Authors: Kate Channing
Maddie
Like a Date
The smell of buttered toast infiltrates my oblivion. I roll over, groggy. Rub my eyes. Clear my throat. It’s parched, like I haven’t had water in a very long time. My eyes blink open and reality sets in. I’m not in my room. This comforter isn’t mine. This bed isn’t mine, and I lift the light blue comforter. There’s a t-shirt wrapped around my waist. It’s not mine.
“What the hell?” I sit up and search the room. The bedroom is small.
Only a bed, a desk, and a chest of drawers. There’s a bathroom to the left of a doorway, which is wide open. Something about the room is familiar. I realize with a frightened start that the room is Kyle’s. I was here a few nights ago, saw it briefly before he escorted me out.
Last I remember
I was talking to Abigail on the phone.
I’m not sure what to do. Alert Kyle I’m awake. Say nothing.
Run from his apartment like a maniac.
Where are my clothes?
I immediately notice them folded and sitting on top of his dresser. I’ve just about decided to climb out from beneath the covers when Kyle turns the corner carrying a plate and a glass of something. As soon as he sees me his face lights up.
“You’re awake,” he says
, walking into his room. He’s in faded jeans and nothing else. The button is undone, like he quickly pulled them on. They are sitting low. So low, I can see his hipbones, and a little patch of hair leading down to… places I’ve never been. His hair is perfectly messy. His eyes are dancing with mischief. “Are you hungry?”
I am, in fact, starved
. But I can’t tell him that. I seem to have lost the capacity to speak.
“
There’s blueberries. You used to love blueberries.” He sits beside me, flashing the contents of the plate, which consists of blueberries, cantaloupe, and toast. His features soften. “Feeling better?”
“I-uh, how long have I been here?” My words catch on my scratchy throat.
He hands me orange juice and I take a drink. It tastes so good I can’t help but drink it all. I try to focus on his face, but his oh-so-almost-naked body is in view, begging to be noticed. There isn’t an ounce of fat anywhere. It’s almost disgusting how beautiful he is.
He offers me the plate and I take it. Buttered toast is my favorite food on the planet. There’s something about the smell of toast and sweet cream butter combined. The taste when the crispiness of the bread and melted butter hit my
tongue. But my stomach is sick, and fettered, and twisted up in so many knots I doubt I’ll ever be able to unravel them all.
“At least take a bite,” he pleads kindly
, lifting a berry to my lips.
I open my mouth, and he
plops it inside. The juice explodes between my teeth when I bite down. “Mmmmm.” I smile, encouraged. He picks up another, and we repeat the process until they’re gone.
“Toast?” he asks, picking it up, and touching the edge to my bottom lip.
I search his features, curious about why he’s playing nursemaid. Feeding me. I’m enjoying it though. I sink my teeth into the buttery warmth. It’s so good. I take the toast from him and have another bite. When I’ve finished chewing I ask, “How long?”
“Since yesterday
. You missed all of your classes today, including English. The irritating Ms. Spears was none too happy. But I sent her an email, calming her down, as well as your other teachers. Hope that wasn’t too forward of me. Most have responded, giving the assignments that are due next class.”
“How did you know my schedule?”
“I’m a TA. It was easy.” He shrugs.
“Gina!” I whisper-shout. She’s probably a wreck.
He places a hand on my shoulder. When I flinch, he pulls away. “Don’t worry. I texted her with your phone. She knows where you are.”
I can’t help my sigh of relief.
Kyle chuckles lightly. “You two have developed a bond, I take it.”
“We’re friends. Yes.
” I nibble another bite of toast. It’s delicious. The bread is multigrain. My favorite kind.
“So are you going to tell me what
happened? Your therapist, Abigail, explained that you and I have some stuff we need to discuss.”
At his words my face flushes. My therapist? I can’t believe Abigail told him. I’m sure that’s breaking the rules. “Oh?” It’s all I can say.
“What is it? Why didn’t you return any of my calls after your parents died? My letters. Did I do something?” Pain, a look I can recognize anywhere, shoots across his face. “I felt so bad when I heard your parents were killed. I wanted to be there for you, but you were suddenly gone.” His intense eyes find mine. “Tell me what I did that was so awful.”
He’s leaning into me, his lips inches from mine. His breath smells of orange juice. I’m floored. He must not know. His dad didn’t tell him
about my accusations at the police station.
Kyle grabs me by the arms, his large hands completely circling my nonexistent biceps. “Please, Maddie. Tell me.” He shakes me slightly. His eyes
search my face and I can see he’s desperate for answers. But I’m not sure how to begin, what to tell him. How can I explain all of the heartache I’m suffering because of what his father did?
And while I’m debating the words I need to say, his lips
are suddenly on mine. Gentle. Tender. My eyes get big and I freeze. He’s watching me, a question in his eyes. At a moment’s notice he’ll stop. I sense it. But my body finally comprehends what’s happening, what I’ve craved for more than seven years. And my lips respond.
