Love in the Time of Cynicism (31 page)

“Oh my
god
,” Rhett exhales shakily and I feel him stiffen beneath me.

More confidently now, his hands make contact with the backs of my thighs as I relish in the feeling of my uncovered, electrified chest against his. He’s warmer than me and his heart pounds hard through his chest and to mine. I drag my body down until I’m kneeling in front of him. Fingers jittery, I undo his belt buckle as he sucks in an almost pained breath.

Nervously, I ask, “You okay? You, ah, ready?”

“Are you kidding?” The tension leaves his voice as he laughs a bit. “The girl I’m in love with is almost entirely naked in front of me and you don’t think I’m ready?”

I pointedly shimmy out of my light blue underwear, glad that I took extra time to groom in places I never had to before, and his jeans follow in short pursuit. “Are you serious? Skeleton boxers?”

“Well, I, um…” He chokes up at me running my fingers under the elastic of them.

His hips are defined under my palm and I say, “It’s nothing, but your boxers are scaring me. You should definitely take them off.”

“Anything for you.” He grins and slides his boxers off. Then he seizes my wrists and flips me onto my back. I’m so turned on it’s ridiculous as he slides his lips between my breasts, then over each one while his hands grip my sides greedily. Then Rhett mumbles into the space between my navel and pelvis, “I haven’t done this before, so let me know if I’m…doing alright.”

Without thinking of what I’m doing, I moan loud enough that I thank god silently nobody else is home as his fingers find me where I nearly burst with the shock of nerves. There are no words, but I can tell Rhett sees this as a vote of approval and continues, lips moving back to mine. I can barely breathe much less form my mouth to his as my own fingers dig into the tense muscles of his back.

Quickly and nearly without my notice, Rhett replaces his fingers with his euphemism-worthy self and pushes ever so slightly.

I hold him closer and nod into his shoulder when he asks if I’m okay. Maybe my near shrieks have alarmed him, but not to my knowledge. I always assumed my first time would hurt but…
shit
. It doesn’t. Everything is amazing and electric and unbelievable and I arch my back to a sharp angle as fireworks begin to erupt over my everywhere. Rhett, my boyfriend, my first and greatest love, pants against me as he lets go and groans in a way that makes me fall even harder for him.

Sunlight pours through my curtains and wakes me. My eyes drift lazily open and then snap wide as I remember everything that happened last night. I’m on my stomach and Rhett’s arms are spread beneath me, radiating warmth. I’ve never fallen asleep without pajamas on and I’m cold even under my winter covers. I glance at the clock – ten forty – and turn onto my elbows to look at Rhett. He’s peaceful and beautiful with the sunlight splayed across his shying eyelids. I push myself up onto my palms and tickle my hair over his face.

His nose wrinkles adorably as his eyes flutter open. He raises himself up and kisses me lightly. “Your hair smells nice.”

“It smells like you,” I respond with a soft sigh.

“Obviously; that’s why it smells good.” He puts his hands behind his head to prop himself up. The sweet smile growing over his face is intoxicating as he says, “Good morning, my love.”

“Hello yourself,” I murmur, then roll away from him. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

He lifts an eyebrow and pulls me back to him so our skin is touching, his warm and flushed and mine cold and pale. “Don’t leave me yet.”

I kiss his neck briefly, the taste of his sweat still there. “What am I supposed to do then?”

His hands skim over my back and rest on my neck, a line of nerves heating up in his wake. “I could think of a few ideas.”

Rolling my eyes, I sit up next to him, covers pulled around my nude chest, and ask, “Breakfast?”

“You cooking?”

I tease, “I don’t know, do you suddenly possess that ability?”

“Definitely not, but I’d be happy to keep you company and slightly distracted.”

“Deal.” I stand and walk happily over to my dresser.

Rhett calls after me, “Your skin is positively spectacular in the morning light. Utterly poetic.”

“You’re going to write a poem about my ass?” I tug on a pair of underwear and a blank tank top without a bra because this is my house and I’m happy being here with only Rhett. For a brief moment as he follows me down the steps in his own clothes, I let myself imagine a future where we’re together, a future where we live in some suburban nightmare with a lawn he mows on Saturdays and kids who go to soccer practice. Then I remember the suburban lifestyle isn’t really for us and imagine living in a tiny apartment at the center of a bustling city, together against the world and going to poetry slams or music festivals in Central Park.

We pad into the kitchen and I dash the thoughts from my mind; more likely than not, in seven months I’ll be headed to New York and busier than ever with no time for boyfriends or anything but making my life better for me.

Then a question slips from my lips as I set a carton of eggs on the counter and take out a pound of bacon. “Can I ask you something?”

Rhett perches on the counter and laughs, “Shoot.”

“What do you think of New York?”

“In what context?”

I bite my lip and whip a few eggs in a bowl. I’ve been keeping this from him but now we’re tied together and I can’t take any of it back and I don’t want to. So I let the words slip out. Dr. Sullivan’s letter to
The New Yorker
and Michael saying, more or less, that I could go and how much I want to be with him past high school even though that’s such an idealistic teenager thing to say.

When I finish rambling, a smile spreads slowly over his lips. I’m surprised. I thought he’d be mad at me for keeping it in so long, but what he says is this: “I’m not going to let you leave for a brighter horizon and hang back to go to some soul-sucking state college. This town isn’t my home, it never will be, because, if you’ll pardon the cliché-”

“For you? Always.”

A flicker of indecision and almost hurt twinges in his eyes, but then his loving gaze intensifies as I put a pan on the stove. “Cordelia Kane,
you
are my home now. And whether you go to New York or LA or Tokyo or the moon, I’ll be there.”

“Seriously?” I’m grinning like mad.

