Chapter 9
Henry
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t move.
It’s her.
Radiant, artsy, messy, her.
Overalls and boots, her.
Mom’s old scarf tied in her hair, her.
My grandmother’s mood ring—always black—still on her finger, her.
Infuriating, her.
Heartbreaking, her.
Her.
A beat passes that feels like an eternity.
Her lips part in a silent plea, while her green eyes widen and glass over with what could be tears.
I edge through Dot and Marnie, desperate to be close to her, to touch her, to know that she’s real.
Only I can’t decide what that touch will be—a strong shove out the door or a firm pull into my arms.
Fuck me.
“Henry, breathe,” she says. “Breathe.”
That’s when I realize I’m wheezing. Badly.
“Holy shit, dude,” Dot exclaims. “Chill.”
“Where’s your inhaler?” Marnie asks.
I fumble in my pocket as Dot eases me into a chair. I take a quick inhale, but relief is minimal. My lungs have tightened to the size of raisins, as if she’s vacuum-sealed the air right out of me.
“Not… you,” I rasp, sounding angrier than I want. “It was not supposed to be you.”
“I-I-I didn’t know.” Her voice trembles with distress. “I’m sorry, Henry. It was a mistake. I won’t—it won’t—I’m sorry.”
Her eyes circle from Dot to Marnie. “I’m sorry,” she tells them, too.
Then, she turns and bolts from the building.
“Do I need to call nine-one-one?” Marnie asks, phone poised.
“Hop in the van,” Dot counters. “I’ll have you at the hospital before you can say awkwardest reunion ever.”
I hold up my hand in protest. “I’ll… be… fine.” Another draw on my inhaler slows my breathing and opens my lungs just enough. I need to slow down. To focus. To relax.
But part of me begs to run after her, lungs be damned.
“I apologize, Henry,” Marnie says. “Dr. Blake told me he’d install the garden. We touched base yesterday when the other supplies arrived—he said nothing about Venus.”
“So, that’s Venus, huh?” Dot grins. “You must be nursing some serious wounds to hate her that much.”
“I don’t… hate her.”
“He just never wants to see her again,” Marnie finishes for me.
Dot peeks out of the open front door. “She’s gone, just peeled off in a classic Land Rover.”
“I expected her to be more… villainous,” Marnie says. “She seemed sad. Definitely surprised. I’d better text Ivy and let her know what happened. Dr. Blake must’ve arranged this.”
Dot laughs. “He parent-trapped you two. Hmm, that’s not right. Love-trapped?”
Damn. She probably expected to meet a stranger and install a garden as a favor to her dad. The place looks so different now that I doubt she remembers coming here with me to visit Uncle Jay.
I’m only grateful that Olly already left with Carly and didn’t witness this. How would I have explained falling apart over the woman I’ve only revered in his eyes?
I hate this.
Even worse, I hate what I said. Not you.
It wasn’t supposed to be you. Fuck. Whenever I imagined seeing Venus again and delivering all the words I never got the chance to say, I failed to consider that my faulty body might prevent me from saying much of anything.
Questions I should’ve asked bombard me. Starting with why?
Why she left? Why she left me? Why she made promises she didn’t keep?
“So, what’s the story with this girl, eh?” Dot asks, grabbing a bag of Cheetos from her pocket.
“She was my best friend,” I say, still gasping slightly. “Then, my girlfriend. We were headed to UNC-Chapel Hill together. Then, one night, I saved her life. She saved mine. She told me she loved me, promised me prom. She left the country instead. Ghosted me.”
“Yikes, that’s rough.” Dot tilts the bag in my direction. “Cheeto?”
“No, thanks,” I sputter.
“Henry, that’s heartbreaking,” Marnie frowns. “How could she do that to you?”
“It’s what she does. She runs.” I take a few more measured breaths before standing up. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.”
“Good idea,” Marnie says. “Dot and I will keep working on your new display cases.”
I leave them for the stairs, desperate to be alone and recover from the shock of her.
But lying on my bed under the ceiling fan, breathing back to normal, I’m restless and upset. There is no recovery from Venus. That’s the problem. There hasn’t been before, and there won’t be now.
Fuck, she looked beautiful though.
I close my eyes and remember her climbing into my bed when we were eighteen.
She’d done that since we were twelve. The deep pressure stimulation of being held relieved her, and I was the only person she felt comfortable enough with to ask.
I never minded, even when she sometimes startled me awake or nearly got me in trouble for it.
But that night was different.
