Chaos and Control(29)

“Oh, come on. Are you scared of heights?”

“No, I’m scared of rusty metal screws, tetanus, a ladder that probably hasn’t been safety tested since the seventies, and falling to my death.”

“Let me down.”

Preston lets go of my legs, and I slide off. I walk to the ladder and climb about ten steps up before turning around. “See? It’s okay.”

“That’s far enough. You don’t even have shoes on. Can you please come down?”

Even from this height I can see his worried face.

“Please come down,” he whispers. It’s a sound so faint, the words barely reach me. But when they do, the pleading in his voice almost knocks me from my perch.

“Shit,” I mumble and hurry down the ladder. When I land in the grass, I dust off my hands on my shorts. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “You were already having a bad day, and I didn’t help things. I suck.”

Preston shakes his head. “I wish I could go up there with you, Wren. I wish I could follow you anywhere.”

When the cool night air makes my skin prickle, Preston notices.

“Let’s get you home.”

Preston continues my piggyback ride home, even carrying me up the stairs to our apartments. When we reach Bennie’s door, he sets me down gently. I’m anxious about leaving him alone for the night. I lift my hand, but don’t touch him. I want this to be on Preston’s terms.

He leans in, his lips a few inches from mine. Both of our eyes are still open and locked on each other. I close the gap between us.

This kiss is different. He’s running the show. He leads, and I follow. We are a mess of exploring hands and stuttered sighs between kisses. His tongue sweeps over mine, and I feel weakened by his taste. The hand that is on my waist shifts lower, sliding over my hip and around. He cups my ass and then curls his fingers around my thigh. Preston presses his body against me and lifts my leg around his body. I can feel how hard he is as we move and shift together in the dimly lit hallway.

“Preston, please,” I say when his lips move to my neck.

“What do you need, Wren?” he whispers. I run my hands over his flat stomach and up to the planes of his chest. His body is so firm beneath my touch. “What do you want?”

“You,” I say. He shifts his hips against me again, and I moan at the feel of his erection pressing against me. “Fuck, Preston.”

Suddenly, his hands are on the door behind me, and he straightens his arms. I am trapped between them as he looks down at me, hunger in his eyes.

“I can’t,” he says. “I mean, I can. I haven’t…” Preston pushes off the door and puts some space between us. His eyes avoid mine as he fights for his breaths. One hand makes a fist, and the other curls around it, squeezing until I hear his knuckles pop.

“You’ve never had sex?” My voice is high and too loud. I clear my throat. His head hangs low, his eyes on the floor between us. “Preston, are you a virgin?”

“I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex,” he says. “But I’m usually so intoxicated I barely remember it. It’s the only way to fight off the shit in my head. How pathetic is that?”

“Hey,” I say, reaching for him. “It’s not pathetic. You’re sober now, and you’re fine, right?”

He takes a step back. “I need to go.”

“Preston, don’t run from me.”

“Good night.”

He turns, puts the key in the lock, and opens his apartment door. It closes with barely a sound.

“Preston,” I whisper. He doesn’t answer. I lean my forehead against the wood and listen as he locks the deadbolt again and again. I count eight times before I give up and go inside.





Long moments of lust

Followed by furious shame

My body screams in disappointment As my disorder shuts down this need I am a thundercloud

Booming in my self-hate

Wanting and needing and having Are only obsolete verbs

When compared to

Fearing and failing and loathing For one day, one hour, one minute I wish to reign over this kingdom Instead, I am shackled to phobias In the dungeon of what could be - Preston





Chapter Ten


Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me

“I knew I’d find you here,” I say, sliding into the booth across from Preston.

He closes his notebook and puts it away. “Already memorizing my schedule.”

“I’ve already memorized your everything, Preston.”

His left eyebrow raises slightly. He enjoys my flirting, and I love that he does. Angela approaches the table. After seeing her at the bar, it’s strange to have her back in this role.

“Hey, Wren. What can I get you?”

“I want a giant plate of mac ’n cheese and a lemonade.”

“You got it.”

She leaves to fetch my drink, and in the minute we’re alone there is nothing between us but silence. The clinking of forks to plates, cups to table, the static noise of conversations surround us. But here, in this booth, it is only Preston and me and enough sexual tension to choke us.

“Here you go,” Angela says, sliding my lemonade onto the table and disappearing again.

She has interrupted nothing and everything. I take a sip of my drink in an effort to cool my insides. Preston watches.