He goes on, taking out a spatula and moving around the eggs to scramble them. “I actually applied to NYU on a wicked pipe dream. It was barely after we started dating and I was
nearly
as happy as I am right now. I’ll apply to a few more school around there and get serious about tuition money. Everything is going to work out for us,” he promises. “These eggs about ready? I’m starving.”

Though I want to talk more about this, I’m still too buzzed on him to change the way things are. We have months to think about the future but only moments to live
now
.

Rhett fiddles with my fingers absently as I push mildly burned bacon and eggs onto two plate and set them down at the table. He sits down next to me.

After a minute, Rhett muses, “What’s the opposite of a virgin? Like, what are you once you aren’t a virgin anymore? I only ask so I can explain to my past self once time travel is invented that, at some point, he will become whatever an opposite virgin is. He’ll be shocked.”

I nearly choke back a bite of food and reply smoothly, “Though I don’t strictly believe in the concept of virginity as a social construct used to commodify young women, I would argue that the opposite of a virg
in
is a virg
out
.”

He nods seriously, considering, then a grin cracks over him. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

I shrug modestly. “It’s a blessing and a curse, but I’ve learned to live with it.”

“I love you,” he sighs like we’re in some romantic comedy. “Sorry, that was sappy.”

“I don’t mind.” I collect our plates and put them in the sink, making a memo to my future self to clean up. She probably won’t follow through; future Cordelia tends to be an unreliable person. I return to his side as he stands and I lock my hands behind his neck. “In fact, sappy is
very
good for me.”

“You taste like bacon,” he mumbles against my lips as he kisses me, “and I really like this top on you.”

I press against him, loving the feel of us together as memories of last night flood my mind. “You’re only saying that because I made you a virgout.”

Chapter Nineteen – Warning Signs

Three weeks later, it’s our last day of school before Thanksgiving break. When I arrive at school, I can already tell something’s wrong. Rhett doesn’t meet me outside at our usual spot and he doesn’t catch up to me before first period. Figuring a couple of reasonable explanations, I shoot him a text asking if he’s sick before slumping in for another dull lecture where I can practically hear brain cells committing suicide from the dull minds around me.

During my third period study hall, I’m obsessively checking my phone waiting for him to text back. Maybe he’s still sleeping, but that thought doesn’t stop me from worrying over him. We’ve been together almost constantly for the past few weeks, under our tree or at Ebony’s or anywhere we can be alone. The moment I told Sky the details of the first night we spent together, she swore to give the two of us time alone without her and Brian infringing. This promise was spurred by the four of us, as a group, spending lunches and evenings together. Sky, as usual, could sense the shift and didn’t want to wedge between us, especially when she was with Brian twenty-four/seven.

I banish my train of thought and dig through my rucksack until finding the large manila folder where the letter from
The New Yorker
sits with the first four drafts of my reply letter. Almost every day this month, I’ve been exchanging ideas for my reply with Sullivan in attempts to be as impressive with language and writing as possible. This is the last one before I send it off as the deadline is rapidly approaching. Thanksgiving is coming up and I want the answer mailed priority before then.

My pen etches across the pages of my most recent draft making edits and corrections wherever possible. I fix things I wouldn’t have thought were wrong a few months ago until my hand is cramping up from holding the pen so hard between my fingers. Nothing has mattered to me as much as this letter save Rhett and everything we’ve shared together.

Near the end of the period, Sky and Brian slide in across the table from me, hands locked together and matching expressions of worry on their faces. The bell rings but they don’t stand.

“What’s up?” I ask as I put away my materials and shoulder my bag.

Sky hesitates before standing and putting her free hand on my shoulder. “Have you seen Rhett?”

My stomach turns at the tone of her voice. What could’ve happened that would make her sound so worried, like I’m her responsibility or something? “No, have you?”

She purses her lips and exchanges a quick glance with her boyfriend. “Yeah, but, Del, I think you should be-”

The thought of seeing Rhett and assuaging my worries is strong enough that I cut her off, “I should see him this period. I need to get going.”

Brian shrugs and they converse briefly with their eyes. Sky swallows and replies, “Good luck with, ah, whatever comes up. Love you, sister.”

“Thanks?” I laugh, playing off the tight ball of anxiety building in my lungs. “Why are you being so weird all of a sudden?”

But I’m already in the hall walking to Anthropology a few halls over and my head is clouded with worry. God, I hope he’s okay. He must be okay if he’s in school. Just because he’s late doesn’t mean something’s wrong and my racing, pounding, drumming heart is a complete overreaction because nothing could possibly be wrong with my perfect boyfriend.

I bound through the door to Sullivan’s room and stop dead in my tracks, let out a deep breath.

Rhett’s there in his usual seat diagonal from mine and he wears a black sweatshirt I’ve never seen before. The hood is up and his head is buried in his arms, earphones blasting loud enough for me to hear from several feet away. Loud and angry music.

My fingers tremble as I completely ignore Dr. Sullivan’s greeting and walk over to him. I rest my left hand on his back and drop down so my mouth is level with his ear. I pull out one headphone and he stiffens visibly. Stupidly and shakily, I ask, “What happened? Are you okay?”

The quiet mumble I’ve grown used to as a warm sound full of love is harsh as he says into his forearms, “Can we talk after class? Just…leave me alone for now.”

Trying not to be hurt by how sharp and angry his voice is, I nod and then, realizing he can’t see me, reply, “Yeah. Absolutely. After class.”

Rhett’s head remains down as Sullivan begins talking. I spend the entire class shooting distracted glances in his direction. My heart won’t stop hammering and my veins feel like they’ve got ice shooting through them. It’s horrible how physically affected I am by the sight of the only boy I could ever imagine loving ignoring me so easily. Like he suddenly doesn’t care about hurting me and giving up everything we’ve been through, every experience we’ve shared.