she had a glass heart

In this corner of the world, it may seem unlikely for different kinds of spirits, ghosts, or cosmic entities to exist in abundance on or around this modest, forested land. You don’t remember coming specifically to this spot, you had no destination in mind, just that you arrived here one day. You, yourself, are a cosmic entity; a minor deity in the past, worshipped by people long gone from this Earth.

Your energy remains dormant, barely there. You stay around Derry, but never enter the town. Hovering nearby always.

In an open field, the local soldiers cordon off swaths of land and begin a mysterious digging project. Holes dot the fields like hundreds of open graves. You sense another power amongst the soldiers, guiding them towards what they seek. This is a horrifyingly strong power, slicing through the veil between the living and the dead, and it caused the user great anguish. This one didn’t need your help, although you would, only they would ask.

To the tree line, up the hill, there was another power. A young man clothed in an orange jacket and blue jeans, observing the soldiers through binoculars. Taniel didn’t attempt to hide himself as he stood imposingly over the working soldiers. He wanted them to know he was watching. You close your eyes, extend your might and root around the waves and particles of the universe encircling him. A name. A story. A destiny.

-

The desire to worm your way through the impenetrable barrier of Derry was constant. The pull of something unexplainable drives you to repeatedly attempt a crossing. Each attempt, you are violently rebuffed and require several moons to regain your strength. In your true form, you have no corporeal presence. And yet you feel a powerful hand pushing you backwards, keeping you from sating your curiosity.

You could smell the volcanic rock and ash of the obsidian earthenware buried underground. This is what kept you from being able to enter Derry. At the same time, it also kept certain things from leaving. Under the surface of the idyllic area, there lies a great evil, biding its time and feasting on the town’s youngest. Generations ago, a band of inhabitants were able to capture this evil and bind it in a cage of sorts to stop it from destroying them. You gleaned that Taniel is a descendant of these people.

Working furiously like ants in pursuit of a power they cannot and must not have, the army grunts continue to dig away at the earth. If they are aware of the great danger they are putting themselves in unnecessarily, they make no show of it. You can only watch. After all, you couldn't touch the obsidian if you wanted to, even if it was to protect it and keep it from being disturbed. Belief and intention are powerful vehicles for wielding the universe’s expanding and contracting forces.

–

Another day. The sturdy young man is at the tree line again. His steely gaze pierces through the air, obscured by the heavy Maine winds, lifting and heaving his midnight black hair to and fro. His power calls to you, attracts you like a doomed moth to the flame. His bright orange jacket dulls in comparison to the beams of iridescent light that radiate from all sides of his body. He simply shines.

The man is a watcher. And so Taniel does.

Ebbing and flowing in differing levels of intensity, his radiating power oscillates between flickering to blindingly bright. Beautiful dazzling light that captivates you, stuns you into appreciative silence. Like the beginning of a star in its early stages of death, the ever-growing clouds of cosmic gases and star dust twisting and forming matter into endless shapes and sizes, you implode.

—

Occasionally, you disguise yourself as a young woman when you want to physically interact with the inhabitants of this world. Over your countless years of exploring and watching the people, sometimes you are overcome with the need to protect vulnerable souls and, why, yes, there are plenty of souls that need saving in Derry. It’s why it’s so intriguing to find two in particular; two souls working against the other in a scheme of improbable circumstances.

You follow him. To keep watch of this watcher, Taniel. In the forest.

(In the underground.

On the ice.)

He is aware of your presence, faintly, but senses no malicious intent, and, so, abides. Solitary, away from the young men who follow him, he strolls a familiar pathway inside the forest. He intends to make an offering of tobacco. Taniel makes this offering with intention, seeking guidance or knowledge that can aid him in what he must do. With what he was up against, he would need all the help he could get. Unbeknownst to him, you had already elected to help and watch over him.

The cloth surrounding the loose tobacco is white with red and yellow designs expertly embroidered in the fabric. A green strip of yarn holds it together. He places it at the base of a black willow tree.

You watch from the eyes of a crow, perched atop a creaky branch, at the figure of the young man bending towards the ground. It is easy to take this form of the crow, a well-worn costume you wore. And flying was always such a delightful experience. He stood up abruptly, stiff.

“Why do you follow me?” He asks aloud, tilting his head up, eyes squinted in the sunlight breaking through the treetops. This bird had become his shadow. The crow with uncanny human-like-but-not-quite eyes. Taniel couldn’t see the bird directly, but could sense where it wasn’t.

Why was it now that he had elected to acknowledge your presence? Perhaps, in other contexts he didn’t mind, but in this one, he wanted privacy, valued the peace of solitude.

