Chapter Thirty-Two #3
He tilts his head, licks his bottom lip. My heart thumps in my chest and the sight of him. Red lips and earthy eyes highlighted by the moon shining through the trees. He looks tired, though. Like maybe he stayed up waiting for me?
Arthur swims over to me, leans his arms on the side. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Shake my head.
“What do you want to do?” He asks, quietly.
“I’m not sure,” I whisper, my eyes begin to water again but I blink the tears away and concentrate on his face.
He nods his chin at me. “Come in.”
“I know this means nothing to you but this dress is vintage so…”
“Take it off, then.”
I almost laugh. “I can’t do that!”
He sniffs, shrugs. “Why not?”
“Because my boyfriend is here!”
He blinks. “I’ve seen you more naked than the day you were born. Just take it off and come in.”
I roll my eyes. “If you insist!”
And then I take my dress off and stand up in my underwear because let’s be open and honest here, I would’ve done it on the first ask. I just needed to sound like a good, moral human being.
I stay standing there, unsure, until Arthur reaches up, grabs my wrist and drags me into the pool.
“That was unnecessary,” I tell him, pushing to the surface.
“You wouldn’t have gotten wet otherwise.”
I stare at him, laugh.
“Get your head out of the gutter!” He splashes me. “You know what I meant.”
He reaches under the water, grabs my waist, pulls me into him, my legs lock around his body.
“Can I ask you something?”
I nod, blink away some of the water hanging off my eyelashes.
“Do you still cut?”
“No. I stopped when you left.”
It’s the truth. Some of it, anyway. It’s all he needs to hear.
“Don’t take this the wrong way but I thought it would’ve gotten worse when I left.” He glances to the side then back to me. “I was worried about you. Never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”
“That was the problem. We were too worried about each other to be worried about ourselves.”
He nods. His jaw ticks and I know what’s coming.
His lips smash against mine with so much force that I lose my breath. It isn’t slow like our other kisses. It’s rather passionate and rough like the way we used to kiss as teenagers. His hands cup my cheeks, mine tighten around the back of his neck, my nails pressing into his skin.
I pull back, catch my breath. “We can’t have sex here, Arthur.”
He smiles. “Because you’re worried he’ll pull back the curtain,” he nods to my window that overlooks the pool, “And he’ll see us? So what? Let him watch, Phoebs. You want to break up with him anyway.”
My stomach dips as we both stare at my bedroom window where we can see Digby’s shadow walking about.
I shake my head, almost trying to snap out of it. “What’s gotten into you?” I turn to look at him. “It isn’t only that. Having sex in a swimming pool is unbelievably unhygienic and I’m not one for voyeurism.”
“Shame,” he cocks his head. “We would’ve put on a great show.”
I shake my head again, pull away from him before we actually do have sex right here and jump out of the pool. I don’t bother with a towel as my hair drips a wet trail along the tiles.
I’m too confused. Too disgustingly turned on. Too worried for my moral high ground. It’s not a secret that I have an obvious soft spot for Arthur—actually, no, it isn’t a soft spot at all, it’s more like a bruise that I can help but press.
I go into my room without knocking because why would I? It’s my bedroom, in my house. But the look Digby gives me, makes me think I should’ve knocked to warn him of the blow my presence gives him.
“You’re in your underwear,” he accuses, gives me a filthy look.
I look down at myself.
“Why?” He demands, tone harsh, strong.
He isn’t even angry, he’s furious.
“It’s no different to a bikini,” I tell him.
Shakes his head, gives a dry laugh. “You,” he storms over to me, finger in my face. “You’re a fucking joke.”
He continues to stomp over to me so I back up against the door and wonder if he’ll do something dramatic like hit me and then I wonder what I would do if he did do that?
“What are you talking about?” I ask him, my voice so small and so quiet.
His jaw twitches, his nostrils flare. “You kissed him.”
I swallow hard, my mouth unbelievably dry. “What?”
“You kissed him,” he says again, louder this time.
My stomach drops the way it usually would do if you’ve just been caught out but why does it sound like such a crime when he says it out loud? Maybe it is? Maybe not? Maybe this is just what was destined to happen between Arthur and I?
We’re both staring at each other, breathing hard. I ask myself a million questions. Am I scared? Should I just hit him to get it over and done with? Should I run? To Arthur?
He smacks his hand on the door inches away from my face and I flinch, my eyes instinctively squeezing shut.
“You fucking kissed him!” He roars.
I peek one eye open and see him walking away from me, hands in his hair, pacing the room.
“Why?” He shouts, turning around to look at me.
I’ve never felt so small and stupid in my entire life.
“I knew it!” He laughs humorlessly. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” He looks at me, sort of nods his head like he already knows the answer.
Still, I give a weak shake of my head.
But even when I do, the tears start rolling out of my eyes.
I shake my head again, and again and again.
He doesn’t buy it.
He comes marching over to me again and I think, fuck, this is it, he’s going to batter me so I reach behind my back and twist the door knob, legging it out of my room and down the stairs because if he does hit me—which he wouldn’t, not in front of my friends—at least I’d have witnesses.
I can hardly see through the tears streaming down my face but I do see someone get up from the couch—Albie, I think? I can see his dark head of hair.
“What the fuck is going on?” He shouts, walking over to the staircase where Digby is jogging down.
I shake my head, unable to say anything.
I hear another door open upstairs, I think that might be Spencer or Connie.
I wonder where Arthur is? Is he here? I don’t know.
I have a headache and nothing feels right.
I feel the same as when I took those fucking weed brownies Connie gave me in year nine—detached, not real, in a dream, do you know what I mean?
But I’m panicking, I know that much. Underneath the bubble I feel trapped in, is a lining of this gut wrenching panic.
I back myself into a corner while they all start shouting at each other. It’s all so loud and over the top and I wonder how we got here in the first place?
It’s my fault, really, isn’t it?
Arthur’s too, for coming back, but we can’t blame him for that. He was going to come back anyway. I reckon even if Digby and I were married, it still would’ve turned out like this.
It dies down after a few minutes, people start leaving, going to their rooms after trying to ask me questions.
It’s then I see a pair of legs coming down the stairs that I know for a fact belong to Arthur. He’s freshly showered, his hair still wet, wearing clothes like he’s going out.
I stand up, he spots me instantly, can see the way his heart drops in his eyes.
I’m shaking, in nothing but my underwear, my makeup running and my lips still red after being pressed together by his.
“Where were you?”
He opens his mouth, swallows, says nothing but comes over to me, wraps his arms around me.
Perhaps it’s the way he holds me, with the right amount of pressure, or maybe it’s the way he smells—Tom Ford’s Myrrhe Mystère and my entire life—or maybe it’s the way that without saying anything, he pulls away and gives me a sorry look before walking out of the front door.