69. Lydia #2
She eyes me for a second, fighting back a smile. “I’m staying at the Gamma house tonight, clean-up duty and everything…and Lani is staying with Sandro, I think. Are you good? Do you want me to walk you back to the dorm?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m okay. Go be the house mom.”
“You sure?”
Bash pops his head out from behind me. “I’ll walk her.”
I whip my head back around to look up at him. “You don’t have to—”
He smiles down at me. “Would it be okay if I wanted to?”
I tamp down the blush wanting to creep up, and roll my eyes playfully. “Yeah, I guess that’d be okay.”
“Okay,” Simone sings from the door, and I jolt a little, forgetting she was still there. “Text me when you get back so I know you’re safe, and no one murdered you.”
I turn back around to her and blow her a kiss. “Will do, Mom.”
She salutes us and disappears back into the house.
We go to walk down the steps, and he holds his hand out without even hesitating, like being a gentleman just comes naturally to him…
at least around me. I take it, and our fingers fit like they’ve been molded perfectly for each other by the creator above.
Heat blooms up my arm in that warm, low way that surprisingly doesn’t scare me.
I even hate it when he lets go at the bottom of the stairs. Hate the loss of his touch.
I’ve been so scared of real romantic, intimate touch for so long now, never wanting it…
never wanting to be tricked by it again like I was with Eli.
But with Bash…it’s made me realize all of the red flags I ignored with Eli.
Bash doesn’t possess a mean bone in his body…
unless he’s protecting someone he cares about.
I know I’m safe with Bash, even as my brain is still learning to accept that.
For so long, it’s labeled all men as dangerous, yet I’ve never felt that label placed on Bash in my mind.
It’s scary, hard to trust, but I want to, I want to experience what that feels like… being safe with someone.
When we reach my dorm building, he pulls me into a hug—a real hug.
Not the side church hug he normally gives me.
A full, forward-facing, my head against his chest, his arms wrapped around my back, kind of hug.
He doesn’t let go right away either. The hug lingers, and I melt into it, into him.
I feel him pull back slightly, and I look up to see him looking down at me.
I’m just realizing, with how close we are, how much taller he actually is than me.
The warmth and softness of his eyes on my face make me feel so at ease.
I don’t let myself overthink it when I lift myself on my tiptoes and hover my mouth near his for just a moment…
waiting before his lips find mine like they answered the call on the first ring.
He kisses me like we’ve always known each other in another life, hands cupping my jaw like I’m something special to him and not just something he’s trying to take.
Fireworks, yes. But not the cheap kind that pop and leave smoke.
The slow-burning ones that grow and continue to burn.
His hands move to my hips, but there’s no messy exploring, no rushing. Only gentleness and respect in his touch. It’s like I can feel the thousand unsaid words from him finding a way to speak as his lips set off every amazing wire in my body.
He pulls away an inch and looks into my eyes like he’s double-checking that I’m okay with this.
“If we’re stepping over a line here—”
“Kiss me,” I say softly. “Please.”
He doesn’t make me ask twice. His lips return to mine like they are supposed to be there. Like I am where I am meant to be—in his arms.
All thoughts cease in my head…and it’s not the kind of quiet I used to chase with boys I didn’t know, or with ones I didn’t care about.
This is quiet like someone lowered the volume and told me it was okay to breathe now.
Not like someone was holding a hand over my mouth, and the only way I could get a breath in was to steal one, force one, beg for one.
When we break, we’re both a little wrecked. I touch my mouth like I’m checking it’s still there. It feels like he’s still there.
“Do you want to come up?” I hear myself ask, breathless and stupid and a little anxious.
Because I want him. I want more of him…and that’s the only way I know how to get it.
I don’t know why I ask. The old part of my brain taking over, and now I feel like I’m already about to ruin this pure thing between us by offering sex. But it’s what guys want…right?
He closes his eyes for a second, like someone hit him with a wave. Then he sets his hands gently on my upper arms, thumbs soft on my skin.
“That’s not what this is for me,” he says. “I want to make sure you know that, Lydia.”
“No, I know…yeah.”
He clears his throat like he’s still trying to collect himself. “And…I’m also…not sleeping with anyone right now.”
