Cat
“And if you got into Duke, and I got into Duke, we could totally be roomies!” Julie says, lounging lazily on my bed, two pillows propping her head up.
We just got back to my house after spending the late morning and early afternoon skating at the ice center. It’s something I’ve been doing regularly since Ronan left for Montana. It makes me feel connected to him and I like the idea of surprising him with my skating skills when he comes home, though I have no clue when that will be. It drives me crazy not knowing when I’ll get to see him again. For all I know it could be months, maybe longer, before I’ll be in his arms again.
But, hey, I’ve gotten pretty good at skating. I commandeer Vada, Steve, and Shane here and there to help me.
A few weeks ago, Shane finally taught me how to “make snow,” which is a way of braking in ice hockey. I’d been bugging him for weeks to teach me how to do it, remembering Ronan’s blades scraping against the ice whenever he abruptly stopped or made a quick change in direction during practice. Shane always told me to be patient, that I needed to become more comfortable on the ice before he taught me to brake that way. I was ecstatic when he finally said he thought I was ready, and he chuckled when I squealed.
Of course, it didn’t go as I had hoped. I fell a bunch of times, thrown forward by the quick turn of my skates.
“Man, Ran made this look so easy,” I grumbled when I got up after falling for the fourth time in a row.
Shane laughed. “Trust me, Ran fell all the time, too, in the beginning. We all did. In fact, we still do. Our skates will get caught or we’ll get tripped, or we’ll just flat out lose our footing. We just learn to get up quickly and pretend nothing happened,” he laughed. “Ran took a mean dive into the boards one time after a player on the opposing team tripped him.” Shane suddenly turned contemplative, his eyes unfocused. “That was one of the only times I’ve ever seen Ran completely lose his shit. Well, that time and when he beat your ex’s ass,” he said with a sidelong glance at me.
“What happened?”
“It was a super close game that decided which team would go to the playoffs, and this dude just shoved his stick right between Ran’s skates while he was going crazy fast, moving the puck. Ran took a fucking dive right into the boards at full speed. He was so pissed because it was such a shitty penalty and you can really get hurt that way. I just remember Ran throwing his stick to the ice, yanking his helmet and gloves off, and absolutely going after the guy,” Shane laughed. “Beat his ass so bad. It took a bunch of us and like two or three referees to pull him off that kid. Ran got suspended from playing for a whole month. I’m pretty sure the other kid lost a tooth.”
“Jesus,” I said, my eyes huge.
Shane continued to laugh. “Yeah, I mean, Ran doesn’t usually lose his crap; he’s really level-headed most of the time. Really, that day and with your ex were the only times I’ve ever witnessed him see red,” Shane said, nodding. “In retrospect, I’m pretty sure some shit happened with Ran’s mom before we left for the game that day, so this kid’s penalty was probably what put him over the edge. You know, last-drop-in-the-bucket kind of thing.”
“I can’t imagine how much Ran must have kept locked up inside,” I said, my voice heavy as I stood, facing Shane. The cold air of the rink felt suddenly heavy, weighing my shoulders down.
“Yeah,” Shane agreed with a deep sigh. We both stayed silent, staring at the ice in front of us.
Shane finally snapped us out of our funk. “Okay, let’s teach you how to make snow properly so you can show Ran your kick-ass skating skills when he’s home.”
An hour and a half later, I had managed not only to brake without eating ice, but to make some snow in the process, leaving me feeling pretty damn accomplished.
After skating today, Julie and I went to my house where we’ve been hanging out ever since. Of course, I told her all about Adam, my dad’s dislike of Ronan, and the ensuing tension related to my college applications. This, in turn, led her to list all the reasons why I should apply to Duke.
“Yeah, I’ve already decided to submit my application as soon as I’m back home,” I say. “If only for the legacy reason. My dad’s obviously adamant that I do, and I guess it can’t hurt.”
Both my parents attended Duke. In fact, there’s a picture of them in their graduation caps and gowns with a two-year-old me in my dad’s arms and another when my dad got his masters, and yet another when my mom got her M.D.
