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Chapter no 18

Punk 57 by Penelope Douglas

The next day, heโ€™s missing from our first class.

I know where he lives, and it takes me back to when I first noticed heโ€™d stopped writing months ago. If Iโ€™m really worried, I could check on him. He knows where to find me if he wants to see me.

But waitโ€ฆ Iโ€™m the one who wanted him to go. What if he actually did?

I understand he never meant for things to spiral so out of control, and I believe heโ€™s sorry. Still, itโ€™s hard for me to process. Pretending to be someone else is bad enough, but lurking right under my nose while I stayed oblivious is unforgivable.

And sleeping with me? How could he? Was he Masen or Misha in that truck at the drive-in? Was he ever planning to tell me the truth?

I shouldnโ€™t have given in last night. Emotions were high, I missed him, and when he held me, I just wanted to stop fighting. I wanted to feel good with him again, even if just for a moment.

But now, with the light of day so harsh, I wish I could crawl back under the covers. Everyone heard him berate me at the party last night, acting like I was his property.

They might not know exactly what happened between us, but they know something did to make him so angry. And they know Iโ€™ve been lying about it.

I force back the lump in my throat and head to my cubby in the locker room, where Lyla and Katelyn are getting ready for P.E.

โ€œHey,โ€ I say, trying to sound upbeat.

Lyla doesnโ€™t acknowledge me. Instead, she wrinkles her nose and complains to Katelyn, โ€œGod, did the janitors clean last night? It smells like skank in here.โ€

Katelyn laughs, and I feel a wave of tension.

โ€œCan you believe she didnโ€™t even show up to practice again this morning?โ€ Katelyn says loudly, clearly for my benefit. โ€œDoesnโ€™t matter, though. Her fat ass was getting too heavy to catch.โ€

Heat surges through me, and my pulse pounds in my ears. I turn to them as they dress. โ€œIf youโ€™ve got something to say, say it to my face.โ€

But they ignore me completely. โ€œSo did J.D. book a limo?โ€ Katelyn asks Lyla.

โ€œOh, yeah. One big enough for all of us,โ€ Lyla replies, and they slam their locker doors shut, walking past me. โ€œThis night is going to be epic. Especially without Ryen there to stink up the car.โ€

Their laughter grates on my nerves, and tears sting my eyes, but I slam my locker shut, refusing to break down.

Throughout P.E., I keep my distance, feeling their bubble of exclusion grow larger and push me further away. Theyโ€™re them, and Iโ€™m me.

Separated, alone, and on the outside. Again.

How did I end up here? What should I do?

After class, I shower and dress quickly, heading to my locker before lunch when I really just want to leave.

Itโ€™s easier to avoid people I dislike and be somewhere I no longer feel I belong, right?

Iโ€™ve been here beforeโ€”dealing with uncertainty, self-loathing, and powerlessness. Itโ€™s all too familiar. Last time, I channeled those feelings outward, making others feel what I felt. I didnโ€™t see that those feelings came from others treating me the same way. I feel and fear exactly what they want me to.

This time, I wonโ€™t respond the same way. Iโ€™m better than this. Iโ€™m going to be better.

As I move down the lunch line, reaching for an orange juice from the cooler, arms suddenly trap me on both sides, preventing me from moving. My heart races, thinking itโ€™s Misha, but when I turn, I see Trey behind me.

โ€œYou know, if you wanted dirty, I couldโ€™ve done dirty,โ€ he sneers, glaring down at me. โ€œMaybe itโ€™s good Laurent broke you in. It doesnโ€™t take long for you little bitches to turn slut once you get a taste.โ€

I gasp, stunned. What the hell did he just say?

He laughs. โ€œYou shouldโ€™ve seen the train we pulled on this girl last week. She had guys lined up. It was so fucking good.โ€

I push through his arm and pay for my juice, carrying my drink and books to an empty table as far away from his as I can find. I feel eyes on me

everywhere, like people are laughing. I havenโ€™t sat at a table alone in a long time.

