“Yes. I already know, Arleen. How about we avoid rehashing this? Believe me, I get it.”
“You know, for someone so smart, you’re pretty fucking stupid. So shut up and come here!”
I look at the space between us and realize that if I come any closer I’ll be in dangerous territory. “What do you want, Arleen?” I ask without moving.
She looks down to the ground and back up, a stream of tears running down her cheeks. I feel guilty for making her cry but I can’t move toward her. I just can’t. I’d already put too much on the line for her. I’m done ripping myself open for someone who doesn’t want me.
“I like you more than I should,” she begins. “The things I’ve heard, the things I know…” Her brow creases as she trails off. She’s struggling to find her words, and the space around us suddenly feels much smaller. I feel like she’s on the verge of some kind of realization—or perhaps it’s me who is.
“I’m sick of feeling like I have nobody!” she shouts, mimicking my frustration from minutes earlier. “I think about this constantly. You’re absolutely fucking perfect, and I have no idea if what you say is how you truly feel, or if it’s…” She trails off, not brave enough to finish the sentence. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be cast aside and unwanted? Of course you don’t! What could you possibly know about being unwanted? You spend half your life up girls’ skirts!” she spits out bitterly.
She obviously has only half the truth. I wish this wasn’t so confusing. This shouldn’t be so hard! We’re kids, for fuck’s sake. The hard stuff should be a good five to ten years down the road!
“What do you want from me, Arleen?” I ask, sounding tired and defeated.
She uncovers her face and stands with confidence. “I want you to kiss me, Simon.”
My head jerks up and I meet her eyes. Hers are intense and unwavering.
“What?” I ask, not sure I heard her correctly.
“Don’t make me say it again, Simon,” she says, her voice a plea.
I take a step toward her, and her arms wrap around herself. I don’t know what I feel. I can’t place it. I don’t know if I should kiss her, or if I’ll be sorry that I did. Will I regret it if I let this moment pass by, or will I wake up in the morning beating myself up for going there in the first place?
And I don’t know if I should take a minute to think this through, or if I should just do what I want to do.
Because every last part of me is telling me to go to her.
“Just please, whatever you do, don’t kiss me like you do all the others. I just need to feel like someone special. I couldn’t bear the thought of this being some kind of game—”
Before she finishes her sentence, my lips crash against hers.
In all the girls I’ve been with, I never knew what it felt like not to be the one holding all the cards. I was used to being the one to leave. I was never emotionally invested. I could get up and go without thinking twice.
But I know right now, at this very moment, that if she were to turn and walk away she could quite possibly ruin me.
I’m in deeper than I’ve ever been before. Yet the thought of turning around and leaving at this very moment eats me up from the inside.
Her lips are softer than I imagined, and her breath is even sweeter. It’s awkward at first because I’m so eager, but then I let myself take a breath and I slow my pace, soaking her in.
All of my frustration from minutes ago has vanished, and my insides feel solid again. And yet there’s still something strangely unnerving. Because the closer I allow myself to get to Arleen, the more the future I had planned with Miss Shields fades away.
She’s caressing my tongue with hers as she throws her arms behind my neck. I pull her closer until there is no longer any space between us.
“Simon, I’m so sorry.”
I don’t reply, but my lips confirm what I’m thinking:
There’s no need for an apology as long as you stay with me.
I let the swarm of butterflies dance in my stomach as we kiss. Butterflies I have never in all my eighteen years felt until this moment.
Chapter Sixteen
It was something I’d never imagined was possible for me—feeling close to someone. For two hours, Arleen and I kissed. We let our hands roam, but never allowed anything more. It wasn’t even needed. Which, again, is something I never thought I’d say.
It’s been three days – an entire weekend – and I haven’t seen her. I can’t say I blame her, though. It was frightening in a way. The night had been too intense, like a cocoon around us. It was overwhelming and stifled all common sense. Because the second we parted ways early the next morning, I’d already missed her.