My parents are Duke alumni through and through, and I know it would make them happy if I was accepted there, too. But I’m also applying to schools in New York. I actually just submitted my applications to NYU, Brown, Columbia, and, just for good measure, the University of Montana.
“And you should apply to NYU,” I tell Julie. “You know, as a backup, and maybe we could still be roomies.”
She giggles. “Deal! I’ll need to talk Nate into applying there, too, then. Can you even believe he’s thinking about applying to the University of Texas? Like, what the heck? I’m not applying there.” She folds her arms in front of her.
“Do you have any idea what you want to major in?” I’ve been racking my brain about what I’m interested in, and the only thing that seems appealing is psychology, like my mom. The limited information she’s able to share with me about her cases is always so interesting. And I like the idea of being able to help people who struggle with their mental health, especially after seeing Ronan struggle with PTSD, anxiety, and depression.
“I’m kind of thinking about getting into pharmacology,” she says, and takes me by surprise.
“Really? You want to be a pharmacist?”
“Not really; I think I like the drug research aspect of it. But I have no clue. My mom said she wouldn’t be surprised if I changed my major nine times. That woman has no faith in me,” Julie says with an eye roll that makes me laugh. “How about you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, I was thinking…” My phone starts buzzing in my bag, interrupting my thoughts. “Hold on.” I get up and rummage through my bag. It takes a few seconds for my fingers to find my phone. I don’t recognize the number displayed on my screen. It’s an unfamiliar area code, and right on cue my heart picks up its pace, beating at three times its normal speed while my hands take on that cold, clammy quality like they do whenever I get anxious or scared. It’s no wonder, I guess, considering the months of random terrorizing phone calls from Adam, the blackmailing and threats. And even though I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks now, I don’t truly feel safe.
“You gonna answer that?” Julie asks.
My eyes are still glued to my phone’s screen, my thumb hovering as I try to decide whether to hit the red button or answer the call.
It’s funny how rapidly your mind analyzes information—wavering between choices, calculating risks in a matter of seconds. If I hit the hang-up button, I’d send the call to my voicemail, and the caller would know they’ve indeed reached me——because it’s obviously still my voicemail. It’s still me telling the caller that they missed me, that they should leave me a message. If I send Adam to voicemail, he’ll know I haven’t changed my number. God, so dumb.
But there’s a spark of hopefulness when I realize that Adam, thus far, has always called me from an unknown number. No digits would show up at all.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself, noting the slight tremble of my thumb when I decide to answer the call after what feels like half a lifetime. I figure if it’s Adam, I’ll immediately hang up and block him. At least this time I’d finally have a number to block.
“Hello?” I ask, my voice quieter than usual, my eyes squeezed shut. They fly wide open again, my heart—pounding furiously only a fraction of a second ago—skipping a few beats when I hear the one voice I’ve been dying to hear for exactly sixty days now, the one voice I’d know anywhere, would be able to detect in a noisy room full of people.
“Hey baby,” Ronan says, that deep, gravelly voice of his flowing into my ear. An indescribable feeling of peace, contentment, and wholeness blooms in the center of my chest, spreading through my veins, and it’s like a warm blanket envelops me.
“Hi. Oh god, Ran, I miss you!” I whimper, needing him to know how desperately, how terribly I yearn for him. My eyes sting with tears of happiness at hearing his voice, but also of longing for him. His physical absence from me is suddenly so pronounced. Julie just grins at me before I leave the bedroom and walk into the small adjacent bathroom. I close the door behind me to speak to the boy I love more than anyone or anything in private. I want him all to myself, want to give him my undivided attention for however long I’ll get to speak to him.
“, you have no idea how much I miss you. Please tell me you haven’t run off with some other dude yet,” Ronan says with a small groan. I can tell he’s only half-joking, but it makes me laugh through the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Are you kidding? Like fifty dudes,” I joke.
He huffs. “I fucking knew it.”
I laugh even more. “I love hearing your voice,” I tell him. I wipe a happy tear from my cheek.
“And I love you,” he says, unwavering.
I choke back a sob. “I love you, too. So much. How are you feeling?”