Opening my juice carton and notebook, I dive into the Math homework due tomorrow, using it as a shield to not look so pathetic.

โ€œNo one wants you in here,โ€ a female voice says, and I look up to see Lyla. โ€œI canโ€™t even eat, looking at you.โ€

And she picks up my carton of juice and pours it into my lap. I gasp, the ice cold drink making me shoot out of my chair as it cascades down my bare legs. I glare at her and dart out with both hands, shoving her away.

She stumbles back, dropping the carton but comes back in, pushing me back.

โ€œOh!โ€ someone shouts. โ€œFight!โ€

The cafeteria erupts in noise, chairs scraping against the linoleum and people shifting around for a better view.

Lyla reaches for my hair, but I rear back and slap her arms away. My shirt and shorts stick to my skin, and anger rages in every muscle. She comes back for me, and I get ready to lunge, to push her back again, but then, all of a sudden, thereโ€™s a wall standing in front of me.

A wall in a white T-shirt with tattoos. Misha.

Trey comes around Lyla and inches into my and Mishaโ€™s space, a challenge in his eyes. โ€œMove out of the way,โ€ he demands.

โ€œMake me.โ€

Trey scoffs, knowing Mishaโ€™s not kidding but clearly not ready to take him on here in front of everyone. Especially when he got his ass kicked last time.

โ€œIf you want her, youโ€™re going to have to go through me,โ€ Misha states, and I step around to his side, refusing to hide.

The O.J. sticks to my legs and seeps into my shoes, and I struggle to ignore the murmurs around me. Mishaโ€™s standing up for me in front of everyone, and against my will, my heart warms.

โ€œAfter school,โ€ Trey says. โ€œThe drive-in.โ€ โ€œNah, Iโ€™ll be busy tonight,โ€ Misha replies.

Trey laughs, looking round to his friends, all of them probably assuming Mishaโ€™s too scared to show up.

โ€œSo how about we just do it now?โ€ Misha tosses out calmly and then throws a punch across Treyโ€™s face, surprising us all.

Exclamations sound off around the crowd, and Trey stumbles back, cursing. โ€œFuck!โ€

Misha dives in, but then J.D. grabs him from behind, holding him back as Principal Burrowes steps between the boys.

โ€œStop it!โ€ she shouts to both of them. โ€œStop it right now!โ€

Misha fights against J.D.โ€™s restraint, J.D. turning red just from the struggle to keep him back. โ€œOkay, calm down, man. Calm down.โ€

โ€œGet this asshole away from me!โ€ Trey gestures to Misha, screaming around his stepmom.

โ€œYou fuck with her again,โ€ Misha growls, โ€œand Iโ€™ll make what just happened seem like a dream.โ€ He pauses and then speaks to Lyla. โ€œAnd you. Donโ€™t talk to her again. You just want her to feel as ugly as you are.โ€

She arches an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. She knows itโ€™s true just like it was true for me, but she wonโ€™t credit it with a response.

โ€œI wonโ€™t fuck with her,โ€ Trey taunts. โ€œLooks like you already been there and done that.โ€

A few giggles go off around me, and Misha breaks away from J.D., glaring at Trey and looking like heโ€™s dying to make sure he never talks shit

again. But instead, he twists around and takes my hand, leading us out of the cafeteria.

โ€œMr. Laurent!โ€ the principal calls.

But Misha ignores her and pulls me into the menโ€™s bathroom, wetting some paper towels and ringing them out.

He pushes me back against the sink and kneels down, lifting my foot and setting it on his thigh, slowly wiping the drying orange juice off my leg.

Pain springs to the back of my eyes, and I watch him, carefully and quietly taking care of me.

Wetting more paper towels, he moves to the other leg and then starts untying my socked shoes.

