Part 19 (1/2)
A s.a.d.i.s.tic tilt of my lips. ”It's the danger that makes it fun.”
She shakes her head, but I spot a smile. Guess she doesn't want to admit it's why she's on the bridge-why she's with me. This is the girl who was on the dance floor at Shamrock's, the girl who cracked the code in English. This is a girl full of life and searching for a challenge.
When we're halfway across, she hesitates and scans the length of the river. She squints. In the distance beside a canopy of trees is the bridge of Highway 109. I step onto the metal next to her and support my back against the metal girder.
Breanna's eyes widen, and I see the puzzle pieces fall into place. She's quick, and while I normally admire how her brain ticks, this time, I wish she would have ignored the clues.
”My mom died in this river,” I say, to answer her silent question. My mouth curves down and the horrible pain from that day covers me like a shroud.
”Why do you come here? Why put yourself through this?”
How many times have I asked myself the same question? I could say I experience a connection to Mom here, but I don't. I come because... ”I need answers.”
”What type of answers?”
”How she died.” My statement hangs and for the millionth time I wonder if it had been calm before Mom reached this area. Were her thoughts peaceful or chaotic? Was there a screeching of tires or did Mom spot the opening off the road as a way to fly into freedom?
”The club told me it was an accident and I said I believed them, but I don't.” I've never told anyone that and I speak slowly, like the words might set me on fire. ”Everyone in town says the same d.a.m.n thing. My mom and dad were fighting. She wasn't happy. Things were bad.”
Day after day, hour after hour, heartbeat after heartbeat my mind swims with the questions and doubt. She left me. She died. She did it on purpose. I was never enough.
My mind dissolves into chaos and it's cluttered and I can't cling to a single thought that doesn't cause me blinding pain. ”f.u.c.k it!”
I stalk away. Off the bridge, onto the gra.s.s, and pause by the river. I expect Breanna to walk past, to flee, to leave. It's what people do. It's what my mom did. It's what my father did by sleeping with a harem of women after Mom's death. He may have been in the same household, but he ran. He just escaped by staying still and d.a.m.ning me to h.e.l.l.
Her footsteps are light against the metal of the bridge, and when she's close enough, I say, ”I'll get you home. Give me a second to-”
Air rushes out of my lungs with the unexpected impact and my feet rock. Breanna is tight against me, her arms wrapped around my body. She's hugging me. Breanna Miller is hugging me. She lays her head against me and her voice vibrates against my chest. ”I'm sorry about your mom.”
I can't remember the last person who hugged me. Not a fast pat hug from the club. A hug that shows affection. Just hugged. I hugged Violet last night, but she didn't hug me back. Was Olivia the last person who hugged me? My mother? Besides them, most people avoid me, easily leaving two feet between us, and here is this little warrior trudging into battle without armor.
Terrified I'll break her, I weave my arms around her and hug her back. My eyes shut when she settles further into me. I rest my cheek on her head and simply breathe.
”I'm sorry about your mom,” she repeats. ”I'm sorry about what everyone has said about you, and I'm sorry everyone's words have made it worse.”
Me, too. I inhale her sweet fragrance and enjoy the rare moment of peace. ”It's okay.”
She lifts her head and genuine emotion fills her eyes. ”It's not. None of this is okay. Your mom, the people at school, the people in this town, none of it is okay.”
Breanna swallows and her delicate throat moves. ”It's like this town is diseased. Gossip and rumors and people playing with everyone's lives. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to drown.”
I run my fingers through her flowing hair, tucking it behind her shoulder. I'm touching her because she's describing my emotions. Because if I do, then maybe she will no longer feel like she's drowning, and maybe I'll continue to stay afloat long enough for a mouthful of air.
”I've hated Snowflake for so long,” she says. ”But then I met you. And you're the person this entire town has trashed, a person belonging to the group I've been raised to believe is evil, and you're the only person who is able to make me feel as if every part of me is beautiful.”
She is beautiful. Inside and out. My fingers tunnel into her hair again, but this time, I gently knot them in. My heart beats hard, and I open my mouth, hoping that doing so will force the right words. That I can explain how being near her makes everything that's impossible about me seem possible.
