Chapter 9
nine
. . .
Inferno
Fourteen years ago
desiree
sixteen years old
We drove home from the showroom that day in Mrs. Carlisle’s white Mercedes, and Taven stretched his arm out across the center console over to my lap, grabbing my hand to hold. He’d never held my hand before while we were driving. It was definitely his declaration of something. Right?
Still, I felt uncertain.
I glanced over to him, but his eyes remained firmly on the road, his other hand gripping the top of the steering wheel.
What if I was misreading this, and it was all just comfort? Or excitement for his new car he just ordered? What if this wasn’t him saying he did in fact like me in that way, but just a “There, there, kid. You’re cute.” kind of gesture?
My mind was spinning wildly, and suddenly I wished he hadn’t held my hand at all, because this was all feeling like too much anxiety for me to handle. I had an instant stomachache, and my throat was desert dry. The car felt hot. I rolled down my window a bit for some air, but then regretted it because we were on the highway and it was entirely too loud. But if I rolled the window back up, would that be weird? Would he ask me what I was doing? Then what would I say?
I was effectively freaking out.
That’s how it was with Taven. One minute I’d slip into a space of wonderful comfort with him, the next I’d be whiplashed back to the awful pain of Phase One—mere intrigue with the object of my affection firmly rooted in a space of mystery. It was maddening.
The entire car ride home, my mind replayed the conversation in the showroom over and over again, a track on repeat. Intrusive thoughts ran rampant through my brain. Did I just screw up? I worried I scared him off, and he would soon start to pull away from me again, like he did that awful first summer after he had French-kissed Evelyn and I was thrust back into a zone of nothingness in his world. I played the whole thing out in my head. That I had presented the idea of him liking me, that he’d momentarily thought it was cute of me, and was now realizing how dangerous that was to our friendship, since it was always painfully obvious that I liked him. I thought of all the conversations we’d had over the past two years or so when he’d ask if I was seeing anyone, and I’d tell him there was no one of interest to me, just one guy, but I didn’t think he liked me back. All the little tests I’d set up for him, none of which he passed. He’d always dodge my bait and change the subject.
I thought about the day he told me he and Evelyn had sex, losing their virginities to each other the end of last summer. It was Labor Day weekend, and Taven had just turned sixteen, but she was only fifteen! I thought what a slut , but I knew that was unfair. They had been together for a while. Of course they’d eventually sleep together! What did I expect? I had been sick to my stomach for the rest of the evening. I couldn’t help but fight back tears that my dream of that being us, of me and Taven being the ones to share that special moment were now completely lost.
But still, I forced myself to move on. Continue our friendship and take the scraps of Taven Carlisle that I could. Looking forward to when Evelyn was back at school, and I’d get him all to myself again.
Something glorious happened, though, when I finally found out she broke up with him. She couldn’t take the distance anymore or something crazy like that. I wondered if there was some other boy she had her eye on. Taven had actually cried in front of me, and I think it was the first time, for the briefest moment, that I didn’t like him. Sure, I was madly in love with him, but seeing his tears for some girl that dumped him was disgusting to me.
And here we were now. Him holding my hand on a car ride after picking out the stupid color Inferno Red, for God’s sake. I said a silent prayer that this would all be okay. That I didn’t just ruin everything between us. Saying nothing and holding our friendship would have been the smarter move. My mind kept spiraling and screaming for Taven to say something , but of course, I ruined the logistics of that by stupidly rolling down the window.
After what felt like hours of the tornado swirling in my brain, Taven pushed the button that rolled up my window. I kept my eyes on the highway, the giant billboards advertising all the ways various companies could offer you products and services to make your life better.
With the car quiet again, he spoke. “What are you thinking, Dazzle?”
How to respond…quick, think of something good to say. Sadly, “I don’t know,” was all I could come up with.
“Yes, you do, don’t lie to me.”
I looked down at our clasped hands, noting how firmly he was holding mine. “Fine,” I finally said. “I’m wondering why you’re holding my hand.”
I looked up at him and saw the grin sweep across his face. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
He raised our clasped hands and kissed the back of mine. I nearly died. “I’m holding your hand because Melissa’s right. I do like you as more than a friend.”
My view of the road narrowed to a pinhole at hearing those words escape his mouth. There was a loud drumming in my ears, maybe the sound of my own pulse, who knows. “Really?” I squeaked out.
“Don’t play dumb. You know I have for a while now. I just didn’t know what to do about it. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same.”
Did I know? I had hope, sure. Read into every little thing that might have indicated that he liked me. But I always went straight back to convincing myself that was impossible. “What do you mean, for a while, or that you didn’t know what to do about it? Why not?” I couldn’t wrap my head around what I was hearing. It didn’t make any sense. How long is a while?
“Because of our families,” he explained. “Their friendship. I knew us being a thing would be awkward.”