“Right now I feel like my heart might give out because I’m so damn excited to talk to you.” I wish there was a way for me to crawl through that stupid phone and into his arms. “I swear I just hung up on my dad,” Ronan chuckles, which is such a lovely sound, tickling my insides. It’s been too long since I’ve heard him laugh, even when he was still here with me.
I want to keep him talking. “Why?” I close my eyes as I listen to him, pretending to be sitting right next to him, almost able to feel the warmth radiating off his perfect, muscular body.
“He just called. I mean, I haven’t been allowed to talk to anyone, even him,” Ronan tells me, and I nod. This part I’m obviously and painfully aware of. “Fuck, I don’t know that I’ve ever been so excited to talk to my dad,” he says, letting out a quiet chuckle, making me smile. “Anyway, we talked for like five minutes before he told me I could call you and I was basically like, ‘Well, okay then. Bye dude,’ and hung up on him to call you.”
I laugh at Ronan’s description of his first phone conversation with his dad in months. “No, you didn’t.”
“Oh yeah, I did. I have my priorities.” His voice sounds lighter than it did the last time I got to talk to him, the last time I saw him and witnessed the hope, the strength, the will to live vanish from his beautiful green eyes. It’s devastating to recall the way Ronan looked only two months ago—emotionally broken, defeated, shattered after enduring years of abuse culminating in a violent cataclysm that left Ronan’s spirit in ruins, even while his physical injuries were healing beautifully.
"Speaking of your dad, I have to tell you something.” I tell him about my mom running into Penny at the grocery store a few weeks ago and how it turns out she and my mom were high school besties and now my mom is friends with Ronan’s dad.
Since my mom’s accidental but joyous reunion with Penny earlier this month, my mom and Penny have seen each other every weekend when Penny was in New York to spend the days with Frank. Penny and my mom speak two or three times a week, seamlessly picking up their friendship where it left off after my mom and dad eloped to North Carolina after graduating from high school nineteen years ago.
“Huh,” Ronan says when I finish my story. “Small world. How do you feel about our parents being… friends?” I detect unease in his voice. It occurs to me then how wary he is of the world, how much he needs to relearn to trust even his own dad.
“I don’t really know. I mean, I like that I get more updates on you, I guess,” I admit, shrugging to myself. Truth is, I haven’t given much thought to how truly incredible this coincidence is—the fact that my boyfriend’s dad, stationed in Virginia—a place some three hundred and eighty miles away from New York—would have an affair with a woman who was my mom’s long-lost best friend from high school. But life is nothing if not full of coincidences. Or maybe it’s fate?
“You get updates on me?” Ronan asks, surprised.
“Well, duh! I wouldn’t know how to make it through the day without asking Steve if he’s heard anything about how you’re doing. I mean, your dad is closest to the source because, I guess, he talks to your grandparents every day and he talks with your therapist a couple of times a week, but Steve gets the lowdown and then he passes it on to me and Shane and Vada. So now, whenever my mom sees or talks to Penny, I always ask her to get the scoop for me on you,” I say. “Wait, is that weird?” I suddenly feel self-conscious.
There’s a heavy silence on Ronan’s end before he exhales deeply. “Baby, I love that you’re getting updates on me. I wish I could hear what you’re up to. I feel so isolated. I constantly worry that you’re forgetting about me.”
I can hear the sadness in his voice. “I will never forget about you. Ever,” I say, emphasizing the last word. “I think about you all the time. I miss you so deeply, Ran. So, so deeply. It’s… it’s so bad that I stole some of your sweaters from your house,” I admit sheepishly, feeling that familiar heat creeping up my neck—the precursor for my cheeks blushing. I still hate how easily my face gives me away.
“You what?”
“I went into your room and stole two of your sweaters and two shirts. Well, borrowed. Your dad knows,” I say hastily. “And I’m constantly wearing them. They were washed, unfortunately, so they only smell a little bit like you, but it’s better than nothing… You know that black New York Rangers shirt you have?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Yeah, I wear that to bed at night,” I say, my face burning now.
He’s silent for a moment, and I begin to worry that I’m freaking him out a little.