โ€œAre we still friends?โ€ I ask, my voice cracking. โ€œBecause I need Misha, not Masen.โ€

I was wrong last night. Everything is Misha. Theyโ€™re not separate. And I need my friend.

Holding my soiled Chucks, he stands up and takes my hand, still silent as he leads me out of the bathroom.

โ€œWhere are we going?โ€ โ€œAway from here.โ€

We donโ€™t bother to look back, and Iโ€™ll probably be in trouble tomorrow, but no one and nothing could drag me away from him right now. I tighten my hold on his hand, ready to follow him anywhere. At least for today.

We drive for a long time, and we donโ€™t speak. The music plays, the afternoon is overcast, and my eyelids are heavy, probably because Thursday night was the last time I slept well.

I donโ€™t know if Iโ€™m ready to forgive him, but I want him. The smell of him, the sight of him, the feel of himโ€ฆ He doesnโ€™t even have to touch me.

Just being near him is soothing at the moment. Maybe Iโ€™m just vulnerable, but right now I donโ€™t want to be anywhere else.

A sprinkle of rain starts as we pull into a driveway leading up to a house thatโ€™s shielded behind a wall of trees.

A flutter courses through my belly. โ€œYour house?โ€

Weโ€™re in Thunder Bay? I didnโ€™t think I was dazed out that long.

He pulls into the garage and turns off the engine. โ€œHave you ever been here?โ€

I nod. โ€œA couple weeks ago. You hadnโ€™t written in so long, I needed make sure you were okayโ€”โ€

โ€œYou donโ€™t have to explain,โ€ he cuts me off. โ€œI shouldโ€™ve written. You had every right to be worried.โ€

โ€œWhy did you stop?โ€

He smiles gently, opening his door and taking my shoes. โ€œA story for a different day. But it didnโ€™t have anything to do with you,โ€ he assures.

โ€œYour dad said you were fine.โ€ I climb out of the truck and walk around, following him into the house.

โ€œMy dad doesnโ€™t air dirty laundry. Did you tell him who you were?โ€ โ€œWould he know me?โ€

โ€œOf course,โ€ he replies, entering what looks like a laundry room and tossing my shoes into the washer. โ€œHeโ€™s seen your letters coming in for years.โ€

Yes, of course. If Iโ€™d told him, maybe I wouldโ€™ve been invited into the house and seen a picture of Misha. And then I wouldโ€™ve found out even sooner who he really was.

Misha comes over to me and pulls up the hem of my shirt, but I lock my arms down, looking at him.

โ€œNo oneโ€™s home,โ€ he reassures me. โ€œLetโ€™s get your clothes in the wash.

You can take a shower, and Iโ€™ll find you something to wear.โ€

It only takes me a moment to consider. I donโ€™t feel like I need to leave anytime soon, and the stickiness is still all over me, despite Mishaโ€™s efforts to clean me up.

I nod and pull off clothes, handing him everything, one by one. He puts my shorts, shirt, and underthings in the washer, adding soap and starting it, and then hands me a T-shirt from the dryer.

Pulling it on, I let him take my hand and lead me into the rest of the house.

We walk through a large living room, and I look around, gaping. โ€œOh, geez,โ€ I mumble.

โ€œWhat?โ€

I shake my head. โ€œNothing.โ€

Itโ€™s hilarious, really. He hangs out with the worst of the worst at school, looks like a delinquent, and everyoneโ€”including Lyla, Trey, and even me onceโ€”assumed he was a poor foster kid or nothing but a thug.

If Lyla discovers he lives in a house bigger than hers and mine put together and has a Gauguin hanging on the wall, sheโ€™ll be the first one kissing his ass.

The house is dark, but even still I can tell itโ€™s stunning. Thereโ€™s wood shining everywhere, fancy art and knickknacks decorating the place, and I smell the rich scent of polish. What did Misha say his dad did in his letters? Heโ€™s an antiques dealer?

And if heโ€™s the child of a senator, then he has to be well-set.

