Chaos and Control(52)

With quick sips, it doesn’t take long for me to finish the bottle. In fact, I haven’t even had to flip over the vinyl. The alcohol creates a nice buzz in my head, a peaceful detachment from the day’s events. Only, every now and then, an image of Bennie lying unconscious appears behind my closed eyes. It sends a jolt of panic through my body before the wine washes it away.

“Extreme fatigue,” I say out loud. “Only you, Bennie.”

I shake my head, but stop quickly because it makes me dizzy. Pulling my feet up on the sofa, I lay my head on one of the overstuffed pillows. Across the room, that photo of Bennie and me stares back. It’s the last thing I see before I fall asleep.

…

The windows are black when I wake. I sit up and glance at the clock, nine o’clock. I slept for almost six hours. There’s a slight pounding behind my eyes, a result of my indulgence in cheap wine. Sitting in the quiet of this apartment makes me uneasy. I slip into my boots, and down two glasses of water with some aspirin. I need to get out of here and know just where I’m headed.

I stop in the hall and knock on Preston’s door. He is quick to answer, as if he’s been waiting on my reappearance into the world.

“Hey,” I say, giving a small, awkward wave.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I just want to get out of the apartment. Want to take a walk with me?”

Preston’s answering smile lights up the dim hallway. He grabs his keys and steps into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him. He only checks the deadbolt twice before we’re on our way.

Outside, the night air is cool. We walk along the sidewalk instead of the street, and I notice his hesitation to do so.

“What’s wrong?”

Preston frowns at his feet and shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m good.”

“Preston, you can tell me.”

He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’d rather walk on the street.”

I stare at him blankly, not understanding. “Okay. Then we’ll walk on the street.”

I take off toward the park and Preston stays beside me, an unasked question between us. We are a foot apart, not physically touching, but I feel him all the same.

“It’s the cracks on the sidewalk,” he confesses. “I’m sorry.”

I stop and place my palms on his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. “Do not apologize for these things. I like you, Preston. I like everything about you.”

I turn left into the park, and as soon as we hit the grass, I kick out of my boots and pull off my socks, leaving both under a tree.

“What are you doing?” Preston asks.

“I want to feel the grass.” His lips press into a thin line as he looks at my bare feet and back to my shoes. “You want to take yours off, too?”

“Uh, no. I’m good.”

I laugh and grab his hand, pulling him over to the swings. I take a seat in one and push off from the ground. Moving my legs back and forth, I swing as high as it’ll let me go. With my face turned toward the starry sky, I feel weightless and floating.

“Come on, Preston,” I shout at him.

He hesitantly sits on the next swing and watches me for a few seconds. His tall frame and wide shoulders look almost comical on the small swing, but he doesn’t back down. Preston pushes back and lets his Chuck Taylors kick out in front of him. I giggle when I see his competitive spirit come alive and he tries to swing higher than me.

When we are both breathless from our efforts and from laughing, we slow down and come to a stop. The chains creak with our slow movements now, and it conjures up similar memories from childhood with a different boy.

“Preston?”

“Yeah?”

I reach over, grab his swing’s chains, and pull myself closer. He gasps when I’m almost sitting on his lap.

“Will you kiss me on these swings?”

He nods and licks his lips. “Why here?”

I lean in now, our mouths only inches apart. My heart leaps in my chest, and I can see and feel nothing but Preston.

“Because the last boy who kissed me here was Saw—”

I don’t even get the name out before Preston pushes forward and presses his lips to mine. The force behind this kiss makes me tingle in all the right places. It is claim-staking and all-encompassing. My fingers loosen on the chains of his swing, wanting to abandon the hard metal for his hard body, but then I’d just drift away. I don’t want to take the risk of losing this moment. Tiny whimpers escape my lips, and I am helpless to stop them. Preston ends it with four quick pecks on my lips, one on my forehead and nose—an even number.

“Six kisses,” I point out. Letting go of Preston’s swing, I fall back into place and hop off.

“Six on Wednesdays. I figure if I’m going to be kissing you often, I’d like some kind of routine. Two on Mondays, four on Tuesdays, six on Wednesdays, and so on.”

A grin splits my face in half. “You plan on kissing me often?”

Preston simply nods.

“What a day.”

“You still worried about Bennie?” he asks.

“Yeah. It’s more than this exhaustion thing, though. She’s been lying to me.”

His head whips toward me, brows heavy over steel eyes.

“About what?” he asks.