“What else are you wearing to bed with that shirt?” he asks. I recognize the huskiness in his voice, that undertone of need that makes his gravelly voice dip a little lower still and darkens it in a way that makes the sensitive spot between my thighs ache for Ronan’s touch there.
A grin spreads across my face. “Absolutely nothing else,” I breathe into my phone.
I hear the sharp inhale of breath between Ronan’s teeth and I feel powerful, proud of my ability to get such a reaction out of him, even with thousands of miles separating us and the healing Ronan still has ahead of him. “Thank you, baby. That image should carry me through the next week until I can call you again,” he says.
I blink my widening eyes. “Wait, will you be allowed to call me next week?”
“Oh, yeah, every Sunday, I guess. For now. I know it’s not much, but it’s a lot better than what it was, right?” His tone is hopeful, making me feel hopeful in turn—hopeful that the Ronan I fell in love with is still there, just beneath the surface of the suffering that’s been pulling him under, attempting to drown him. I’m hopeful that he’s coming up for air, seeing some light, feeling the darkness lift from his kind, beautiful soul.
A wide, exuberant smile breaks across my face. “Are you kidding me? Yes,” I squeal into my phone for a second time, and I hear him chuckle. “Are there any rules?” Surely his therapist didn’t just do away with all the restrictions she imposed on Ronan’s communications, his ability to call me, his best friend, or even his own brother.
“Like that you can’t tell me you’re wearing my shirt and only my shirt to bed at night?” he asks mischievously.
“I was thinking more like for how long we can talk, or, yeah, if there are any things we shouldn’t talk about. But sure, if your dad said I can’t tell you that I’m only wearing your shirt to bed, then you should probably share that with me, too.” Talking with Ronan feels so easy and familiar. I haven’t felt this at ease in months.
“My dad didn’t exactly say anything about you not telling me what you’re wearing, but I’m limited to talking for an hour. And my dad insists that I check in with him, so that should take a good two minutes, leaving me fifty-eight minutes to talk with you.”
“Okay, I can manage that.” I’m elated at the prospect of getting to hear Ronan’s voice once a week. I used to get the Sunday scaries, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Sundays are about to become my favorite day of the week. “And now I don’t have to hold back on telling you that, right now, I’m wearing this super-cute, light-blue lacy bra and matching panties, right?” I’m definitely trying to get a rise out of him now, but I can’t say that my body hasn’t been yearning for Ronan just as much as my mind has.
“Shit, , why are you making this so hard?” he asks, his voice gravelly again, darkening like it did a minute ago. My body reacts just the same as it always does when his voice sounds like that.
“What exactly am I making hard, sweet boy?” Only Ronan has ever managed to make me feel this comfortable without pushing alcohol on me first.
“All kinds of… things,” he growls. “Fuck, I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. So, tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Pent up,” he says so matter-of-factly it makes me laugh out loud.
“Okay, but other than that. I mean, do you feel like you’re getting better at all?”
I hope he’s making progress, because that would mean there’s light at the end of the darkness and that maybe he’ll come home sooner rather than later.
“I think so?”
His answer sounds more like a question. I ask about his injuries, and he explains that he is mostly healed, but his knee still gets sore. It’s a different story when I ask him about therapy and how he feels emotionally. “I don’t really know. I still don’t sleep great, although I did have a pretty good night a couple of days ago. I get overwhelmed at therapy,” he admits. “I know Doctor Seivert wants me to talk about what happened, but I can’t,” he adds quietly.
“Why not?” I ask cautiously. I’m sure there’s a plethora of reasons why he isn’t ready to share details about what happened to him, and I don’t want to be another person in his life who pushes him to open up about his abuse before he’s ready.
“Because talking about it means remembering it and remembering means reliving it. I don’t want to relive it.”
It strikes me how vulnerable he sounds when he talks about these things, how young and innocent and helpless he was while his mother abused him, and how much he still is all those things. Even with his masculine face and sculpted body, his forced emotional maturity, and the very “adult” things he does, he still is, in a lot of respects, young, innocent, and helpless.
“I get it. Do you still get panic attacks?”
“All the time.” He sighs again. “I’m working on ways to ground myself though.”