Us. A thing. I had died and gone to heaven. Was this really happening? “We don’t have to tell them,” I offered.
He glanced over to me, his brown eyes framed by the pinch of his brows. “What? Fuck that, I’m not going to hide this.”
I didn’t know if I was just an idiot not getting something, or if I was just overthinking or what. “Then why didn’t you say something sooner?”
He shrugged, and I took in the sight of his rounded shoulders hidden beneath his t-shirt. It was lacrosse season for him, sports no longer being withdrawn as punishment by his parents, and time spent in the gym was turning him even more into a manly God in my eyes. And here he was, talking about an us. Little by little, I allowed myself to believe this was real .
He gave my hand a little squeeze. “Dazzle, will you please confirm that you feel the same way?”
The sweet idiot. Of course I did. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said. “In that case, I guess I was just waiting for the right moment.”
I laughed. “Sure am glad I chose Inferno Red, then.”
He let out a groan. “Stop, you’re gonna give me a fucking hard on if you say ‘Inferno’ one more time.”
Me? Capable of turning him on? I had to think fast, relish in this opportunity. I turned in my seat, placing my other hand over our clasped hands. “Vin, look at me.”
“Can’t, I’m driving.”
“A quick glance, come on.”
He caved and darted his eyes over to me. “Inferno,” I said as slowly as I possibly could. I blushed, I couldn’t help it, but I was going to give this all the courage I could.
“Fuck me.”
I wanted to repeat what he said. Say something sexy like, “You want me to fuck you?” But I was too chicken.
I watched him as he smirked, shaking his head. “We’re about to move way too fast, aren’t we?”
My stomach summersaulted at hearing him talk like that. I smiled and straightened myself in my seat again. “I guess we’ll find out.”
When we got to my house, I think we both did a silent prayer of gratitude that no one was home. As I unlocked the front door for us, I called out “Hello” just to triple check, but thankfully, no one responded. I looked up at Taven, nervous as to what to do next. “Are you thirsty?” I asked.
He put his hands in his pockets and shook his head no.
“Wanna go watch a movie in my room?”
“Sure,” he said. He followed me up the stairs, around the hall and to my room, a spot we didn’t spend too much time in. Most of the time our parents were together, it was at the Carlisle Manor, a mansion that made our six-thousand square foot home seem humble. It was the Carlisles who threw the best parties, had the best catering, the valet parking, etc. My parents envied their wealth, I knew, but they were happy to ride the coattails of their friends and simply have them in their company.
We kicked off our shoes and settled onto my bed while I flipped through some channels. I looked over at Taven, silently begging him to put his arm around me. We had spent countless hours together, but we also had such a firm routine in the ways we interacted. It made today’s declaration of mutual interest and of starting something more together feel like meeting him for the first time all over again. Normally we’d sit on our sides of my bed with space between us. Did we even know how to snuggle? Would we kiss well? I had kissed a couple boys, at a school dance or hanging out at friends’ houses, but I hadn’t kissed anyone I truly liked enough to make a habit of it. I was nervous that Taven, a far more experienced kisser, would find me horrible in that department.
And then another thought popped into my head—would we jump straight into having sex? Would I lose my virginity today? I didn’t really see why we would wait, we knew all there was to know about each other already. It seemed strange to take it slowly.
Suddenly the only thing I wanted was Taven’s mouth on me, and for him to strip me naked so I could feel all there was to feel of his skin on mine.
“Hey,” he whispered, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward him. I snuggled into the crook of his arm— this is really happening! —and tried to make myself relax. He pulled my chin to look up at him. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” I nodded mutely and he leaned his head down, his lips reaching mine.
He started slowly, almost easing us both into this new thing between us, and my heart beat wildly in my chest. He had put gum in his mouth, and I was thankful that the minty taste would mask what I was sure was my not-so-fresh breath. I squeezed his shirt, twisting myself to better face him and get more comfortable. When his tongue slipped in my mouth, I moaned and then was instantly embarrassed by the sound. But it only seemed to further ignite him, and he powered on, and next thing you know I was straddling him while my mind was shouting, “I’m making out with Taven Carlisle!”
It was surreal, yet comfortable. We paused for air at some point. His hands explored my body, under my shirt, then slipped under my bra. Aside from that, though, we took it slow and did as much as we could with clothes on.
The next several weeks continued on like that. Now that he had a car, we had the beautiful freedom of seeing each other whenever we wanted, like a pass that sent us hurtling toward the autonomy of adulthood.
But his parents ensured we still knew our place.
They weren’t having their son unsupervised with his girlfriend, and they demanded his bedroom door stay open when I was over. We weren’t allowed at each other’s houses if parents weren’t home. So we did what we could in the swirls of our frenzied hormones and attraction to each other. It was all so absorbing and intense—lots of making out, nothing too extreme. A hand job on one day I was feeling brave in my room, where my parents didn’t care if the door was closed. We’d carry on with some touch and exploration, but never sex. I was too nervous, and truth be told, I think Taven was, too.
