Chapter Twenty-Three September 2 #3
Theo shows me what to do by keeping his hand wrapped around mine.
Eventually, he closes his eyes and his breathing intensifies.
“It’s starting to chafe,” he says, pulling away slightly after what feels like an eternity.
Could have been one minute or ten. Time is a construct, especially in these kinds of situations.
“I’m sorry,” I say, removing my hand, cheeks flaming.
“Don’t be sorry. We could try the other thing,” he says. “If you want.”
I nod and take in a deep breath. I open my mouth and go through the motions, trying not to gag.
He guides me through it. I can tell by the soft moans he’s releasing that I’m doing something right, but it’s actually a lot of work.
Just as he seems to be getting really into it, I pull away, wiping my mouth.
I try not to think about what I just did.
How quickly things can change. How I went from never having done those things to being someone who has done those things.
Things I can’t even articulate. Things I shouldn’t be doing.
“That was good,” he says.
I know it couldn’t have been that good because he didn’t finish—not that I wanted him to.
Theo kisses me again, and this time we lie back on the bed.
The T-shirt is bunched up at my waist and a gust of cold air from his AC passes over me.
Theo’s body slides between my thighs, and he moans as he presses himself against me.
“Can I touch you?” he asks. I nod and it isn’t long before his fingers start fumbling around my lower half.
I try to make myself relax. To give myself permission to enjoy the moment.
But it doesn’t feel like it did when John did it.
Theo’s touch isn’t as soft, and he keeps missing the spot that feels good, but I don’t know if I should tell him.
I didn’t have to tell John. Maybe it’s like this the first couple of times.
It’s not like I know what I’m doing either.
“I can’t hold it much longer,” he says, and, finally, relief as he removes his hand. But not the kind of relief either of us was expecting. “Are you good?” he asks, his hair hanging in front of his face.
“Yeah.”
He kisses my forehead before pulling himself off me and disappearing into the bathroom. I bring my legs together, squirming at the discomfort pulsing below. I’m not sure what he was doing down there but whatever it was did not feel good.
His dryer buzzes and I reach to check my phone. It’s later than I thought. I run out of his room to grab my things from the machine, and that’s when I hear the front door open. Shit.
“Theo, I’m home,” Petra calls.
I slip into the laundry room, my back against the door, trying to get my stupid heart to stop beating so loud.
“Theo?” she calls again, her voice fading as she heads in the opposite direction. Thank god.
I open the dryer quickly and with the care of someone holding a Fabergé egg in a room full of lasers.
Grabbing my things, I put them on as fast as I can, throwing Theo’s T-shirt on top, pulling at the hem.
I prepare a story just in case Petra catches me.
We decided to go swimming. A whole bunch of us.
The others just left. I didn’t have my swimsuit, so I swam in Theo’s T-shirt and I was just drying it with my other things.
Where is he? I don’t have my phone so I can’t text Theo, and I also can’t stay hiding in this laundry room all night because my curfew is looming.
This is what I get for allowing my desires and curiosity to take control of me.
This is what I deserve.
And it wasn’t even worth it.
“I’m going out,” Theo says to his mom.
“Out? It’s almost ten and you have school tomorrow. Wait,” she pauses. “Where’s Lennon? I thought you were together.”
“She met up with Georgie and Zach and I came home.”
“Why?” his mom presses.
“John and Eddie were going to come here, but plans changed and we’re grabbing burgers now.” Theo lies with precision. He’s slick. Calm. Believable.
Once his mom appears satisfied with his responses, Theo enters the laundry room with my balled-up clothes, phone, and flip-flops. My heart is still racing too much for me to experience any relief at the sight of both him and my things.
I get dressed, then mouth, “Now what?”
He whispers. “I’ll go to the kitchen to distract her. I’ll text you when it’s safe to go out the front door. Meet me on the corner.”
“Okay. But hurry. It’s late.”
“Better late than caught.”
“Right.”
Theo heads to his kitchen and texts me when all is clear.
I tiptoe to the front door, opening it as little as possible before wedging my body through the gap.
Closing it behind me, I slip on my flip-flops and run down the street.
One of my flip-flops slides off and I trip on my own foot, falling face-first onto the pavement.
That fucking hurt. I run my tongue over my teeth and taste blood.
I manage to get up and assess the damage: scraped-up bloody knee and elbow and what is sure to be a fat lip.
I am never, ever, doing this again.
Headlights appear around the corner, and I hobble to Theo’s car as he pulls over.
“Jesus Christ, Lennon, what happened to you?” he asks as I open the door, bloody and unbalanced.
Karma happened.