Chapter 9 #3
I’ve never stopped thinking about those dark curls I want to dig my hands into, those lips I need to taste, that sharp tongue I want to feel on my skin.
From her ridiculous body to her inquisitive mind to her guarded heart, there is no part of her that does not fascinate me.
And if I don’t get away from her, I’m going to do something about it, thus ruining her future.
“Thank you,” she says as she hugs the book to her chest before stretching to set it down at the edge of the blanket. When she turns back toward me, she catches me staring at her again.
I open my mouth to tell her this is over, but no words come out. The way she watches my face, I can sense that she knows how much I’m hurting.
“What’s wrong?”
I swallow. “Nothing.” I feel jittery, like my muscles are spasming and I have as little control over them as I have over my emotions. I fucking hate this feeling. Is this what it feels like to love someone? Reckless and powerless and foolish?
She scoots toward me until we’re only a foot apart. “Sasha, you’re my best friend and I need you to stop lying to me.”
What can I say? That wanting her is a sickness my body can’t fight off?
That as inappropriate as it is for me to lust after the younger sister of my dead best friend, I can’t seem to stop myself?
That until this summer I never dreamed she’d feel the same way, but that I know things are shifting and that even though this could be our chance, it can’t be?
“What’s wrong?” she asks again, leaning in close enough that my body can feel her even though we’re not touching.
I breathe deeply through my nose, demanding control of myself. I will not think with my dick, there is too much on the line here. For her future, and for mine.
“Petra,” I choke out, wondering if this is the last time I’ll be able to call her by her name, “nothing can happen between us.”
She blinks in surprise and her lips part slightly. I can’t take my eyes off them. I could just lean forward the tiniest bit and finally know what it’s like to taste her. But I can’t.
“Why are you doing this, Sasha?” she asks. I wonder if the way her voice cracks is her holding herself together.
“You’re a child, Petra.” The condescending tone surprises me, even though the words are coming out of my own mouth. “I don’t see you like that.” Every fiber of my being stretches toward her even as my words push her away. But I think that sounded believable enough?
“Bullshit,” she spits out the word as she studies my face.
I could love this girl. Maybe I already do.
A part of me wants to tell her the truth and see if we can find a way to work this out.
But I think the truth would break her. I’d rather her think I’m the one who’s broken her than to know her father betrayed her this way, to know that my father is responsible for her mother’s death.
So I’ll do the last thing in the world I want to do.
I do everything in my power to get the next words out without breaking down. “I don’t feel that way about you, and if you don’t realize that, you’re a fool.”
“Why are you saying these things?” she whispers, trying to hold back the tears that are gathering in her eyes.
What would my father say in this situation? Somehow, I know that channeling him will allow me to be as cold and indifferent as I need to be right now.
“Because you need to hear them. You’re playing a dangerous game, flirting with every man around you.
” I think about how she shamelessly flirted with the gardener, Felix, when I first arrived home.
Was she trying to make me jealous? “You’re sixteen, but you look a lot older, and you’re going to get yourself into trouble one of these days. ”
“You sound like all the jealous, catty girls at school. Is that what you are, Aleksandr? Jealous and catty?” When I don’t respond, she says, “I can’t help what I look like.”
“You need to be careful,” I tell her, because it’s true. I’ve seen what men do to women who are too beautiful and too trusting.
“Oh.” Her single word is an icicle dangling between us. “You’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“One of those people who thinks that instead of teaching boys to respect girls, we need to teach girls to be careful not to attract too much attention from boys.”
Time to end this. “No, I’m just someone who used to be your friend, but I don’t think we should be friends anymore.”
She bends forward at the waist, one hand on her heart. “What?” The word escapes through clenched teeth.
“You heard me.” My face is expressionless. “This is goodbye.”
“Sasha. No. I can’t lose you too.” The words are a whispered plea floating off her lips. I already know this conversation will haunt me for years, maybe forever. But for her sake, her plea must fall on deaf ears.
“You have no choice,” I say, keeping any evidence of emotion out of my voice.
I turn and descend the ladder as quickly as I can.
I need to be away from her or I’m likely to pull her into my arms, tell her I love her, and suggest we run away together.
The trust fund from my mother would allow us to live a comfortable life, but I know that idea is madness.
We are too young. And more importantly, she has dreams she wants to pursue, and so do I.
Goodbye is the only way we can both get what we want.