Page 64 of Safety Net
She laughed a little to herself. "I started becoming acutely aware of how I affected people. And I really didn't want to offend them because…"
"What?" I prompted. She was the closest she had ever been, and I didn't want her to start drifting away.
"I just remembered something." Her brow furrowed as she revisited the memory. "That's so weird...my parents used to be so upset when I talked back."
"You? Talking back?"
She smiled, tilting her chin up a bit because she was proud of the fact. "I went through that phase like most teens do. But I wasn't too forceful. The few times I was tough didn't end up well. And my brothers weren't around, so when my parents were mad at me… the house was quiet."
I nodded, knowing all too well how silence could make a home in one's bones. "Sounds lonely."
Celeste shrugged, her smile fading. "By that point, I had plenty of practice dealing with that feeling."
I watched as she traced lines over the veins on my arms. I wanted to make up for all those quiet years. Wanted her to know she could speak her mind without fear of being iced out and abandoned on some island. There were healthy ways to discipline a kid. Kinder ways. But between how they took care of their properties and the small things I continued to learn about Celeste's childhood, I figured whatever discipline that'd been given had been unfair and neglectful.
"I shared a secret." Celeste's voice was soft. She relaxed on the pillows, gazing up at me, guard vanished. I brushed my thumb across her cheek. No matter what happened out there in the world, past, present, and future, she'd be able to find this kind of peace in my arms.
"Now, it's your turn," she said.
"You're not going to wine and dine me a little?" I was joking, but Celeste sat up and crawled over to a mini fridge. I'm ashamed to admit how much I admired her ass while doing it.
"Ask and you shall receive," she handed me a bottle of water. "Wined."
And then, a bag of pretzels.
"And dined." She smiled, very proud of herself, and cuddled right back next to me, pressing her cheek against my arm.
"By still my beating heart," I said with a sigh because she smelled so good and felt so right next to me. "Seriously, be still. This is kind of getting embarrassing."
Celeste raised a brow and pressed the back of her hand to my chest. "You weren't kidding. You do like to be wined and dined."
"Honestly? My heart's rarely not doing this when I'm with you."
"You're joking."
I shook my head. "Celeste, everything about you makes me feel like I'm taking both my first and last breath. Every semblance of chill doesn't exist when I hear your name."
"You're so dramatic," she said, trying her best to keep her voice light, but I could see the change and realization in her eyes. I was serious about this. About her. This wasn't some fling or crush I'd move on from after some time.
"But you like it," I said, hopeful. "Don't you?"
She bit on her bottom lip, trying to tame a smile. "I…"
"I won't judge," I promised.
"Yeah?"
"I can't get you out of my head, no matter how much time and space stretches between us. And I've tried. Before this summer, Celeste, I triedveryhard. I'm not and will never be in the position to judge."
I think there were tears in her eyes, but I couldn't confirm before she tugged on my shirt, pulling me in for a kiss. The world outside the treehouse might as well have faded into nonexistence because nothing else felt as real as being here with her.
Our kisses became urgent. Neither of us interested in oxygen if that means parting from one another. Her body was soft underneath mine. When she hooked her leg around my waist,her skirt fell above her thighs. I've experienced a lot of things, but none can compare to the simple pleasure of my fingers pressing against her thighs.
"I hadn't told anyone about the probation," I confessed when we took a breath. I'm disconnected from the most critical parts of myself, lost in a maze, and trying to get every hang-up I have out of my way because, like our clothes, it's a bunch of nonsense keeping us apart. "Because it's not something I can talk my way out of, and I don't think I'll be able to recover from how they'll see me. The disappointment and..."
"And?"
"Resignation," I said. "My parents once said I was a lost cause. And I've been trying to bury that idea ever since. That's the haunting I should have been worried about."