โ€œDo you like peanut butter and jelly?โ€ he asks, taking me up the stairs. โ€œItโ€™s the only thing I make that I donโ€™t burn.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s fine.โ€

He leads me into a spacious bathroom, very dark and very male, and opens the glass door, turning on the shower for me.

โ€œTake your time.โ€ He plants a kiss on my forehead and takes a towel off the shelf, setting it on the counter for me. โ€œIโ€™ll go make us some sandwiches.โ€

I stare at him as he leaves, and despite the height and muscle of a man, Iโ€™m finally seeing him as the kid I envisioned so many years ago who I became so attached to and loved. The one I pictured as kind and gentle and caring.

After my shower, I dry off and pull the T-shirt back on, finding a brush on the counter and tugging it through my ratty hair. Thankfully, Lylaโ€™s assault missed my head, so I didnโ€™t have to wash my hair.

Walking into the hallway, I hear the soft hum of music coming from down the hall, and I step quietly, following itโ€”but carefully, in case itโ€™s his dad.

I find Misha in his room. Heโ€™s walking around, picking up a few clothes, and on the bed sits plates with PB&J sandwiches and sprigs of grapes, with juice boxes sitting next to them.

I hold in my laugh. I donโ€™t think Iโ€™ve had that lunch since fifth grade.

P!nk plays at low volume, and I feel my chest warm at the gesture. He knows I like her, too.

But then I gaze around his room and see four office boxes, complete with lids, stacked on top of each other up against the wall.

I walk over. โ€œWhatโ€™s this?โ€ I ask, lifting the lid. โ€œOh, uhโ€ฆโ€

But I widened my eyes, taken aback, and drop the lid on the floor. The box is filled with black envelopes. With silver writing.

โ€œOh, my God.โ€ I reach in and fan the envelopes, seeing my writing on every single one.

He kept them. He kept them?

I donโ€™t know why, but I guess I never thought he actually saved them. Why would he? Thinking back, I canโ€™t even remember what they said. Couldnโ€™t have been too interesting if I canโ€™t recall.

The other three boxes are probably filled with letters, too.

โ€œI canโ€™t believe I wrote you this much,โ€ I say, a little horrified. โ€œYou mustโ€™ve been so bored with me.โ€

โ€œI adored you.โ€

I look up, seeing him stare at the floor. An ache weaves its way through my chest.

โ€œI adore you,โ€ he corrects himself. โ€œIโ€™ve read them all at least twice. My favorites, a lot more than that.โ€

His favorites. And then I recall. The letters Iโ€™d found at the Cove. When he stayed thereโ€”away from homeโ€”he took those with him. The rest stayed here.

I feel guilty now. โ€œTheyโ€™re in my desk,โ€ I confess. โ€œI lied. I didnโ€™t burn them.โ€

He gives me a little nod. โ€œYeah, I hoped so. I have mine, too, that you threw all over the place at the Cove. In case you want them back.โ€

I give him a small smile, grateful. Yes, I do want them back.

I replace the lid, kind of curious to open a few letters and relive all the embarrassing things I shared with him over the years. Kissing with tongue the first time, the music I suggested that I thought was so epic but realize now it was kind of lame, and all the arguments we got into.

Remembering back, I was pretty hard on him. I mean, using an Android phone doesnโ€™t make him an introverted burner who probably wonโ€™t ever have a job or a valid driverโ€™s license at the same time. I didnโ€™t mean that.

And Iโ€™m sure he didnโ€™t mean what he said when he called me a Steve Jobs cultist who worships inferior technology because Iโ€™m too much of a bubblehead high on apps to know the difference.

On second thought, no. I like the truce we have going on today. The letters can wait.

I walk over and sit down on his bed, bringing up my legs to sit cross- legged. He kicks off his shoes and lies down sideways on the bed, supporting his head on his hand.

I take the sandwich and peel off the top crust while he pops a grape in his mouth.

