47. Our Dream
OUR DREAM
We are at the doors of our bedrooms. He opens his door first while I am still at mine, unsure of what I want to do. Should I ask if we’re sleeping together? Do I want to sleep with him yet?
Since our conversation at Mrs Crawford’s house, I don’t need to rush anything. I’m content. But is he?
We had a day where we relaxed, watched movies, talked, and ate pizza, but did he want something more?
“Goodnight, Noya,” he says.
I blush and murmur, “Night, Conner.”
I head into the room, but I hesitate. This isn’t like that broken home. I don’t need to cower in bed, waiting for the storm to hit, and I don’t need to close the door and lock it. I can leave it open because I’m safe.
Biting my lip, I exhale and close the door. Not yet. I’m not ready to give up that safety net yet.
The sheets are crisp. Conner must have washed them before I came. I stretch my body, letting my bare legs drag against the desirable, comfortable sheets. I let out something that resembles an exhale and a delighted moan of pleasure while sinking into the mattress.
This is the most comfortable bed I’ve been in. I thought sleeping in that tissue box of a room at camp with Samantha was good. This is… it feels like an out-of-body experience.
I lie with my arms tucked under the pillow and my legs spread out as if I’m doing a jumping jack. There is this slight pain—a twinge, but enough for me to bear before the throbbing subsides.
And then I stare at the wall, wondering what Conner is thinking about. If only I could see through the walls to know it would make me—
A knock taps on my door.
I widen my eyes and sit up quickly. “W-who’s there?” I squeak.
“Noya,” Conner speaks through the other side of the door. “Is it okay if I come in for a moment?”
“Um…” I pull the sheet above my chest. “Okay, you can come in.”
The door opens, and Conner’s figure moves through the room and then sits on the edge of the bed in the darkness. I shuffle so that I’m sitting up. “Is something wrong?”
“Could I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks.
I bite my lip, but I can’t hold in the giggle.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Nothing,” I playfully say. Then, daring, I touch his arm and drag him towards me, murmuring, “Come here.”
Conner leans down on the bed, and his lips find mine. My fingers drag through his hair while his arm keeps him stable and ensures his weight doesn’t crush me.
I taste him on the tip of my tongue. The taste of peppermint from the toothpaste and a hint of ash from his smoking. His aroma intoxicates me, filling me up like helium in a balloon, and I swell with this powerful desire.
And then, when I think we are going further—even after I had that self-monologue of how much I’m content with taking things slow—he stops when I yearn for more.
“Goodnight, baby,” he murmurs into my hairline.
I’m glad he stopped. I’m glad when he leaves my room, closing the door behind him. If it were me, I wouldn’t have stopped. I’d give in to my desires, afraid I wouldn’t have another chance. He keeps me grounded in moments of weakness.
I sigh, expelling the lustful things I wanted to do to him.
We have time.
I wake with no sense of morning or night, at least not from the room without windows. My phone, though, tells me it’s late morning. I slept past ten. That’s a first.
And there’s a message.
Samantha: How did yours and Conner’s first night go????
I smile.
Me: Really good.
Samantha (literally thirty seconds later): Did you have sex?????
Me: No.
Samantha: YOU DID! OMG! TELL ME EVERYTHING!!! DID IT HURT?
Samantha (again): My first time with Dylan hurt so badly. But then we found out it was bc we were going in dry. Did you do foreplay before sex?
You know what… I’m not going to respond. There’s no need. I can explain everything tomorrow morning at school, where I can tell her in person that nothing like that happened. It’s so hard to convey that through text, at least to Samantha.
The door opens without a sound, and I leave the room. My clothes are folded and crisp on the ground beside the door. I look around as I pick them up, but there are no signs of Conner, and his bedroom door is wide open.
After I put on my clothes, I head to the washing machine, put Conner’s clothes in it, find the washing powder and fabric softener, turn the machine on, and walk around the kitchen island. I peek outside, but he isn’t on the balcony or in the bathroom. The door is wide open.
I go back into the bedroom, fear spiking when I grab my phone. What if Dad found out I wasn’t at Samantha’s, and he sought me out and did something to Conner while I was sleeping? Could I have slept through that?
No, I don’t think I would have been able to. The distinct voice of Dad would have woken me up. Unless he broke in while we were sleeping and—
I jump when the door to the apartment opens. “Noya,” Conner calls.
I exhale a breath as I leave the bedroom.