Tentative.
Inexperienced.
My first kiss.
His lips taste like orange juice.
“
Freckles,” Kyle says against my lips.
I’m like a
ravenous kitten. And his lips are everything I need. I can’t stop moving my mouth against his.
“Maddie.”
His hands move to my shoulders, his fingers digging into me slightly. My lust haze clears slightly. I lean back. “Oh.” My face burns hot with shame. “I’m sorry.” The truth is I’m not sorry, just humiliated. He’s experienced. Gina says he likes kinky, whatever that means. And I have no idea what I’m doing.
His beautiful lips. Those lips that are the most sensuous pillows I’ve ever touched, turn up in a smile. “Don’t be sorry.” He clears his throat. “I’m just shocked. I really am your first kiss?”
I pull the comforter over my head. I can’t look at him. He’s laughing and I can’t witness it. Plus, he doesn’t need to see my mortification.
He pulls the covers off my head. “Hey,” he says, moving my hair from my face. My eyes are closed. I feel him shift so he’s leaning over my body. He presses a tender kiss to my cheek. My earlobe. His warm breath exhales against my ear. And I’m no longer ashamed, but tingling everywhere. He kisses my neck, and my breath comes out like a whimper. I cover my mouth. He pulls my hand away, kissing my fingers. “So it’s true. You kept your promise.” I hear wonder in his voice and open my eyes. He’s looking at me, but I can’t read his expression. Is it pride? Awe? Exasperation?
I’m beside myself with shock that he even remembers the pact we made.
“Am I right?” He moves my body so I’m flat on my back, my bare legs dangling off the side of the bed. He lies on top of me. Everything, every muscle, every cell, every sinew tightens.
I gasp. “Yes,” I admit, watching his face.
He grips my hands, lacing my fingers with his. “Put your hands on my shoulders. Touch me.”
I can’t help the flush warming my cheeks. But I do what he says. He’s warm, so warm.
Solid and supple at the same time.
“Relax your lips.”
I’m not sure what he means until he touches a finger to my bottom lip and massages it. I automatically loosen the muscles, and am surprised how tightly I had them scrunched together.
“Better.” Kyle winks. The mischievousness is back. He presses his body into mine and I feel his softness and hardness all over. “Wrap your legs around my hips, and lock your feet together.”
I’m like putty against him. The sensation of my body pushed against his, my legs clinging to his hips, it’s like nothing I’ve ever imagined.
Warmth swells and spreads along my lower belly, along my thighs.
Kyle’s face changes. No longer playful, but serious. Hungry. For me. My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s so loud, so, so loud, I think it might shatter my eardrums.
“I know you prefer being the leader, and I promise you’ll get your chance, but this time it’s my turn. Okay?”
I nod, my tongue licking my bottom lip. Every nerve ending is bursting with longing, need. For what, I don’t know, but I want to find out.
Kyle groans, and pushes me deeper into the bed. Then his lips are on mine.
I immediately feel the difference. Soft against soft. He pulls back. “Delicious.” He smiles. His tongue licks my bottom lip. He suckles it. An electric current shoots through my belly, and I moan.
Kyle’s hands force my t-shirt
up. He looks at my body. My chest. It’s heaving. “I want you to tell me about those tattoos.” His eyelids are heavy.
“
Right now?” I ask. At this moment he could ask me for the moon, and I’d gladly find a way to get it for him.
“Later.” His hands skim along my sides.
All that is between us are his jeans and my underwear. He rocks against me again. Hot longing burns between my legs. My fingers dig into his back.
“Maddie. I’ve missed you,” he whispers
. His lips are still pliable, but urgent. His tongue flicks inside my mouth, and I let out another moan. I never would’ve guessed this type of intimacy could feel so incredible. My tongue finds his. I shyly swirl mine around his. He delves deeper into my mouth, and once again I’m the starving kitten. I need him. Closer. Closer.
Kyle shifts under
me and I feel his hardness pressing through his jeans, through my underwear.
I want it. Him.
All of him. In every way. But at the same time an overwhelming fear crushes my heart. I break the incredible kiss. Turn my face from his. My eyes squeeze shut and my hands fall to the bed, grasping the sheets into fists.
He stops moving, places his hands on either side of my face. “Maddie, look at me.”
I can’t. He’s into kinky, and he’s had lots of sex. I’m probably letting him down. This boy who’s not a boy anymore, but a man, a beautiful man.
The
man I’ve always wanted. If I open my eyes and see rejection, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand it. But I can’t change the fact that I’m not ready. I wish I were. My body certainly wants to be.
“Maddie. Please open your eyes.”
I do, but focus on his collarbones, the perfect muscles on his chest. He tilts my face. “I’m sorry,” he says.