You chose many different forms, the crow being your favorite. This was the usual dynamic: you actively watching, him passively accepting your omnipresence, thus, there was no reason for this time to be different. Maybe this was an aspect of the power you sensed from him, emanating from him like weakening starlight in the wake of a star gone supernova.

“You’re no spirit.” He continued, hands casually shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. “What are you?”

You flap your wings and dive down to a lower branch, one that is parallel to his eye level. He raises his eyebrows in interest, expecting a voice to come from the crow’s inky black beak. Your eyes have an oily quality to it. Like gasoline in water; shifting and churning within the pupil, all the colors of the rainbow come into existence when the light hits directly.

You cawed. Electing not to answer him, you lifted off, disappearing further into the dense forest, not looking back at Taniel. What you had in mind next, you’d need time for.

As it was always, it is a time-consuming process to create a human body. You didn’t always get it right. You had many patterns and personalities copied from the past available to draw from, however; for him, you wanted someone completely new. Today would be the day you were going to present yourself to him. In a way, as a gift to him.

—

Taniel watched in disbelief as the crow with the too-intelligent demeanor flew away, becoming a black dot the further it flew out of view. He sighs. Back to the van.

He walked back through the path he had walked on countless times. Mumbling about what the hell was that and what is it or why did it keep appearing so often. Taniel knew when this thing was around, even if it came in the body of a fox or a deer, because of how it felt for him when it showed up. There was a strange electric pulsing that traveled through the air, lifting the small hairs on the back of his neck, his skin shivering and his breath becoming shallow. That is what he was starting to feel again, that exact same sensation. Has it come back?

He stopped and looked around him. Nothing. Just the trilling of insects and leaves being tossed around in tiny cyclones.

You appeared in front of him. From his perspective, you had stepped out from behind a tree, appearing out of nowhere, materializing from nothing. That was more or less true.

Taniel was taken aback. His eyes widened and his face took on a faint red tint as he quickly turned his head to the side. “You’re, uh, naked, miss.”

Oh! You look down. You were covered in a mane of long jet black hair, parted on each side, reaching down beyond your shoulders. That mostly kept you a modest sight. But he was right. No clothing. Naked as the day you were born. And you were literally just born.

In your haste to catch him before he left the forest and the sacred space, you neglected to fabricate any kind of clothing. Before you could think hard and pull something from the void, he was clearing his throat, pulling off his jacket and offering you it. You turned your head to the side in curiosity. Does he mean for me to wear this?

“Take it,” his eyes momentarily dancing over your figure. Even as he tried his hardest to fight off the urge to stare at the shadow of breasts and the hint of pert nipples peaking out from underneath your hair, he successfully did not look down. Fuck, she is gorgeous. What the hell is she doing here?

You put your hand on the offered jacket, brushing your finger tips against his own, but did not move to take it from him.

He let the jacket go like a poisonous spider, bristling at the jolt of electricity that passed from you to him. That’s familiar. Then he looked closer at your face, a quiet and reserved expression and ah! Those unmistakable yellow eyes.

Your face was written with wry amusement as you understood that this form you had chosen was pleasing to him, just as you had hoped it would be.

Taniel moved cautiously, bending down to retrieve the crumpled jacket. Your eyes followed his movement as he moved behind you to gently place the jacket around your shoulders.

“There you go,” he said softly.

You grabbed the jacket by the zipper and hugged it around you. Turning around to face him, you nod your head and smile in lieu of speech, and he understands that is meant to convey your appreciation. Your eyes are frightening to him, up this close, but he swallows down his fear and nods back. Then, he shows you how to grab the cold handle and pull it up through the metal teeth to close the jacket up. How to avoid catching stray strands of hair in it. The sun-colored leather contrasts greatly with your brand new hair. Even longer than his, down past your hips. It’s heavy.

Taniel knows exactly who you are, even if he has no clue what you are. You stand there in a nonthreatening, almost naive way. Looking around at the scenery and swaying with the wind, it tastes so different to you now filtered through the nostrils of a human. He thinks that, were you a true human being, you should rightfully be wary of him being in such a vulnerable state, but you seem perfectly content. Okay, he’ll play along.

“Are you lost? Did you get separated from your group, or family?” Taniel barrels through the typical script he would follow if he had actually come across a lost person, never mind a nude young woman, in the forest. “Where are your clothes? Did something happen to you?”

You shook your head no to each question. In this guise of a young woman, Taniel’s power was less brilliant in your eyes, you couldn’t see much of it anymore. What a shame. You hold out your hand in invitation. He eyes it, but doesn't take it.

“Miss, why can’t you say anything?” He questions.

You inhale deeply and open your mouth. A squeak comes out. You force air into your lungs and try again, but nothing. This didn’t happen the last time you morphed into a human girl. I shouldn’t have rushed. I should have taken my time.

