Chaos and Control(25)
He nods and follows me out of the parking lot onto the road. We walk, side by side, a couple of feet between us. I sneak glances at him and wait for an explanation. He gives me nothing.
Walking Crowley’s streets after midnight feels different from any other city. The click of my shoes on the road is the only sound besides cricket songs. There is no danger here, no clutching my bag with a white-knuckled grip, no looking over my shoulder. Still, though it doesn’t compare to the big city streets I’ve walked in the last three years, it holds the same notion. I’m just a girl, heading home, fading in and out of the overhead streetlights.
“Okay, Preston-who-lurks-on-street-corners. I’ll ask again. What are you doing here? Do you normally hang outside of bars in Crowley around midnight?”
“No. Not usually.”
“Then what?”
Preston pushes his hands farther into his pockets. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”
I tuck my chin to my chest to hide my smile and sling my bag over my shoulder.
“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me, Preston. Thanks. But I’ve been running around these streets after dark ever since I learned how to sneak out of my parents’ house at thirteen. I’ll be okay.”
“I’d rather make sure myself.”
I spin and walk backwards while we keep moving. “Is that a control thing?”
He shakes his head and looks off into the darkness ahead. “No. It’s a Wren thing.”
My feet stop moving. Preston stops, too, so that he doesn’t run into me. We’re standing under a street lamp, and the glow surrounds him, shadows paint his face. He looks like my own guardian angel.
“I want to kiss you right now, but we don’t have any liquor,” I say with a smile.
His chest rises and falls as he stares down into my eyes with a resolve I don’t recognize. I’m waiting for his denial, for his apology. What he gives me is much better.
Preston wraps his large hand around the back of my neck and pulls me to him. His lips are on mine before I can even gasp in surprise. There’s no slow tenderness to this kiss, no buildup. It starts out rough and heated. I feel claimed and possessed by him. Preston’s tongue slides across my bottom lip before he gently bites down. I sigh into his mouth. My hands go to his chest, needing something solid to keep me grounded. The muscle there is tense and hard beneath my fingers, his breaths coming fast.
The feel of his stubble scraping against my chin is pleasured pain, and the way his fingers curl around the back of my neck gives me chills. I am acutely aware of every place our bodies connect and every reaction burning inside me. He smells woodsy and tastes like mint.
When his grip on me loosens, his kiss changes from penetrating to light pecks along my mouth. His body seems to relax and melt into mine, tension gone. Over and over his lips connect with mine and pull away. I don’t mind, but I wonder what his motivation is. He answers my unasked question without prompt.
“I’m sorry.” Kiss. Kiss. “I have to stop.” Kiss. Kiss. “On an even number.” Kiss. “But, I can’t stop.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
He straightens and looks down on me as we try to catch our breaths. There is something new between us. I feel like Preston has finally waved his white flag and given in to what he wants, what we both want. I am speechless.
“Let’s get you home,” he says, moving past me.
I fall in step beside him, and for the first time, enjoy the silence and scenery of Crowley. Though this place feels different with Preston here, the gravity feels stronger, like it’s still trying to tie me down. Even with amazing kisses beneath streetlights, I can’t see that happening.
Back at the apartment, I slide open the bottom drawer of my dresser. Digging beneath the clothes and reaching all the way to the back, I pull out a large brown envelope. The name DYLAN scrawled onto the front in heavy permanent marker sends a wave of nausea through my body. I open it, add most of my cash tips from the night and seal it back up. I replace the envelope and throw unfolded clothes back on top.
As I climb into bed for the night, I mentally tally up all the cash—new and old—in that envelope. Three thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two dollars. I won’t feel guilty for taking it. I did what I had to do to survive. And now, it’ll be vital to me getting out of Crowley. I don’t know when that will be, but I know it’s inevitable.
Alphabetical and chronological Are erotic word games
She wants to know my process
And I can’t explain
Because there is a process to my process Conversational foreplay and then A slip of lavender jars me from my platform My need to fix it undercut by my need to see it This girl shatters all my rules Midnight strolls and questions of control
Between Midwest street lamps
Sweet gestures through her eyes Are obsessive curiosities
I overcomplicate her life
Still she wants to kiss me
Charging in at first
Losing my white-knuckled grip on control We are rooted to asphalt
With mutual abandon
Until 2, 4, 6, 8
And I can breathe again
- Preston
Chapter Nine
Lungs
“Tell me something about young Preston,” I say. I stand across from the front counter while Preston leans against the register. Bennie is out for lunch, so it’s just us in the store. These are my favorite times with him. He’s more relaxed and uninhibited.