E i g h t-3

Again I say nothing. Again I have nothing. Her eyes narrow a little, "Why did you fuck me tonight?" Her tone is suspicious now. Now this one I do know the answer to. She continues before I get a chance to answer though. "Was it because you felt sorry for me? Is that it?" She shakes her head with disgust and begins to look around again. The rage propels me out of the bed to go to her. "Where the fuck are they?" She mutters angrily under her breath as I cross the room toward her. I stop in front of her, blocking her. "Because I wanted you. Because I've always wanted you." My tone is firm, unequivocal - dominant. It works. She stops what she's doing and looks up at me. "You wanted me when?" she still looks suspicious. I wait a moment before speaking. "Since the moment I set eyes on you." "I don't believe you," Her voice is barely there. I take a deep breath. "You were sitting under a tree reading a Kurt Vonnegut novel - I forget which one. You were wearing a pair of cut off shorts, and a blue and white striped t-shirt. You had bangs and the reddest lips I'd ever seen. You looked French." I smile. Her mouth all but drops open as her suspicion turns to surprise, shock even. I could still smell the grass. Gideon had practically dragged me along, desperate to introduce me to his 'girlfriend', who he hadn't shut up about since I'd arrived back at school. He'd met her at some party in the Hamptons over the summer. She was some senator's daughter apparently. She sounded like the kind of girl I'd hate on sight. A spoilt stuck up bitch most likely. I couldn't have been more fucking wrong. She'd made my entire body break out in a sweat, and my hands shake. But she'd also made me angry. I hadn't been able to pinpoint why at the time but later I knew it was because I'd had absolutely nothing to offer her, she magnified my feeling of worthlessness by being so utterly unobtainable. So perfect. She wasn't broken like me. Or so I'd thought at the time. I'd certainly thought enough about her over the years, and wondered whether what I'd achieved would be enough to impress Charlie Van der Straeten if I saw her again today. Perhaps I had more to thank her for than I thought. "You have no idea how fucking mad I am at you right now," she says after a long silence. "I shouldn't have brought up Matthew, I'm sorry." "That's why you think I'm mad?" she sounds incredulous. "That's what you're apologizing to me for?' "Amongst a host of other things," I admit. "Jesus, what the hell happened to you Christian?" She whispers. It's a strange change of direction. Though I wonder how long she'd wanted to ask me it. Hours? Years? "It's far too late to go into it." I shake my head as I meet her eyes. "Tomorrow then?" she asks hopefully. The hope in her eyes is painful to look directly at, so I look down, away from its glare. She thinks I mean the hour was too late. When, in fact, that's not what I mean at all. "Talk to me Christian." "I'm tired, Charlie." When I look back up at her, the hurt across her face is evident, as bright as the moon behind her. "Then maybe I should go. Let you get some sleep." She says moving away. My hand shoots out before I've even thought about it, grabbing hold of her arm tight. She allows me to pull her back, against me. "You know that's not what I want." She takes a deep breath and turns her head up to face me. "Do I?" I pull her so that she's pressed against me. "Please stay. It's late and we've both exerted ourselves a lot tonight." I smirk. "I want to wake up next to you. I want you to stay the night with me." As the words leave my mouth I know I mean them. The smile is slow moving across her mouth, she looks shy almost, embarrassed. "Well, since you asked so nicely." She smiles, dropping the stuff she's holding on the nearby chair before gracefully walking back to bed. Her body looks incredible, illuminated by the moonlight, which dances off her pale skin. I want to fuck her again. With a small smile on my face, I watch her climb in and under the sheets before she reaches out and pats the empty space beside her. "I hope you don't snore because I'm an exceptionally light sleeper," she says. I say nothing as I walk back to the bed and climb in beside her. I honestly have no idea whether I snore. I'd never slept next to anyone; I'd never gotten feedback. The nightmares had ceased a long time ago, but there was still the odd random bout of night sweats and waking up screaming at invisible ghosts from my memories. With every fibre of my being, I pray for them to stay away for the next few hours. No reminders tonight, please. When we're both ensconced under the blankets she flips over so that she's lying on her stomach, with her head turned to face me. I'm on my back looking at her, smiling softly, relieved that I managed to convince her to stay. Confused and bewildered at how bizarrely normal this feels. "You should have called me," She whispers before closing her eyes. I reach across and stroke the back of my hand down the exposed area of her back. She smiles at my touch but keeps her eyes closed. "Goodnight Charlie," I say quietly. I can't agree with her out loud. Mainly because I'm not quite ready to admit how magnificently I'd screwed that one up. I should have called her. I'd probably spend my life regretting not calling her. "It was Cat's Cradle by the way," She whispers, her eyes still closed. "The Vonnegut novel," I smile as I see the image of Charlie looking up to smile at us from her spot under that tree. A spot I often used to find her, "clearing her headspace" as she explained later. I'm not entirely sure when she slips into unconsciousness, but her breathing slows and her lips part and her eyelids twitch a few times before I feel my own eyes grow heavy. When I wake up in the morning she's gone.