He smiles patiently. “That’s all right. Don’t worry about it. What are you doing out here?”

Ignoring the question you cannot answer, you put your hand out again, this time more insistent. You look pointedly at your hand, then at his face, then to his hand, then at your hand, and back to his face.

“You want me to go somewhere with you? Where? Why?”

You emphatically nod, reaching for his hand anyway if he won’t give it. His hand is much larger than yours and he doesn’t resist when you take it into your, both hands clasped over his warm, buttery brown skin. Your expression reads, come with me, and against his better judgement, he follows along when you turn and start towards the pathway, back into the forest. You pull him with surprising strength, silently urging him to keep up.

Taniel had been so concerned about being respectful in his avoidance of seeing your naked body, he hadn’t even noticed you were completely barefoot. He had no shoes to lend you. Still, you continued on, like you couldn’t feel the sharp, fallen acorns and other detritus on the forest floor underneath your feet. The jacket pooled around you, stopping at mid-thigh, swishing against your skin with every step.

The wind didn’t seem to bother you. The fallen branches and twisted roots didn’t seem to have any effect on you. Taniel had half a mind to wonder if you were a witch intent on bringing him home for dinner that nothing like a little pain from stepping on a rock would stop you. Strangely, he knew that you had no such plans to cook him up. He could very clearly derive the feeling of safety and trust coming off you in waves.

You were so steadfast in your step, so forthright in your march, you almost walked past where you intended to go. It had been a long time since you had visited this particular cave. You let go of his hand and pointed toward the entrance. Taniel, a lifelong nature lover and forest explorer, did not recognize this formation at all. In fact, he hadn’t recognized anything for the last few minutes. The trees were strange, the sunlight had taken on a tint that was unfamiliar, and the chorus of the forest had tapered off into silence.

“Where are we? What is this?” He asks, fruitlessly. She hasn’t answered a single question, why would this time be any different?

You look at him for a moment, head tilted to the side, and then turn to surge forward to the entrance of the cave. When he doesn’t follow, you stop and turn back to him. You gesture for him to come, halfway in the entry with an expectant look.

Taniel tallies up everything in his head: a mute and naked girl leading him to an unknown place. No one knows where he is. He could very well die out here. Also, I myself am not sure where I am, and I have no idea what’s going to happen to me once I step inside. This is not a smart thing to do. She could be leading me into a bear’s den for all I know.

While he wrestled with his thoughts, you were triumphant. Ah, you had found it! The tiny pocket universe you coughed up eons ago. This specific cave is where you had stashed it and never before had you shared it with anyone, human or otherwise. This would be a fantastic setting for copulation.

—

Still not quite sure why he followed you inside, despite having such strong reservations and doubts against it, he walked in your path and upon entering, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness.

The air felt different here. Lighter. He felt different here. Like he wasn’t himself anymore. Taniel couldn’t make out the mysterious figure he had followed in until you had moved your piercing gaze onto him, illuminating him as if a spotlight akin to the sun’s brilliance had spontaneously risen on his face. The room they now stood was an idea of a room, muddled shadows and unformed shapes, a suggestion of furniture. Slowly, the room filled with a soft, cozy light. It seemed to come from nowhere specifically, radiated from all around.

No, actually. It was coming from him. Taniel looked down in shock and awe at his palms, a sky full of stars winking back at him. Great bursts of light sloughed off his skin, moving like the tide, far out into the ocean and ardently racing back to the shore. He felt feverish as an erupting star, but he did not burn. He glowed.

“There,” you say, satisfied, “Now you can see yourself as I see you.”

He gasped at the sound of your voice, big as life and sudden as a heart attack. Taniel’s eyes snapped to attention, raking over your face in desperate need for an answer, an explanation for what the hell he’s seeing right now. He was downright thunderstruck from his own luminosity.

“You can talk.” He remarks instead.

You grin, showcasing the dips in the skin surrounding your mouth. “Yes. I can talk.”

You move closer to him, basking in the overwhelming heat his body was producing in excess. His visage a spectacular firework display, a dazzling demonstration of pyrotechnics. Your hand touches his hand, and you look up into his sparkling espresso eyes. A face full of starlight, you are caught off guard as he leans down and plants a searing kiss on your lips.

This was convenient that he initiated it, better than planned, considering you were just about to do that exact thing. Taniel couldn’t help himself. Didn’t even know your name or anything about you, but here he was kissing you, anyway. He wanted to bring up the troubling fact that you were not the human woman you presented yourself to be, but the impact of his molten lips moving on yours had wiped the thoughts clean away.

Human or not, the passion was keenly felt. He pulled you closer in his arms and pressed his sudden and overwhelming arousal against your lower stomach as he held your delicate head in his hands. Taniel groaned at the contact, golden sparks jumped off his skin and sizzled when they landed on you. Taniel somehow knew already why you had brought him here, and he was not one to argue with a beautiful woman.

