverie.

“Stop what?” I looked at him, confused.

“
Overthinking us.”

Us?

He set down his empty cup on the kitchen island and made his way around to the stool I was perched on. Bringing one hand up, he lightly smudged a finger across the tension lines that were pulling my eyebrows together.

“
Princess, can I ask you something?”

I nodded reluctantly, automatically anticipating the worst.

“Did you have fun with me last night? This morning?”

I nodded again, waiting to see where he was going with this.

“Well so did I. In fact, I had more damn fun last night than I’ve had in a long, long time. So please don’t get all
wiggy and female on me. Don’t twist this around into something bad, because what we’ve had these past few days is beautiful. You know that deep down, princess. And if I know you the way I think I do, then I bet it scares the ever-living hell out of you.”

I took a deep breath, met his eyes, and nodded again. His crinkled up in amusement.

“I don’t mind the silent treatment,” he grinned. “If I’d known sex was all it would take to stop you from being so sassy all the time, I’d have made my move a lot sooner. Give the girl an orgasm and she’s finally complaisant.”

“
Complaisant
? Did you get that off your word-of-the-day calendar, caveman?” I smiled, jabbing a sharp elbow into his stomach. He let out a small
oof
as I connected, though my arm probably took most of the brunt from colliding with his steely abs. I fought the urge to rub feeling back into it, not wanting to look like the weakling I totally was.

“You’ll have to come over to my apartment and see,” he said with a wink. I’d never been to Finn’s apartment –
I hadn’t really allowed myself to think about the fact that this god-like specimen of man actually had a bed and a toothbrush and maybe even a damn word-of-the-day calendar somewhere out there. The thought was staggering.

“Maybe sometime,” I murmured noncommittally.

“After my show tonight,” Finn countered decidedly. He hadn’t invited me or asked if I would be going – he simply informed me that I’d be there, as if my plans for the night were predetermined without any necessary consent on my part.

Overbearing caveman.

Casting a look at the microwave clock, he winced. “Speaking of, I have to get going. It’s already past three and we have a rehearsal before the set. We go on at nine.”

“At Styx
, right?” I confirmed unnecessarily.
Apiphobic Treason
rarely played at any other venues on campus because Styx was one of the few places that could accommodate such a big crowd. On a good night, their shows drew in over two hundred people.

Finn nodded, then leaned down so our faces were aligned and brought up both hands to cup my face. Staring into my eyes, he shook his head back and forth so our noses grazed lightly before tilting his head and giving me a
light kiss goodbye.

“I’ll see you tonight, princess,” he whispered against my lips.

“If you’re lucky, caveman.”

“Oh, I’m lucky,
all right,” he returned cockily, eyes twinkling as he no doubt remembered how very
lucky
he’d gotten both last night and this morning. I rolled my eyes as I watched him walk out of the kitchen, but even my exasperation with him was starting to feel forced. If I were being honest with myself – which, let’s face it, was a rare occurrence – I’d have to admit how happy I was feeling at that exact moment.
I
was the lucky one – and ‘lucky’ was definitely not something I’d ever considered myself before now.

My heart literally fluttered in my chest as I heard the distant click of the front door closing, marking Finn’s departure. He’d only just left, but I already found myself checking the time and counting down the hours until his show tonight, when I’d see him again.

I barely recognized this girl I was becoming, and I knew it was all because of Finn.

W
hat in the hell have I gotten myself into?

Cliff’s Edge

“And you have no memories of this boy
other than those from your dreams?” Dr. Angelini asked.

If I
’d been expecting her to express shock or even mild surprise at my revelation of the sad-eyed boy in my dreams, I would have been sincerely disappointed – her face was utterly unresponsive as she leveled me with her clinical stare.

“I don’t have
many clear memories from my time in the foster system,” I admitted. “Until now, it’s mostly been fuzzy images. Sometimes, a particular smell or taste would trigger a vague memory, but nothing has ever been this vivid before.”

“When you say vivid—” Dr. Angelini began, seeking clarification.

“
When I have one of the dreams, it’s like I’m six years old again, reliving things in real-time. It’s so real – more real than almost anything I’ve ever felt.”

My
mind reeled through a series of images: the hands of two lost children clasped tightly; a swarm of fireflies meandering through untamed bracken; the dark night sky, swirling with stars far beyond our reach.

I looked away from her unflinching stare, steering my gaze out the large windows over her shoulder. She had a great view – I wondered
absently whether she ever took the time to enjoy it. It was hard to imagine Dr. Angelini looking anywhere other than inside the skulls of her patients.

“Do the dreams upset you?”
she asked.

