He gives me a sidelong glance. “You’ve had a good life. You shouldn’t be sad about it. I know that you wish your life was more complicated so you could write better, but trust me, it’s not worth the sacrifice.”
“I’m not sad right now because of that.” I face forward in my seat and wrap my arms around myself. “I’m sad because you haven’t always had a good life; you deserve to have the best.”
A beat of silence goes by.
“Life is getting ... easier for me.”
Before I can say anything else, he cranks up the radio again.
We don’t speak for the rest of the drive home. I rack my brain for a way to make him feel better. But by the time we’re pulling up to our houses, I still have no clue what to do or say.
All the lights are off at my house so I have some time to think about what I’m going to tell my mom and dad about tonight without them losing their shit.
“You want me to come up and hang out with you until they get home?” Ayden asks, parking in front of his garage and silencing the engine.
I nod then unfasten my seatbelt and drag my butt out of the car.
While we’re heading up to my bedroom, I text my parents to find out where they are. Turns out, my mother had to work late and my dad went down to the gallery to spend time with her. The two of them are so adorable that it makes me sick. And envious. I know their story. They grew up together. Were best friends who fell in love. They wrote songs about each other, and painted portraits of their undying love. Usually this makes me smile, but tonight, gag me. Seriously. I feel so bitter.
“I just want to go to bed and forget this night ever happened.” I kick the bedroom door open and wrestle the hoodie off. “I should probably take a shower first.”
Ayden clicks on the lamp, sits down on my bed, and collects my iPod from my cluttered nightstand. “I’ll chill out on your bed and go through your song collection, preparing for your next music quiz.” A small trace of a smile graces his lips.
Relief sweeps through me like a gentle breeze. Maybe I didn’t break him after all.
After I grab some clothes from the dresser, I duck into the bathroom and take a quick shower, scrubbing my skin until it’s raw and red, trying to cleanse the icky feeling off. I know tonight could have been a lot worse, but what happened still makes me feel sick to my stomach. Everything aches and my heart feels so dark. I hate the feeling. I want my sunshine back.
Tears spill from my eyes as I sink down into the bathtub and hug my knees to my chest. By the time I return to my bedroom, I’m exhausted, my eyes are puffy, my face hurts, and I'm ready to go to sleep.
Ayden is still in my bed like he said he would be, stretched out on the mattress with his back resting against the headboard. He has my ear buds in, and he’s bobbing his head to the music as he thrums his fingers against his knee.
I collapse face first beside him and he quickly tugs on the cord, pulling out one of the earbuds. “Feeling any better?”
I bury my face into the pillow. “Kind of. I just want to go to sleep.”
He lies down and rotates on his side, facing me. “Then go to sleep. I’ll stay with you until your mom and dad get home.”
I close my eyes. “I feel so icky.”
There’s a pause then he lightly places his hand on my back. My eyelids flutter open at the contact of his warm fingertips. He’s so close that his warm breath dusts my cheeks.
“You shouldn’t feel icky,” he says softly, his hand starting to massage the throbbing muscles of my back. “You did nothing wrong, but trust people too much. That’s never a bad thing. Don’t ever lose that.”
“I’ll try, but ...” I sink deeper into the pillow as tears sting my eyes again. “But he stuck his tongue down my throat, and it was the most disgusting kiss ever. I rinsed and brushed my teeth, but I swear to God, I can still feel it on me.”
When he grows silent again, I crack an eyelid open. He’s dazing off over my shoulder with undiluted pain in his eyes. The realness of him causes my heart to stutter, and my fingers yearn to jot down unwritten words.
God, what has he been through to create such a look?
When his focus lands back on me, his eyes burn fiercely, as if he’s terrified out of his damn mind “Shut your eyes,” he whispers, almost horrified.
I do as he says without question, trusting him completely, even though his intensity is enough to make the calmest person in the world feel disconcerted.
He sticks the earbud in my ear and the gloomy, unhurried beat of Radiohead’s “How To Disappear Completely” soaks through my wounded soul.
“You picked the perfect song,” I mutter as the music engulfs me. “This is exactly what I—”
His lips brush mine, stealing the words right from my mouth. My breath catches in my throat. My first instinct is to pull away, but I don’t want to. I want to stay. Let him erase that last few hours from my mind.
I keep my eyes shut, too afraid to open them as his lips timidly start to move against mine. Just a whisper of a graze. A heart-stopping brush. A soul-drowning taste. He does it again and again, taking his time, erasing all the ickiness from tonight.
As I absorb each soft graze, his tongue slowly follows, slipping into my mouth. I gasp, but still don’t open my eyes. I barely move. Can hardly think. And when he pulls back, gently biting at my bottom lip, I stop breathing all together.
That burn songs promise.
Blazes in me.
Hot and scorching.