Conner holds a tray with two cups. I can smell the dense, intoxicating coffee beans. And in his other hand, he holds a paper bag. He smiles, those hazel eyes crinkling. Knowing he is safe, my heart softens, and the tension around my bones releases.
Is this what I will be like every time he leaves the apartment? Will I freak out, wondering if Dad is outside, waiting for him to leave?
“I brought coffee and toasties.”
“Toasties?” I ask as I lean against the kitchen bench.
Conner nods as he places the bag in front of me. He grabs one cup of coffee and declares, “Ham, tomato, and cheese toasties.”
“Yum,” I say before sipping the bitter coffee. I smile at the sugar hit, realising Conner knows my ideal coffee taste.
We head out onto the balcony overlooking the large, round lake. People are walking about, or sitting on the grass, and the hum of cars rushes through my eardrums.
I listen to Conner as he tells me about his struggles with balancing drawing and what the world wants him to do: aim high, study at university, get a degree, and get paid immensely for his efforts.
“I’m not interested in any of that,” he admits.
Conner leans his elbows on the railing and overlooks the lake—no, it’s as if he’s overlooking the world…
in a way. I find it attractive. “I want a choice to do what I love doing before I settle. Live life, right?” Conner scoffs.
“They jam it down our throats on how we have a choice until we’re in debt, paying off fees for venturing into a field that we might regret later in life. ”
“And it seems like I am more your boulder than a rock to lean on,” I murmur. “You’re going to university because I want to graduate.”
“Not necessarily you,” he answers, grimacing.
“My mum is a pusher. She wants me to thrive because there was a time when she was at a standstill, in an awful place with an evil man. Mum doesn’t want me to give up on education.
Yet, she fails to understand that I’m not giving up.
I’m thriving at what I love doing.” Conner takes a sip of his coffee and sighs.
“She will understand more when we leave. It’s all about actions, and she’s wary because I haven’t acted and shown her how well I’m doing. ”
“But you can do that after you graduate. What’s a year at university going to do for your dreams? Aside from delaying it.”
“My dreams aren’t everything if I can’t have that dream with you,” he breathes. “So, I will appease my mum for a year, save, and when you graduate, our dream will start—that is, if you want that.”
I smile, turn, and lean my back against the railing.
Our dream. It sounds heavenly. And if it were just a few months ago, I’d have laughed bitterly at the thought of ever leaving home, let alone fantasising about a dream. There’s nothing here for me: nothing but horrible memories. And to know that after I graduate, I can choose my destiny.
“There are always online classes if I don’t feel like drawing anymore, right?” I say, smirking.
“And if our dreams fail, we can work and be that couple working our arses off, getting married and having children.”
“Conner,” I murmur. “You’re creepy again.”
“Is talking about marriage and children creepy?”
“After one month of knowing each other… yes,” I agree.
“Ah… but is it a red flag?”
“No,” I admit lamely. “You’re just an achiever. You’re always looking ahead to your future. It’s admirable… and makes me jealous. I’m at a standstill…”
The fan.
“Well…I will stand still with you until you move.” Conner stands before me, places the cup on the railing, and puts his hands on my waist. He leans in, his mouth nearing mine. “Because we’re a team, right?”
I close my eyes and move my hands when my fingers brush against something. I stiffen, then reach for the cup when I knock it further. Instead of letting it fall onto the balcony, the cup tips the other way and falls off the railing when I hit it again.
“Shit!” I go to look down when Conner grabs my arm and tugs me away from the railing. “What?” I ask once we move inside.
“Usually, when you knock a drink that’s half-full off the railing onto oncoming traffic, the last thing you want to do is to be there in action.” Conner barks a laugh. “You were literally going to stand there and get yourself caught out.”
“Shut up,” I snap, but playfully nudge him.
“My poor coffee. What am I going to drink now?”
“Me,” I reply.
His eyes widen.
I bite my lip while raising my coffee. “M-mine, I mean.”
“No, no,” Conner breathes, moving towards me. “I like your first idea better.”
He takes hold of my cup, places it on the counter, and wraps his arms around me. I gasp as he lifts me with such ease. I cling to his shirt and move my legs around him for more support.
“Conner,” I hiss. Yet, as I gaze at him, my breath hitches. Placing my hands on either side of his face, I kiss him passionately. I let the desires I felt last night unleash, and nothing will stop me from getting what I want. “Take me to the bedroom,” I say breathlessly.
“Are you sure?”
I nod while kissing him again. To show him that this is all me, I deepen the kiss while pressing my body against him more.
As we step into the bedroom, our lips never leave one another.