These Things About Us (17 page)

“I know dozens of girls just like her. Girls who don’t care about others and only do things for their own benefit, for fun.”

“No one you know can be half as bad as me. I never had to bear the consequences for my behavior. What money couldn't buy me out of, my name could. I never had to think twice about my actions and it turned me into a horrible person.”

For a moment I thought he’d ask about the name thing but he just lifted an eyebrow and bent down until our faces were on the same level and he could pierce me with his stare. “Kitty, you are not that person anymore and you are not going to turn back into her,” he insisted.

“How do you know?”

“Because destructive people can’t admit that they’re wrong. Not to others and not to themselves. Back then, did it feel wrong to be that kind of person?” I shake my head. “See? You don’t have to be a saint to be perfect. Good people can make mistakes, too. But they recognize that they made them and that’s what makes them different.”

I was out of words to reply. I just told him that I had been a vicious, drinking, drug-taking and violent slut and he still insisted I was a good person. Just because I knew that I never wanted to be that person again? If he could believe that, maybe I could, too. I wasn’t sure. The cold was clawing at my skin, making it even harder to come up with an answer.

“You’re shivering,” he sighed.

“I’m not.”

“Let’s go back inside. I can show you my room. It’s completely safe there. No drugs. No terrible step brothers.”

I shook my head again and wiped the tears off my face. It wasn’t safe at all to be alone with Trace in a room that had to ooze his smell from every corner. “I left my apple in the living room,” I said because I couldn’t admit that I was yearning for a hug from him. Nothing more. For once my body wasn’t a sex-deprived mess. I just wanted to be close to him, soak in his warmth and thank him for all he’d done for me.

I wasn’t sure yet if I should be more scared of this new kind of pull towards him.

 “Your choice. You say the word and I throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs.” That wicked grin of his told me all I needed to know about what would happen if I let him take me to his room.

I made him lead the way back to the living room. Nathan had left and Monica was chatting with Vince while painting his fingernails with dark blue glitter nail polish that fit his hair. She looked up when Trace and I made ourselves comfortable on the couch. I kicked my shoes off and pulled my legs up to my chest.

“Honey, you should have told me that you don’t want natural additives with your coffee.”

“It’s not her fault. You’re the one who spiked her drink,” Trace immediately defended me. I shifted a little closer to him and he lifted his arm to tuck me against his side. Some of his scent pushed through the incense stench and I relaxed against him. The closeness didn’t only calm my body, even my mind stilled. I was safe in the curve of his arm.

“Let’s just forget about it,” I mumbled, restraining myself from pressing my nose into his side.

Two hours later Monica and Vince – who were born to be best friends with all their shared interests and never-ending chatter – were in the bathroom to apply green hair dye to Vincent’s hair and I was still snuggled up to Trace, my hands wrapped around a glass of clean water from the tap.

He was finger painting invisible swirls on the patch of skin just below my sleeve. “I want to show you my room.”

“After you looked at me like you could eat me earlier? That’s so not going to happen.” I flicked my finger against his thigh. “We’re staying right here.”

“What? You think all the things I want to do to you require a bloody bed? The couch works just as well.” I started to pull away but Trace kept me locked in place. “Relax. I really just want to show you my room. I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

“Okay. If you get too close, I am going to slap you. Just so you know.” I turned my head to give him my most intimidating stare, but he just grinned down at me. “Where is that room of yours?”

We had to pass through the smelly kitchen to get to the stairs leading up to the second floor. At the very back of the hallway a door was painted with thick black letters spelling ‘Trace’. “How long did you live here?”

“Until I was fourteen. I came by at least once a month afterwards but Wesley hasn’t been back here since.” He put his hand on the handle and grinned at me. “I apologize in advance for the naked women on the walls.”

I rolled my eyes at him. I didn’t know a guy who hadn’t had naked girls taped to his walls as a teen. However, Vincent might be an exception. I’d have to ask him.

