Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(38)

I wiped away the last of those strangely emotionless tears, feeling hollow. Finally, I lay down on the bed and curled up on my side. “You know, I’m mostly okay with it, really. I started therapy the year after that. I don’t remember what my behavior must have been like once I got home, but obviously it was a problem because suddenly there were social workers and psychologists and behavioral therapists, and they were taking me off sugar and caffeine and putting me on a special diet for some reason. So I’ve dealt with it, put in a lot of work.”

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t told a single therapist about it until I was sixteen, and then only because she was the first one to ask the goddamn question. How had none of them ever guessed?

“Until this morning I never even knew I was capable of freaking out like that about it. So I guess, just . . . don’t ever make me touch you if I don’t want to, okay? And don’t take it personally if I don’t want anything to do with it when it’s soft.”

“Of course not.” He looked down at his folded hands, his eyes troubled, and I knew, somehow I just knew, that the next words out of his mouth were going to be the long-delayed suggestion that we stop.

I didn’t want to hear that. At this moment they’d feel like rejection and I couldn’t cope with that.

“Can you come lay down with me? Please?”

His face was conflicted as he looked over at me, but finally he sagged in defeat and crawled onto the bed behind me, spooning me. His arms were tight and warm, and I was chilled even though it was almost mid-June. I wish I could say it felt safe, but I don’t think anything could have made me feel safe just now, raw and exposed the way I was. But at least I wasn’t alone. At least someone cared for once.

There was more to the story that I was just too exhausted now to tell. Like going back to Alabama when I was nineteen, when my grandfather passed away. Aunt Pearl and Uncle Jim had been there at the funeral, and even though my family knew what he’d done to me, no one stepped in when Uncle Jim opened his arms and expected a hug. Aunt Blythe had just watched me cautiously, like she was waiting for me to make a scene.

I’d let that f*cker hug me rather than make the rest of them uncomfortable with my drama.

I still had a couple hours until I needed to be at the body art studio, so we lay there for a while. Not speaking. Not moving. Lost in our thoughts. Well, I was lost in memories, really. As always, once they came up, it was hard to shut them off again. They replayed obsessively, like an old record skipping over and over. Maybe I dozed a bit, but if I did, it wasn’t deeply or for long. Our stomachs were starting to rumble their displeasure over having delayed breakfast when Brendan finally spoke again.

“I’ve lost count of the number of ways this is wrong, Topher.”

“I know.”

“We need to stop.”

“I know.”

“I’m being selfish.”

“We both are.”

And we were. We were both betraying people we loved. We were destroying each other.

His lips touched my shoulder, followed by a breathy sigh. “The difference is, I’m supposed to know better.”

That was true, too. I could chalk all this up to youth and impetuosity. I had far less to lose, though it killed me to think what would happen if we broke Mo’s heart. He didn’t have that excuse. He was supposed to be the mature one, the responsible one, the wiser one.

The faithful one.

He was supposed to be the one with the self-control to not let this happen. And that was how I was destroying him. Because I knew he was too weak to stop and I played on it, abetted it, even though it made him feel worse about himself. It wasn’t deliberate. I didn’t mean to do it, but somehow I ended up doing it anyway. I was strong enough to walk away. I knew that without question. I had it in me to do what he couldn’t, but instead I drew him in. All the reasons he was bad for me were plain as day. But I was bad for him, too. I was Kryptonite to his willpower.

We would stop. We would. But not before it hurt a lot more. I knew it was coming, it had to be, and I didn’t care.

I turned and slipped my thigh between his, rubbing it back and forth against his crotch until his fly began to swell.

“Know better tomorrow,” I murmured, and kissed him.

For a moment, his hands tightened on my shoulders, like he might push me away, like he might finally find the strength to stop after all. And then he groaned, and slid them around me instead. His mouth slanted across mine, hard and hungry, and he rolled me over onto my back, his weight settling upon me.





Without you I think I could be

Happier than with you, maybe

You would finally learn to stop avoiding

—Casey Stratton, “The Hardest Part”

I’d been working for Geoffrey for a week when he informed me that Robin would have some work for me today down at the art gallery. So after lunch, I walked down the street to find Ling in the front of the gallery, moving around paintings that looked much too large for her to be lifting in her condition.

“Here, let me help you with that!” I dropped my backpack and rushed over to try to take the large canvas from her, only to find that it was a lot lighter than the size would indicate.

She smirked at me. “You notice I’m not moving any of the framed ones.”

“Right. Sorry.” I stepped back and ducked my head, my face warm. “How are you, Ling?”