You landed in a pile of furs, a crackling fireplace blinking into existence as Taniel followed you to the floor. Inexplicably you were naked once again and the jacket had returned to Taniel’s body. He immediately shrugged it off. Your hands were on him, on his neck, shoulders, his lower back, seeking the heat. He hadn’t felt this ravenous before—and, yes, that’s what this felt like, a ravenous insatiable craving. His hands gingerly stroked the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Deft fingers disappeared inside, and let his fingers get swallowed up by the sodden grotto. Kissing and nipping at his tongue, his jaw, you helped him out of his clothes.

Taniel leaned into your supine body, one leg resting in between yours, his weight delightfully substantial on top of you, fingers working ceaselessly. He caressed your body hungrily, groaning in tandem with you, as his passion became firmer and much harder to ignore. He studied your face for something, recognition or permission.

Your flashing, honey eyes met his. Widening your legs to frame the outside of his hips, you guide him into you. The heat was unimaginably intense, his hips flush against yours, to the hilt. Sprawled in it, he felt like he had plunged into a hot spring, muscles tense and constricted. He didn't move for a few seconds. Your vivid eyes, once terrifying to him, lull him into a kind of reverie. Blood vessels widened and flowed. He began to swim.

—

His chest contentedly lifted and lowered, energy sated, sapped. A gratified sigh escaped his sleeping mouth.

You spent the next weekend with his family for a huge get-together; aunts and uncles from other cities, cousins and their kids from nearby states. Getting invited to their family reunion as someone not part of the family seemed like it was a big deal; to you, anyway, Collie didn’t agree. 

“It’s a celebration of family, yes,” he had explained. “But it’s friends, too. Or friends that are like family. Which you are.” 

You were so touched by this assertion, you couldn't find it in you to make fun of him and the earnestness he displayed from time to time. 

It was wild how outwardly happy his family made him. And loud! Actually, everyone was incredibly loud, and you gritted your teeth at the crescendoing levels of noise, but there were no complaints coming from you. As much as they all clearly loved each other, his family’s energy was infectious and you felt it sinking into your very being. 

“This is Collie’s friend,” his younger brother said to a great aunt, taking it upon himself to introduce you before Collie could. “She’s a girl and she’s very nice.” The larger woman, the great aunt, nodded in understanding and you tried not to be intimidated as she seemed to appraise you. Nobody outright asked you the nature of your relationship with Collie-–although, raised eyebrows and slight pauses seemed to imply some curiosity—and you thanked God and Jesus for that. You didn’t have an answer and didn’t want to produce one, either. 

Sat at a picnic table on the house's side porch, his older sister recounts to their cousins how weird she finds you guys. That sometimes she’ll try to surprise you guys in the basement hoping to catch you doing something untoward, but no, it has yet to happen.

(“Anna! How does that make us the weird ones?” Collie had countered.) 

She’s snuck up on you two a few times and usually, it’ll just be you guys reading two different books quietly next to each other on the couch. Or playing cards. Or putting Fuckface—her own nickname for the squat doggy—into a child’s costume and laughing your asses off at the sight of his dog walking around in Dracula’s cape. 

Thankfully, another cousin pulls out a guitar and the conversation turns to song requests and boo’s and jeers at each other’s song choices. 

You had so much fun that day that you forgot to even keep track of the time, but the sun melting in the kitchen window meant you had been at their house for hours. So long that you even had to take a little cat nap to recover from the hastily drunken Chardonnay and Fireball nippers sneaked in by his cousins. 

People were leaving now. Collie’s mom was pleased when you began clearing up the table in the living room without being asked to. His mother hugged you tightly and told you that you are a lovely girl. She’d like to see more of you. It’s like she’s working up to saying goodbye, now go away; so you take that as your cue to leave, too. 

You put your coat on and looked at Collie. He nodded his head, indicating that he would be following you out. 

It was the end of the night, darkness had fallen by now and the blue-black hue everything had taken on was haunting and magical. You both were so, so tired. Social battery running on fumes. 

You mean to hug before parting ways. Tried to part ways. This hug is different. There is an energy here. 

You are not sure why this is happening or why it’s happening now; however, you are pressing your bodies against each other and holding that position for longer than the standard 3-second hug. It’s a lot different from napping together on opposite ends of a couch, legs pressed together, underneath a blanket with his dog. This is deliberate intimacy. 

When he speaks, you don’t hear him so much as you feel the vibrations in your chest coming from his own. 

“Want me to drive you home?”

“Nah, I can walk.”

“Y’sure?” 

“M’sure.” 

Silence. You hadn’t let each other go yet. 

