The Charlotte Chronicles (9 page)

N
ate is gone
when I wake up. He was restless last night, but I pretended to sleep. Cowardly I guess. I was afraid he had regrets, and I didn’t want to hear them. 
I
 have no regrets. Sitting up, I enjoy the pull on my muscles. The muscles in my upper back are tight from clutching his shoulders, and between my legs I’m sore in places I didn’t realize got sore. My lips curve up in a sly smile. I feel so knowledgeable this morning. Like every risqué joke ever told finally makes sense.

In the short time it takes to roll out of bed and pick up my phone from the nightstand, I’m already missing him. When Mom laid out exactly why going to this specialty clinic in Europe made sense, I bought into it totally. I’d only be gone for a short time. The boys wouldn’t feel responsible for me if I overextended myself. And, maybe most importantly to me, the strongest memory they have of me won’t be that I was a sick girl. Instead I’ll return, strong, healthy, and smart.

The brain stem radiation and chemotherapy may result in the loss of gross and fine motor skills, they warned me. I was lucky I had stopped growing when the tumor appeared otherwise the treatment could have damaged developing organs. Gingerly, I cup the back of my head. Fluid is collecting there. We’re watching it, and by 
“we”
 I mean Mom, Dad, and my team of doctors. None of the Jacksons know. I don’t want them to. It’s rare for an older kid to get hydrocephaly or “water on the brain” and even rarer for it to develop months after the craniotomy.

“You’ve always been special,” Dad joked weakly when the doctors told us that they’d never seen a case like mine. That’s the real reason I’m going to Switzerland—to be studied and treated by an international team of experts and—more than likely—to have a permanent drainage tube installed in the back of my head.

Dr. Mosher said that there are plenty of functioning adults with permanent shunts. It just means no contact sports and no activities where I could fall on my head and break my shunt. In other words, no gymnastics. He suggested volleyball. I was too numb by then to respond, so I shook my head and he probably took it for agreement.

But all that seems like a distant memory now. My usual morning routine is checking my phone for messages from friends at school. But right now I’m too busy examining my body.

My face doesn’t look different. I guess I thought I’d be able to see some outward sign that I am no longer a virgin. My hair is still short, growing out in wispy baby curls, and my skin is pale from lack of exposure to the sun. There are faint bruises on my hip bones and a few marks on my collarbone, but Nate was apparently careful not to leave anything too incriminating. I’m both disappointed and relieved.

I flick off the Do Not Disturb on my phone, and there about twenty text messages. Three of them are from Nathan. I skip the rest.

I stop and take note of the time. It’s almost noon. I’ve slept for hours. No wonder he’s worried. I send him a response right away.

He texts me immediately as if he’s been waiting.

I giggle at his exaggeration. I can just picture him making serious face while his eyes smile at me.

Oh. My. God. He slays me. I clutch my phone to my chest, and the mirrored reflection shows that I’m wearing the silliest, stupidest, biggest grin ever. I text him again.

I want to stick Nathan in my suitcase and carry him with me. My resolve wavers, but a press of a hand against that soft spot on the back of my skull reminds me that my primary goal is to get better so that all my tomorrows are spent with Nathan, having a family, growing old together, making new memories.

I can’t erase my smile, and it’s the thing that gives me away. Both my parents are in the kitchen when I finally leave my bedroom.  Normally it’s just one of them during the day, and often they only pop in to check on me and then they’re gone for a few hours doing work stuff.  Mom’s cheeks look flushed and Dad’s wearing a smug and very satisfied grin. I recognize that grin. It’s . . . holy shit, my parents are home for a nooner.

“Sleep well, dear?” Mom asks, her tone completely cool despite the tinge of red around her cheeks.

“Yup,” I say. “Nathan’s a big comfort.”

Dad coughs and shifts around with some discomfort, as if he’s still trying to hide that sex exists in this world. I wonder if he was a horndog before he met my mom. I bet he was and that’s why he’s all embarrassed now. Past sins and all. He should be grateful I’m in love with his best friend’s son. And I tell him so.

“You should be happy it’s Nathan and not some random jerkface from school.”

“We are,” Mom answers and shoots Dad a repressive look. He merely grunts.

Inside the refrigerator I find the makings for a sandwich. Humming, I assemble bread, turkey, a couple slices of bacon, and tomato along with lettuce, cheese, and mayonnaise. I’m ravenous, and it takes me almost no time to demolish half the sandwich.

There’s a weird silence, and when I look up from my plate I see both parents gaping at me.

“What?” I ask wiping a finger along the side of my mouth. “Do I have mayo on my face?”

Mom smiles, but her lips are trembling with suppressed emotion. Dad clears his throat, and this time he talks for both of them. “It’s just nice that you have your appetite back.”

I take a big bite of the second half of my sandwich. “Um, okay. But it’s because of Nathan, you know,” I say slyly as something occurs to me. “He’s always on me to eat more.”

I hadn’t had much of an appetite before, but now? Now I do. And I’m going to need to have a lot of fuel for the next two weeks that I have left with Nathan if last night was any indicator. My big ass grin is back, and I hide behind my food this time.

My parents stare at me, but eventually their faces hold big smiles too.

“Nate’s welcome any time,” Dad says as he watches me finish the last of my meal.

Even if it means that his baby is having sex
, I mentally translate. I’ll let Nathan know he can sleep under the covers tonight.

“
I
’m going
to sleep here tonight,” I whisper to Nathan as he and his brother and two other random people on the Internet work together to kill enemies in the game. He pauses the game and whips off his VR glasses.