I stare down at the food. Iโ€™m hungry, but Iโ€™m also tired and suddenly feel like I donโ€™t give a shit. One of us has to start talking.

He wants something true? Something he doesnโ€™t know?

โ€œI didnโ€™t have many friends in grade school,โ€ I tell him, still keeping my eyes down. โ€œI had one. Delilah.โ€

Heโ€™s quiet, and I know heโ€™s staring at me.

โ€œShe had this shaggy blonde hair that kind of looked like a mullet, and she wore these frumpy corduroy skirts,โ€ I went on. โ€œThey looked thirty years old. She wasnโ€™t cool and she didnโ€™t dress right. She was alone a lot like me, so we played together at recess, butโ€ฆโ€

I narrow my eyes, trying to harden them as the image of her comes to the forefront in my mind.

โ€œBut I got tired of not hanging out with the popular kids,โ€ I admit. โ€œIโ€™d see them hanging on each other, laughing and surrounded by everyone, and I feltโ€ฆenvious. Left out of something better. I felt like I was being laughed

at.โ€ I lick my dry lips, still avoiding his eyes. โ€œLike I could feel their eyes crawling over my skin. Were they disgusted by me? Why didnโ€™t they like me? I shouldnโ€™t have cared. I shouldnโ€™t have thought that kids who shunned me would be worth it, but I did.โ€

I finally raise my eyes and find his green ones watching me, unblinking. โ€œAnd in my head,โ€ I continue, โ€œDelilah was holding me back. I needed better friends. So one day I ran off. When recess time came, I hid around a corner so she wouldnโ€™t find me, and I watched her. Waiting for her to go off and play with someone else so I could do the same and she wouldnโ€™t look

for me.

I swallow, my throat stretching painfully.

โ€œBut she didnโ€™t,โ€ I whisper, tears welling in my eyes. โ€œShe just stood against a wall, alone and looking awkward and uncomfortable. Waiting for me.โ€ My body shakes, and I start to cry. โ€œThat was the day I became this. When I started to believe that a hundred peopleโ€™s fickle adoration was worth more than one personโ€™s love. And for a while it felt kind of good.โ€ Tears stream down my face. โ€œI was lost in the novelty of it. Being mean, slipping in a quick insult, making a joke of others and of my teachersโ€ฆI felt respected. Adored. My new skin suited me.โ€

And then more images creep in, still so vivid after all this time.

โ€œBut months later, when Iโ€™d see Delilah playing alone, being laughed at, not having anywhere to belongโ€ฆI started to hate that skin I was so comfortable in. The skin of a fake and shallow coward.โ€

I wipe the tears, trying to take in a deep breath. Heโ€™s looking at me, but the heat of shame covers my face, and Iโ€™m worried. What does he think of me?

โ€œAnd when I started writing you a year later,โ€ I go on, โ€œI needed you so much by that point. I needed someone I could be the person I wanted to be

with. I could go back. I could be the girl who was Delilahโ€™s friend again. The girl who stood up to the mean kids and didnโ€™t need a spirit animal, because she was her own.โ€

I close my eyes, just wanting to hide. I feel the bed shift under me and then his hands cupping my face.

I shake my head, inching away. โ€œDonโ€™t. Iโ€™m awful.โ€

โ€œYou were in fourth grade,โ€ he says, trying to soothe me. โ€œKids are mean, and at that age, everyone wants to belong. You think youโ€™re the only one who feels like shit? Whoโ€™s made mistakes?โ€ He nudges my face, making me open my eyes and look into his. โ€œWeโ€™re all ugly, Ryen. The only difference is, some hide it and some wear it.โ€

I slide the food out of the way and crawl into his lap, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his neck, hugging him close. He gently falls back onto the bed, lying down and taking me with him.

Why didnโ€™t we do this ages ago? Why was I so scared to meet him and change things? Weโ€™ve been there for each other during his grandmotherโ€™s funeral, lengthy summer camps with hardly any communication to each other, and even a couple of girlfriends of his who I never told him I was really jealous of.