But the words become lodged in my throat and silence paralyzes my tongue. Breanna blinks and the hope that had been on her face disappears as she misreads my hesitation.
Her hold on me loosens and she ducks her head. ”Don't listen to me. I say too much around you. I was being stupid. I...”
More words meant to wipe away her admission spill from her mouth, but I'm not listening. My grip on her hair tightens, I lower my lips to hers and I kiss Breanna Miller.
Breanna I'VE FORGOTTEN HOW to breathe.
Razor's kissing me and I desperately try to remember how to kiss back. His mouth is warm and strong and a shock wave of awe ripples through my body as my cells tremble with antic.i.p.ation. I lean into his body, thawing from the way his fingers gently caress my neck.
He lowers one arm, locks me to him and tilts his head. His tongue slips along the seam of my mouth. It's a tickling sensation that heats parts of me I never knew existed.
Razor's lips continue to move, and I hesitantly follow along, enjoying the way his kisses entice and coax. I'm a struck match on the verge of becoming a full-blown fire. Bolder than I've been in my life, I explore. My hands in his hair, along the hot skin of his neck, and when my fingernails skim down his spine, Razor groans against my mouth.
My lips edge up. The most dangerous guy at my school-the lone person who makes me feel safe-is reveling in the way I am touching him.
Razor pulls away, leaving a centimeter between us. That devilish smile I adore graces his beautiful face. ”Enjoying yourself?”
There's a definite tease to his tone and those blue eyes sparkle as they drink me in.
I bite my lip, loving this moment. ”Maybe.”
His smile widens. ”Know how I promised you a wild kiss that breaks the rules?”
I nod furiously as my excitement grows.
Razor bends, and before I can register what he's doing, he swings me up into his arms. I squeal, then laugh when Razor eases down to his knees and rolls us to the ground. He's lying on top of me. His thigh is over mine and his knee rests on the ground between my legs. Razor props himself up on an elbow, and he raises his other hand to trace the grin on my lips.
My blood tingles and I ache in very good ways.
”Tell me to walk away,” he says. ”Tell me to take you home.”
It's what I've been trained to do. It's what's expected of me. To be responsible. To follow the rules. To make logical decisions and use this precious brain, but Razor's teaching me there's more to me than logic-there's also a ton of pa.s.sion.
b.u.t.terflies and fireworks and a craving that curls my toes and melts my heart. All of these foreign emotions belong to him. ”No way. You're the one that keeps telling me a member of the Reign of Terror never breaks a promise.”
”I do, don't I?'
”You do.”
I want magic... No, I demand it, and I'm done being patient. I want to be the girl who's kissed, but there's no reason why I can't be the one doing the kissing.
I lift my head and draw his lower lip into mine. Within a heartbeat, Razor deepens the kiss, taking possession of my mouth. I lie back and begin to function on pure instinct. My hands seek the strong muscles of his back and shoulders and Razor's hands also deliciously roam.
His fingers discover the curve of my waist and they meticulously inch up my s.h.i.+rt. I'm in the middle of an inferno and I'm clinging to the flames. He s.h.i.+fts and parts of his body fit perfectly into me. I turn my head and gasp with the jolt of sweet electricity.
Razor continues the kisses. Along my cheek, down my neck, and I'm completely lost in the sensation. All of the sensations. The way his lips press on my skin. The way our bodies have started a slow rhythm. The way his fingers tickle and tease the now-exposed skin below the material of my bra.
I hold my breath, half hoping he continues his expedition, and then my heart drums so hard at the idea of him caressing areas no one has touched before that I might die of excitement.
The two million thoughts in my head disappear and the only language spoken is by my body. Of how my arms tighten in consent, of how my foot wraps around his ankle to tempt him closer, of how my hips arch, of how my b.u.t.t...vibrates?
I jerk and Razor's forehead furrows as he stares down at me. My b.u.t.t continues to vibrate and I blink as I return to reality. My phone. ”Someone's calling me.”