Confessions of a Virgin Sex Columnist! (16 page)

But in real time, my mom has already gotten out of the car and she's staring at me from the front of the walk with furrowed brows, wondering what's keeping me. I shake my head, clearing the memory away and hop out, stepping quickly to her side.

"Sorry," I murmur.

But then my eyes drift to the driveway and I'm pulled back into the past again. Bridge and I are sitting next to a bucket of chalk, carefully covering the pavement in pastel flowers and hearts. We don't even see him coming. All of a sudden, water drenches us from above, soaking our T-shirts, and washing all of our hard work away. Bridge immediately goes on the assault, smacking her brother, but he's prepared with a water gun and chases us around for the next twenty minutes. Until we find the hose and absolutely destroy him.

"Skylar?" my mom asks.

I blink and our child selves disappear, the driveway is empty except for two cars. Then I realize I'm grinning and laugh a little, releasing the energy.

"You sure you're okay?" my mom asks.

I nod.

We walk up the path and slip through the front door. But as we pass by, my fingers reach out, running over the pane of a glass window, remembering a day that happened fifteen years ago, and my gaze returns to the yard. Ollie is teaching Bridge and me how to play baseball, but he's showing off and throwing really hard fastballs that we have no hope of hitting. His dad tries telling him to cool it, calling Ollie
slugger
. But he won't. And then it's my turn at bat and I swing, actually closing my eyes because I'm so afraid of the ball. The smack reverberates up my entire arm, shaking my whole body, and I hear the crash of glass before I even open my eyes. I think that was the first time I distinctly remember hearing an adult curse. The whole window shattered, sending glass everywhere. Of course, the three of us ended up running to the backyard, giggling, while their father continued shouting curses in the front yard.

And suddenly I realize what's happening.

Why I feel off.

It's this house. It's these memories. It's Ollie. Spending so much time with him. Seeing him again. Being so confused by him again. Right now, standing outside the McDonough house, I'm closer than I've ever been to reliving that night—the one that happened four years ago, the one I've been trying to forget ever since.

I walk inside the house.

"Where are you going?" my mom calls to me.

I'm marching up the steps. I didn’t even realize I'd stopped following her, but I'm already halfway to the second floor.

"Just using the bathroom," I murmur and keep moving.

Part of me wants to stop. But I have no control. My body is moving on its own, it's taken control. My heart isn't ready, but every other part of me is screaming that it's time. Time to go back. Panic mounts underneath my skin as a sea of memories part, exposing the barren landscape of all the hardships I've buried deep below. Once tightly packed sand is now soft enough to slip through my fingers, revealing what rests beneath.

And then I'm there.

The door still has a sign that reads,
Oliver's Room! Keep Out!

And I have. I've walked past this sign a dozen times. I've heeded the rules for four years. I've denied everything. I've tried to forget. But I can't.

My fingers stretch for the knob. They turn.

No.

I shake my head.

No.

But as soon as the door swings open, the world stops. The water rushes forward. And I can't move as the memory crashes over me, taking my breath away.

I bet by now you're wondering what happened with Ollie four years ago. Well, I guess I can't ignore it any longer. It was the night before Bridge and I were leaving for college, the night of our last high school party, the night before Ollie was leaving for another year at culinary school. And, well, here. You'll see…

"I can't believe you guys got so drunk tonight," Ollie murmurs from the driver's seat, running a hand through his hair. I'm mesmerized by the way the moon bounces off each strand, flickering from shadow to spark so quickly. But Ollie keeps his eyes on the road, just shaking his head in our direction.

"We're not that bad," Bridge mumbles, and even in my slight haze, I hear the slur to her words. Well, and then she convulses into a fit of giggles, undermining her argument just a little.

Ollie looks to the side, rolling his eyes at his sister. I don't realize I'm staring at him in the rearview mirror until his gaze flicks toward mine, grinning, but then he looks back to the road. A thrill spikes down my chest, burning from how much I want him. From how much I've always wanted him. But the fire is made painful from his oblivion.

Tonight.

Tonight.

I've been telling myself for the past three hours, with every sip of beer, with every ounce of liquid courage—tonight. I have to tell Ollie how I feel. I have to. Because tomorrow I leave for college and who knows when I'll see him again. Desire coils in my stomach, a stiff bundle of nerves—one that's been there for way too long. And it consumes me. I can't think when he's home. I can't think when he's away at school. Every time I even talk to another boy, a sour taste taints my tongue, a little voice whispers,
sure he's nice, but he's not Ollie.