My chest tightens. “Like…you haven’t been or—you don’t want to—?”
“In general,” he says, searching for non-awkward words and not quite finding them. “I’m…celibate.”
I blink. “Celibate?” I repeat back.
He laughs, low. “Yeah. I mean—there’s a whole conversation there. But…yes. Not sleeping with anyone right now.”
It barrels out of me before I can catch it. “Are you…a virgin?”
He grins in this sweet, amused kinda way.
I feel like I’m being so awkward and messing this up somehow. I don’t know what’s happening or what the right things are to say.
“No,” he says. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with being one,” he lets out a little laugh.
“But no. I—I used to use sex to cope a lot. And I didn’t want to do that anymore.
When I got sober, I promised myself—and then God—that I’d wait.
Until it’s…not a mask. Until it’s within a promise I can keep.
When it can be saved for someone special. ”
Pieces click in my head that I didn’t know were loose.
His faith has never been something he beat me with or thrown in my face.
It’s actually always been something that makes his edges that much kinder.
Something we’ve talked about here and there, but never in an obvious ‘I’m better than other people because I believe in God’ kinda way.
I’ve already respected him, and respected him as a person even more for that faith.
Something I’ve always wished I could have. Something I know nothing about, really.
This strange relief washes over me. Like, my brain is just now catching up that I wasn’t even ready for that.
That I would have regretted crossing that line.
That I was just trying to prove something to myself, prove that I was wanted.
That was the only way I’ve known to feel validated.
I automatically wanted to give him something I assumed was what he wanted.
I think he sees my thoughts spiraling, because he places his hands back on my arms to pull my attention to him.
His face goes soft in that way that makes me want to cry because I feel seen.
“You don’t have to give me anything to be wanted,” he says.
“You already are. I like you. More than the idea of you. More than what you can give me. I want this to be—” he pauses, trying to find the right words.
“safe, and honest, and not something we wake up from and hate ourselves for.”
My eyes sting, and I just stare at the brick wall so I don’t drown in what he’s saying. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit.
“Me either,” he replies with a smile. “We can figure it out together.”
I’m quiet for a while, too emotional to speak.
He sees the anxious wheels still turning in my head and gently cups my face, with his thumbs resting on my cheeks.
“You don’t have to overthink this,” he says.
“We can talk about it any time. We can go as slow as you need. I like you, Lydia. A lot.” He emphasizes it like he’s putting a stake in the ground with me.
“Nothing you do or don’t do, or say or don’t say tonight changes that.
You don’t have to pretend to be fine for me.
You do whatever feels right for you, and I’ll match your pace while keeping my own boundaries. ”
Something undoes so deeply inside of me that I didn’t know was wound up and afraid. “Okay,” I breathe.
“Okay,” he quietly echoes.
He places his forehead to mine for a moment, then he lightly kisses my forehead. It’s a gentle kiss that feels more intimate than some grand, passionate kiss on screen in a movie. He pulls away, slides his hands down my arms to my fingers, gives them a little squeeze, and then lets go.
“Text me when you’re inside,” he says.
“I will.”
Before I enter the building, I turn back and look at him again.
“Goodnight, Bash.”
“Goodnight, Lyd.”
Simone’s text comes in before I even make it to our floor:
Simone: You home? Do I need to read you a bedtime story on FaceTime?
I type back, smiling.
Lydia: No story needed. I have a forehead kiss
Simone: JENNIFER LAWRENCE VOICE: WHAT. DO. YOU. MEAN?
I laugh and don’t answer, because some things I want to keep on the inside and be selfish with holding for a moment.
I sit on my bed in the dark, still wrapped up in his jacket, and let the feelings sort themselves without auditioning for a doomsday play. Then I text him like I said I would.
Lydia: In. Thank you for walking me…and everything after
Three dots appear.
Bash: Any time. Sleep well, Lyd
I smile into my pillow because I don’t need it to be quiet tonight to be okay.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I want something good, and I don’t punish myself for wanting it.
I close my eyes with the feel of his kiss on my forehead and the shape of his hands on my face, and I let myself fall asleep to sleep and not to escape.