We Told Six Lies(35)

I didn’t want to drown without you, Molly.

“I have a surprise,” you said.

“Okay,” I answered, and eyed your legs in those navy tights with white cat faces on the knees.

“Stop looking at my legs,” you said.

I smiled and said, “I will not.”

But I did.

Sort of.

…

You took me to the woods, where gnarled trees stretched toward the sky. They arched over us as we left your mom’s car behind, getting lost in the shadows.

The snow was falling, but you were bundled against the cold. Is it bad that I wanted you to be a bit colder than you were? I wanted to be the thing to give you warmth, Molly. I wanted to be the thing that gave you everything you needed.

We spilled into a clearing, and I decided you must have been here before. I wondered if you’d ever brought another guy here. No, I decided. You hadn’t lived here that long. You’d just moved here from California. Or was it Colorado?

I think you’d told me both.

You held more lies than you did truths, you wicked girl, but I knew you wanted me. And, well, my intentions for you weren’t completely pure.

So maybe I was wicked, too.

There was a rotted log, but you chose to sit on the ground. The snow seemed to pull back to make space for you. I sat next to you and put my forearms on my knees.

“This place is cool,” I said. “I’ve never been here.”

“Me, either,” you said, but we both knew it was another lie.

You picked at the hem of your jacket. “I thought I should tell you about my dad.”

The way you said it, sadly, I knew you were going to tell the real story, and I found myself leaning closer.

“He was a preacher,” you started, just like that. Because when you were intent on doing something, you dove in. “And he wanted Mom and me to be just like him, perfect in our faith. Perfect in our walk with Christ.”

I studied your face as you spoke. Your lips were red like they always were, but the rest of you was white as the snow falling over your shoulders. Your hair, your skin, even your light green eyes—they were like camouflage in this forest. But you wouldn’t have been the prey out here. You were the girl so strange that snakes slithered backward when they saw you walk by.

“I tried everything I could to make Daddy happy. But I—” You pointed to your chest. “I wasn’t enough. So I became someone else. I learned to do what I needed to do so that he could stand at that podium and be so damn proud of his pure family.”

You shook your head. “He left us anyway. Isn’t that funny? After I’d learned to be a chameleon. After I’d learned how to be exactly what he and everyone else needed, he took off with some woman he met on a retreat, and they had a kid together.”

I put my hand on your knee.

“He still writes to us, and I see him once or twice a year. But that’s it. He’s happier with his new family, and Mom is… Well, she’s the way she is.”

“And what about you?” I asked.

You shrugged and gave a halfhearted smile. “I have you.”

I nodded. “Yeah, you do.”

You started to lean toward me, and I wanted nothing more than to lean, too. But I stopped myself to ask a question I’d harbored since that night in the alleyway. “Molly, was that guy in the restaurant your dad?”

You flinched then forced yourself to nod. “Yeah. I think…I think he’s finally going to ask for partial custody. Out of guilt, maybe.”

I could hear the lie on your lips. Knew you didn’t believe what you’d said any more than I did. Your father had left you and never looked back. But what was I supposed to do, Molly? What could I do besides pull you to me, palm the back of your head, and keep it against my chest?

I held you there for a long time. Finally, slowly, you leaned back until you were flat on your back, tugging me along with you. You guided my hips until I was almost on top of you, one of my legs between yours.

You put your hands on either side of my face, your hair white against the ground. Whiter than the snow. Whiter than the explosion that made you and me and this entire universe.

“I can’t go back to living with him,” you said.

I shook my head. “You won’t.”

“I have to get out of here.”

“I’m working on that.”

The truth was, I hadn’t been certain you were serious. Not before. But right then, as I looked into your green eyes, so wide I thought I might fall inside of them…right then I knew this was one thing you meant.

I wondered how long it would take me to save enough money to get us far away from here.

I wondered what would happen if I just took it.

You seemed to read my thoughts. Seemed to measure just how committed I was to getting you anywhere you wanted to be.

“Touch me, Cobain,” you whispered.

I studied your face for only a moment, and then lowered my mouth to yours. I kissed you, my tongue slowly tracing the softness of you. My hand slid up the side of your body until I reached your jacket, your sweater, your T-shirt. I moved my fingers beneath it all and kissed the gasp that rushed from your mouth.

My hand must have been cold, but your skin was warm, and I felt myself react as I inched farther upward. I touched the lace edge of your bra, and I pulled my head back, watched as your breathing quickened. Slowly, I ran my thumb beneath that lace, feeling the slight rise of your breast. I pushed my thumb higher, and when you closed your eyes, I slipped my entire hand beneath the fabric, drawing soft circles over your nipple.