I’m shocked, surprised. I find his eyes. There’s pain
stamped along the creases of his forehead, between his nose, at the edges of his lashes.
“Why are you sorry?” I ask quietly.
He gets up, and I miss the proximity of his body. “Because,” he runs both hands through his thick hair, “I don’t want to be your first kiss and first time all in the same day.” He covers me with the comforter and kneels next to me. “First kiss and first serious make out is enough.” He shakes his head.
I grab his shoulders and pull him close. My eyes search his. My body hums contentedly. I press my lips against his neck and cling to him like he’s my life raft in a sea of rugged, unknown waters. “I saved all my firsts for you.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Neither of us
does for a long time. We hold each other.
Then he asks, “
Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face. I didn’t let him down. And we are going to be more than duet partners.
He wants to take me out.
“Like a date?” I ask for verification.
He grabs one of my hands and presses his lips to my fingers. “Will you, Maddie Martin, go on a real, no strings, just talking date? With me?” His expression is serious, worried even. I think he’s afraid I might say no.
I laugh. A real, genuine laugh. Like I haven’t laughed in seven years. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
He stands
—more, bounces. And I wonder if all the talk about him being into kinky sex is a lie. A rumor. “I need a shower,” he says, and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Maddie
Trust Your Roomie
I’m giddy. Like a schoolgirl, giddy. I can’t hold still. Gina is working on my hair. She’s burned her finger on the iron twice. After the third time, she bonks me on the head with it.
“I swear I’m going to shove this up your nose if you don’t
freakin' hold still.” She sticks the curling iron in my face and scowls.
“Ouch. Fine. No need for violence.”
“You haven’t seen me violent.” She’s glaring, but the fact that her lips are twitching with near-laughter negates all the pretend anger in her eyes.
“Okay. Okay.” I pull my fingers from the ties in the waist of my sweatpants and hold them up in surrender.
“Good.” She grabs another chunk of hair and twirls it in the iron. “What are you going to wear?”
I shrug. “Jeans
, my purple tee, and black ballet flats.”
She yanks on my hair. “Boring. Awful. And grotesque.”
I want to be offended, but I can’t. I’m too excited. And nervous. And terrified. Thrilled. And shocked. And full of trepidation. My internal thoughts are quick, like my mind is playing at fast-forward.
Will he kiss me again?
I hope so.
No, he can’t.
I shouldn’t be going. Kyle is the son of the man who killed my parents.
He doesn’t
know. He isn’t like his father. He’s kind, and good, and tender, and his lips are extraordinary.
“I’ve got the perfect outfit in mind. Trust your roomie,” Gina says, interrupting my thoughts.
I glance at her. “Not too wild though.”
“
Psssshhhh. Don’t question me. I know what I’m doing.” Gina picks up her comb and tousles my curls. Sets it down and picks up her purse. “I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” At the door, she stops. “Don’t mess with your hair.”
“I won’t.” I pick up my Sudoku, but can’t focus. Every time I try, all I see is Kyle’s face and
I feel the way his body pressed into mine. My thighs tingle at the thought. The butterflies low in my belly stop fluttering and sway languidly, dancing to some Nina Simone song and smoking a cigarette.
Gina comes back in with animated energy. Sniffling, she sets her purse on her bed. “Alright, let’s get you an outfit.” She goes to her closet. “Do you want
your outfit to say, ‘I’m sweet and innocent?'” She pulls a white sundress from her closet.
I shake my head.
“This is disgusting. I don’t even know where it came from.” She tosses it on the floor. “What about, ‘wine me, dine me, boink me?’” She pulls out a black halter dress. It Vs down to the waist and would barely cover my ass.
“How about something in between? Something that says, ‘I like y
ou, but I’m not ready to
do it
. Yet.’” I move to stand beside her. “Got anything in your closet that says that?”
She huffs. “Probably.” She practically dives in. Clothes are flying everywhere. Skirts. Shirts. Leggings. Dresses.
“Gina. Seriously. I can wear my jeans. You don’t need to go to all this trouble. It's just dinner.” I fall onto her bed, knocking her purse to the floor. The contents spill out. A tampon. Some folded cash. Change. Her student ID. Lip-gloss. And a small baggie more than half filled with white powder. I pick it up just as Gina is turning around, a victorious look on her face. Until she sees what I’m holding. Her face falls, and she drops the clothes. “What is this?”
I’m sure I know. My aunt and uncle made me watch videos about drugs.
She grabs it out of my hand. “How dare you go through my things?”
“I didn’t. I swear. Your purse fell off the bed.” Gina is on her knees, picking up the stuff that’s spilled everywhere. I kneel next her and place a hand over her clenched fist.
The one holding the drugs. “Want to talk about it? No judgments.”
