And then an extra day on top of that.
But she’s done something to me. She’s warped my mind and twisted my insides up, and now my soul has been pretzelled into some jacked up, nonsense knot of alien emotion, and I don’t have a clue what the fuck I’m doing anymore. When did this even happen? I used to make sense to myself. Now, I don’t have a clue how to make heads nor tails of my own existence. I’m a stranger in my own skin and it sucks balls.
To the right of us, beyond the tiny ornamental cemetery, three geese begin to squabble on the lake, honking and kicking up a fuss. Chase watches them, and I watch her, fighting the urge to grab hold of her. If I knew myself better right now, and I could trust myself, I’d give myself free rein. Normally I’d do something deplorable. Pin her down and show her just how powerless she is in this whole situation. But honestly, the idea of doing that seems laughable. Holding her down and degrading her will backfire in the worst way. I know in my heart that she’d enjoy it, and anyway, there’s every chance that I’ll kiss her instead. Bury my face into her hair so I can inhale the essence of her, crushing her to my chest, trying to absorb her into me somehow.
Is this how other people feel? Is this fucking normal? I don’t see how it can be.
“I made you something,” she says.
I hit the bowl hard, pulling with all my might, holding the flame of the lighter she passed me over the weed as long as I can bear it before the burn becomes too much and my throat starts to scream.
I don’t want any more gifts from you.
I don’t want my mind to be fixed on you when the sun comes up and when it goes down.
I don’t want to be sitting here, getting randomly high with you in the middle of the afternoon, when I could literally be anywhere else.
These are the churlish retorts I fire off in my head, while I hold the smoke in my lungs. They’ve all vanished when I exhale. “Great. Enlighten me. What did you make me, Chase?”
The left-hand corner of her mouth pulls up—she’s pleased. Skipping over an explanation, she dips her hand into the pocket of her jeans and pulls something out: yet another length of woven thread. It’s all black this time. There’s a very small orange stone woven into the very center of it. “It’s Citrine,” she says. “Good for lots of things.”
I give her a hard look, eyes full of steel. “I won’t wear it.”
“Why not? You’re still wearing the other one.”
“I haven’t found my scissors yet.”
“You are absolutely ridiculous. Take it.” She thrusts the bracelet at me, taking the pipe away as soon as I’ve inadvertently accepted her trite gift. She dumps out the charred remains of the weed we just smoked and begins packing the bowl afresh from her tin.
I’m going to hurl her bullshit gift into the lake.
When I get up and we move away from the maze, I’m going to do it.
Just watch and see if I don’t.
I set the bracelet down on top of my knee, feeling the cells of my body vibrate as the weed begins to take effect.
“I don’t think your writing’s divisive,” Chase says. “You’re just so blunt. There’s no subtly to the way you set words down. It’s like you’re laying bricks, trying to build a house, but you’re not using any grout to hold those bricks together.”
I don’t know what’s worse—her original criticism, or this new, equally offensive statement. “I use grout. I use plenty of grout.”
“Barely. A stiff wind would have everything tumbling down.”
I snatch the pipe from her before she lights it and takes a hit for herself. “Your metaphor is dumb. I have a concise, economic writing style. I don’t need flowery language to get my point across. My work is sleek and effortless, like a shark. Like a knife. I told you back in class what you could do if you tried to change my writing. Complete…the project…on your own.”
The thick stream of smoke buzzes around my head as I inhale. Chase moves fast as light. I barely have time to exhale before she’s grabbing the pipe back, tossing it into the grass, and she’s throwing her leg over my waist and pushing me back into the grass, too.
Flat on my back, I stare up at her, stunned yet again by something I’d never expect her to do. Her hair hangs down, a red curtain filling my vision, almost blocking out the sky. What I can see of the sky takes my breath away. To the west, the sun dips below the tree line. It’s golden rays bathe everything in a warm, honeyed glow. My chest tightens until I can’t breathe around the knot forming beneath my breastbone.
“Get off me, Chase.”
“I’m hardly restraining you. Make me.”
“I’m not gonna put my hands on you,” I growl.
“You could.” She thinks for a moment, a coy smile lifting up her mouth at one side. “You should.”
“I mean it, Presley. Someone might fucking see.”
“Do you really care?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the problem? I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds. Are you telling me that you couldn’t just lift me up and off of you if you didn’t want me straddling you right now?”
“I’m saying that I don’t want to just lift you up—”
“God, are you really this broken, Pax? Put your fucking hands on me.”
I can’t take it: Her casual laughter; the way she repositions her weight, applying an indecent amount of pressure where our bodies line up; the way the sun catches at her hair and turns it to burnished gold. The smell of her, like jasmine and lemons. I can’t fucking take any of it.
I put my hands on her, clamping them around her hips, set on dragging her off me and dumping her onto her ass. But the moment I feel her hip bones against the heels of my hands, and my fingertips feel a little give in her flesh under her shirt, I find I can’t do anything at all. My lungs seize, and my heart contracts, and I wish with every fiber of my being that I was back in my dark bedroom back in New York, with the blinds drawn and the view blocked out, because right now I feel so fucking dizzy. I feel like I’m seconds away from losing my balance and toppling over, which makes absolutely no sense because I’m lying down.
Chase freezes on top of me. “Why are you doing this, Pax? This whole thing? With me?”
The words are quick out of my mouth. “Because I’m bored.”
She works her jaw. “That’s all it is? You’re bored?”
“Yes.”
“So…you don’t find me attractive, then?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’m not an idiot. I don’t fuck girls I’m not attracted to.”
She thinks about this. “Okay.”
“Cool. Now. Are you gonna get off of me?”
“No.”
“All right. If you’re so intent on straddling me in public, then make it worth my while. Put me inside you.” It’s a dare. One I know she won’t follow through on.
Just as I expect her to, she falters. “School’s over. There are people everywhere, Pax.”
“Who fucking cares. Back up your shit or quit grinding up against my dick. You sat yourself right on top of it for a reason, right?”
Her cheeks have turned the sweetest shade of pink. She’s going to climb off me. I’m going to win. Her hand slides down my chest as she leans herself back, and I prepare all of the shitty, arrogant things I’m going to say to her—I am not a humble victor—when she scoots further back a couple of inches and finds the button that fastens my jeans. Her eyes meet mine, and I see hesitation there, but she powers through.