Dreams of 18(23)

“What about her neck? Does she want me to touch her neck?”

My neck tingles. “Yes.”

“Her waist. Maybe slide down a little?”

I nod, feeling the brick wall brushing against my ass. “To her ass.”

“What if I bring my hand forward, slide it down her stomach? Would she like that?”

My eyes go down to his hands. They’re clenched into fists by his sides, mimicking my own.

His stance is wide, and his body sprung tight, completely in conflict with his low, lazy, almost sleepy voice. And I realize that maybe this is how he looks when he’s aroused.

Oh Jesus, is he aroused? Did she get him going that much?

It makes me wanna sob.

Instead, I whisper, “Yeah. Yeah, she’d like that. Very much.”

“What if I don’t stop there? What if I keep going and going until my hand is somewhere else?”

“On her thighs?”

I say that but I’m not really thinking that. I’m thinking of something else.

Something that I’m currently clenching and pressing between my thighs as I watch his tight fists. As I try to make my fists as tight as his, as tight as the knot in my lower belly.

“Yeah. But that’s not what my hand’s after. You know that, don’t you? It’s after something else. My hand’s after her p –”

“Okay!” I almost scream, trying to get him to stop talking. “I get the picture. She wanted you to touch her everywhere.”

Jesus Christ, he has to stop now.

He has to.

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take him saying the P word, and I’m not referring to all the P words he’s been called.

He was gonna say something else, something like pussy, and no.

Just no. I can’t.

I can’t take that he can make me aware of my own body while he’s talking about touching someone else’s.

Mr. Edwards’s smile goes even meaner, even colder. “You look a little flushed. Are you okay? A little turned on, maybe?”

“I’m…”

“Does watching people get you off?”

My eyes go wide; I’m sure he can see it through the tinted lenses. “What?”

“You watch people, Violet?”

He just said my name.

He said it the same way as he did that night. Like he’s murdering it between his teeth.

I shake my head, scraping the back of it against the brick wall. “No. Of course not. I don’t… don’t watch people.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So why were you watching me?”

“I didn’t mean to watch you. I was just… I just happened to be there. A-and you were, you know. And then, I couldn’t stop watching. It was kinda hypnotic and I’m so so–”

“Maybe next time when two grown-ups are kissing, look the fuck away.”

I’m so freaked out that I don’t even take offense at his grown-ups. “Yeah, okay.”

“Or try some porn in your free time. For educational purposes, you understand, so you don’t get hypnotized again.”

I grimace; I knew that would somehow come to bite me in the ass, the hypnotized comment. “Okay. Porn, yeah. I’ll try that.”

Then I see his lips twitch. Only once, but I catch it and for such a small, minuscule action, it has an avalanche of an effect.

My heart skips a beat before jackhammering inside my rib cage.

Was that his way of… smiling?

“Jailbait,” he murmurs out of the blue, and my heart that’s been flying inside my chest slows down.

I flinch, as if reality smacked me across the face. I loosen my fists and my shoulders go limp.

In a very small voice, I say, “I’m not. I’m eighteen.”

Like I was when I kissed him.

Like I told people over and over after that.

And then, I jump in and add, “And ten months. I’m eighteen and ten months.”

It’s important.

If I could somehow make myself age faster, I would. But I can’t. So I’m going to count every single day toward my pathetic, inappropriate age.

“You shouldn’t be wearing that, then.” He jerks his chin up, pointing at something. “If you don’t want people to get the wrong impression.”

I frown for a moment, then comprehension dawns.

Oh.

Fuck.

Reaching up, I snatch off my baseball cap. It’s magenta with ‘Jailbait’ written in black. God, I’m an idiot.

“It was a stupid gift from one of my friends. Don’t worry, I’m gonna set this and her on fire tomorrow.”

“Yeah? For your birthday?”

It’s a taunting voice, aimed to sting. It does and my embarrassment grows.

“New Year’s,” I still tell him.

If he wants to mock me for it, I won’t take away the opportunity. He has every right.

Besides, it was a New Year’s gift from the one and only Renn. By then, I’d told them all the truth and she bought me this present as a joke. Surprisingly, it made me chuckle at the time.

I’m not chuckling now.

I’m doused in shame.

“Take ’em off,” he orders instead of acknowledging what I just said, gesturing toward my sunglasses.