She glances up. Her eyes are watery. She sniffles. And I cringe. The monotone voice of the guy on the video plays through my mind:
Side effects of cocaine are stuffy nose, excitability, irritability…
“There’s nothing to talk about. I like it. I like the way it makes me feel.” She stands, opens her hand. “Want a hit?”
I shake my head and move over to my bed. “No thanks.”
She shrugs. “You won’t say anything?”
Warning bells ring in my head. Should I say something? What if the campus police find out she has it in our dorm room? Will I get in trouble too? How much is she using? Could she die?
Even as the questions pummel my mind, I know I won’t say anything. “No, of course not. I just want you to be okay. You can tell me anything.”
Gina sits next to me. “It’s just to help me feel more confident, less like an ugly nobody.” She sniffles. “And college is hard. It takes more than coffee to keep me up and alert.”
I get what she’s saying. I know what it’s like to need
something
to cover up pain. Do something to make the fears, the hurt stop. Music and a yearly tattoo have been enough for me. Now that I’ve tried alcohol, its numbing goodness, I don’t want to give that up either. So I nod encouragingly. “It’ll stay between you and me.” I reach out and grab her hand. “But please be careful. And you most definitely are not ugly.”
She smiles. “I will.
Thanks.” Her words aren’t convincing. I think of the past two weekends and the way she’s come back to the room crying after having done things she didn’t want to. I realize the word
careful
probably isn’t in her vocabulary.
But I pretend like I’m fine with what she’s doing and say, “Good.”
Gina stuffs the baggie in her front jeans pocket and picks up the clothes she dropped. “Put these on. Kinky Kyle is going to be here soon. Do you have a black bra?”
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. For some reason it upsets me that she keeps calling Kyle
kinky
. I’m not exactly sure what the word means related to sex, but the way she says it makes me think it’s negative.
“So, no.” She laughs, moving back to her closet. She pulls a spaghetti strap tank with a shelf bra out and tosses it at me. “Wear this.”
I slide out of my sweatpants and shirt. Turn away from Gina and take off my bra. Then I reach back. “Tank, please.” Gina plops it in my hand. I slide it over my head. “Skirt.” She places it in my hand. I shimmy it on. It’s black, super tight. Hugs my body in all the right places. “Top.” It’s a see through coral blouse. Very feminine and pretty. I glance at myself in the oval mirror Gina bought the other day. “This is beautiful.” I turn back and forth, admiring my reflection.
“Of course it is.” Gina digs through her dozens of shoeboxes and brings back a pair of black heels. They are high and look seriously hazardous. “Put these on. They say
sex,
but with subtlety." I slide them on. “Beautiful. You’ve got great legs.”
“Thanks, Gina.” I sit on my bed and start applying lotion.
“Yeah, nothing like dry knees to ruin a good outfit.” Gina sits next to me.
“I’m handling it.”
She lays back. “What about the V situation? How do you intend to handle that?”
I finish with the lotion and rub my hands together. Then lay back next to her. “I’m going to take it slow.” My face heats at the memory of Kyle teaching me how to kiss. I want to do a lot more of that. Kissing. Kissing. Kissing.
“What are you thinking?” Gina turns on her side and leans on an arm.
I cover my eyes. “Kissing Kyle,” I admit.
“What was it like?”
I’m surprised she doesn’t think my first kiss is trivial. Silly. She’s kissed guys, and done a lot more. I move my hands and face her. “It was a little embarrassing,” I tell her truthfully.
“Why?” She’s scrutinizing my face.
I close my eyes. “Because I didn’t know what I was doing. But he was sweet. He showed me.”
“Showed you?” She leans in closer. “What do you mean?”
“Purse your lips and tighten them, like you have to kiss a dog.”
“Ugh, I’ve done that plenty of times.” She gives a harsh laugh, and then does it.
I press a finger to her bottom lip and massage it the way he did. “Relax.” Her lips part, and her already dilated eyes get wider. I shrug. “Then he kissed me.”
“Like this.” She reaches over and presses a kiss to my lips.
I lean back. “Yeah,
kinda.” I sit up. “Why did you do that?”
“Hey, chill. I’m not trying to hit on you.” I search her face, reading her serious expression. “I’ll admit you look hot. That outfit looks much better on you than me.” Gina laughs nervously. “It’s just,” she
wrings her hands together. “I’ve never kissed someone when I was sober. I wanted to see what it was like.”
I sit back down. “Really?”
She sighs, rolling away. “Never mind. Sorry. I’m always doing shit before I think it through.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I want to reach out and hug her. Tell her how grateful I am for her. Tell her I consider her the sister I always wished I had. But I don’t. “We need to find you a sober boyfriend,” I say lightly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs my hand off.
“I don’t need any favors.” She pushes off my bed and pulls on her combat boots. Without looking back, she grabs her purse and says, “Have fun on your date.” Then she’s gone.