22. age sixteen
age sixteen
“Sorry Nat couldn’t come,” I said as I situated my sleeping bag. Without Nat’s stuff in here, we had a lot more room. That said, I was painfully aware of the fact Atlas and I were about to spend the night together. Alone. No snooping sisters watching our every move. No parents to worry over us.
I doubted Atlas told his parents Nat wasn’t going to be here, and mine were too busy lecturing Nat to remember that Phoebe decided not to come home for the weekend. The four of us had a tradition of camping in our backyard every fall, the last weekend of September, no matter the weather.
“I figured she would bail.” Atlas didn’t look at me as he spoke. He was stretched across his sleeping bag, one arm tucked under his head like a pillow. The other held his Nintendo Switch as he played some game I long gave up on trying to understand.
“Really?” I sat cross-legged on my sleeping bag and pulled a bag of pickle chips onto my lap. Before I opened it, I was again struck with the realization we were alone. This wouldn’t be the first time we fooled around, but it was the first time it felt inevitable.
We were completely alone out here, and the sliding back door made enough noise there would be plenty of warning before anyone interrupted us.
If there was ever a night to be brave, it was now.
And I’d had that mentality when I packed my backpack tonight, when I’d snuck into Nat’s room and rummaged through her sock drawer.
I swallowed, my throat so dry it hurt. Putting my chips to the side, unopened, I scooted closer to Atlas.
“Yeah, I feel like…” he trailed off then, looking up at me. Pausing his game, he tossed his Switch to the side and propped onto his elbow. “What’s going on with her?”
My cheeks flared. This wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.
To be fair, I never really wanted to talk about my sister.
It felt like too many things between us were a secret.
I wasn’t supposed to talk about Michael or any of the guys she’d dated since they broke up.
Or the fact that she’d had sex. Or that she liked to party or drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes. Or anything, it felt like.
But she was planning to be here as of this morning.
Obviously something had happened since then—and obviously he noticed.
The thing was, I didn’t know why Nat was currently in trouble.
When I came home from Atlas’s swim meet, the confrontation was already over.
Dad was gone , Mom was tending to Nat in the bathroom, and all that remained was a mess of bloodied glass in the kitchen.
Everything looked normal by the time Atlas arrived for backyard camping, and I was disgustingly proud that he couldn’t see the truth. He had no idea what had happened only hours earlier. To him, my family was as perfect as his, and I was desperate to keep it that way.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, but his brows furrowed.
“She’s just going through some stuff,” I said, the words rushing out. “I can’t say more. I promised her I wouldn’t share the specifics, but yeah…”
I trailed off lamely.
“You can talk to me, Vi,” Atlas said. He twined his fingers through mine, tugging gently until I came closer. “Even if you don’t tell me the specifics, you can always talk to me. You know that, right?”
Atlas Blake had a smile just for me. It was different from the one he gave other people, and I knew it because I’d spent countless hours watching him.
His smile with friends was goofier, wider.
His smile with his family was more forced, practiced.
And his smile with other girls was reserved, polite but not inviting.
His smile for me always started the same. Slow, slightly crooked. Charming yet adoring. Sweet but undeniably sexy.
“I talk to you all the time,” I said, partly teasing. Then, dropping my attention to his lips: “What if I want to do something else?”
It was not a hard sell. Within minutes, I was straddling Atlas’s hips and he was looking up at me like I’d hung the moon. Outside, the night was quiet and a chill hung in the air. But inside this tent, I pretended the rest of the world did not exist.
After we’d been kissing for what felt like hours and minutes at the same time, I pulled back. I was trembling, not from arousal, but from nerves.
“I know we haven’t talked about it in a while,” I said. My voice was shaking so hard Atlas took my hands in his. “But I…I have a condom. If you want…”
I trailed off. I’d played this moment over in my head a hundred times, ever since I came up with the idea this afternoon. I was going to sound brave and untouchable, and I wasn’t going to care, regardless of his answer.
Now, I was a trembling mess. If he rejected me, I was going to nurse the hurt for weeks. Even though I knew that wasn’t fair to him, even though I’d do my best not to let it show.
Atlas tensed beneath me, lips parting. For several long, painful seconds, he did nothing but stare at me.
“We don’t have to,” I said, and thankfully, this sounded steadier. “If you don’t want to—”
“Are you sure?” he interrupted. He grabbed my hips, moving me over his arousal, attention flickering from my face to my spread legs. “Of course I want to, if you’re sure you’re ready.”
“I’m sure.” Breathing felt easier, my chest looser. “I really want to.”
And so our clothes came off with frenetic energy. We decided to start with me on my back, if only because it seemed the most straight-forward. I had my legs loosely wrapped around his waist and my hands resting on his shoulders.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he said.
I knew it was going to hurt. I’d heard as much from Nat, and from some of the girls on my tennis team. When he pushed inside me though, it was more pain than I expected. I let out a small whine as he inched deeper, and his entire face clenched.
“Is it hurting you too?” I asked. My thighs ached, his hipbones digging sharply into them, spreading me wide.
“No.” He let out a breathless laugh. “This is the best thing I’ve ever felt.”
“Yeah?” I asked, and somehow, that dulled the pain, transformed it into something sharply pleasant.
“Yeah,” he said. He braced his hands on either side of my head, leaning closer to brush his lips over mine. “I’ll make it good for you. Okay? If not this time, then next. Just tell me if it’s too much, and I’ll stop.”
“It’s not too much.” I grabbed his hips, pulling him closer. He pressed a few inches deeper, and we both gasped.
“Fuck.” He hung his head, resting his brow against my shoulder. “I’m not going to last, Vi. It’s too much. Too good. You’re too…perfect.”
The pain eased again. It still hurt, but his words of praise made it difficult to focus on the pain. Indescribable pleasure streamed through me, the sensation of being exactly where I was meant to be.
“I’m barely in, and I’m going to come already,” he said, and he sounded gutted by that fact. His muscles clenched, and I traced them through the darkness.
“I love you,” I whispered. It was far from the first time I’d spoken those words, but they were the thing to push him over the edge.
In the aftermath, after he finished me off with his fingers, he cradled me to his chest and promised me he’d love me forever. And despite the fact we were sixteen, I knew he meant it.