Chapter 8 #2
“If you upset her, showing up with you again isn’t going to help,” I explain, which is true, but I mostly don’t want to have to spend any more time with Scott Whitmore than I have to.
He opens his mouth, then closes it, jaw clenching. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too. That’s why I’m going alone.” I brush past him, my boots crunching on the gravel.
I don’t bother knocking softly. I pound on the door with all of my strength. A moment later, it cracks open, and Diana’s mom peers out like she’s expecting a salesman. The second she sees me, her mouth pinches. “Oh. Hello, Lillian.”
“Hi,” I say breathless from the run here. “I need to see Diana.”
“She’s not receiving visitors.”
My heart sinks. “What? Why? Is she here? Did she come home last night?”
She tries to close the door, but I shove my boot into the gap before I can think better of it.
“Mrs. Rose,” I say, voice shaking with something way beyond the fading high, “I need to see her. Now.”
Her nostrils flare, probably already composing a speech about manners and boundaries. “
I don’t appreciate your tone.”
“I’m sorry, okay? But please, let me talk to her.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care.
She hesitates, eyes raking over me, standing in her perfect doorway like a stain on the carpet. Then she sighs, folding her arms. “She came home late last night in… quite a state. I trust that doesn’t have anything to do with you?”
My stomach drops. “What kind of state?”
She purses her lips. “Hysterical, completely unlike her.” Her voice takes on that disapproving tone she’s perfected.
But that’s all I need to hear.
I’m already moving, jogging up the stairs I’ve climbed a thousand times, past the family portraits and perfect wallpaper, to the door at the end. I raise my fist, then pause.
“Di?” I say softly, knocking quietly. “It’s me.”
Silence.
I try again, louder. “I’m coming in, okay?”
It’s dark in her room, the curtains covering the grand windows, all pulled shut. The only shape I can make out is a lump under her blankets. “Diana?” I whisper, shutting the door behind me. My eyes adjust enough to see her shoulders shaking under the covers.
“Okay,” I murmur, mostly to myself, sliding off my boots. I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed. The blankets move with her breathing, but she doesn’t acknowledge me.
So I lift the corner and slide under them.
“Lily?” Her voice finally comes, tiny, raw. I hate to agree with Mrs. Rose, but she doesn’t sound like herself at all.
“I’m here,” I say, expecting her to find her way into my arms, to cry, to tell me what’s wrong.
But instead, she turns around and cups my face in her hands.
She’s kissing me before I can react.
Not soft. Or hesitant. Or gentle.
It’s deep, desperate, like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing that can help her breathe. I gasp against her mouth, shocked, my heart slamming into my ribs. Her fingers slide into my hair, dragging me closer.
She kisses me like she’s trying to climb inside of me.
“Diana—” I choke out, trying to pull back.
But she follows me, her mouth finding mine again, swallowing the rest of my words. “Wait! What are you doing?” I manage, breathless, confused, more dizzy than I was before. She doesn’t answer.
She takes the opportunity to shove her tongue between my lips. As soon as our tongues meet, she pulls back, pausing long enough to whisper against my lips. “You taste funny.”
“I… what?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her fingers slide into my hair again, tugging to angle my head the way she wants me. And then, God, her hands start roaming.
Up my stomach, sliding over my chest, squeezing my breasts. She touches me like she owns me, her palms mapping out every inch of me through my shirt, and I can’t do anything but let her.
“Diana,” I choke, my whole body lighting up in confused, startled sparks. Her hands grip my hips, dragging me closer, her mouth finding my jaw, my throat. “Holy shit,” I breathe out. It’s too much, too fast, too not-her. And that thought overrides everything.
I shove her back, hard.
She falls back onto her pillows, hair messy, lips swollen, chest heaving like she’s the one who ran all the way here. “Diana, stop!” I almost shout, loud enough that hopefully, she’ll listen. “What’s gotten into you?”
She stares up at me with wide eyes, like she woke up from a dream. And even in the dark of the room, I can see it, clear as day, she’s not turned on or sad or anything else.
She’s scared.
“Lily…”
I force myself to breathe, to stay still, to not freak out. “What is it, Di? What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, hair falling into her face. Her fists holding on tight to the blankets. “It’s me. There’s something wrong with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know, I—” She presses a hand to her chest. “I can’t stop thinking about—” She breaks off, tears slipping down her cheek.
I inch closer, putting a hand on her cheek to wipe the tears with my thumb. “About what?”
Her breath shudders, and she reaches up to take my hand in hers, cold and trembling. “I want you to touch me.”
“What?”
She shakes her head again, desperation all over her face. “I need you, Lily. Please.”
And before I can form an actual thought, she’s guiding my hand downward.
“Diana, hold on, wait, what are you—”
But she doesn’t wait. She lifts the hem of her white nightgown with her free hand and pulls my hand under it.
And then she presses my palm over her underwear, right between her legs.
I freeze as her warmth hits me and her breath hitches like she’s been shocked, her whole body arching toward me from the contact. Her grip on my wrist tightens. “See?” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Something’s wrong with me.”
My heart is pounding. My brain is in a fog. Every cell in my body is screaming to pull away, to get more answers, to touch her more, all at once. “Di, oh my god.”
She clings to me, her nails digging into my wrist like she’s terrified I’ll pull away if she loosens her grip. “Lily,” she whispers again, so desperate, and fuck.
I can’t deny her.
I let her pull me down, her mouth attacking mine like she can’t bear any space between us. Every sound she makes is fragile and frantic and aching in a way I’ve never heard.
When my finger sinks inside of her, she exhales in relief. Her forehead presses against mine, and I can feel her shiver. “Don’t stop,” she says, but it comes out as more of a whine than anything.
“I won’t.”
And I don’t. I give her exactly what she wants, let her guide my hand, let her cling to me, let her ride by finger until she breaks. Until she buries her face in my neck and whimpering my name is the only thing she can do.
Every sound she makes hits something deep inside of me that I never wanted to give a name to. That I never thought she would feel too. But it’s in the sound she makes, in the way she clings to me, in the way her body tightens like she’s bracing for something too big.
“Lily…“ Her whole body trembles against me, fingers digging into my arms, before she goes completely still.
And in the darkness of her bedroom, she clings to me, silent, shaking. When she finally speaks again, I almost don’t hear her.
“What’s wrong with me?”
I swallow hard, my hand still resting beneath her soaked panties. “Nothing,” I murmur into her hair. “Nothing is wrong with you, Diana.”
Even as I say it, I know it isn’t true. Something is wrong. Very wrong.
With both of us.