But I don’t need to figure that out because Chris is too busy kissing me and only eventually slowing down until he gives me a final, light kiss and then nestles against me. I can feel him shaking his head back and forth, just slightly. “You are amazing.” He moves his hands to my waist and then slips my underwear back up. “You’re just… You’re everything.”
His words are perfect, but the tone in his voice is not right. Wistful. Apologetic. Maybe even afraid?
I’m still catching my breath, but now I’m waiting for the ball to drop.
“I… I should go.” He pauses and slips his fingers into my hair, cradling the back of my head as he kisses me again quickly. “I need to go.”
“Wait, what?” I am so lost now. “No. No, you don’t have to go.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he says gently. “I want you too much.”
This I understand because I want him so completely right now that it terrifies me. “So stay.”
It seems to take forever for him to answer, and his hands are still playing with my hair, his lips still darting against mine every few seconds. “I can’t.” He steps back and takes my hand to move me out of the way of the door. “I’d give anything to stay, but I can’t. You’re stunning, Blythe.” He gives me an almost-sad smile. “But I just can’t stay. It’s too much.You’retoo much.”
And before I can figure out what the fuck that means, he is gone.
11
JUDGING THE DISTANCE
I ADJUST THEpillow behind my back and look at Eric, who is sitting on the extra bed in my room. “How long have we been at this studying nonsense?”
He yawns and rubs his head, smoothing down the buzz cut that is just starting to grow out. His head is fuzzy and soft, which I know because I’ve developed a fondness for rubbing it as though it’s some sort of genie lamp. Every time that I do this he yells out, “Three wishes!” I always respond with something like, “Triple D breast implants, a basket of mini alpacas, and a spray can of whipped cream!”
This exchange is less traumatizing for both of us than should I answer:I wish for parents who are alive, for a brother who doesn’t hate me, and for Chris to rip off my clothes and ravish me on a regular basis.
So, yeah. I go for the amusing wishes instead.
“So,” Eric says, grimacing. “Do you think we’re ready for this test? I hate essay exams.”
“Multiple choice would be worse. I never can pick just one answer. I always want to write in the margin, ‘I pick B, but depending on the approach you use to think about the character, D can be correct, too.’ You know?”
“Exactly!”
I smile at him. We have become regular study partners for the class we share, and every Saturday for the past month we have met up in my room or the student union in an attempt to stay on top of its demanding assignments. He is warm and easy to hang out with, and fortunately does not look so much like Chris that I can’t bear to be around him. But anytime that I see his last name written on anything, my stomach knots up.
The truth is, I have no idea where I stand with Christopher Shepherd. The last time I was alone with him was the night he bolted from my room.
I guess it isn’t that surprising. After our first encounter in his room, which was just kissing and minor groping, Chris made himself pretty scarce. Once he’d finger-fucked me up against the door of my room, he became almost invisible.
Christ, if I’d fucked him, he probably would’ve just vaporized.
Although it seems like he has.
The only guy I do see all the time, besides Eric, is Sabin. He is constantly texting me to check in and hounding me to go to parties with him, despite the fact that I almost always turn him down. Instead, we meet for coffee at least twice a week, and I listen as he rambles on about girls (lots and lots of girls) and acting, and spouts general silliness. I adore him.
I’m also seeing lots of Estelle. She recently coaxed me into a pedicure so extreme that I was scared my soles might bleed when I went running. She’d also dragged me to a salon to have my unmanageable hair cut and highlighted. Although I initially resisted her attack makeover, I admit that I feel better about how I look. My hair now has bright blond streaks running through it, and the curls fall more softly thanks to the good cut. I am starting to look like my former self.
I stare at Eric.
“Why are you smiling at me?” he asks, smiling back at me.
I shrug and then look off to the side. It is stupid.
“What is it?” he prods softly.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
