“It’s fine. Come back down.” His fingers rubbed my back, encouraging me. His tone did the same—showing no disappointment.
I settled back down in the bed, in his arms, towing the sheets back up to my chest.
“I’m a virgin, and after what happened when my dad was killed.” Those words hurt, stumbling from my mouth. “I don’t know how much you know, but I was in captivity, waiting in fear to be assaulted.”
Woodrow didn’t move, appearing to have floated into another world, happy to avoid this one, as I was saying all kinds of painful things. As I was just about to say more, he spoke, “I won’t rush you.”
“Good, because, I don’t want to rush things. I want special. . . you know, when it happens. I want it to be special.”
“Okay,” he said, his mood appearing lighter after his brief escape. “I can’t make promises. . . because I’m a virgin, too, and I’m not sure I’ll be any good. I’ve heard guys finish kinda quick the first time.”
“I’ve heard it hurts the girl the first time, so that might be a blessing.”
I leaned in, showing a little appreciation for his honesty and acceptance by placing a single kiss on his mouth.
“Can you even do it, you know, before marriage? Because of your religion?” I eyed up Jesus, who watched us from the table. “Don’t Christians see sex before marriage as a sin?”
“The naughty ones don’t.” He bit his lip, playfully. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think we’d get to full stuff.”
“Would you wait until I’m ready?”
“I would. Would you wait for me, if I wanted to wait until marriage?”
“You saying you’d marry me, you naughty Christian boy?”
“In a fucking heartbeat.”
“See, definitely naughty, as I don’t think Christians approve of swearing, either.”
“I do feel bad about it, but living here, I hear it a lot.”
I had, too, from both of his parents, who were apparently also religious—though aside from a few crosses scattered around walls of the house and the prayers at dinner, I’d seen no proof of it.
“I’m sure your God will forgive you,” I smiled, remaining respectful while not sharing his religion.
“I like this. Us.”
“I likethis, too. You keep me in the moment.” I smiled.
“Same. I wish we could stay in this moment forever.” His words turned cold, as he said, “You're gonna hate me.” His stress brought another tear to his pretty eyes, but it didn’t fall. “You're gonna hate me,” he said again, causing my breathing to stall. “You're going to hate me so fucking much.”
“Wh—wh—what do you mean? I won't hate you. Why would I hate you? I'll never hate you.”
I sat up as he shifted away, sprawling on his back in time for his hands to cover his face. I peeled them away. I needed to see his eyes—his very sad eyes—for this next part.
“I'm falling in love with you, Woodrow.” My words, barely more than a whisper, were out.
I felt lighter. . . free.
He didn't say it back. . . he didn't say anything, and then, a moment later, he pulled me into the tightest hug. My wet hair made him shiver now, too.
It was silent for a moment, even Bonny was hushed, doing whatever it was she was doing. But as we lay silent in the lamplit room, he whispered, “He'll change that. He'll change all your feelings for me, for Woody. I won’t cope with losing you, and that will make things worse.”
I didn't need to ask who. I knew who. I knew there was a side to him who I still hadn't met. A side, that even the shadows of this house would retreat into hiding to avoid.
The square edges of his teeth sank into his lip, pressing down until they left a dent that would linger, only moving after they caused him pain. “You can read it if you want.”
“The diary?” I reeled back. “You’d really let me read it?”
