Page 35 of Wounded Dance
Then his other hand came up, just like I wanted, and cupped my breast. My knees felt wobbly and weak. I wasn’t sure I could keep standing. His thumb crossed my nipple and the movement created a flash fire through my body. I was addicted, so completely erased by these feelings. I never ever wanted them to stop.
His fingers flirted with the top of my shirt, like he might pull it down and look at me. I wanted him to. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to kiss me there. My breathing was crazy fast, like I’d run a marathon. Denham seemed controlled and focused.
Out on the street, a car door slammed, and Denham startled. He lifted his head from my shoulder, listening.
I managed to find my voice. “It’s just a neighbor. They haven’t been gone very long.” Please don’t stop, I thought. I can’t bear it if you stop.
But he did. He pulled back, tugging my strap back into place.
“Shit, Livia,” he said. “We can’t do this. We can’t.”
Before I could say anything at all, before I could stop him, he was gone.
~*´`*~
I open my eyes and look out the hotel window. It’s painful to compare the boy Denham once was to the grim, hardened man sitting out in front of the academy in his broken-down truck.
I don’t know if what we did sent him on that trajectory, or if he was already on it. But once we got started, there was no way to go back.
School started. I didn’t get to walk the halls with Denham, and in fact, I rarely saw him there. He was a junior to my freshman, so it made sense. But it still felt like a slight.
The first few mornings, we rode the bus together. But after that, he made friends and hitched rides. I was never invited to go along. As the first week passed, I felt abandoned by him. He avoided me at home more than ever.
School was hard. While I had friends from middle school, our schedules were all different and sitting at lunch wasn’t easy, as I scarcely knew the people at my table. Denham had the same lunch period as me, I knew this from stealing a glance in his binder, but I never saw him. I don’t know where he went.
I talked very little. Despite being surrounded by people, I felt alone.
One conversation I do remember during lunch, though, was between three girls talking about love. They argued about how you knew if you were in love with someone.
One said it was when you got mad if they talked to another girl.
The second said it was when you couldn’t think about anything else.
The third said it was when you knew you wanted to have sex with them.
I sat there listening, and realized all three of those things were how I felt about Denham.
I was in love.
This made me bolder. I felt justified in everything I did. It was love! That weekend, I convinced Mom and Dad to go see a movie and have dinner.
Denham had friends now and protested having to stick around and help me with Andy, but Dad insisted that his obedience was what allowed him to live with us. As soon as they were out the door, Denham stalked to his and Andy’s room and slammed the door.
I got Andy fed and ready for bed as early as I dared and lightly knocked on the door. Denham didn’t answer. I was feeling bad about Denham getting stuck there because of my idea, but when I opened the door, that evaporated.
He wasn’t there.
“Where’s Denum?” Andy asked.
I hurried to the window. It was closed but unlocked.
I could rock his world by latching it, leaving him no way to get in. But I didn’t.
“He just went outside for a little while,” I said. “Let’s read a book.”
My mind definitely wasn’t on the shark story as I read. I was disappointed and a little angry. He was breaking the rules, assuming I would lie for him.
And why was he so desperate to leave me? We were just kissing. There was no harm in it.