Trace swung the door open and at first I wanted to scold him for trying to make me uncomfortable because there were no Playmates on the walls, but after taking three steps into the small square room, I realized the yellow and grey wallpaper wasn’t wallpaper at all. It was pages upon pages of drawings, and yes, most of them were of naked women. There were ones with thick, harsh lines and others that were so soft you could hardly see them, there were old women and young women, and occasionally a tattoo design mixed with the nudes.  

“Musician and artist,” I mused.

“No, musician only. I used to draw sometimes. That doesn’t make me an artist.”

“For
sometimes
there are a whole lot of naked women on your walls,” I grinned and spun around only to catch him watching me. I quickly asserted my eyes. The rest of the room was pretty plain with a twin bed pushed into a corner, a closet next to it, a bedside table with a couple of CDs on it and a desk filled with blank papers and pencil stubs. The walls really were the only eye catcher. “Why don’t you draw anymore?”

He stepped up next to me to see what drawings I was looking at. “I realized I’m no good at it.”

“You and I have a very different perception of ‘no good.’”

He shrugged and pointed at the wall, letting his index finger fly over all the drawings. “The proportions are right, the curves of their bodies are right, but they’re all empty. They’re just body studies. I never managed to fill them.”

“But your songs are full of emotion,” I finished for him, noticing the soulless eyes in all of the women. Even the ones that were smiling seemed cold.

“Not the words I would have used, but yes.” His hand fell back to his side and bumped into mine. I tried not to notice but I was hyperaware of him, of how his chest moved, how his head tilted as he studied his own work and of how his pinky brushed the back of my hand.

“Thank you,” I whispered, turning my head away from the pictures. “You didn’t have to let me into your past just because mine makes me panic.”

“That’s not… I’m not that selfless.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Haven’t you noticed?”

“I don’t know how selfless you are but you’re looking out for me. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

He hesitated and finally looked at me, pulling his shoulders up. “I’m trying.”

“Nobody has ever done that for me, you know? It’s nice, not being all alone for once,” I said and, catching myself trusting him with my feelings again and again, lowered my eyes.

Trace slid a finger under my chin and tilted it up for me to look at him again. His touch lingered just a moment too long for a friendly gesture. “You don’t have to hide. I won’t run from you.”

“Don’t say that.” I swallowed and searched his face for fear or insecurity. Either would be completely normal when confronted with who I used to be.

There was no doubt in his eyes as he took the last step that set us apart. His hands slid up my neck and around my face. “I won’t,” he promised with a voice so strong it was hard not to believe him.

My eyes dropped from his and stopped at his lips. The words out of them didn’t make sense but they lifted an immense weight off my shoulders. They made me lighter. Strong again for the next obstacle. “Okay,” I breathed, still unable to look away from the dent above his upper lip and the wide curve of his lower lip.  His thumb brushed the sensitive skin just below my ear, drawing a low moan from my throat. He leaned closer and the nearness was too much for my body. My eyes fluttered close, the breath was sucked out of my lungs and my lips ached to connect with his. The tickle of his breath on my face was the only hint I got at how close he was. He took his time at first and it almost killed me to yearn for his touch so much my heart was about to crumble. And then his mouth crashed into mine and my body burst into flames. He pulled my face to him and with my arms wrapped around his neck, I drew him down to me, my fingers sunk deep into his hair. Our bodies bowed. My hips pressed into his. I grasped his hair as if it was the only way to keep from drowning and Trace pressed me hard into the curve of his body like he wanted to consume me.

I broke free, gasping for air. As soon as our lips parted, however, Trace’s found their way down my jaw, into the crook of my neck, leaving hot, lush kisses on my skin. I moaned close to his ear, and his grip on my waist tightened and he lifted me onto the desk. He directed my legs apart and pressed against the tingling space between them. My insides flared up.

“I want to touch you,” he murmured and his fingertip slid into the waist of my leggings.

I pushed my hips against his touch, contradicting the breathless words flowing from my tongue, “You really shouldn’t.”

He kissed the dent behind my ear, turning me into a sighing, hot mess. “You say that,” he murmured, “but make those bloody noises that make me want to feel you even more. I want to hear more.”