His voice is getting heavy, and I decide right then and there to change topics because I don’t want this to be another downer for him. I want him to have something good in his life, and, selfishly, I want to be that something good.
“Did you get my letter?”
“Yeah, just yesterday, actually. Baby, thank you so much for the necklace.”
“Do you like it?” I wasn’t so sure about buying it for him, but I wanted to get him something meaningful.
“I love it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. God, I can’t even begin to explain how badly I miss you. , that necklace… it’s the only thing I have of you here. My grandparents have my phone, so I can’t even look at pictures of you, and it’s driving me mad. Some days I wondered if I just imagined you, but then getting your letter, seeing your handwriting, holding that necklace… you have no idea how much I needed that.”
“I feel the same way, Ran. I mean, I obviously get to look at pictures and videos of you all the time, and I do… constantly, but I wish I could hear your voice more often; I wish you were here with me. I miss you so much. And everyone else misses you, too. Shane’s like, heartbroken. You’d think Tori broke up with him or something.”
“I feel really bad that everyone has to deal with this shit,” he says, defeated.
“You don’t have to feel bad about anything. You didn’t do anything wrong. We just miss you. Do we want you home? Fuck yes, but we need you to get better first,” I say sternly.
To my surprise, he chuckles. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck.’”
I giggle. “Oh, sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “It’s kind of hot, actually. And I’m pretty sure I drop f-bombs like beads at Mardi Gras, so.”
“Yeah, you kind of do,” I say, laughing now.
“It’s a bad habit. Feels too good to stop it. Although, you feel even better, so if you want me to stop, just say it and I will.”
“You wouldn’t be you if you stopped randomly saying the word ‘fuck,’” I giggle. “And I happen to love you just the way you are. You’re pretty perfect to me.”
“That works. Because you’re fucking perfect to me.”
“So, I just submitted a bunch of college applications,” I say, abruptly changing the subject.
Ronan gladly obliges. “Which ones?”
“Oh, you know, just Columbia, Brown, NYU, and the University of Montana.”
“That’s great. But I didn’t know you were so keen on living in Montana.” His tone is chipper.
“Only if you’re there.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell you that you wasted your application fee then,” he says with a smile in his voice. “I won’t be going to Montana for college. My dad just told me I got into Columbia on early admission.”
My mouth drops open. “Oh my god, Ran, that’s great! Congratulations. I’m so proud of you. And I’m so freaking happy that you’re staying in New York,” I say. “Wait, you’ll actually be attending Columbia, right?”
“Yeah, part of the early admission offer is an agreement to withdraw all other applications if you get in, so I don’t really have a choice now. Honestly, though, I haven’t actually applied anywhere else yet; I haven’t really been able to focus on that, but that definitely means I’ll be in New York.”
“Great, that helps me narrow down my list a lot more.”
“Baby, you shouldn’t base your decision on where you want to go to college on where I’ll be,” he says. “Go wherever you’ll be happy.”
“I know exactly where I’ll be happy,” I say. “Wherever you are. But I decided to apply to Duke, too. My parents are Duke alumni, so—”
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Girl, I need to pee,” Julie calls to me.
“Who’s that?” Ronan asks.
“It’s Julie,” I say. “Apparently she needs to use the bathroom.” I get up to leave the bathroom and give her some privacy.
“Wait, are you in North Carolina?” Ronan asks.
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Over Christmas break.” Julie squeezes past me and winks at me. “I’m heading home Wednesday, though.”
He sighs. “Shit, I’m a selfish asshole. We’ve been talking about my crap this whole time, and I haven’t even asked you how you are or what you’re up to.”
“You’re neither selfish nor an asshole,” I say. “You kind of have a lot going on right now.”
“So do you,” he says. “How are you, baby?”
I giggle at his question and repeat the answer he gave me when I asked him earlier how he was feeling. “I feel like my heart might explode in my chest because I’m so excited that I’m talking to you right now.”
He chuckles. “And other than that?”
“Do you want the honest answer, or the standard reply I give everyone who asks me how I’ve been since you left?” I ask, knowing he wouldn’t want anything but the truth.
“I want you to tell me how you really are.”