Why did I think that all the words and letters and the friendship would fade so easily?

His arms hold me tight as I lay my head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat and the light tapping of rain against the window. This is new for me. Iโ€™ve been comfortable in places, but I think this is the first time Iโ€™ve been anywhere I never want to leave. My eyelids fall closed, sleep pulling at me.

โ€œI have a question,โ€ he speaks up, causing me to stir. โ€œHmm?โ€

โ€œWhen you write on the walls at school, you sign the messages as Punk.

Why?โ€

I keep my eyes closed, but I breathe out a weak, little laugh. โ€œDo you remember the letter you wrote about your first tattoo and your dad saying you looked like a punk?โ€

โ€œYeah?โ€

โ€œSo it was a tribute to you,โ€ I tell him. โ€œA shout out to the ruffians and rule breakers.โ€

โ€œBut why not use your own name?โ€

I pinch my eyebrows together. โ€œBecause I donโ€™t want to get caught.โ€

Duh.

โ€œOkayโ€ฆโ€ he says. โ€œSo what you do is hide in the dark to share words anonymously, because you want to be heard but not mocked. Is that it?โ€

I open my eyes, thinking. Is that what I do?

โ€œYou want to be loved without risking consequence, so you reach out to get the attention you need while enjoying the luxury of taking no responsibility for those words.โ€

I start to shrink into myself. I donโ€™t like what heโ€™s saying or the fact that heโ€™s saying it, but I canโ€™t deny that heโ€™s right.

I donโ€™t want to hear feedback, because if they knew it was me, their reactions would be different. But itโ€™s not exactly fair to throw things in their faces and hide under their noses, either.

โ€œAlone, Empty, Fraud, Shame, Fear,โ€ he murmurs, holding me tighter. โ€œDonโ€™t you get it yet? You donโ€™t have to be afraid or embarrassed. No one does you better than you. You canโ€™t be replaced. Not everyone will see that, but only you need to.โ€

He kisses my hair, and I wrap my arm around his torso.ย No one does me better than me.

I close my eyes again, hearing what heโ€™s saying. I changed, because I didnโ€™t think what I brought to the table was worthy enough. I let them make me believe that, but who made them authorities? I may no longer be adored, but I might not be so miserable, either.

And I may eat alone, but thatโ€™s not such terrible company, is it?

 

 

I feel him move under me, and then a blanket covers my legs and body, locking our warmth in under the covers. I slowly drift off to sleep to the sounds of the rain and his heartbeat.

A velvety tickle glides across my skin, and I strain to lift my lids. The room is darker, the sun having set, but the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the bed, and I glance over at the window, seeing that itโ€™s now dark outside. The rain pounds hard, echoing through the roof, and thunder rolls outside.

Misha is bare-chested and propped up on his side next to me, his head down by my ass.

Which is bare, because heโ€™s pulled up my shirt. โ€œWhat are you doing?โ€

โ€œShh, donโ€™t move,โ€ he orders, moving a pen over my skin. โ€œYouโ€™re the closest thing I have to write on.โ€

I snicker, closing my eyes again. Heโ€™d better not be using a Sharpie.

Thatโ€™ll take days to get off.

The peaceful noise of the rain outside lulls me back into relaxation, and I fold my arms under my head, feeling the felt tip move quickly over my skin, stopping every so often to dot an โ€œIโ€ or poke a period.

โ€œI wish we could stay here forever,โ€ I muse.

โ€œOh, youโ€™re not moving anytime soon. Your ass is too nice to look at.โ€

I cross my legs at the ankles, teasing, โ€œIs that all a Thunder Bay boy can do with a girlโ€™s ass?โ€

A light slap hits my right cheek, and I laugh.

But then, after a pause, he stops writing. โ€œHave you everโ€ฆโ€ he asks, drifting off.

