Page 76 of Fade into You
“I wasn’t comparing,” she says, and reaches past me to push the door shut. She steps in close to me, and god, the way she’s looking at me already has my breathing coming faster. Then she brings her hand to my face, her mouth to my neck, her lips grazing my lips, sparking a little jolt of electricity to my heart that makes me pull her closer. Her hands are strong yet gentle, roaming over my clothes, pressing her body into mine until we’re up against the door—every touch lighting me up from the inside.
My brain is buzzing, losing its ability to think anything as she as she peels my jacket down my arms, letting it fall to the floor inside out while she rushes to untuck my shirt from my pants—her touch the perfect balance of reckless and careful. Then her hands up my back, finally, finally on my skin, her warmth becoming my warmth. I walk us over to my bed and take her jacket off too, and I try really hard not to look at Olivia’s side of the room. We sit close to each other and I kiss her, slower now, softer, until we’re lying down, and she’s pulling me on top of her, my thigh nestled between her legs. She moans quietly and sighs against my neck, sending chills through my whole body.
I feel her hands in between us, reaching for the button onmy jeans. She’s gazing at my face when I open my eyes, this easy smile gracing her lips. “Is this okay?” she asks, eyes glancing down to where her hands are lowering my zipper.Oh my god, it’s okay.It would be more than okay—it would be perfect—if not for the creeping distraction burrowing into my thoughts. Because I can’t quite ignore Olivia’s side of the room, or the entire world represented by Olivia’s side of the room.
“Um. Y-yeah, but, but…”
She pulls her hands back and puts them in my hair instead. My mind swims, heady with the all these competing physical sensations, the worry building up inside me. “But what?” she asks, out of breath, her voice wispy, dreamy.
I lean over onto my elbow. “I just wish we didn’t have to worry about getting ‘caught.’?” I bend two fingers in my best air-quote gesture.
She props herself up on her elbows and says, “I know,” her voice more embodied now. “And I know you think I’m being ridiculous or something, but—”
“No, I don’t think that. Sometimes I just start getting self-conscious, like maybe you don’t want anyone to know because you’re… y-you know, embarrassed of me or something. Or worse, that you don’twantto t-touch me or, or kiss me.”
She sits up fast. “Are you kidding?”
I shake my head, too embarrassed of myself and my own stupid insecurity to even verbally respond.
“Bird, look at us,” she says, looking down at our bodies still half entwined in my bed. “I can’t keep my hands off you. I want you. Like, all the time. My grades are literally slipping becauseI’m daydreaming in class, just replaying every minute we’ve spent together.”
“Really?” I ask her, hating the hopeful little sappy girl inside me who’s twirling around and doing cartwheels in my mind.
“Of course!” she says, and her voice catches. “Don’t you think it kills me that we can’t go parading down the halls holding hands or that I can’t just come and bring you flowers at your locker or kiss you after class or evencallyou my girlfriend?”
“It d-does?”
She nods as she looks at me, and her eyes are turning wet and shiny.
“Jessa.” I touch her face. “Then let’s just do what we want; screw everyone else, right?”
She takes my hand and moves it from her cheek, sits up with her legs hanging off the bed, then takes in a deep breath and sighs.
I pull myself up to sit beside her, and try to explain. “I heard what you said before. Like, of course I know there are going to be assholes out there who will say shit and be horrible, but I hate keeping this a secret, like we’re ashamed or doing something wrong, when I’m not ashamed. And we’re not doing any—”
“Bird, just stop,” she says quietly, but firmly. “Stop. If all we had to worry about was the shit people say, then fuck it, yeah. But we could get hurt. I don’t know how to make you understand this.Youcould get hurt for being with me.”
“Jessa, I don’t care.”
“I wish you’d stop fucking saying that!”
“Hey—”
“No. You need to care. And you need to listen to me. People like us get attacked every day. Killed. Okay? This is serious.”
“But—”
“No,” she says again. “No. Just stop saying ‘but.’ Last year, don’t you remember in the news—that college kid in Wyoming?”
“You—y-you me-mean Matthew…?”
“Shepard,” she finishes. “Yeah. He was murdered. Tortured and murdered, for nothing. For just existing. All right?” she says, and she’s crying now, her words starting to get choppy. “I’m not just making this stuff up. When that happened last year, do you know how many people came up to me and told me he deserved it? How many people told me that should happen to me, too?”
“No,” I tell her, reaching for her hand. And I can barely get the word past the lump of tears working its way from my heart. “I did-didn’t know that.”
“And I don’twantyou to ever have to know how that feels. I just want you to be safe and protected, even if that means we can’t be together. I would rather have that than anything bad ever happening to you.”
I put my arm around her and she falls against my side, tucking her head under my chin. “Come here,” I tell her, and we lie back on my bed together. I hold her so close and hum and rock her a little while she continues to silently cry. I fight hard not to say the words I so want to say to her right now. But I think them. I think them over and over and over and hope that she can feel them anyway.