Your grip around him slackened before tightening again, gently placing your hands at his shoulder blades. The muscles underneath his scapula shifted under your hands as he moved his arms lower from your waist to your hips, wrist relaxed on your side, his chin rested on your shoulder. You sighed, fully melting into his hug. Smelling his hair. Might as well get comfortable. 

You do break off eventually. And underneath the glowing light of a street lamp, you regard him in a way you hadn’t before. You never entertained the idea of him liking you back like that; still, his eyes radiated want and desire. 

“I had fun today.” You declared, taking a step back. “Thanks for inviting me.” 

“Anytime.” He says it softly, and there’s something there that is starting to reveal itself to you. 

“Good night, Collie.”

“Good night.”

He watches your retreating figure until the lines and shapes that make up you begin to blend in with the night. He doesn’t go back inside right away, electing to stay in the membrane of your shared moment and contemplate intrusive trains of thought, both compelling and troubling. 

— 

What a perversely interesting and illuminating night this was turning out to be.

In all other environments you had observed him in, this was the most unexpected. 

At school, he was quiet, only opening up bit by bit over time. With you, he was comfortable and relaxed. With his family, he was open and wonderful. 

Now with his friends—all male; some boys he plays basketball with, some he met through various community events–he was especially louder and boisterous this evening amongst like company. A constant smile on his face. More vulgar language from him than you’re used to hearing. It didn’t bother or shock you; even so, your ears pricked up at every emphatic, “Fuck,” or some other invective. Relentless ribbing and back-and-forth roasting and razzing each other. 

In a field full of massive trucks and badly-parked sedans with a crackling bonfire going strong, the first party of the summer after graduation was kicking off. To see him among a boys-only group was to see him anew. This was fascinating, like you were some ethnographer studying the socialization rituals of Collie Parker and his friends. Even weirder, nobody referred to him by his first name, only calling him Parker. In fact, a lot of them addressed each other mostly by their last names. First names, seldom. 

Similar to his family, these friends, a rag-tag group of teenage boys, are excited to meet you. You might have felt like royalty the way they were fawning over you, forming a line to figuratively kiss your ring as you sat bewildered in a folding chair that was slowly sinking into the ground. It was highly embarrassing and after a pleading look from you, Collie threatened them with a, “Act normal, assholes,” and that calmed the noise a little bit.

“Stop being weird,” he scolded them again when Olson cut him off.

“Parker, fucking c’mon! You haven’t told us shit about her and—” 

“That’s true,” another boy with black, square glasses added. “You’ve blown us off so many times. We want to know about this girl you refuse to tell us about.”

“Well, he’s told me about her—”

Collie presses a finger to his lips, willing them to shut the fuck up. “I never blew you guys off.” 

A maddening overlapping chorus of “Yes, you did!” and “Stop lying, bro!” 

An admonishing voice laughs bitterly. “Oh, now you want to act different in front of her. Okay! Fine!” 

“Yeah, you fucking blew us off at least like…four times!” 

“Four goddamn times!”

 “You did, Parker, you really did!” 

Of all his friends, Pete McVries is the funniest and he might be your favorite. He is the more antagonistic of the boys, it was hard to tell where he drew the line of joking to straight up rebuking a person. 

Over the evening, you do drift away from each other and you find your way into the improvised kitchen/bar area. You are contemplating on crafting a truly unholy mixture of Tequila and Mountain Dew. You can hear Collie’s voice coming from the other side of the bonfire which is already loud so he must be yelling. 

“Mind your fuckin’ business!” 

Followed by someone’s muffled reply. 

Then Collie’s irritated tone again, “Fucking say shit like that to me again, I’ll beat the goddamn breaks off you, boy!” 

Later, you are driving him home and you ask him about it. He shrugs it off. 

“Barkovitch being a goddamn menace.”

You arch an eyebrow, urging him to go on. 

“It was nothing.” He maintains, trying to keep his tone aloof. 

“Why do I feel like that’s not true?”

“Feel how you like, nothing happened.” The shadow around his face increases. 

“All right. Okay.” You put your hands up in a surrender motion. Collie gets icy sometimes and it was always best to just change the subject.

 “McVries doesn’t seem to like that guy much.” That guy meaning Barkovitch. That’s who you’re pretty sure Collie was yelling at. 

“Pete doesn’t like anyone.” 

“Do you like the Barkovitch guy? I could hardly tell.”

He weighs this for a moment. “I go back and forth on it. Depends on the day. Depends on him shutting the fuck up.” 

—

He puts a warm hand on your shoulder as he bids you goodnight. You smile and salute him. As you are in the habit of watching him get inside safely before driving off, you wait as he shuffles to the door. Good thing you did wait because—

“Shit!” He rattled the door knob. Then tapped his pockets. Nothing. “Fuck.”

