Boone
Boone, 18
Declan, 18
I knock on the door to Declan's trailer, then push it open. The place is a dump—well, the whole park is, so I guess it's no different. The once-white walls are now a dingy gray, the laminate floor is dusty and warped, and late at night, you can sometimes hear the mice in the walls. This trailer is a lot like mine, which is why I don't hesitate to stomp in with my muddy shoes.
His room over at Kara's is a lot nicer than this once. But I guess that's because he doesn't stay there often enough to dirty it up. If I had the chance to have a house like that—a life like that—you'd be damn sure I'd be milking it for everything it's worth. I don't get why Declan continues to stay with his fucked-up mother rather than live with Carter. I guess fucked up only knows fucked up.
He's lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling fan. It's only got three of the five blades and one of the three lights. His shirt is untucked and unbuttoned, his pants are undone, and his tie is fisted in his hand. His eyes are glazed over.
"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?" I ask.
He doesn't move. His head just lops to the side so he can look at me. His gaze fixes on me, but I'm not sure he sees me. "Boone, my man, what're you doin' here?"
"Thought I'd crash here tonight. My piece of shit dad is drunk and rampaging. Needed an out."
He waves an arm and says, "Mi casa es su casa. This grand place is yours for the night."
I walk up beside him, fury burning in my stomach. "Are you fucking stoned?"
"Well, I was fucking," he snorts. "And then I got stoned."
I rub my hand down my face so hard I wouldn't be surprised if I left a bruise. I've been trying to stay clean. Kara drew the line about no drugs in her house, and she's stood stern about it, which I respect her for. She's doing it for Carter's best interest, and I can't blame her for that. I'm not about to piss her off and not get to see Carter. Problem is that in the face of this line in the sand, Declan's chosen to get high more often and see Carter less.
"What about Carter?" I ask.
"I'm on it."
"Like hell you are." I glance over at his clock, unchanged since daylight savings time. "You should've been there fifteen minutes ago. She's waiting for you."
He shrugs.
"You promised her you'd go to this dance with her."
"She doesn't need her big brother taking her to homecoming. They'll make fun of her."
I shake my head and clench my fists. I’ve always hated how Declan has Carter but doesn't treat her right. When you have someone sweet who loves you unconditionally, you grab hold of them. You never do anything to lose them.
"She wants to spend time with you," I remind him. "She doesn't care what other people think."
Another wave.
"Give me your fucking tie, jackass. Your suit, too."
#
Carter lets me walk her home every day for a month—a whole thirty-one days. Well, thirty-two, if you count the walk home we're about to do. Not that I'm counting. All right, fine, I'm counting. Minutes, hours, days, whatever. I'm a fucking sap when it comes to her.
It sort of makes me feel like an addict, whose evolving mantra is something like: thirty-two days without screwing things up. I keep waiting for everything to change—for a day to come when I relapse and she cuts me out, but it hasn't happened, and I hope it doesn't.
I'm trying to prove to her that I can be good for her, just as much as I'm trying to prove it to myself.
"You're being unusually quiet," she says, surprising me. She's been initiating more and more with me lately. At first, she'd just ask me about my day, but now she asks me about my runs or my business with Jason. Her starting conversations is a huge step forward.
"Yeah," I say back. "I, uh, guess I'm just starting to get afraid I'll say or do something wrong. It's easy to blow smoke when you're starting out at something, but now that I'm proving to be awesome at winning you over, it's gettin' scary."
"Well, if it makes you feel better, you're not really that awesome. Just okay."
She talks with a wry smile on her face, her eyebrows pulled high. I try to laugh, but really, it sounds as though I were being punched in the gut. I haven't gotten that expression from her in a long time. I can't even remember the last time she looked at me without a lifetime's worth of bad memories clouding the space between us.
"That makes me feel better, thanks," I tell her. "Room to grow and all that shit ain't a bad thing. I was afraid I'd reached my peak." I motion to the road where we usually part ways and let out a shaky breath. "Hey, you, uh, wanna take a longer route?"
She looks down the street reluctantly, probably envisioning her house. And Kara. And Gabe. She still hasn't told them about me, and I don't blame her. There's no use dragging them into this until she's completely sure. They were like extended family, so betraying Carter meant betraying them.
"How long will it take?" she asks slowly.
"However long you want it to," I say.
"Let me text Kara first," she says softly. She pulls out her phone, and a smile tugs at her lips over whatever she sees there. I crane my neck, wondering what it is in that holy grail of a device that's found a way to make her smile.
Note to self: Get her number later.
I expect the message to be from Gabe or Kara or some friend of hers, and it just might be, except it's a fucking man's name. I know I have no room to feel jealous after I've pushed her away. It's just damn hard enough knowing this could be a guy who's just a friend, let alone something more. I used to be that to her—friend and potentially something more. She used to smile at me like this and no one else.
One step forward, two steps back.
