leaning against the door with her Ducks hoodie and yoga pants on with her hair up in some messy bun thing. I stare at her thinking how adorable she looks when she’s tired.
“What happened to you?” she asks, never making the attempt to come inside. She’s waiting to see what I’m going to do, how I’m going to react.
I shrug and open the door wider allowing her to come in. I’m here by myself still, Colton’s at the party and probably going home with that chick he was talking to earlier.
Macy and I do the same dance we’ve done so many other times. I sit on the end of my bed in only my boxers as Macy strips off her clothes and climbs in behind me. But there’s something else here, I can feel it. She’s afraid I’ve pulled away altogether tonight. This is her testing me out. She wants to make sure I know the light is still there always helping to guide me to where I need to be.
She takes her smooth gentle hands and runs them up and down my back comforting me. I wish it was comforting, I do. But it’s not. It’s complicating things for me. When she knows I’m still tense, she leans forward placing a kiss between my shoulder blades where I have Steven’s name and jersey number, the same number I have now, tattooed on me. A permanent reminder. My body tenses again, waiting for the memories to hit me full force but nothing happens.
I reach for her and pull her around so she’s sitting on my lap. Tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, I’m once again awestruck by her very being. She’s beautiful, even without the makeup she cakes her face with. She’s pure right now, like when I met her, innocent, knobby-kneed little girl who ate the frosting off my cupcake in the fourth grade and tried to convince me it was her sister. She’s that same girl who gave me her innocence without question when I didn’t deserve it. And now here she is, giving me another little piece I don’t deserve. Her. My shining star.
Macy reaches up cupping my face staring into my eyes so intently, just like the picture, her naked body pressed against mine. Just like when we were back at Cannon Beach. I close my eyes and lean into her touch.
“Make love to me,” Macy whispers.
It’s never “fuck me” with Macy. She’s not that kind of girl. She doesn’t do rough, she loves slow and gentle. My stomach clenches and I grip her hips hard. I shouldn’t give into her but I do. I always will. I do because the way she makes me feel silences things for a bit. She makes me believe there’s more to this life when I’m not thinking about the reality that I live in.
I nod my head and push her back a little bit so I could free myself from my boxers. Macy’s face flushes as she watches me grip myself. I reach behind her and cup her ass bringing her closer to me. I push inside of her with ease. Her head comes down to rest on my shoulder, moaning at my touch. I grip her hips rocking in and out of her. It’s slow, painfully slow. I’m memorizing it. Just like that photograph and the memories I have of her, I never want to forget moments like these when it’s pure between us.
Macy runs her hands over my shoulders and into my hair, tugging gently. She knows it drives me crazy when she does that.
This position is new for us sitting here holding on to each other with everything we are. I know deep down I can’t keep doing to this her. She’ll never leave me, ever. So it’s up to me to push her, push her over the edge and not want to hold on to what we have left. But I can’t make myself do that. I keep saying to myself, even right now, I can change and be good for her. Only problem is I never do. Instead of finding comfort in her the way I should, I find it in a bottle and a joint.
I’m constantly turning away from her only to have her turn me back around. I wish she’d leave me, put me out of my goddamn misery.
It’s times like this—when her eyes lock with mine—that I wish we were fighting instead of this raw emotion between us