It takes me a moment to connect the dots, but then I realize what heโ€™s asking.

โ€œAnal?โ€ I clarify. โ€œWell, considering Iโ€™ve only had sex once before you, Iโ€™m sure you know the answer to that.โ€

I certainly wouldnโ€™t have doneย thatย the first time, no matter how naรฏve I was. And since Misha and I havenโ€™t done that, then of course, the answer is no.

โ€œSo weโ€™re virgins then,โ€ he says, his tone making it sound like heโ€™s kind of enjoying that idea.

โ€œYeah, virgins,โ€ I grumble. โ€œAnd I plan on dying one, because thereโ€™s no way youโ€™re stickingย thatย inย there.โ€

He snorts, breaking into a laugh.

Capping the pen, he moves up and over me, lifting my shirt over my head. I arch my neck back, meeting his mouth and kissing him. His teeth nibbling my skin sends an electric shock down my belly and straight between my thighs.

I guess the nap helped. He slides his hand under my chest, cupping my breast and Iโ€™m already turned on.

โ€œIs this okay?โ€ he asks.

I stare at his lips, dipping in for more.ย Hell, yes.

I groan, my eyes damn near rolling into the back of my head as his mouth trails down my neck, devouring me in hot, demanding kisses. He grinds his hips into me, and I feel the hardening bulge between his legs.

โ€œTalk to me,โ€ he whispers. โ€œI need your words.โ€ Talk? Now?

His hand glides down my bare back, brushing my hair and making it tickle my skin. He takes my ass, kneads it, and without thinking, I bend my knee to the side, opening myself for him.

โ€œBefore I met you,โ€ I say against his lips. โ€œI fantasized about you.โ€ โ€œBut you didnโ€™t know what I looked like.โ€

โ€œI knew you were Misha,โ€ I reply. โ€œThat was enough.โ€

He groans, nibbling my ear and dipping his hand between my legs, his fingers sliding inside of me.

I close my eyes, the pleasure of him filling me making me wetter.

โ€œOne night it was storming, like tonight,โ€ I tell him, โ€œthe lights went out, and for the whole evening, it was dark and quiet.โ€

His fingers come out, swirling around my clit, and I shudder. My breath is shallow, and Iโ€™m unable to stop my hips from trying to rub into the bed and his fingers.

โ€œI reread all of your letters that night,โ€ I pant. โ€œI love the ones about when you got your first car and how you and your friends got arrested for the kegger out on some farm. You sounded so bad, so much fun.โ€ I lean back, longing for his mouth again. โ€œBut the letter I love more than all the rest is when you told me about your ex-girlfriend after youโ€™d broken up. I was so mad at first. You had a girlfriend, and you hadnโ€™t told me, butโ€ฆI think thatโ€™s when I first realizedโ€ฆโ€

โ€œWhat?โ€ he breathes out.

โ€œThat I wanted you. You were mine.โ€

โ€œI was,โ€ he assures. โ€œIt didnโ€™t take me long to realize that I couldnโ€™t talk to anyone like I talk to you.โ€

And I feel the same way. I always did. I couldnโ€™t go out with anyone without comparing them to Misha. He had every right to date, and Iโ€™m sure whoever she wasโ€”or they were, because there were probably moreโ€”they werenโ€™t bad people, but I still felt territorial.ย I knew him first. No one was going to know him better than me.ย I know I had no right to feel those things, which is why I never told him. Until now.

โ€œI started fantasizing about you that rainy night. It was the first time I ever daydreamed about you.โ€

โ€œWhat did you do?โ€ He pushed his two fingers in deep, rubbing my spot and grinding himself on me. โ€œDid you want to be her?โ€

I shook my head. โ€œI wanted you to see me. I wanted you to see me and want me so much. Not just my letters, but my body, too.โ€

โ€œWhatโ€™d you do?โ€ he whispers in my ear.