Luke: Alright, so my suggestions are completely off. Never met a girl that serious about her burgers. Usually they only like salads and chicken. Wilma's it is. Five tomorrow okay? Maybe Gabe'll let me off early since I'll be hanging out with you :)
She's got a date or something with this Luke guy? Jealous floods my chest like the plume of fire beneath a launching spaceship. No, I won't be this way with her. I grit my teeth and try to pretend I didn't just see that. I'm not going to screw this up after thirty-two days over something I don't know about and probably have no room to question.
"You were looking at my phone," she says. "I could feel it."
I run my hand over my chin and down my neck. "Yeah, I was. I'm a curious son of a bitch, huh?"
"More like nosy."
"That, too. You're right."
We head in the direction I want to go—toward the park where I first realized she meant something more to me than just a friend. I haven't been there in years, because it never felt right to go without her. It's our place, and I'm hoping by taking her here, it'll reiterate what I want to happen with us. This is the one place where nothing bad ever happened—only good.
"So, you're not going to ask me about Luke?" she asks.
"You wanted me to read that, didn't you?"
She only stares at me. Evidently silence is both of our answers for evading questions we don't want to answer. I'm too afraid to say something and ruin this. I want to ask her about Luke and if he's competition, or if there's even a competition. She's my endgame, but that doesn't mean I'm hers.
This jealousy thing is a fickle, fickle fucking beast, all the same.
Carter looks up at me, giving me the most unguarded smile yet when she realizes where we're going. It's stupid that this park made us as happy as it did, but we could've easily had less. I spent hours with her here and sometimes Declan, too. It was easy to pretend we were two kids messing around on the jungle gyms, even when I was well into being a teenager. There were a whole bunch of other kids here, too, and I don't know about Carter, but that made me feel normal. As if I was just any other kid playing around.
Luckily, there's no one else but us here today. At this time of day, I'll bet most kids are eating dinner.
Carter immediately heads for the swings. I follow behind her, trying not to enjoy the bounce she gets in her step. She always got that when we were younger, and I'd go home feeling proud of how happy I could make her by bringing her here. Now, though, it's more than just the emotional side of things. There's a whole lot of physical, too, like the way her ass bounces or how her short legs look so incredibly long in her stride. I also love how she glances back over her shoulder every so often, a grin sparkling in her eyes.
If I hadn't made any mistakes, I could've always had moments like these with her. I was wrong to think pushing her away was for the better. This is for the better. This is what we both need. To be together and be happy.
She turns and sits in the swing's seat. I try to keep my happiness at a less-visible level as I take the seat beside her. I don't want to overwhelm her with how I'm feeling right now.
She kicks off the ground to start swinging and leans back. Her hair is inches from the ground, but she doesn't seem to care. I don't think she ever has. She laughs as the swing suddenly jumps from her movement.
"That sounded like it broke your ass," I say, sitting still.
She tilts her head to see me. "My ass is perfectly fine."
Goddamn, it is. "You broke your arm here, you remember that?"
"Is something like that even possible to forget? God, it hurt so bad," she says.
"You say that, but after you screamed like a banshee, you got all quiet."
She kicks the dirt to slow down. "That's because you looked really scared, and I hated it."
"I was scared," I admit. "Scared out of my mind."
"But you carried me all the way to the doctor."
"Yeah, it's just down the street. It would've been more heroic if I'd carried you to the hospital."
"You were eight."
"That didn't mean I had the right to be dumb. Hospitals fix broken bones, not general practitioners. Might've saved Tish an ambulance trip fee."
"I doubt she paid it. She was bad when it came to medical bills."
"Dad could be, too. He doesn't see the point in paying what's already been fixed. That's why we had bill collectors coming out the ass until I got a handle on things."
It's nice to talk to her about these sorts of things. I haven't met anyone else who gets it, even if she's removed from the situation. But I don't want to revisit these sorts of subjects with her. If we're leaving our past behind us, then this is the part I definitely want to say good-bye to.
I reach out and grab her chain, and she instantly starts shrieking as the swing starts going all crazy, this way and that.
"Boone Fell!" she yells, her voice swirling right along with her. She starts laughing, and it's contagious. She's always had the best damn laugh around, impossible to ignore. Sort of husky for a girl, but still musical.
The slower her swing spins, the more breathless she gets, until it's at a complete stop and she's doubled over.
"You gonna make it?" I ask.
"I feel dizzy" is all she says.
"That happens when I get involved. Dizzy, sweaty palms, nervous giggling are clear indicators that you've got the Boone Fell Flu."
"Sounds nasty," she says, wrinkling her nose. She does look a little pale, but she's all grins, and there's a lightness to her I haven't gotten to witness in a while. "Maybe we should off patient zero—you."
"No can do, pretty girl."
"Well, it would be the heroic thing to do if you gave your life to the cause."
I reach out again and, instead of spinning her this time, I pull her by chains until our knees are touching. I don't miss the fact that her breathing has suddenly gotten unsteady. Mine has, too.
"You're patient zero. Always have been, always will."
"I can't catch your feelings, Boone."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, teasingly.
She licks her lips and holds up her chin indignantly. "Well, you're the one in love. Not me."
