This Girl (Slammed #3)(18)

Get married

Get old . . .

They don’t want to imagine how life will continue to go on without them,

Their material things will be sold

Their medical files stamped “closed”

Their name becoming a memory to everyone they know.

They don’t want to imagine how life will go on without them, so instead of accepting it head-on, they avoid the subject altogether,

hoping and praying it will somehow . . .

pass them by.

Forget about them,

moving on to the next one in line.

No, they didn’t want to imagine how life would continue to go on . . .

without them.

But death

didn’t

forget.

Instead they were met head-on by death,

disguised as an eighteen-wheeler

behind a cloud of fog.

No.

Death didn’t forget about them.

If they only had been prepared, accepted the inevitable, laid out their plans, understood that it wasn’t just their lives at hand.

I may have legally been considered an adult at the age of nineteen, but I still felt very much

all

of just nineteen.

Unprepared

and overwhelmed

to suddenly have the entire life of a seven-year-old

In my realm.

Death. The only thing inevitable in life.

I TAKE A step away from the microphone, feeling even more nervous than when I began. I completely laid it all out there. My whole life, condensed into a one-minute poem.

When I step off the stage and make my way to our booth, she’s wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, so I walk slowly in order to give her a moment to absorb my words.

When I slide into the booth she looks sad, so I smile at her and try to break the tension. “I warned you,” I say as I reach for my drink. She doesn’t respond, so I’m not sure what to say at this point. I become uncomfortable, thinking maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about telling her my life story. I guess I sort of put her on the spot, too. I certainly hope she doesn’t feel like she has to tell me how sorry she feels for me. I hate pity more than anything.

Just when I start to regret my choice in performance, she reaches out and takes my free hand in hers. She touches me so gently—it’s like she’s telling me what she’s thinking without even speaking. I set my drink down on the table and turn to face her. When I look into her eyes, it’s not pity I see at all.

She’s still looking at me with hope in her eyes.

This girl just became privy to everything I’ve been scared to tell her about my life. The death of my parents, the anger I held toward them, the amount of responsibility I now face, the fact that I’m all Caulder has—and she’s still looking at me with hope in her tear-filled eyes. I reach to her face and wipe away a tear, then lightly trace my thumb across the wet trail running down her cheek. She places her hand on top of mine and slowly pulls it to her mouth. She presses her lips into the center of my palm without breaking her gaze from mine, causing my heart to catch in my throat. She just somehow managed to convey every single thought and emotion she’s feeling through this one simple gesture.

I suddenly don’t care where we are or who might be watching us. I have to kiss her. I have to.

I take her face in my hands and lean in closer, ignoring the part of my conscience that is screaming for me to wait. She closes her eyes, inviting me in. I hesitate, but as soon as I feel her breath fall on my lips, I can’t hold back. I close the gap between us, lightly pressing my lips against her bottom lip. It’s even softer than it looks. Somehow the background noise has completely faded and all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat, pulsating throughout my entire body. I slowly move my lips up to her top lip, but as soon as I feel her mouth begin to part, I reluctantly pull away. As much as I want to kiss her with everything I’ve got, I’m also vaguely aware that we’re in public, and I’ve got at least two students here tonight. I decide to save the better kiss for later, because if we do this right now, I know I won’t want to stop.

“Patience,” I whisper, mustering up all the self-control I’ve got. I stroke her cheek with my thumb and she smiles at me in understanding. Still holding her face in my hands, I close my eyes again and press my lips against her cheek. She sucks in a breath as I release my hold and slide my hands down her arms, trying to remember how to breathe again. I’m unable to pull away from her, so I press my forehead against hers and open my eyes. It’s in this moment that I know she’s feeling exactly what I’m feeling. I can see it in her eyes.

“Wow,” she exhales.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Wow.”

We hold each other’s stare for a few more seconds. When the emcee begins announcing the qualifiers for round two I’m quickly brought back to reality. There is no way I can sit here any longer without pulling her onto my lap and kissing the hell out of her. I figure in order to avoid that; my best course of action would be to just leave.

“Let’s go,” I whisper. I take her hand as we slide out of the booth and I lead her to the exit.

“You don’t want to stay?” she says after we walk outside.

“Lake, you’ve been moving and unpacking for days. You need sleep.”

As soon as I say it, she yawns. “Sleep does sound good.”