“Hey,” Nick objects but cuts himself off when he sees Nate’s look. Nick says something in his microphone and pushes out of his chair. “I’m going to piss.” 

Nate waves him off. When the door to the game room closes, he turns to me. “How did you get the okay for that?” 

“I ate an entire sandwich today.”

“Is this code, because I don’t have the key to decipher it.”

I reach for the hair on the nape of his neck and feel him shiver against me. “I told my dad you were responsible for my increased appetite.”

“You didn’t,” he groans, but his head dips down in an unspoken gesture for me to pet more of his head. Taking advantage of Nick’s absence, I straddle Nathan’s lap, ostensibly so I can get a better angle for the head scratching, but really I want his body next to mine. He’s so warm all the time. I love it. It’s like having my own personal heater.

His hands drop to my hips and pulls me closer until the centers of bodies are flush against each other. This contact heats me up in a completely different way—from the inside out. I start to rub against him, drawing on the memories of our interaction last night. He made me feel amazing, and I want to replicate those emotions over and over and over. As many times as I can. 

He groans and tightens his hold on my hips but doesn’t push me away. I tug on the hair at his nape, and his face falls back obediently. When I kiss him, his lips are firm and soft and his hard length pushes insistently against me.

We kiss for a long time. They are lazy kisses. The types of kisses you exchange when you have all the time in the world, sitting on the beach or lying on a blanket at a concert in the park. They’re kisses that shut out the whole word so that it’s just you and him and everything on the periphery is a beautiful blur, like an Impressionist painting. 

“I need to tell you something,” he says, finally pulling away from me. I don’t want to stop, so I follow him as he draws back. Talking isn’t half as interesting as licking his tongue or having him give me tiny bites along my lower lip. I know what it is that he wants to tell me, but I don’t really care about that nonsense. However, he isn’t deterred and pushes me back.

With a serious face on, he holds me an arm’s width away. “Charlotte.” 

“I already know,” I say. His surprise weakens his grip, and I dive in for another kiss. Nathan dodges me, and I end up with my lips on his ear. Fine. I haven’t spent much time here. I wiggle closer and run my tongue along the outer edge and down to his lobe. As I suck, he moans and his fingers clench on my butt. 

Ohh.
 

He’s sensitive here. I smile to myself and store this knowledge away. He’s not able to speak until I pause to switch sides.

“Wait,” he pants out, “I have to—”

“What? That everyone at school thinks I’m pregnant because they know we’re having sex?”

He tenses and then lets out a breath, like he’s relieved. “Yeah. Who told you?”

“Greta texted me. Are you the father?”

“Who else?” He’s affronted that anyone else could have provided the sperm for my fake baby.

“Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he answers without a moment of hesitation.

His surety fills me with so much joy. We’ll have a family together someday. I can picture us now, taking our kid down to Navy Pier for the first time and riding the carousel. 

“But not now,” I tease him. 

He smirks and presses his lips against the base of my throat, which sends a bolt right between my legs. I tip my neck back to give him greater access.  

“How many will we have?”

“Two? Ten? I don’t care,” he murmurs against the soft, vulnerable skin of my throat. 

“Two. I’m the one having them.”

“Good for me.” He swings me up in his arms. “Let’s go practice.”

I fasten my mouth to his, licking the inside of his mouth so thoroughly I could recreate it from memory. His response is to pick me up and carry me across the hall. The sound of him kicking the door shut no doubt declares exactly what we’re doing inside his bedroom. 

Alone, we become frenzied. I’m pulling his T-shirt off, and he’s got his hands at the buttons of my blouse. Somehow I find myself on my knees before him, pulling his jeans down. His erection is right at my face, and it occurs to me that I’ve never done this before. I’ve never 
wanted
 to do this before, but now, as his shorts jut out in front of me, it’s irresistible. Saliva pools under my tongue. Slowly I slide my hands up his thighs, the light, coarse hair unfamiliar under my hands. I didn’t get to touch him enough last night.

Above the waistband of his shorts, I see his abdomen contract. The surrounding air is thin, as if Nathan has sucked it all inside him. My fingers stop at the bottom of his boxer briefs, and he rocks back slightly on his heels. 

“Do you want me to?” I ask, looking up at him through my lashes. His face shows strain, and his eyes glitter in the afternoon light. 

“Only if you want to,” he answers hoarsely. At his side, his fingers are clenched like he wants to reach for me but is holding himself back.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do.” I slip my fingers over his shorts.

There’s a wet spot on the material where it looks like the tip of his head is, and it’s got me all kinds of curious. Grabbing his waistband, I pull down until his dick is released. It pops out and points straight up. There’s a drop of liquid on the end, which grows larger as I stare. In fact, I think his penis is also growing larger, or maybe it’s the angle because so close up, it looks huge. I dab my finger on the fluid and suck it off. 

“Salty,” I say. “Not bad.”

“Shit, Charlotte,” he groans. “You’re killing me.” 

I shrug. “I’m just surprised. Other girls say it’s gross.”

“You don’t have to do this.” But his actions say that he wants it bad. He’s nearly trembling with the effort to not grab my head between his hands. Despite the fact that I’m on my knees, I realize I have so much power over Nathan right now. Like he’d do anything I’d ask of him. 

“I want to.” I stroke my finger over the dark red tip. It’s velvety soft. “I can’t stick the whole thing in my mouth though.”

There’s a big vein on the top, and I trace that from the top to the root. His dick bobs as if it knows what I’m saying, seeking more of my touch. With a choked laugh, he grabs the base and wraps a big fist around it. “Slide your lips down to the top of my hand.”