I moan, feeling a wave of pleasure fill my thighs and pussy, and I back up into him, wanting to be filled. โ€œI laid in bed,โ€ I say, โ€œand I couldnโ€™t stop thinking about you. It was so dark, and the AC wasnโ€™t running. The more I thought about it, the hotter I gotโ€ฆuntil…โ€

โ€œUntil what?โ€ He pumps my pussy faster, grinding his dick harder. โ€œWhatโ€™d you do?โ€

โ€œI pulled up my shirtโ€ฆโ€ โ€œYeah?โ€

โ€œAnd imagined you were standing in the corner of my room, hidden in the shadows, watching me finger myself.โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t stop.โ€

โ€œMy skin was damp with sweat, because it was so hot,โ€ I whimper, reaching over my head and holding the back of his neck, โ€œand I slid my hand down my pantiesโ€ฆโ€

โ€œDid I like what I was seeing?โ€

โ€œYeah. We were always just friends. So calm, relaxed, and cute, but I wanted you to want me. I wanted you to see me and need to be inside me.โ€

โ€œDid you come?โ€ he growls low in my ear as I rock into him. โ€œDid you come, thinking about me watching you?โ€

I nod, completely lost in the vision and his fingers. โ€œI knew Iโ€™d do anything you asked me to. Iโ€™d let you have anything you wanted.โ€

โ€œIs that true?โ€ โ€œAnything.โ€

He removes his fingers from inside me, and I hear him unzip his pants. โ€œAnd what do you want?โ€ he asks, his fingers gliding up my ass again.

I know what he wants. My heart is pumping wildly, and Iโ€™m shaking with need.

I lean my head back again, gasping over his mouth. โ€œI want you everywhere.โ€

I feel his smile curl over my lips right before he kisses me. He moves his fingers between my thighs again, rubbing and getting me wetter with need.

โ€œEverywhere?โ€ he whispers. I nod. Iโ€™m his. All of me.

I want him all over me.

His breath shakes over my lips. โ€œDonโ€™t do this because you think I want it,โ€ he pleads. โ€œI only want what you want to give me. I need to know you trust me again.โ€

His dark hair sits over his forehead, and his beautiful eyes tell me everything I need to hear without saying anything.

He hurt me, and I hurt him, but shit happens and love doesnโ€™t change. He makes me happier, he makes me stronger, and he knows everything and still wants me. If he can say the same, then this is it. The real thing.

Itโ€™s us together.

My mom told me once โ€œLife is fifty wrong turns down a bumpy road.

All you can hope is that you end up somewhere nice.โ€

โ€œI trust you,โ€ I say, sinking into his mouth. โ€œI want you.โ€

He swirls the wetness between my legs farther up, and I slide my hand between me and the bed, rubbing my clit as he positions himself. Iโ€™m throbbing everywhere, and my heart pounds in my chest as he pushes the tip in and stops. I gasp, feeling a tiny burn.

I contract around him, breathing hard and rubbing myself faster. โ€œRyen,โ€ he breathes out. โ€œDo you want me to stop?โ€

I shake my head, feeling so filled and good. I didnโ€™t expect that. โ€œNo. I want more.โ€

โ€œOh, God.โ€

He slides in slowly, all the way, and I arch my ass up, giving him a better position.

โ€œHoly shit,โ€ he growls low. โ€œYou feel so good. I need toโ€ฆโ€

I close my eyes, every nerve alive and pulsing with need. He comes down on my back, kissing me as he thrusts out and back in deeper.

โ€œAh,โ€ I moan into his mouth. โ€œAre you okay?โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ I whimper. โ€œGo faster.โ€

He smiles, holding himself up with one hand and holding my thigh where my leg and hip meet. โ€œAre you sure?โ€

I nod, intense pleasure washing over me and making me grip the pillows as I arch my neck back to meet his lips.

โ€œI trust you,โ€ I tell him.

And he bites my neck and starts fucking me harder, not holding back and neither of us being quiet.

For the rest of the night.

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