I have to tell someone. And I can't tell Bridge. So it has to be him.

My head falls back, heavy from the alcohol, and I let my gaze slip out the window, tearing my eyes away from the reflection I've practically memorized—the face that stars in my dreams. My heart is pounding. But I have to. Tonight.

"You guys are going to be so miserable tomorrow," he teases, "arriving for your first day at school with a hangover. God, the car ride is going to suck."

"Ollie…" Bridge whines. "Turn on the music, I want to be loud for a little while longer."

He sighs. The sound makes me shiver. But then the music takes my attention away. Bridge leans forward, fumbling with the buttons, twisting the knob to an almost deafening level. She jumps in her seat, bopping with the beat, singing. But I keep staring at the darkness, watching shadowy shapes creep by. Pop music wraps around us, cocooning the car in notes and tones and crescendos vastly different from the silence beyond these doors.

And then it's gone.

Disappeared.

I blink my blurry eyes, realizing we've reached Bridget's house.

Ollie deftly hops out, circling to his sister's door. Ignoring him, Bridge slides out, wobbly on her high heels, teetering before Ollie grabs her around the waist, holding her upright.

"You coming, Skye?" he teases, glancing over his shoulder to where I'm still waiting in the car. He holds out his free arm, offering it to me. "Come on."

My breath hitches as I slip against his chest and the warmth of Ollie's body curls into my side. I'm hyperaware of the position his palm secures against my stomach, of the pressure he uses to help me walk, of the attention he gives. I trip over my own feet. He clutches me tighter, making my heart flutter even faster, a hummingbird alive in my chest. I can't focus on anything except for the fact that he's touching me, can't think beyond the sensation of his fingers grazing the bare skin just above my jeans.

"You know, I thought better of you, Skye."

I look up, struck dumb by the twinkle in his moonlit eyes. "Wh—what?"

"I knew Bridge would get bombed as soon as I saw you guys sneak out for the party. But you? I thought you were supposed to be her good influence."

I smile, biting my lip. It's the only response I can muster because my eyes sink down to his lips, stuck.

"I'm not that drunk!" Bridge cries, tearing out of Ollie's hands to race up the walk.

"Shh!" he hisses. "Do you want to wake up Mom and Dad?"

Bridge responds by throwing out her arms, twirling around, faster and faster.

"Stay," Ollie orders, pointing at me before turning. I obey, standing still, swaying just a little with the wind, or maybe, well, with the booze. A few steps later and he's there, catching his sister as she loses her balance, crashing to the ground. Bridge yelps and Ollie rushes to cover her mouth, holding the shout in, sighing heavily.

"How do you get away with this when I'm not around to shut you up?" he murmurs, shaking his head.

Me.

I want to tell him, but I can't find my voice. I'm always the sober one, the designated driver, the responsible one. But not tonight. Because tonight, I'm on a mission.

"Come on, Skye," he whispers, gesturing for me to walk over.

I take each step slower than the last, one foot in front of the other, holding my arms out for balance. When I close the gap, Ollie puts his arm around me again, carrying both Bridge and me to the door, easing us inside and plopping us down on the steps in the front hallway.

"Wait here." And then he disappears, only to return a few minutes later with two full glasses of water and two pieces of bread. "Drink and eat this now."

Bridge and I listen. Something about the quietness of the house calms her rebellious mood. I gulp down the water, throat dry from all the words I want to say. When we're done, he leans down, holding us by our waists again, taking each step one at a time as we climb achingly slow to the second floor of the house. A few minutes later, and Ollie releases us at the edge of Bridget's bedroom.

"If you think you're going to be sick, knock on my door, okay?"

I nod, biting my lip.

He walks away, disappearing into the dark hall.

"Ollie!" I whisper.

He stops, turns. "Yeah?"

Say it!

Say it!

But Bridge is by my side, hanging on my arm, dropping her head against my shoulder, already sleepy.

Say it!

I open my mouth, chest clamped by an invisible hand. I'm trembling.

"I—"

All the courage leaves my body in a whoosh, leaving my limbs heavy with failure. I'm not strong enough. Not brave enough. I'm…nothing. The invisible girl with invisible dreams and not enough nerve to reach out and grab them.

"Thanks," I mumble.

Ollie grins. "Any time. Now please help put my sister to sleep before she passes out on the carpet."

I nod.

He's gone.