My eyes drift
ed back to her face, which, unsurprisingly, was blank of any true emotion. Despite her unruffled serenity, I could see the alertness in her eyes and knew that she was highly focused on everything I was saying. The mind hidden beneath that smooth blonde chignon was constantly analyzing and evaluating, picking apart everything I said and inferring the things I’d purposefully left out. More than once, I had to remind myself that this torture was self-imposed – that it was
good
for me.

“
Sometimes,” I admitted. “But not because of what happens in them. It’s more upsetting because I feel like I don’t even know my own mind. I suddenly have all these memories I never knew about, just locked away in my subconscious – it makes me wonder what else I’ve forgotten or blocked out.”

“The human mind is a complex thing, Brooklyn.
Even after decades of research and despite the revolutionary development of brain imaging machines, we still are virtually no closer to understanding how the brain functions, let alone
why
it works the way it does.”

I nodded
in agreement; I’d taken Pysch 101 freshman year – none of this was news to me.

“
And memory is one of the most mysterious and complex mental processes of all,” she continued. "We really don’t know how the brain stores and recalls information; all we
do
know is that memories are rarely brought to the surface randomly. Typically, there is a trigger of some kind, which creates a mental association between a current sensory stimulus and one that has been stored away in the mind.”

“So, you’re saying that something I’m experiencing now is
unearthing my memories of this boy?”

“It’s possible,” Dr. Angelini
postulated noncommittally.

Damn shrinks and their inability to give a
definitive answer to a single question.

“Do you want to remember?” she asked. “Or would you rather these memories remained
buried?”

“It’s got nothing to do with whether I
want
to remember or not,” I said. “I have no control over it.”

“
Brooklyn, have you ever considered that maybe you’re simply remembering now because you’re finally ready to?” she asked.

I didn’t
know the answer to that question.

We
moved on, spending the remainder of the session discussing my performance at The Blue Note and my painting project. I didn’t mention Finn’s role in the whole process, nor did I tell her that we’d finally crossed the boundary of friendship.

T
here was still a significant part of me that didn’t want to admit anything had changed between the two of us. There was also a smaller, yet equally vocal, part of me that was afraid if I admitted our relationship out loud to Dr. Angelini, I would jinx the entire thing, and it would fall apart before it had ever had a change to fall fully together.

As I stood to leave, Dr. Angelini rose from behind her desk and
stilled me by placing one manicured hand lightly on my forearm.

“For what it’s worth, Brooklyn, I
think you’ve shown tremendous progress in the past few months,” she said, her eyes detachedly compassionate in a clinical sort of way. “The fact that you’re finally opening up and allowing yourself to embrace the past can is extremely brave, not to mention exceedingly more healthy than your previous coping strategies.”

“What, doc, you didn’t approve of the meaningless sex and tequila binges?”
I asked playfully, uncomfortable with the serious turn our conversation had taken.

She was being complimentary – supportive even –
and it instantly made me uneasy. I knew I was being cynical, but in my experience, people were rarely genuine and sincere compliments were few and far between. Since I’d also never been on the receiving end of many – my father hadn’t exactly been Brady Bunch material – I was wary of the look in Dr. Angelini’s eyes, which could easily be classified as pride.

“Brooklyn,” Dr. Angelini said, pulling me back to the present. “Even
you
didn’t approve of your sexual activities or alcohol abuse.” One sculpted eyebrow lifted sardonically from behind her square-framed Chanel glasses as she stared at me.

“How do you figure that, doc?” I asked
.

“You wouldn’t be
standing here in my office if you did.”

***

After the session, I headed to Maria’s and ordered two Greek salads – dinner for Lexi and I. Thankfully, no one I knew was in line so I didn’t have to make small talk. There were few things I hated more than idle chitchat: the inane volley of meaningless words, nothing more than fillers in an otherwise uncomfortable silence.

One
of the many things I failed to understand about so-called ‘normal’ people was their inability to just enjoy the quiet. Were they so afraid of others’ judgment that they felt it necessary to prattle on indefinitely, in hopes of keeping the conversation superficial and safe? Or was it that they were afraid to look, even for a short time, into the depths of their own mind – to
truly
examine their own thoughts –for fear they wouldn’t like what they saw?

I didn’t know.

All I
did
know was that nine out of ten people I encountered had no concept of the value in simply sharing a silence. And I guess that was kind of a shame for them, because there was a certain kind of purity, intimacy even, in just sitting with someone and not feeling the need to speak at all.

One of the only people I’d ever
felt that with was Finn.

I hadn’t heard from him since he’d left my apartment several hours ago
, but I was glad for the time alone. He knew me well enough to understand that I needed space enough to process everything that had happened between us last night – but not so much space that I had time to talk myself out of becoming involved with him altogether.