He walked back over to you and hung his head in your window. “I think I’m locked out.”

“What?” You almost shout. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I am.”

“And your mom isn’t home yet?” 

 “Gonna have to sleep outside.” He muttered, kicking his boot at nothing. 

“No, you’re not.” You lean over to open the passenger door. “Get back in here.”

—-

This was not something that friends did. 

Okay, sure maybe they can theoretically, hypothetically sleep in the same bed; and that is what was transpiring in your bedroom right now, but it’s not like this was going to lead into anything untoward. Having said that, no, you didn’t let your guardian know Collie was sneaking through the kitchen door to sleep over. What they didn't know… 

Collie was locked out, okay? You didn’t plan for him to lose his house keys in some cow pasture. You weren’t going to blame the moon for not being bright enough so he could find them again. 

All you know is that it’s late, you’re tired, and your bed is big enough for the two of you. 

None of this bullshit oh, I’ll sleep on the floor, no! You’d feel like such a jerk if you made him sleep on the floor. And you certainly weren’t sleeping on the floor, either. 

This was all well and good. Perfectly fine.

 However, you took a moment to step outside of yourself and look down from a ceiling vantage point. Collie looked right at home, glorious head of hair on your pillow, and had basically started to spoon you. You were not only allowing it, but enjoying it. It took so much time for you to be comfortable with physical contact or affection, and not just with him but with anyone, and it honestly felt nice. You were too high to do anything but cherish it.

This was not sexy, by any means. He was wearing your Victoria’s Secret sweatpants, for fucks sake. And was almost shirtless but that was just because he preferred it that way over wearing your Cookie Monster hoodie. 

You were gonna pass out soon and he was just in his undershirt and oh god the bear claw necklace chain was cold against the back of your neck mixed with the heat coming off him. He smelled like burnt wood and sweat. 

What came out of your mouth wasn’t the enchanting seductress bit you had in mind to say, but something more vulnerable and genuine. 

“You’re my best friend, Collie,” you murmured. “I just adore you. Really glad you’re in my life.” 

You mumbled this last bit as you nearly accepted sleep’s waiting embrace and turned into his arm, placing your head on his chest. His bumping heart carried you the rest of the way. 

He placed a tender hand on the small of your back and smiled into your hair. “Yeah. Me, too.” 

—-

He got a gig in construction for the summer working for a family friend’s uncle’s cousin. The plan was for community college in the fall. 

He looked so fucking hot in the tool belt they had him wear, slung low on his hips; the gray undershirt soaked in the days sweat. You couldn’t look at him directly or for too long because you were sure you would start to resemble some really horny cartoon wolf with a comically huge heart beating through your shirt. 

All summer long, you two continue to hangout, more touchy-feely as the days went past, never speaking on it, just doing what felt right. There were no objections from either of you. Even if his hands were sometimes covered in dried plaster.

You became more of a presence among hangouts with his male friends. He didn’t seem to want to share you with them, only relenting when their whining got particularly too much to handle. One afternoon, Collie feels he needs to set them straight. 

“Look, guys,” he said, clasping his hands together. “She’s working. I’m working. You all are working. It’s a busy time. Can’t always play with you boys all the time.” 

It’s a fucking clown car of idiots shouting at him: “Yes, you can!”

“Parker, play with us!”

“Work is over, Parker, now it’s time to play, my boy!” (That one was Baker, the most excitable of all of them.) 

“Bring the pretty girl back or we riot at dawn!” 

“Bring her around again or I swear–!” 

Garraty playfully shouts over everyone, “Stop hoarding her!” and this draws an adroit glare from Collie. 

“What the fuck?” Collie. “She’s not yours, she ain’t mine to hoard, fucking get over your-fucking-selves.” 

“I don’t think that’s true, buddy boy.” McVries says, smiling like the Cheshire cat. “I saw you.” 

“What’s not true?” Collie barks back. “The fuck did you see?” 

“What’d you see, Pete?” Harkness asks, ready for the scoop. 

McVries inhaled deeply and dramatically before starting, “I saw him—” pointing at Collie accusingly, “and—” but got quickly cut off by the other boy's commotion.

“I saw them, too!” Olson chimes in. He jabs a finger in Collie’s face. “You fucking moron, you goddamn rube! You think we couldn’t see that you just disappeared together for a long period of time. Probably out there fucking against a tree for all we knew. Now, granted, I don’t blame you, she’s a real looker—” 

Collie wants to rip Olson’s hat off his head and stomp on it. His whole fucking head. 

“Don’t you say it! Don’t you fucking dare—” But it’s Stebbins chiming in next that quiets him. 

“If you don’t think she’s yours already, you are indeed a fucking moron.” Stebbins accounts, matter-of-factly. 