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I’m taking it day by day,” I confess. “I miss you so terribly, and I worry about you. I hate not being able to talk to you, I hate not being in your arms, I hate not kissing you, touching you, hearing your voice, inhaling your scent, getting texts from you, and I hate that you’re hurting. I wish I could fast-forward time.” The words spill out of me. “I want to take all your pain away, Ran. It feels like everything is sideways right now.”
“That’s because everything is sideways. But as long as it’s sideways with you, it’s more bearable,” he says. “I wish I could talk to you more, or that I could at least have my phone so I could look at pictures of you or text you. It’s driving me crazy that I have no way of hearing your voice,” he says. “I wish I could make my therapist understand that…”
“That what?”
He sighs. “That you’re the one thing in my life that makes it easier. You always have,” he says, and my breath catches at his heartfelt words. “I met you right when things started to really unravel at home, and even though the stuff there was worse than it had ever been before, I also felt happier than I ever had in my life because I had you. When I’m with you, everything else just sort of recedes into the background.”
“I feel the same way,” I confess. “I mean, you make me happier than I’ve ever been.”
“But how can I?” he asks, frustrated. “, the thing is, I always knew that somehow, someday, you’d end up getting hurt because of the shit that is my life, but I just couldn’t stay away from you. I can’t not be with you, and there are a lot of times when I feel like shit about it. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. You shouldn’t have to sit around for months without getting to talk to your boyfriend. Fuck, you shouldn’t have to sit in some hospital, you shouldn’t have to worry or hurt like you have, baby. I’m so, so sorry,” he finishes with another deep sigh.
It takes me a moment to organize my thoughts after Ronan just bared his feelings to me, and I suddenly understand what he always meant when he said he wasn’t good enough for me or that he didn’t deserve me.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say. His breath hitches, and I quickly say, “But you shouldn’t have to deal with any of this, either. Remember when you told me that what Adam did to me wasn’t my fault? The same goes for you. Everything your mother did to you, that wasn’t your fault, Ran. And you should’ve never been hurt by the one person who should love you unconditionally. She should’ve never made you question whether you’re worthy of love and affection. She should never have laid a hand on you. You didn’t deserve or ask for anything that’s happened to you. You didn’t choose this.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I don’t care how long I have to wait to talk to you, just as long as I get to hear your voice at all. And I would’ve sat in that hospital until the end of time if that had been the only way I could be with you. I want to be with you. I love you. You deserve to be loved. You’re good, and kind, and smart, and funny, and yes, you make me happy. So damn happy. And I’ll keep telling you these things until I run out of air.”
“I hope you never run out of air,” he says quietly, “because I may need to hear you say these things a few more times.”
“I’ll repeat it so much you’ll get sick of me.”
“I don’t think I could ever get sick of you, but feel free to try,” he says. “God, , I wish you were here right now.”
“I wish I was there, or that you were here. Whatever, I just want to be wherever you are. Do you know when you’re coming home?” I ask, even though I already know the answer in my gut.
“No idea. I don’t think anytime soon. I don’t think Doctor Seivert is happy with the speed of my progress. I kind of blew up at her last week,” he admits sheepishly.
“But she let you call me. She must think you’re making sufficient progress.”
“Maybe,” he says. “Let’s not talk about that, though. Tell me what you’ve been up to. I just want to hear your voice for as long as I can. How’s North Carolina? How was your Christmas? How is everyone else? Shane doing okay?” he rattles off.
I grant him his request and yap his ear off about my trip, school, our friends, and what I’ve been up to until our time to talk is almost up.
“You have no idea how much better I feel after talking to you,” he says. It’s true, his voice does sound lighter, even after we hit on some heavier topics earlier.
“Me, too. I feel like I got a little Ronan fix.”
He laughs. “I hope it’s enough to hold you over for the week.”
“I hope so, too. But between getting to hear your voice, the updates from Steve, and wearing your shirt to bed at night, I should be okay for seven days,” I say. “And if I dream about you that would be an added bonus.”
“I forgot to tell you that I dreamed of you a couple of nights ago,” he says. “I can’t remember what the dream was about, but I remember waking up feeling really content.”