Even though Finn hadn’t said it in so many words, I wa
s relatively sure he wanted “us” to be more long-term than a single sleepover. It was his actions that spoke to me the loudest – his feather-light caresses as he’d made love to me, the constellation of stars he’d hand-painted on my ceiling the next morning, even his stupid ‘princess’ pet name. They all pointed to one thing: a relationship of some kind.

I knew I’d freak out if I over-analyzed it, so
I wasn’t letting myself think about it at all. Well, that’s not entirely true – I was thinking about the
sex
, I just wasn’t really concentrating on the
relationship
aspect of things…Possibly because I was so focused on how good the sex had been. And how long I had to wait until we could do it again.

A quick glance at my watch showed
that it was quarter past six, and Finn’s show would likely go until nearly midnight. I groaned inwardly; six hours seemed a lifetime away.

After paying for our salads, I hurried out the door and headed home.
I sent Lexi a quick text telling her I was on my way, and she replied instantaneously.

Here anxiously waiting 4
dinner and details. Hurry up! :p

Great, so I was walking into an ambush.

I hadn’t been naïve enough to hope that Lexi would simply forget to ask about Finn and I, but I
was
hoping to avoid it for a little longer. I couldn’t skirt the topic with her like I had with Dr. Angelini – Lex already knew something was going on between us. But that didn’t mean I had to give her all the details, right?

Who was I kidding?

This was
Lexi
– she’d tie me to a chair and shoot bamboo slivers under my fingernails until I gave her a detailed play-by-play of each minute I’d spent with Finn. The girl was annoyingly persistent when she wanted something; I’d always thought a career with the CIA as a terrorist interrogator might’ve been a better fit than fashion merchandizing.

Stepping
through our front door, I set down the bag containing our salads on the kitchen island and looked around warily for her. Right on cue, I heard her bedroom door fly open and slam against the opposing wall, followed by the sound of bare feet rushing across the hardwood floors. I watched as she came into view; rounding the hallway corner at full speed, her red hair whipping around her face, she skidded to a halt directly in front of me.

“
Tell me,” she demanded, slightly out of breath.

“Okay, okay, let’s eat dinner and then I will. Calm
dow—”

“No!” Lexi cut me off. “You will tell me
immediately
. I have been your best friend since the
second fucking grade
and this is the first time you’ve ever had anything remotely romantic happen to you. I have been totally gypped in the friend department until now! ” Lexi huffed, as if my lack of previous relationships was a direct attack against her.

“Gee, thanks Lex!”

“Oh, shut up, you know what I mean,” she said, smacking me lightly on the arm. “Can’t I be excited, Brookie? All I’ve ever wanted was to see you happy.”

I snorted.
Yeah, like that’s her
only
motive here.

“Oh
, fine!” She glared at me, but I could tell she was trying not to laugh. “I also happen to be excited about the prospect of double dates. So sue me!”

I started laughing and she
immediately joined in, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me tightly for almost a full minute.

“Um, Lex?”

“What?” she asked, her arms still wrapped around my torso.

“Cant…breathe…”

“Oh!” Lexi gasped, releasing her hold at once. I gratefully gulped oxygen into my lungs. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Sometimes I forget how little you are.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to pull our salads out of the bag. As I grabbed silverware and plates, Lexi grabbed a bottle of ginger ale from the fridge, poured some into two
tall glasses, and topped each off with a healthy dose of vodka and grenadine.

“Dirty
Shirleys,” she said, smiling in anticipation as she stirred ice into the glasses and handed one to me.

“Cheers,” I said.

“To best friends and boyfriends,” Lexi toasted with a wink at me.

“And really great sex,” I added, giggling
into my glass as Lexi snorted ginger ale out her nose.

“Details. Right. Now,” Lexi demanded, dabbing her face with a napkin.

I took a big swig of my drink – I was going to need it for this conversation.

***

Several hours later I’d consumed half a Greek salad and three and a half Dirty Shirleys, and Lexi was staring at me with her mouth gaping open. I’d just finished telling her everything about Finn and me, from the night I’d bailed on Landon, to painting my bedroom together, and, of course, the marathon sex we’d had afterwards. She’d been silent throughout the entire story, her only expression one of ever-building astonishment as she absorbed every word that left my mouth with rapt attention.

When I’d finished she didn’
t speak for a long time, and as the minutes slowly ticked by I began to grow uneasy. Then, abruptly hopping down from her stool at the kitchen island, she wandered from the room without a word to me. I followed her because, well, what else was I supposed to do?