Secret Lucidity(27)

Was.

I hate referring to him in the past tense. It’s just another reminder.

A shadow catches my eye, and when I look up, I see Coach Andrews from across the pool deck.

How, in the deafness that surrounds, did I not hear him walk in?

He doesn’t say anything as he holds concern in the way he’s looking at me. Without urgency, he walks my way, kicks his shoes off, and sits next to me before sinking his legs into the water as well. I don’t bother hiding what’s streaked down my face from the only person who’s seen me cry.

“What are you doing here?”

“Needed to get out of my house.” There is no need to beat around the bush. He was there. He saw. “I lied to you.”

“I know.” He gives me a sympathetic smile.

“I called her a drunk.”

“What did she say?”

I hesitate to tell him, to expose another layer of truth which runs deeper than making it known that she drinks too much.

“Whatever you say stays right here between the two of us,” he tells me, and I take his offering. There might be a chance that if I open myself up, then all the things I’m hiding will be set free. Maybe if I rid myself of them, they won’t be able to inflict their abuse so much.

“She hit me.”

His arm wraps around me, tugging me to him, and I go freely, resting my head against his shoulder. His shirt wets beneath my soaked hair, but he doesn’t say a word.

More tears fall quietly while I absorb the heat of his skin into the dampness of mine. I resist the urge to band my arms around him and take even more of what he’s giving—of what I’ve been lacking.

“How bad is it?”

“She wishes it had been me and not him.”

He pulls back in disbelief. “She said that?”

“Maybe it should’ve been,” I say, ignoring his question.

I blink.

Another tear falls.

And when he drags his thumb through my body’s iridescent call for help, our eyes lock, and another match strikes. His touch moves from under my eye to my deep scar. He traces the length of it, starting at my temple, across my cheek, and down to my chin—his eyes never leaving mine.

“It’s disgusting.”

“Nothing about you is disgusting,” he says softly before grimacing and dropping his head to mine.

And before I even realize what I’m doing, my lips brush against his, and he immediately flinches, putting space back between us. I flush with embarrassment as he shakes his head with his eyes clenched shut.

“This is wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, but then, in a shift, all the blood rushes to the core of my chest when he takes my face in both of his hands and kisses me.

Desperate to have his everything consume my nothing, I lose all sight in more ways than one when I close my eyes and kiss him back.

Butterflies with razor-sharp wings flutter inside my stomach, slicing through every good and bad choice I’ve ever made, allowing them to bleed and meld together.

Nothing makes sense.

But it does.

His body is strong and tense against my soft and weak. He’s everything I’m not and all that I need in this moment, filling gaps and mending pieces of a severed soul.

He takes the air from my lungs, yet gasps a time or two when our lips part.

His head drops and his chest tremors against mine as his hands clench tightly to my face.

There’s hesitation in the air.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Forbidden says, knowing neither of us has the answer. “Cam . . .”

“Please . . . don’t say anything.”

I don’t dare open my eyes for fear that this moment will vanish the second I do, because this is wrong. This is so very wrong, but at the same time, it’s the only thing that has felt right since I woke up in the hospital. He’s my teacher, yes, but he’s so much more. And in a world where I’ve lost all connections, he’s the one thing that’s able to tether me. It’s only with him that I don’t feel like completely giving up to drown, because in this very moment, with his skin touching my skin, I’m no longer feeding at the breast of misery.





I PULL MY BOTTOM LIP between my teeth as I think about his kiss. The softness of his lips against mine lingers in phantom pressure, twirling my stomach in pleasurable aches.

Returning to school, just as I had promised, I hang on to thoughts of Friday night to get me through the dreadfulness of the day. It’s the second week, and this is only my second day in attendance. I skipped because I couldn’t deal with the looks and whispers, not realizing the act of avoiding them would just send more my way. It’s worse today than the first day was, forcing me to fake my way through the hours.

Kroy sits next to me in second period. I’m thankful for familiar comfort but also feel an incredible amount of guilt for what happened between me and Coach Andrews. Kroy isn’t the first boy I’ve ever kissed. He is, however, the only one I’ve kissed for the past two years, and guilt is pricking at my conscience. After all, he’s been my best friend for countless years, and we broke up only a few short weeks ago. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about me, nothing I haven’t shared with him, nothing until now. But I couldn’t tell him even if I wanted to, because Coach Andrews is my teacher, and because I’m only seventeen, and because I don’t want to risk it never happening again.