press him for details. I understand that some stories are more complicated than confessions. So instead of pushing on him, I take a deep breath and I explain to him how to use the camera. "See, you just point and shoot."
"Okay," he says, his breath ragged. "I think I can handle that. And then we’ve got to go. Okay, Lydia? I mean it."
"What are you so scared of?" I ask him.
"I'm scared of ruining you."
"That's not possible," I say.
"Why not?" he asks as I walk toward the rock.
I look over my shoulder. "My daddy broke my heart two years ago. I understand that the world is messed up and messy. You can't ruin me. I already understand how quickly things can go from bad to worse. And besides that, you wouldn’t ruin me, Jackal. Wherever you've been, and I know you've been places, I don't think you would ever hurt me. I don't think you could hurt me, even if you tried.” My words are probably shaky, but I stand my ground. “So you can push me away all you want, but I won't give up on you."
"You know all that after just one kiss?"
I sit down on the rock, lifting up my hair and letting it fall down my back. "No, Jackal," I say, looking straight into the camera. "I've known all that for the last year, have been thinking all that ever since you showed up here at the Heartlands so intent on keeping your head down. I've known that since the first time we met and you could hardly look at me. You're scared."
“You trying to make this harder than it already is?” he asks.
"It's not ruining me you're scared of. It's being loved by me."
"Love? We already got there?" he asks. He takes a picture, then another.
I don't smile or laugh. I just lick my lips and I lift up my dress, tossing it to the shore. I'm in nothing but a pair of panties. My skin is exposed and I'm sitting on a rock. Anyone could come and see me, see us, but they won't. We're alone. They're busy getting drunk and causing trouble. But not me. I'm intent on making sure Jackal knows exactly where I stand. I want him. I want him so, so bad.
"Yes. We're already at the love part," I tell him.
He steps forward and picks up my dress. "Put this on," he says.
"Why?" I ask. "You don't like this? I thought it would be a perfect photograph. Take my picture," I tell him.
"Please."
"Lydia," he says, his breath ragged.
"Please," I ask. "I want to see what I look like through your eyes."
He doesn’t take the photo. Instead, he sets the camera down. He hands me my dress. "You want to know how you look through my eyes?” he asks. “You look like every good thing that's never happened. You look like promises that are too good to be true. You look like a future that's too bright for a man like me."
I clench the fabric of my dress in my hands and I walk toward him. "You're only 23 years old, Jackal. Your life hasn't been thrown away before it's begun. Why won't you give yourself a chance to feel good, to feel me? "
He grunts, but it's more like a growl, and he kisses me.
This time it's hard. And his hands run over my back, my ass, my skin. He kisses me and I feel his cock against my belly. And I feel his need for me because it matches mine. I understand him.
I understand he's scared, but I want him to believe that he doesn't need to fear this, fear us. I believe enough for the both of us.
"Fuck," he groans as he kisses me, his hands on my breasts, my pussy, so wet and ready, his fingers running between my thighs. He hitches up my leg and he feels my center, his fingers brushing over me, pressing inside of me. I moan in pleasure and desire.
"Oh, Jackal don't stop," I whisper, wanting to feel him, all of him, wanting him to be naked too.
But instead, we hear sirens, a bullhorn across the clearing where the party is. We pull apart, eyes wide.
"Everyone needs to be off of these premises immediately. Every bike and car and truck needs to be out of this parking lot. Do you understand? This is the Seneca Police Department and this party is over."
Jackal looks at me. "Fuck," he groans, handing me my dress.