Authors: Angela Morrison
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex
Sing Me to Sleep (28 page)
“Are you hungry?”
“Not for donuts.”
He sits down and pulls me beside him. We fall easily into our Lausanne make-out position. It feels so right. I comb his silky dark hair out of his eyes.
“So you’re okay? Tuesday wasn’t too traumatic?”
I get my mouth on his. I need this first. I need the assurance of his lips pressing harder and harder. I need his arms and his shoulders and his chest. I need to cling to him and kiss. I get hungrier and hungrier.
“Hey—hey. Slow it down.” He presses his cheek against mine. “We’ve got all the time you want tonight.”
I press my face into his shoulder.
“You’re not cold, are you?” His fingers slide through my hair.
I put a ton of conditioner on it, didn’t rinse it all out, and left it wavy. I wanted it soft for him. I can tell he likes it.
“Thanks, Beth. I told you this would work.” He shifts me so my head falls back on his arms and bends to kiss me again.
I put my fingers on his lips. “Tuesday. I tried, but—”
It all comes out in a rush. His body goes stiff, and his arms drop away from cradling me. At least he doesn’t dump me on the ground.
“I’m sorry. Terri wouldn’t have a CD if I left.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “Don’t hate me. Please.”
He’s quiet a long time. I don’t let go of him—keep my face pressed into his neck. I wait for him to shove me into the dirt, but it doesn’t happen.
“Why’d you come tonight?”
“To taste it again and tell you face-to-face.”
“You took your time about it.”
“I wanted to soften the blow.” I get my lips on his neck and chew on his salty sweetness. “If we can’t sing together, maybe—”
“Crap, Beth. Knock it off.” He pushes me away—stands up so I have to. He heads back to his bike. “Plan C isn’t going to be any fun.”
I run after him. “Don’t get mad. There was nothing I could do.”
“You made me look like a fool in front of the entire Amabile organization.”
“They don’t need me.”
He stops, turns on me. “You’re right. They let you in because I need you.”
“Why, Derek? She’s gorgeous. She still loves you; I can tell. Why are you with me?”
A flap of wings and honking sounds come from the direction of the river. He looks toward that instead of at me. “She knows me way too well.”
“And I’m special because I don’t?” I hate that. I hate it. I hate it.
“You see me in a way she never could.” He looks back at me. “I want to be the guy you think I am. When we’re together, I almost believe it’s true.”
I reach for his hand. “I want to be with the guy you are.”
“No, you don’t.” He squeezes my hand and drops it, heads up the path to his bike.
“Why not, Derek,” I yell after him. “I’ve been patient all this time. You have to tell me why not.”
He keeps walking away. “That wasn’t the deal.”
I run after him. “I’m the one who should be angry.” I catch up and grab his arm, pull him around to face me. “That’s the real me—an angry beast. Ask anyone.”
“That’s a load of bull you tell yourself so you don’t have to try.”
“I’m trying—trying so hard, but you have to try, too. I saw your arms, Derek. Back in Lausanne. Those pills you’re always swallowing. We both know they aren’t vitamins. What are they?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Does it help you write? The high? Is that where the music comes from?”
“My music? You think I have to get high to write? That’s cold.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Drugs?”
“Yeah. Drugs—whatever it is you snort, swallow, inhale, or inject.”
“I don’t do drugs.”
I want to believe Derek standing in front of me. I don’t want to hear Blake saying Derek has a drug habit. I don’t want to see him swallowing pills. I don’t want to touch the tracks on his arms. “I’m not blind.”
“Stop with this nonsense. Do I look like some kind of low-life user with a fried brain?”
“Looks?” I know how fake that can be—see it every time I pass a mirror. “You’re a genius, Derek. You could make me see anything you want.”
He flinches like I hit him in the gut, turns away from me, and gets on his bike. He kicks it to life like he wants to kill the thing. I climb behind him. He revs the engine and takes off. I hold on tighter than I should. He gets to my car way too fast. He stops—doesn’t get off to help me or kiss me good-bye.
I slide off the bike.
“I’ll call you.” He tears fast into the night.
I drive home super-slow and careful, imagining Derek’s body mangled under that stupid bike all the way.
chapter 25
REPRISE
He doesn’t call. Two weeks. Nothing. If we’re over he should at least tell me. I resist calling him. Total invitation to get dumped. He’s not online anymore. I think he’s blocking me. He’s with her again—I know it. They’re together talking about me. Laughing. That song I started gets another verse.
Don’t take it away.
Don’t twist me in knots and run.
What else can I say?
Again? Please can I be your one?
The only girl who feeds you—
The girl you said you need, too.
Don’t break my heart.
Give me a new start.
It so doesn’t go with that other chorus. Time for a bonfire. My eyes land on Derek’s rose lying on my desk. No. I’m not burning that. I’m never burning that. But all the garbage, crap, awful, stupid lyrics I’ve got scratched on scraps of paper and the backs of notebooks—incineration time.
Scott keeps flirting with me at school. My heart’s breaking, and he won’t let up the pressure. Not that I tell him my heart’s breaking. He would so take advantage of that. Little brat. He’s nice to everyone at school but me. He was talking to a nerdy-looking kid who looked familiar one morning.
“See you at practice then.” The kid walked off down the hall.
“Who was that?” I watch the kid disappear into the crowd, trying to figure out who he reminds me of.
“You don’t recognize him clothed?”