“It’s plain as fucking day, my guy,” Garraty agrees, nodding along to Stebbins’ commentary. “That girl likes you and wants to fuck you. I am sure of it.”

“Right,” Baker agrees. “It’s all in the eyes. Her eyes are only for you. Trust me, man.”

“Are you some kind of fucking idiot that you don’t know this by now?” McVries questions with a huge smile on his face. 

The boys collectively murmur in agreement. 

This ritual humiliation, this collective jumping, mutual curb-stomping of Collie Parker was nourishing McVries’ soul. “She’s never tried to–? You’ve never–?” 

At Collie’s silence, McVries yells and slaps his own forehead, “The fuck is wrong with you, stupid!” 

“No. Nope. Enough of this.” Collie waves away their comments like buzzing mosquitoes. “Shut your fucking mouths.” 

“Well, if you’re not gonna go there,” Barkovitch raises his hand like it’s fucking school or something. “Can I…?” 

McVries slaps Barkovitch upside the head before Collie can get to him. 

—

One evening when the whiskey was ample and generously poured, it went straight to your head. And to your cunt. 

You kept thinking back to that unusually passionate hug that occurred after attending his family’s reunion. And then when you had slept in the same bed together. 

Collie’s body was so warm, his scent so virile; his arms so toned underneath your daring grip. 

The next time we hug, I fear I will have no control over myself. I may start dry humping his thigh or something crazy like that. 

Actually, that was an irresistibly appealing idea. Now you thought it, that’s exactly what you wanted to do. 

He looked so handsome tonight. You quietly gasped when you saw him earlier that night. With his hair loose, free, and endlessly being picked up by the hot summer winds. Tanned shoulders and powerful biceps. The color black really suited him and his black jeans along with the silver belt buckle kept drawing your eye. You just wanted to reach over, kneel on the ground like the most pious parishioner, unbuckle and start to—

You had gotten very quiet, Collie noticed. You had even separated yourself from the group, going off to sit quietly by yourself.  

He was a bit drunk, but he knew you were further along than him because he always subconsciously monitored everything you did. He’d seen you visit the impromptu bar a few more times without him. 

I could give her space or I could…go and bother her? Yeah. Collie liked the second idea. 

Collie appears next to you like a shadow, leaning against the metal frame of the truck. He moved to your right side to see you better, avoiding your swinging legs as you kicked absently back and forth atop your seat on someone’s open tailgate. 

“You good?” 

“I’m so good.” You say unequivocally and he laughs. 

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you good?” You counter. 

“I’m great.” He gives a little shrug, like him being great is the most obvious thing in the world. 

Moments of content silence. Comfortable. You wanted to puncture it. 

“Collie?” 

“Hmm?” He says it in a humorous way and you felt for him, pitying him. You were about to shatter the vibe in a major way. 

“How come you’ve never tried to kiss me?” 

His eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them. “What?” 

He immediately eyes the figures around the bonfire suspiciously. If one of those fatherfuckers said something to her, I swear—

“Where’s this coming from?” 

“It’s coming from the fact that I want you to kiss me.” You say it so matter of factly, he’s not sure if you're joking. You are joking. Right…?

“You s—?”

“Ask me if I’m fuckin’ sure, I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

“Wouldn’t want that.” He lifted himself onto the tailgate next to where you sat and set his cup down somewhere on the truck bed. “Well, all right, then.” 

You pull him close by his jacket collar and lean in, not quite closing the gap between you two. He looks at your lips, your eyes, then back to your lips. You are the surest he’s ever seen you. 

The first kiss is chaste, delicate. The second even more so. He gently touches your jaw and presses his lips against yours firmly. 

Your hands make their way to his back, running the length of his spine and grabbing handfuls of his jacket as you deepen the kiss. You want to savor this moment, but you also need him in a bad way. 

Under the whiskey’s influence your limbs move much more fluidly than when not inebriated. Normally, you are tense and skittish at the best of times. Collie almost doesn’t believe this is the same person as you melt into his arms, caress his sides, and match his energy. 

Your chest presses against his and your fingers steeple through that incredible hair. You want to yank it, and then decide that might not be a very nice thing to do. But his hand follows your hand gripped in his hair and he gives it a light squeeze, like he’s reading your mind and giving you permission. 

Not only do you then gently yank on a strand of his hair, causing his head to go back and expose his neck, but as you start to break the kiss, you capture his lower lip between your teeth, raking your incisors across it, not quite pressing down. The promise of a bite makes you both shudder. 

You let him go and move down to kissing his chin and jaw. He tries to follow you, wanting your lips back, however, you’re on a mission. He’s moaning now and it’s a sound that makes your thighs contract. You snack on his neck and when you get to his larynx and kiss that, too, before sucking a little dark mark on it, his moans turn desperate. His eyes, heady and black, flash at the arousal this causes to course through his body. 