“I dreamed about you, too, but I can definitely remember what those dreams were about,” I say, hinting.
“What did you dream?”
“I don’t think I should tell you now.”
“Why not?”
I giggle. “Because it wasn’t exactly PG.” I blush even though he can’t see me, and even if he could, he’s seen and felt all of me. There’s no need to blush around Ronan, but still I do.
“Can you at least give me a general idea?” he asks, his voice husky.
“Let’s just say it involved you, and me, and the hood of your car.” I grin, knowing that Ronan’s imagination is bound to be running wild right now.
“Jesus, ,” he growls. “I love that you have dreams like that.”
“More than once,” I say, edging him on.
“You should do something about it.”
It’s not immediately clear to me what he’s alluding to. “What do you mean?”
“Sounds like you need a release.”
“And how would I do that? Are you worried I’m going to hook up with some guy? Because I’d never do that to you.”
He laughs. “No, that’s honestly not what I meant. I meant you can always… help yourself.”
“Oh.” I blush again. “But I honestly don’t really know how. Remember when I told you I’d never had an orgasm before you?”
“I remember. But haven’t you ever just… scratched your own itch?”
I know exactly what he’s referring to and the temperature in my face continues to rise. “I’ve tried, but I’m obviously no good at it.”
“There’s no such thing as not being good at it,” he says. “You’re probably just not patient enough with yourself. Baby, just do what feels good. Touch yourself how you’d want me to touch you.”
“But I don’t even know how I want you to touch me until you do it, and then it just feels so good. It’s like you know my body better than I do,” I say. This conversation is such a testament to how much I trust Ronan; I don’t even talk like that with my best friend Julie or with Vada.
“Not really,” he says. “Although I intend to spend a lot of time getting to know it a lot better when I finally get back,” he says, his voice gravelly. “I just pay attention to how your body responds when I touch you a certain way. You just have to try yourself out.”
I giggle. “Is that what you do? You try yourself out?”
“Absolutely. And the same thing won’t always work for you. Just depends on the day, how you feel, how pent up you are,” he says. “Like tonight, I can guarantee you that it’ll take me about sixty seconds flat to take care of the issue.”
“You’ll… You’re going to… take care of… of the issue tonight?” I say, swallowing hard. I’ve never spoken this openly about masturbation with anyone.
Ronan chuckles. “You think you can tell me about you dreaming of us having sex on the hood of my car and not expect me to get worked up about it? , even you just telling me that you wear my shirt at night and nothing else got me turned on, and now this? Trust me when I say that I have a very vivid imagination when it comes to you.”
“Okay, now you’re actually getting me worked up,” I confess as heat pools in my stomach.
“Go do something about it,” he growls.
“I can’t right now,” I whisper. “Julie’s still here.”
“Then do it after she leaves. And then report back to me on Sunday. In a lot of detail.” I can practically see that mischievous half smile on his face.
“Is this what our phone calls are going to be like?” I laugh. “We’re just going to do this to each other over the phone until we see each other again?”
“Whatever gets us through.”
“Okay, I’ll think about it.”
“I love you, baby. I’ll call you next Sunday,” he promises.
“I wish it was next Sunday already.”
He sighs. “Me, too.”
“I love you. Bye, sweet boy,” I say, and reluctantly hang up the phone.
“So, how is sweet boy doing?” Julie asks, grinning from ear to ear when she wanders back into my bedroom. She obviously spent way longer in the bathroom than necessary, affording me more privacy, and I’m grateful for the uninterrupted time I got to spend talking to Ronan.
“He sounds good. I mean, it’s hard to get a good idea of how he’s doing mentally; I guess I never figured out how to properly read him,” I muse as I get up off my bed.
Julie pops her hip to her side and crosses her arms in front of her. “I don’t think you not knowing what Ronan was going through had anything to do with you not properly reading him.”
I don’t know that I can agree with Julie’s assessment. I’ve spent a lot of time revisiting the moments I spent with Ronan last summer and know that, had I paid more attention, had I questioned more, I would have figured out that things were terribly, horribly wrong between him and his mom.