“That kid was the offering?” That awful morning still makes me cringe. “What are you doing with him?”
Scott shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I helped him get into Quiz Bowl. He’s smarter than he looks.”
“Thanks for rescuing us last spring.” I lean against my locker and study Scott. “Who else have you rescued?”
His ears get red. “I wish you’d let me rescue you again.”
“Come on. School’s not bad this year with the Horsemen gone.” My eyes follow the fluid movements of the muscles in his arms while he reaches for a text on the top shelf of his locker like I’m in a trance.
He turns his head, notices I’m staring. His blue eyes grab mine and won’t let go. “You still need to be rescued.”
I turn away. “Derek isn’t Colby.” I chuck my notebook at the back of my locker.
“He’s worse.” Scott grabs my elbow and spins me around. “He’ll hurt you way worse—don’t—”
“Shut up.” I jerk free of him and slam my locker door. “You don’t know anything about it.” I stalk away in a huff.
Who am I kidding? Scott does know. He sees the pain I’m in. He sees everything. Like that kid—the offering. All I saw was Colby’s tool. Scott saw a person. He made sure his poor, humiliated soul had a place to heal.
That sounds awfully good to me right now. Beautiful even. I remember dancing against him at prom. His face on my chest. Him shoving Colby away from me. Our kiss on the front porch. How wonderful I felt when I finally figured out he wanted that kiss. The look on his face when I told him about Derek.
Derek. I’m committed to him. I love him. I’m not ready to give up on him. He’ll heal my heart. I don’t need Scott. Derek will be back? No. Be positive. He
will
be back.
will
be back.
Monday after school I turn into my driveway, and Derek pulls up behind me on his bike.
I’m out of the car and all over him before he even gets his helmet off. He’s into it, too. “You scared me.”
He kisses my ear and whispers, “I’m sorry.”
I kiss the side of his face. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“I had to go away.”
“To a land with no telephones or Internet?”
He nods, and I’m so eager to get back to his lips that I believe every word. “I thought I’d screwed it up.”
“We should get out of the street.”
I lead him into the house.
We’re still making out, lying in each other’s arms on the family room couch when Mom pulls up. I’m on my feet, running out to talk to her, breathless and giddy. “Derek’s over. Can he stay?”
“The night?” She’s nervous about it this time.
“Dinner?”
“Of course.”
Derek and I mess around, making dinner in the kitchen while Mom watches the news. He’s playful and affectionate and makes really good pasta. Neither of us says much. Words are trouble. I’m so happy he’s back that I don’t care about anything else.
After dinner he wanders over to the piano. The Amabile folder lies on the bench. He sets it aside, glances up at me.
“I wanted it. I really did.”
He nods. He sits down and begins to play. His fingers caress the keys and a delicate melody emerges. I’ve heard this song before. I sink onto the couch, close my eyes, and remember him humming it to me on our bench in Lausanne. He doesn’t stop halfway through this time. It’s whole and rich and stunning.
“You finished it.”
Mom stands in the kitchen with a dirty plate in her hand. “That’s a striking song. I don’t know it.”
Derek gets up from the piano. “It’s just something I’ve been working on.”
“It’s a lovely piece.”
“Thanks.” He looks thoughtfully over at me. “It just needs words.”
“Derek composes and arranges pieces for his choir.”
“Is there anything Derek doesn’t do?” Mom looks from him to me and back to him. She puts that last plate in the dishwasher and heads to her den. “Behave yourselves,” floats down the hall from over her shoulder.
We flick on the TV, find an old movie, try to watch it, give up, and make out until Mom interrupts us.
“School tomorrow, Beth.”
“Okay.”
I walk Derek out to his bike. “Why’d you come back?”
“I didn’t leave you, Beth.” He hugs me. “Honest. I was going to call the next day.” His words ache with sincerity.
I believe. I shouldn’t, but there’s too much love in his voice for doubt to survive. “So,” I exhale, “what’s next?”
“I don’t know when I can get away again. We’ve got some cool gigs coming up. Maybe you can come to some of them.” He caresses my face.
I’m so there—nodding as he speaks, but then I remember. “Crap. We’re recording the next two weekends.”
“I guess we’ll have to make do online.” His lips press against my temple. “Thanks for tonight. You don’t know how badly I needed to see you.”
“Me too.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me to take a hike.”
“Me neither.”
He kisses me, and I cling to him. When will I see him again? I can’t let go of his lips. I get crazy, chewing on his mouth, sucking his lips and tongue, hard and desperate. I press myself into his body.
He groans, grabs my arms, and shakes me. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”
I just get his mouth again.
He pulls me tight. His kisses turn hard, overpowering. His grip on my arms hurts. What happened to my gentle boyfriend?
I should fight him, tell him he’s hurting me, but I don’t. I’m limp, completely in his control. He scares me, wild like this. He’s always been so tender, so careful. I love this, too, though. I don’t want him to stop. My beast slips its leash. I get as fierce as he is. Crap. Why is my mom home?
She flashes the porch light.
Derek’s head jerks up off my neck. He shoves me away. I stumble, catch myself.
I’ll have bruises on my arms in the morning. His neck will be a mess. We’re both breathing hard.
He coughs as he gets on his bike. He won’t even look at me.
What have I done?
Are we messed up?
I am the Beast.
He kicks his bike to life and drives away. No
good-bye
. No
see you later
.
good-bye
. No
see you later
.
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