I put that down to the weird, fragile thing between us. It’s leached into my brain and it makes me say things I wouldn’t normally say. It freaks me out but every time I start to try to pull back, he has me in his hand or his mouth or deep in his body, and that clouds my judgement and slows my responses, leaving me feeling frozen and naked in uncharted territory.
He reaches out and tugs at my wrist sharply, pulling me down on top of him on the sofa.
“I won’t let you drown,” he murmurs as we rock on the sofa, jostling for a stable position.
I lie stiffly on top of him, unsure where to put my arms or my head. He takes one of my arms and buries it under his neck and then cradles my head, bringing it down gently onto the meat of his chest. We lie still. I still feel like I’m drowning. Drowning in the scent and the feel and the heat of him.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“We relax and feel happy.”
“You have a way of making really complicated things sound simple, you know that?”
Strangely enough, I do stop feeling like I’m drowning. Tension I didn’t know I was holding onto drains from my limbs. I start feeling warm. I take long breath after breath and each time I do the oxygen seems to hit different, deeper and better than before.
I start talking. Really talking. Much to my horror, I start saying all the idiotic shit I’ve spent years trying not to say.
“I think it was my fault.” I cringe when I say it. It’s so incredibly stupid I can hardly bear the sound of my voice saying the words. Every rational part of me knows it’s bullshit. I was a kid, they were adults. Divorces happen all the time. “The divorce. I think it was my fault.”
“How’d you figure?” That’s what he does. He lets me talk even when I’m talking crazy. Instead of making me feel like shutting down, he makes me want to say more.
“I started getting interested in girls and spending a lot of time with my friends, and I was playing baseball all the time. I had three practices during the week and a ton of away games on the weekend. I was away from home more than usual. They always fought a lot, but they were much better when I was there. I dropped the ball. I looked away for a second, and by the time I looked back, my dad was moving out and it was too late for me to take it back. That was the first thing I thought when they told me – I should have been there. I should have been home. I shouldn’t have let them spend so much time on their own.”
He's quiet for a long time. He puts a hand under my T-shirt and slides it up and down my back slowly. He does it so slowly, after a while I start feeling like I might fall asleep. Something about that infuriates me.
“Do you agree that I caused my parents divorce? Do you think that’s what happened?” There’s a manic, accusing tone in my voice. I can’t tell if I want him to agree or miraculously prove to me once and for all, where therapists and school counselors have failed in droves, that the divorce wasn’t my fault.
He meets me with a cool, level gaze. “I think they probably behaved a lot better when you were home. I bet they tried to keep a lid on the fighting to protect you, so it probably did feel like things were alright when you were around.”
“So you don’t think it was my fault?”
“I know it wasn’t.”
“How?” Crazy, childish hope flaps in my chest. Irrational hope that somehow he’ll know the exact words I need to hear. “How can you know that?”
“’Cause I know you’re a good person, Jessie.”
I mash my face into his chest and take in big gulps of salt air. His hand moves up my spine, to my neck and then curls in my hair. I grind my hips against him and find him stiffening like I am.
“Is this supposed to happen during cuddling?” I ask.
He gives me the hint of a smile, adjusting himself so his hips rock against mine. “It is a pretty common feature of cuddling done right.”
“You mentioned that you used to want to spend time with your friends, the other day when we were cuddling.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still have friends like that? It’s just you haven’t mentioned anyone you know from Australia, and I haven’t seen you calling anyone other than your mom.”
“No. I don’t. I’m close to my cousin, Drix, but that’s about it.”
He lets the silence fill in the gap. I used to have friends. Good friends. I used to let people get close to me. I did it my whole life, until I stopped thinking I deserved it. Until I stopped thinking I was a safe option for other people. When I realize how flawed my logic there is, he nods lightly, as if he’s able to see my thoughts as they process.
“It’s okay. I’ll share my friends with you. They’re crazy and they’re a lot, but they’re also the best. You’ll see.”
We’re on my bed, sitting side-by-side with our backs against the wall. He has me pinned against him, a strong, beefy arm around me pulling me tightly against him, making me feel slightly off balance. I lean down and smile into the nook where his neck meets his shoulder. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Except for Izzy,” he adds in a serious, firm tone I’m not used to hearing from him. “I’m not sharing her with you.”