She slid into my bed, and I curled up behind her, spooning her as she nestled into me.
“You okay?” I breathed against her neck in a sleepy haze.
She nodded, but I knew better. Senior year was starting, and Venus hated school.
Summers were our best times. I wrapped her up, tightening my hold, and she relaxed with deep breaths.
With my lips a breath away from her neck, her familiar scent of rosemary and roses, her body so close, my thoughts drifted to how good she felt in my arms. With only my boxers and her jean shorts between us, I grew hard against her.
Embarrassed, I rolled onto my back suddenly, mumbling an apology. She wanted my comfort, not that.
She twisted to face me, propping her hand under her head. “Don’t be sorry. Be reassured that your body functions properly, in this instance, at least.”
I guffawed. “Gee, thanks, Vee.”
She smirked at my sarcasm, but really, I loved that she joked about my asthma. She made me feel better about it, like it wasn’t the anxiety-ridden curse Mom made it out to be.
Now perched on her side, staring at me, she said, “Can I help?”
“What?”
She pointed to my boxers. “Let me help you with that.”
My eyes went wide with disbelief. “You want to help with my hard-on?” I clarified, though in hindsight, it shouldn’t have surprised me. Venus viewed life through a scientific prism—everything was worthy of exploration and experimentation. Sex shouldn’t have been an exception.
Even so, I never expected this.
“It’s a natural reaction to having someone of your preferred gender in your private space—a space I’m presently violating,” she reasoned. “It’s the least I can do—“
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? We’re adults, Henry.”
“Yeah, but…” We’d only just celebrated our eighteenth birthdays this summer. With our senior year upon us, we felt like adults still trapped in kid lives. For me, the year ahead would be easy, a formality. For her, it’d be uncomfortable and miserable.
“But what?” she urged.
I sat up, groaning. “You don’t believe in love or romance. You don’t want to be my girlfriend. You don’t want to kiss or hold hands or date. But you want… this?”
“We are more than any label or social construct, Henry. What we have is perfect. Stop overthinking it. I want to make you feel comfortable and meet your needs. And I’m… curious.”
“Curious?” Moonlight illuminated her face just enough for me to see a sexy smirk coiling on her lips. Still, I sighed. “Take some deep breaths. Think it through.”
She did as I asked—after years of friendship, she’d gotten better at listening to me. Trusting me.
A minute later, she smiled triumphantly. “Done.”
“Still want to?”
She nodded into my pillow. “If you want to. I’ve studied the required techniques. If you’re willing to let me.”
She could’ve asked me anything, and I would’ve said yes. She’d already been the first woman I held, my first kiss, and I imagined she would be my first everything.
But it was a risk that would either catapult us into a real us, like I wanted, or mess everything up, even our friendship. My desperation for her—all of her—overruled the risk.
“Okay.” I laid back down and tried not to be nervous as her hand fell to my chest and went lower. She sat up a little, watching me, and I brushed her cheek, hoping she’d kiss me.
She smiled instead, her hand inching over my stomach, until, “Venus…”
The pure ecstasy of her hand slipping into my boxers caught in my throat—her fingers delicately exploring me, her fingertips gently grazing over my tip.
“It’s bigger than average, Henry,” she whispered. “And so thick. You must be proud. The average size is—”
“Vee, please.”
“Oh, right.” She worked me, but clumsily. “We need lubricant.”
“Give me your hand,” I said, breathy and wanting. She sat up and gave me her free hand. “Not that one. The other one.”
Now sitting beside me, she corrected herself and held her hand out to me. I gently gripped her by the wrist and brought her hand to my mouth to lick her palm. A breathy gasp escaped her, eyes widening with intrigue. Her dampened hand made a quick return to my dick, and she sighed in approval.
“Much better,” she whispered, edging to my side again, watching me, draping her bare leg over mine.
I slid my hand under her shirt as she curled at my shoulder, my fingers skirting up and down her spine. I imagined her mouth on me, her on top of me, the warmth and excitement of being her first. Of her being my first.
“Tighter,” I begged. She nuzzled closer, her face nestled in my neck, and tightened her grip. I felt her watching me, gauging my expression, measuring my pleasure. “It feels so good.”
She stayed uncharacteristically quiet as my eyes rolled back in my head before closing. The release felt seismic, and even better, she didn’t pull away, letting me spill all over her hand.
“Wow,” she said with a breathy smile.
“Wow,” I repeated, gasping. I reached for my inhaler. Then, we lay there, curled together, for several minutes, both of us catching our breath.