Bullet(26)

I smiled and nodded. Yeah…a long time ago. But I was just happy he remembered.

“So let’s hear it.”

“No way. I’m not reading it to you. But if you want, I can get out some of my notebooks, and you can read some of it.”

He grinned. “Okay. I’m game.”

I got up off my bed and opened a drawer at my desk to pull out several notebooks. I tossed them on the desktop. “Have at it.”

He looked down at the notebooks and then up to me. “All these?”

I grinned. “Yep. I have more at home.”

His eyes grew wide. “Why don’t you pick a few for me to read?”

Oh…I’d overwhelmed him. So I picked the notebooks up and sat back on my bed. I grabbed the green one and started leafing through it. God…this was like ripping my chest open and letting him look inside, but I’d promised. So I found a poem I’d written about him. It wasn’t the best I’d ever written, but it was from my heart. It was called “You Are.” I handed him the notebook turned to that page. I just watched his face as he read it.



How can I say the words I want to say?

My emotions…pitifully mute.

I find it impossible to express myself with words.



You’re special to me.

I don’t have to change for you.

Everything about me is right for

you.

My hair, my mind, my silliness.

And I love you just the way you are.



You’re spring to me…

A warm, gentle breeze

slowly brushing the tree tops,

making silent waves on the placid water.



You are the stars.

You give me hope.

You surround me entirely

and now I can’t let you go.



I don’t understand what you’ve done to me

but please don’t let it end.



Oh, no. This was taking far too long. My poem was short. It shouldn’t take so long to read, but he wasn’t just reading it. I knew he was thinking about it too. Finally, he looked up from the page. “This is really nice.” He flipped the page and, without looking at me, asked, “Who’s it about?”

I let out the air in my lungs I’d been holding there. “You, silly.”

He grinned but still didn’t look up. “You can never be sure…”

Oh, this was making me nervous, but he started reading them. All of them. One at a time, he turned page after page in that notebook. I tried to distract myself by studying, but it didn’t work. I desperately wanted to know what he thought. At one point, he whispered, “Holy shit.”

I couldn’t stand it anymore. “What?”

He read my words to me this time:



“You play the once-wild guitar

with such emotion.

You calm her down, play her slow



And she responds, low key.

Silent strumming, whispering strings.

You sing; the guitar sings with you.

Silently strumming.”



“The f*ck is that, Val?” I wasn’t sure what he was asking, so I just raised my eyebrows. “That’s f*cking genius.” He started tearing through the notebook and paused on a page. This time he only read a few lines from one of the poems:



“You punished me for loving you,

for letting you in,

for letting you see my fire,

and each day I paid

again

over and over.”



“This shit is raw. It’s intense. God…if I could only come that close.”

“What do you mean?”

“Writing lyrics. Val, this stuff might not be like…Emily Dickinson, but Jesus. The emotion. Un-f*cking-believable.”

I smiled and looked down at my lap, feeling bashful. I had hoped he would like my poetry, but I hadn’t expected quite this reaction. “Thanks.”

He turned some more pages. “And seriously…” I looked up. “I wanted to ask you—would you care if I adapt this? You know, change it into song lyrics?”

“What?”

“Part of this poem called ‘Scythe’.” I knew the one, but I wanted to hear the part he wanted to use.



“Frigid hand reaches up; touch my face.

Cold air drifts across my back.

Silently, he draws me into the dark night.

He pulls me nearer.

I stiffly obey.

He is peaceful.



When he’d taken others,

my stomach clenched;

I screamed in pain;

I gouged my eyes.



Now he is peaceful,

a lover beckoning to me.”



He looked up again. “I don’t know if this is about death or mental illness or what, but it’s sick. I could use parts of it.”

“Sure…use whatever you like.”

For the next hour and a half, he pored through my notebooks, gobbling them up. I managed to relax and get some studying done. When he finished, he put them down and said, “Jesus. You’re brilliant. And I can’t believe you’ve written so much.”

I shrugged and sat up. “I like to write.”

He sighed. “You’ve heard my lyrics. They pale in comparison, Val.”

I shook my head. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Hear me out.” He leaned over, resting his elbows on his thighs just above his knees. “I can’t write lyrics for shit. My poetry comes out of the guitar. I think that’s why I liked your guitar poem so much. But…I’m not a wordsmith. Not by a long shot. How would you feel…about writing lyrics for me? For Fully Automatic?”

It took me a few seconds to completely grasp what he was saying. “Are you serious?”

“Totally.”

“Um…yeah, I could. Would you want me to just keep writing poems and you change them to fit your music or…?”

“You saw how me and Brad did it in his garage when you came home with me. That’s the best way to do it. Then the words and music mesh together perfectly.”

“So how do we do this?”

“My plan? Once I have music written for a song, I have you listen, and then you can write what comes to you. Can you work that way?”

I gave it some thought. “Maybe. I’d be willing to give it a try.”

And so I did. For the next few weeks, two or three days a week, Ethan would have me over to his dorm room where he’d play his latest song. It was harder for me to imagine it without bass or drums or even the second guitar, but I wrote a couple that way anyway.

After the second song, I sang the lyrics while he played back the music. I didn’t know what, if any, melody he had intended for the lyrics, but the tune felt right. When I finished, he said, “Perfect.” He placed his hands on my cheeks. Zane wasn’t home, was at some party off campus, so we were alone. This was likely the most passionate kiss I’d ever received from Ethan. He nearly consumed me, but I didn’t care. I wanted him, and if it was going to be today…I was okay with that.

His fingers were in my hair, and I decided to be bold. I ran my fingers up under his t-shirt, feeling his abs first, then slowly started moving my hands upward. He let out a deep breath. “Val…you don’t wanna go there.”

I opened my eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

He pressed his forehead onto mine. “No. I don’t deserve you.”

“What?”

He shook his head and pulled back, but he still held my head between his hands. “I don’t deserve you. I haven’t earned your love and trust…not yet.”

I let out a sigh. He didn’t make sense. And I knew if I was feeling amorous, a man who already knew the pleasures of the flesh was bound to be feeling it even more than I. “That’s stupid, Ethan.”

“No, it’s not.” That glinting look he got in his hard green eyes showed up for the first time in a while. “We’re not ready for that step yet.”

I wanted to ask, Then when? But I thought it best to just let it go for the time being. He made sure I dropped it by returning to the music.

Throughout spring, anytime I wanted to talk about this weird pedestal he’d placed me on, he’d avoid the discussion. And he wouldn’t kiss me for long periods of time. I figured he did that to keep us both on the cool side. But I was getting frustrated.

One evening on Skype, June told me I was so good for Ethan. I didn’t know exactly how, but I just smiled and thanked her for thinking so. Sometimes I thought she was right, though, especially when I’d see the bitter look in his eyes fading away to nothing. But I wondered why he was afraid of sharing everything with me. It made no sense.