Bridge is practically snoring into my ear, so I hold her, stumbling for the bed, tripping so we both collapse onto the mattress in a heap. Only half awake, Bridge crawls to her side of the bed, rolling under the covers. But I stay where I am, staring at the stars twinkling on the ceiling, stickers I've wished upon more times than I can count. The neon green mocks me, an illusion of everything I could have if I only tried.

"Skye," Bridge whispers beside me. "We're going to college tomorrow."

"I know," I tell her, finally turning away from the ceiling, joining her under the covers.

"College," she sighs, blissful.

College. But my heart sinks with the idea. College. Where I'll still be pining after Ollie. College. Where I'll be haunted by the what ifs of tonight. College. Where every boy will continue to fail to measure up to the crush I've glorified in my head.

I've run through what will happen if I tell him a thousand times. Shock and desperation, the gentle let down, the way he'll never look at me the same. But at least then I'll know there's no chance. I'll know he'll never see me that way. I'll know it's hopeless. I'll get over it. I'll be done. I want so much to be done. I want so much for the constant ache to disappear. For the pining to go away.

My eyes shoot open.

I have to do this.

I have to.

Bridge snores beside me, and I almost hear the word
go
in the rumble—an urging for me to leave, to go, to find answers.

I listen.

Quietly, I drop my feet to the floor, ease off the bed, and walk to the door. The knob clicks when I turn it, making my pulse jump, but I press forward, tiptoeing across the carpet. And then I stop, my hand an inch away from his door, hovering.

I bite my lower lip.

Close my eyes.

Breathe. Inhale—one, two, three. Hold. Exhale—one, two, three.

My chest burns with nerves, with fear. My hands tremble. But if there's one thing worse than fear, it's regret. And I know if I don't find the courage to walk through this door, I'll never stop thinking about what could have happened if I did. My fingers twitch. Everything in my body pauses, stuck in this moment, in this decision.

And then in a rush it happens.

I open the door, step inside, and close it behind me.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice asks, followed by the movement of rustling sheets. The light clicks on, bright against the dark. And I feel caught. Trapped. "Skye? Are you okay? Is Bridget?"

"Yeah," I murmur, suddenly unsure, antsy as my hands wring in and out, pulling my skin tight.

He gives me a confused look, made all the more adorable by the disarray of his hair. And then the corner of his mouth lifts. "Did you walk in here by accident coming back from the bathroom or something? Are you that drunk?"

I just shake my head.

My throat is caught with indecision, clogged by trepidation.

Ollie sighs and rolls off his bed, somehow graceful as he lands on his feet in one swift move. Then he's walking toward me. Each step echoes against my heart, one heavy thud after another. "Come on, I'll take you back over to Bridget's room."

He places his hand on my arm, guiding me gently to the door.

"Oh, Skye, I can't wait to see your face tomorrow morning when the hazy memory of tonight returns. Mortification is such a good look on you."

He reaches for the knob.

"Ollie."

He doesn't react. He's twisting now.

I grab his fingers, holding them against the door, stopping him. And then I look up at the face that's only a few inches away from mine, drawing strength from the warmth of his hand, from the touch I so desperately crave.

"Ollie," I whisper.

He turns, meeting my gaze, looking down, enchanting me with those deep turquoise pools. But his expression is empty, unaware, not pining like mine. Not craving. My focus shifts to his lips, tantalizingly close, a distance that would be so easy to close if I weren't so afraid.

"Skye?" he murmurs.

I can't do this while we're touching, I can't think straight when his skin is pressed against mine. I can't think straight at all. My mind is running a hundred steps ahead of my body. What will he say? What will he do? Will he ever talk to me again? Will things ever be the same? Will Bridge find out? Will I lose them both?

The pressure beneath my skin mounts, boiling over. I'm a bubble about to burst. A volcano about to erupt. A bomb about to explode. My entire body tenses with anticipation. And I know Ollie must feel it, because his eyes narrow, growing more intense, more concerned. My ears buzz, drowning out the world, growing louder and louder.

And then everything stops.

I'm calm.

Clear.

Every ounce of fear evaporates for one split second, and in that second, I let go. "I'm in love with you," I whisper.

My heart surges forward, racing, thumping. But at the same time, I feel free.

I said it.

After so many years, I finally said it.

"You’re what?" he murmurs.

"I'm in love with you," I repeat, and this time all of the hesitation is gone. The secret is out. "I've been in love with you for my entire life, and I had to say something before I leave tomorrow. I don't expect anything from you, I just needed to say it, to have you hear it, so I can move on with my life."