“We really should stop,” I mumbled. If we wouldn’t stop here, this would end a few feet over on his bed. As dizzy as his kisses made me, even with a spinning head I knew that there was a chance this could ruin me forever.

He drew back just enough to look at me but the tip of his lips was still brushing against mine when he asked, “Do you want to?”

I stole a quick kiss from him before answering, “That doesn’t matter.”

I sat next to Trace in the backseat of Vincent’s car and watched the streetlights cut through the night. Vince had been smart enough to stop eating cupcakes three hours ago, easing my worries about accidents and police controls. I was too distracted to worry about anything anyway. Trace’s constant touch made it impossible to think straight. He was playing with my hair, twisting a curl around his finger, or he trailed an invisible pattern down and up my thigh, never all the way up, making my throat run dry and making me desperate to feel his hand on my bare skin. And yet I was glad I had stopped us earlier. Trace was sure I couldn’t turn back into the other version of me. I wasn’t.

While having an emotionless one night stand with Trace and leaving without strings binding me down would be the easiest way out, it would also make me exactly like who I didn’t want to be. I just didn’t know if I was strong enough for the hard path: Living through the pain of trusting him completely, trying to build a relationship with a man who didn’t do relationships and eventually leaving anyway, but leaving shards of myself with him.

I looked at Trace’s face, outlined by the yellow glow from outside, and realized that there was no happily ever after for us.

Vincent's silence had been suffocating. He knew that something had changed and it turned the blabbering boy into a stern-faced man. Wasn't he used to Trace having a lot of girls? I doubted he muted when Trace hooked up with a gorgeous blonde bimbo. Maybe he usually didn't watch his best friend pick up girls and only heard the stories afterwards.

When he stopped the car at the pub he opened his mouth only to say goodbye. Trace slid out of the backseat and reached back to help me, but I pushed his hands away. This much I could do alone. Plus, if he started by putting those long fingers of his on my waist, they wouldn't be off me all too soon. I needed at least a short moment to rationally think about all this.

I rushed inside and up the stairs, so he couldn't keep up.

I had basically despised him a few short days ago. If only he could be either infuriating or sweet. Either ignorant or caring. But somehow he managed to be both and it confused all hell out of me.

“What the fuck is wrong now?” Trace jumped up the last step just as I leaned against my door. He drew his eyebrows down deep and stared at me. “Why are you running from me?”

I let my head fall back against the door. “I'm... I can't think straight when you're touching me.”

Trace took a step closer and I grabbed the door handle to flee into my room if necessary. “You don't want me to touch you?”

“Yes... No. I mean,” I sighed, “I like it when you touch me. Very much.” Of course I liked it. My stomach flipped and my skin tingled and it felt so good. “But it makes my mind go all foggy and that's not helpful when I'm trying to figure something out.”

“What are you trying to figure out?”

“How I can like you when... you know.”

“No, I don't.” He flexed his hands and I knew he had at least an idea what I meant. I didn't want to piss him off, though. Moreover, I didn't want to make him angry in the hallway where anyone could easily hear us.

“Can we talk about this in my room?”

“You don't want me to touch you but you're inviting me to your bedroom?”

I swallowed, failing to ignore the ideas of what Trace and I could do in my bed that rushed into my mind. “I want you to touch me. That's part of the problem. So you better get into my bedroom and talk to me unless you never want to touch me again.”

That did the job. Within moments of opening the door for him, Trace was in my room and fell down on the chair that still stood next to my bed. I firmly closed the door and plopped down across from him, the mattress dipping in under my weight. He already leaned forward and reached for my knees but thought better of it in the last moment.

I took a deep breath. “Okay. I like you touching me and me touching you. Very much. God, you have no idea how exciting it is to feel your hands all over... well, anyway, you touch me and my mind goes blank. I can't think anymore and I do what my body tells me feels good, but I shouldn't be doing that. You might be right. I might not turn back into the person I was, but I don't want to risk it all. I don't want to let go of all my control for a guy who's rude and angry the one minute and sweet and caring the next. I'd be betting against myself just because you're hot and I love it that you take such good care of me.”