Broken Little Melodies(26)

That first night at camp, when our groups gathered around the campfire, I performed with the song I had worked all winter on perfecting. The words were incredibly raw, making it painful to sing in front of the small group. My fingers trembled when I strummed the first couple of chords on the guitar and my stutter reappeared with the first lyrics.

“I s-stare a-at…”

My stomach lurched. I was scared as shit I’d be rejected by the kids at camp the same way I’d been outcast in kindergarten. I didn't know if they’d notice since I was playing something original, so I laughed it off and started over. Ever since my father hauled me away the summer before, my stutter had returned whenever I tried to sing.

But then I fixed my eyes on Isabelle. She was watching me with the kind of reassuring look I often dreamt about after I was sent to live in Texas. It embraced me with a calming confidence, and finally the melody flowed from me, as smooth as silk.

I stare at blank walls,

wishing I could hear your voice again.

Nothing seems worthwhile,

knowing this may be the end.



They tell me to be brave

they tell me to be strong.

But there’s no point in living without you,

no point in going on.



You’re the only one who sees me

for who I was and who I am,

and doesn’t run for the door.

You’re the only one I want

in my arms,

I need you more now than ever before.



But I’m here and you’re gone.

These words are for you,

but they’re spoken in vain.



I’m going crazy without you.

Without your smile.

Without your laugh.

Without your body.

Baby, you’re everything,

you’re all I need.





By the time I finished, my heart was racing and I couldn’t get my lungs to do their job. I expected Belle to be crying like she had before when she knew I had written her a song, but there was hunger in her beautiful eyes as she whooped and cheered for me, louder than all the rest. Her reaction surprised me in unexpected ways, delighted me in others.

That night we full-on made out for the first time. I snuck over to her cabin after curfew to find her waiting outside, leaned up against a tree. She grabbed my shirt and pulled me close before I had a chance to say anything. Our lips pressed together, and I finally understood the meaning of “heaven on earth.”

At first it was an awkward and desperate mashing of teeth and sloppy tongues. Then I realized she had never been kissed that way. I slowed the pace, taking my time teaching her how to be soft and gentle. She learned to mimic my actions, and before long we were lost in our own private paradise of tender touches and meaningful kisses.

I’ll never forget the first time she slipped her thin fingers underneath my shirt and hummed into my mouth. Her touch was as hot as fire, but as soothing as anything I had ever felt. My dick had never been so hard, but asking her to do something about it felt like an asshole move, especially when she was just learning how to French kiss. She wasn’t like any other girl, she was my Belle. And she deserved as much tenderness as I could provide.

I honestly could’ve stood there kissing her against that tree all night long, but the sudden appearance of flashlights cutting through the dark sent us on our separate ways. We knew we had to be smart about breaking curfew or our summer could get cut short again, though I would’ve liked to have seen my father try to separate us a second time.

For two and a half glorious months, we were inseparable. Around others, we were either holding hands or she was on my lap. When alone, I tested the boundaries of how far she was willing to go. We were limited in what we could do with the constant threat of getting caught, and Isabelle refused to lie in the grass where she was sure there were insects that wanted to hide in her hair.

It was almost comical how we fumbled through our urges, wanting to please our bodies without really knowing how. The first time she let me touch her tits under her bra, I spewed in my shorts. It was a little humiliating, and I stuttered out a response. She shut me up with a deep kiss. The next time we were alone, she reached inside my shorts and relieved my aching hard-on with her fingers. I loved that she was becoming brave enough to touch me that way, even though it was over my briefs. Eventually I gathered the courage to touch her over her panties, experimenting with different strokes of my fingers until she cried out and jerked against my hand. Before too long we were comfortable enough that we were touching each other beyond our underwear, proving pleasure in the most intimate ways. I was soon addicted to her touch and the way I could make her shudder with mine.

The guys gave me endless shit about ditching them for a piece of ass, but I didn’t care. At least they were beyond giving her shit. A couple of them had even started talking to her like she was one of the rich kids. It wasn’t just the fact that we had been together for so long. She had made it clear to everyone that she was done being pushed around. She was no longer an easy target.