"Nope, sorry," I say, leaning in closer to her. I can feel her breath on my cheek and smell the taste of her I've always wished I could forget. It's so all-encompassing that I want a hit of it. I want to inhale her, taste her, and inject her into my veins. "I've already got this other disease. June Carter Hart Syndrome. Symptoms are heavy heartbeats, stirrings of the body, and rashes."
"Rashes?"
"Well, I've gotta throw something bad in there." One taste. One kiss. Maybe that's all we need to be reminded of what we have.
"You didn't throw anything bad in there when it was your disease. Besides, that sounds like I give off an STD or something."
I need her. I've always needed her. Wanted her. If there's one thing I can be sure of, it's that. We've always had perfect chemistry. We can build something on that. "All right then, we both come with a heavy sense of irritability."
"Irritability? That might be—"
My brain short circuits, and I close the distance, cutting off whatever the hell she was about to say. I don't even know what we were talking about, other than that it probably would've been a pretty fun conversation if I was paying attention. It just goes to show how easy it is to joke with her. It's effortless.
The second my lips touch hers, I realize I'm not going to make it another day without kissing her again. I could be on my death bed and this would heal me; I'd jump out of bed and sing and dance and say, "Hallelujah." She's a drug, yeah, but she's a defibrillator and whatever else I need her to be.
She gasps and her lips part, so I pray to God it's some sort of an invitation to get closer to her.
One of my hands moves up the chain, rung by rung, until it's level with her neck. I reach for the back of her head and massage my fingers into that feather-soft, thick hair of hers.
There shouldn't have been a day when I wasn't allowed to do this.
It's me who makes the next sound—a groan that extends deep down into my straining cock—because I feel her tongue flick against my lips. She wants me, as well. She's starving for this, too. My tongue darts out to meet hers—mingling and reintroducing itself.
I've wanted to do this for so long, and it's kept me up more nights than I can count, and now that it's happening, everything from my head to my cock feels as if it were just about to explode. All my nerve endings are just going to decide their time has come and detonate. This would be a good way to die.
I stop kissing her and start traveling my lips down her neck. Her skin even tastes like heaven. I love how warmth spreads beneath my lips. I love the fact that she's arching her neck, that her hands are moving to grip my thighs …
"Mommy, what are they doing?"
I'm too stoned out of my mind by her to react to the little voice that sounds like it's equally curious and appalled. Carter, though, isn't. She reacts as if she were about to ignite straight into a ball of fire. She pushes away from me, stumbling off the swing. She immediately moves her hand to cover her mouth.
"Oh, no," she whispers, her face turning bright red—almost purple—and looking so embarrassed that I worry we're about to have another playground accident where I have to carry her somewhere. "I'm so sorry—we weren't—"
"Mommy, why was he trying to eat her? Is he a vampire?"
The kid knows what a vampire is, but not what kissing looks like? Kids these days.
"Tommy, be quiet," the little boy's mother hisses. My hazy, Carter-induced fog starts to clear, and I see the mom is older and well-dressed. Not the type who's going to understand what she just walked in on. "You're on a children's playground. This is not the time or place to be doing something you should be doing behind closed doors."
"We're so, so sorry," Carter apologizes, backing away. "Things just got out of control."
"I can see that," the woman says, and her eyes tell me she suspects we do this all the time. As if we were nymphomaniacs who fucked like rabbits at kid's playgrounds. "I should call the cops."
"Woah, that's a little out of hand, don't you think? Hell, we were only kissing," I say, standing up.
"Language."
"We'll leave," Carter says softly. "I'm sorry for being inappropriate—I'm not like this, I promise."
"Uh-huh," the woman tsks.
"We're gone," I mutter. The woman's acting as though we were doing more than what we were actually doing. We were alone until she crept up on us like some sort of creeper. Maybe she goes around trying to catch people doing shit like this. Maybe she's the one doing wrong and getting off on it. "C'mon, Carter."
Carter walks briskly ahead of me with her arms around her waist. Shit, this is her shutting down on me. No, she can't do this, not after that kiss.
When we're far away enough from the lady and little Tommy—the future priest I guess he's going to be—Carter whirls around on me, pointing her finger. "We're done."
"What?"
"We're. Done."
"What, no? No." I start to reach out for her but think better of it. I run my hand over my head instead. "You kissed me back."
"And it was a mistake."
"Carter, it might've been that, but it was the best kind of a mistake. Admit it."
She doesn't answer me and instead looks away. "Don't follow me."
"It's gettin' dark."
"Boone."
"Fine," I lie. I still follow her to make sure she gets home safe. If she knows it, she doesn't show it. She just keeps going until she's inside the house.
I walk around her block, wondering where it all went wrong and how I can fix it. The only thing I can think of is to give her a letter. That's what's always made her forgive me. Maybe that'll make things right. It has to.
Carter,
That kiss meant everything to me. Don't let it end this way. Our first kissed was ruined. This one can’t be also.
Boone.
But when I climb back up the next day, it's still there.