It’s funny, now that I think about it, it’s like over the course of that spring, our friendship took a back burner. When we were together, we were either making out, or watching a movie, or hanging out with our parents and counting down the seconds until we could be alone and make out again.
My parents were thrilled with the match, naturally. My mother promptly put me on birth control, even though I assured her we weren’t having sex.
When his parents insisted I start coming over for family dinner on Sundays whenever I was available, I was fearful of their judgment. The first couple times, I barely said a word, pushing my food around on my plate in nervous discomfort. We’d sit in their massive dining room, the table a long display of silverware and china, fresh white floral arrangements adding the only warmth to the cavernous space. The walls had some kind of fabric on them in a wild geometric pattern that I found dizzying. Classical music would play from some hidden speakers throughout the room. Jacqui, Taven’s sister, would make eye contact with me from across the table and wink, mouthing to me random quips in response to whatever her parents had just said, and I’d stifle a laugh. Taven would hold my hand beneath the table, but I had the distinct feeling he was just as nervous as I was. I wondered what dinners were like when I wasn’t here. Were they this stoic and quiet?
His mom would make Taven drive me home promptly afterward, stating she knew exactly how long it took to get to my house and when exactly she expected Taven back home. All this said right in front of me, every dinner I was there. I’d look at Mrs. Carlisle—Lynda, as she insisted I start calling her—(though really I just avoided having to say her name at all), and I’d wonder if she was this strict when Taven was with Evelyn. He would later tell me she was.
Toward the end of tenth grade, Lynda asked me about my college plans.
“I’m not really sure yet,” I replied over a meal of pork chops and roasted vegetables, some syrupy and sweet glaze meticulously poured in a zigzag design over top. I fiddled with the linen napkin in my lap.
Taven looked over to his mom. “Don’t go grilling her, we still have two years left of high school.”
Lynda paused her movements, a forkful of pork held midair. “Which will be over before you know it. And while I realize you think life is just one big game full of fun, all of this,” she said, scanning her eyes around the room and beyond, “doesn’t just fall into your lap, Taven. It takes planning and hard work.”
“Maybe I don’t want all this,” he countered. I could feel his hand tense as he squeezed mine.
His dad huffed out a laugh. “Everyone wants all this, don’t be naive.”
Jacqui chimed in, tone light as she tried to steer the conversation. “And what exactly is all this?” she said through a smile. “A home and comfort and what not? Because I sincerely doubt you guys need to worry, Taven and I have had the best role models to teach us the ways.”
I looked at her, trying to convey my gratitude for her attempt to placate and avoid an argument. I cleared my throat, deciding it would be easier to focus on the original subject. “My parents want me to go for pre-med. You know, follow in their footsteps and open a specialized clinic, which would be nice. I haven’t really decided if I’ll go that route, yet, but it’s an option.” I didn’t add that my only reluctance was that I saw how hard my parents worked, how their stress levels were permanently set to high.
“It’s a good plan,” Mr. Carlisle offered with a nod. (Unlike Lynda, he had never offered for me to call him by his first name, Bill.)
Lynda grabbed her wine, sipping before adding her two cents. “Agreed. I’ve spoken with your parents about it. Though it’s funny, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Taven asked.
Lynda set her wine down and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. She looked at me and said, “Your father has always had to contend with his limitations for his spas, given that he’s not a physician. With a doctor in the family, he could expand services and offer true medical services. Something he’s well aware of.”
It was a jab, and I knew it. My father hated his clinics being called anything other than “clinic” or “medi-spa,” the “medi” being a very important term for him to put at the front of the label. But he was no doctor, nor was my mother, so what Lynda was saying was true. My father couldn’t truly open up a medical clinic without some kind of partnership with a medical professional. My parents made good money, obviously, but there was an element of prestige that seemed to taunt my dad when it came to the more respected true medical professionals he encountered. It was his insecurity, and Lynda just had to bring it up.
I sat up straighter in my seat, pulling my shoulders back. “Well, I have the math gene from my parents, and I’ve always been good in any kind of science. Medicine is a respectable field. I’d be happy to step in to help my family carry on a business they’ve worked so hard to make happen.” I kept to myself the fights that business often caused, the increasing frequency with which I noticed my mother’s pill-popping, or the times she’d send me out to get her cigarettes, now that I could drive. The seedy gas station spot I’d nervously enter, because she knew that was a spot that wouldn’t card and would sell them to me. The Carlisles didn’t need to know any of that, it was none of their business.
Lynda smiled. “You’re a good girl, Desiree, wanting to do right by your family.” She nodded. “Shows good character.”
It was a compliment, yet I felt sick to my stomach.