That’s new.
The room goes dark – or are my eyes closed? I don’t know.
I feel something wet and gentle against my face. Stacey kneels to wash the blood off me with a hand towel she’s dipped in warm water. I wince as she drags her fingers through my hair, catching and tugging.
She doesn’t stop me from holding her hips to stay upright.
“How did you get blood in your hair?”
Freckles, darling, I’m a fucking animal. You should’ve seen me Jackie Chan my shit today.
“Are you going to answer me?”
“Don’t…” I pause, trying to slow my thoughts as cocaine rushes through my veins. I open my eyes, and they burn with lack of sleep. “Don’t… be afraid of me.”
My vision blurs again as Stacey wipes the cloth across my forehead.
“I can deal with you hating me, Kade.” She scrunches the cloth to soak my hair, and my head drops to her shoulder as she rubs the fabric on the nape of my neck. Water trickles down my back. “I can’t deal with you throwing your life away on whatever trouble you’ve got yourself into.”
I weakly snort.
If you didn’t cheat on me, I wouldn’t have been outside the studio that night, contemplating going in to see you, and Bernadette wouldn’t have found me.
My inner voice is selfish.
I can’t blame her for the monster I’ve become. Nope, that’s on me.
Her face is the last thing I see before my vision blurs, and I lose consciousness.
22
KADE
FLASHBACK 4
After I passed my driving test two days ago, Jason took me out, and I drunkenly asked Stacey if she was still coming to my room to watch a movie. She said yes.
I’m a wreck, a bag of fucking nerves as I tidy my room for the hundredth time. Mum had brought up a pile of clean clothes earlier and asked why I was hoovering my curtains at eleven at night.
Fair to say she took the vacuum from me and told me to go to sleep.
I’m overthinking tonight. I’ve even wiped down my TV screen.
We’ve been texting all day, and I’ve realised a few things. When she’s home, she either has no signal or doesn’t bother checking her phone. The only reason I’ve had so much of her attention today is because she’s out with her dad at some event.
I’d like to think she isn’t messaging me because she’s bored. The idea that she’s willingly not talking to me all the other times makes me feel itchy and uncomfortable.
Maybe I should shower again?
I reread our recent messages to pass time.
Freckles: Are you sure you want to see me?
Freckles: It’s okay if you don’t want to.
Me: Shut up.
Freckles: Your communication skills are shit. What does shut up mean in this context?
Me: If you don’t come to my room later, I’ll kidnap you from your bed and drag you here.
Freckles: Oh, okay. That’s slightly threatening but a little sweet.
I’m not sweet. I don’t know how to be. When I read that message earlier, I’d stared at it for a whole five minutes before going for another smoke.
With a gnawing in my gut, I wait. Smoke another cigarette, brush my teeth again and check my room once more for any mess I missed.
My phone dings, and it takes me everything not to pounce on it. Desperation isn’t attractive, and apparently – according to Jason’s girlfriend – I should wait at least ten minutes before responding.
I last barely thirty seconds before I read and reply.
Freckles: She’s asleep.
Me: Come up.
By the time a knock sounds at my door, I’ve already paced the room so much I’m surprised there isn’t smoke coming from my carpet .
I swing open the door and anxiously stand aside to let Stacey in.
She’s wearing jeans and a knitted sweater, her hair tied back. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I reply shyly, closing the door and locking it.
I don’t know what else to say, and she obviously feels the same. She looks around my room, and I follow her as she explores. It’s big, bigger than most bedrooms, and the double doors leading to my balcony intrigue her.
“I see you standing up here a lot.” She goes out into the cold, looking down at the manor grounds. “Always smoking.”
“I can’t smoke in my room,” I tell her, leaning on the stone wall beside her. “My mum would kill me.”
She smiles, her perfect teeth white and straight.
When we go back inside, I notice her shiver. I close the balcony doors and offer her more comfortable clothes to watch the movie in. Her jeans look good on her, but something about her wearing my clothes seems way better. I don’t expect her to accept my offer, or for her to take my top and shorts and go into the bathroom to change.
I lie on my bed and set up the movie, trying not to think about how my heart is racing or the thin layer of sweat forming between my brows.
“This is huge on me,” Stacey says as she opens the bathroom door. My top is nearly to her knees. “I don’t think I need the shorts.”
Oh, fuck me.
She places them on my dresser, and I gulp as she walks towards my bed.
“My dad is picking me up in the morning. I’ll go back to Luciella’s room after the movie.” She places her knee on the edge of my bed. “She really can’t find out I’m here. Did you tell anyone? ”
“Nope,” I lie. Jason and my dad are fully aware. “What’s the big deal if she finds out anyway?”
“Are you kidding?” she replies, and my eyes follow her as she crawls up beside me to settle against the headboard. “I’d need to escape the country if she knew I was here.”
“Seems dramatic.”
“Is this movie actually good?” she asks, changing the subject. She crosses her arms at her chest, and I must admit, seeing her body clad in my black top makes me want to never start this fucking film.
“The best. If you don’t like it, then I’m afraid this little thing between us isn’t going to work.”
She snorts. “No pressure, asshole.”
I just said we were a thing, and she hasn’t corrected me. That’s a positive, right?
Her bare legs are right next to mine, and the way she’s sitting, my top is riding up her thighs. Against my better judgement, which tells me I should look away and start the movie, I say, “If you plan on mauling me again, I recommend not doing it while we watch this.”
Stacey slaps my leg. “Shut up or I’ll leave.”
Nope. She isn’t leaving. Not until we reach the credits, and I’ve kissed her at least ten times. I should get the first one in while anxiety isn’t clawing at my chest and overthinking.
My nerves don’t get the better of me as I lean forward, my knuckles to her chin to tip her head back, and capture her lips with mine. A caress of our mouths – so soft and so fucking addictive when she hums. Stacey’s palm instantly presses to my cheek as she kisses me back.
I could kiss her forever .
I don’t know why it’s taken me so long. I should have done this years ago. Maybe if I did, I would have had her for longer. She’d be my girlfriend by now, and everyone would know she was mine and I was hers.
We part our lips, tilting our heads to deepen the kiss. I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her to me. Close enough. My free hand embarrassingly clutches at my bed frame.