He brings you back to where he can face you and looks into your own eyes feral with lust. Collie tilts his head to the right and directs his tongue to slide past your lips. Can’t help from moaning now, you respond in kind. He grabs at your hair so he can keep you where he wants you and you have to start grinding against the seam of your pants to get some kind of relief. 

You’d like very much to jump his bones, but you are very aware you are outdoors and while you have a private moment now, people are gonna mosey on over and inevitably interrupt. 

You break away but your foreheads meet, pressing against the other, taking a moment, breathing each other’s air. You had initially just wanted to kiss him, but the whore in you was ready to fuck him right here.

“You want to take this somewhere else?” He whispers. 

“God, yes,” But then reality makes you consider it again. “I really want to. But I don’t know… Let’s just stay here. Is that okay?” 

Your brain had to take over and make an executive decision before your cunt did something unwise. If you are gonna have sex with him, you want to have your wits about you. You’d like to remember it. 

“Yeah,” he assures you, lying like a liar, can't help feeling disappointed by this. “Of course.” 

“I’m so fucked up right now. If I wasn’t so drunk … I’m sorry.”

If you weren’t so drunk…? Yes! There is hope! He thinks happily. 

“You don’t gotta explain. I gotcha.” Collie can’t help feeling smug, however. The boys had been correct in their assessment of her, after all. He was pretty sure in the near future you were going to feel content enough to tell him you wanted to have sex with him. You always took the babiest of steps, but you eventually made your destination. 

Until then, he’d be around. 

He snaked an arm around your waist and eventually you both lie back on the bed of the truck and stargaze for a bit. 

“Do you see those over there?” He points to clusters of stars. 

“No,” you fib, “Tell me about them.” You were an even bigger space head than he was and he wasn’t telling you anything new. But you wanted to hear his voice, feel the comfort and peace he brought you. 

The grooves in the floor are uncomfortable and dig into your back. You turn onto your side and bring his face to yours, continuing to kiss him lazily for an unknowable amount of time. 

Not at the same degree of passion as before, but it’s a sweeter, relaxed spirit this time. 

You break apart guiltily when voices draw nearer. 

—

It’s kind of an unwritten, unspoken promise between the two of you that the next time you see each other? You are going to fuck. 

Sometime later in the week, you invited Collie to your house to watch a movie and that’s genuinely what you planned on doing. However, the making out and groping each other on the couch happened pretty much right away. 

He sat in between your legs and he took your hand in his entwining your fingers while you kissed. The other hand was combing his agile fingers through your hair, keeping your head nearly immobile so he could explore your mouth with his bastard tongue. 

It’s not important at all but you try to keep the blanket from sliding off you and him, trying and failing. He leans over to catch the edge of the blanket and that’s when you feel his hard cock underneath your thigh. 

Oh, my, what’s this?

He’s kissing the side of your neck and you want to ask him to bite you. Hard. 

But this, uh, new development causes you to back away a little bit to make some meaningful eye contact with Collie, to show that you mean business. 

You push him back onto the back of the couch and hook a leg around him. His eyes are burning holes into you as you leave wet kisses on his collarbone and trail past his nipples. You graze your teeth against the right one, the left one. Collie hisses against your breath ghosting across him, your lust reaching ferocious levels, critical mass imminent. 

It’s about here where you start to unbuckle his belt while pressing your nimble fingers against him, eliciting appreciative groans from him. You make to unzip the metal teeth, then momentarily stop to look up at him. His pupils are blown, hair wild. He licks his swollen lips and swallows hard. His hand gently nudges your head and you lean into it, grabbing his wrist to kiss and suck on his pulse point. You leave a tiny bite and begin to pull him out of his pants. 

You have actually never done this before. Not for more than a minute, anyway. You try to make up for your lack of experience with enthusiasm and the uncontrollable hunger threatening to destroy and consume you both.

His weepy cock is fiercely upright and rigid underneath your touch. Paying attention to what gets him gasping and lifting his hips, you keep a determined suction around the head that is making him squeeze his eyes shut and what’s that, a growl? You sucking the Wolf Man off? 

You make yourself laugh and it barely registers as one since your mouth is occupied. He cracks an eye open, curious, but then seeing you kneeling on the floor in front of him like that has him nearly whining with bliss. 

You wrap your free hand around the base of his dick and you get a few up-and-downs in before he’s pulling you off of him, insisting he’s about to erupt and he’s got to you fuck now, now, right now. 

He’s got you on your back now instantly—completely nude, the both of you—tounging all over your breasts and fucking his index and pointer finger into you. The veins in his arms pulsating with the effort. You hang onto his shoulders, hands irresolute. You are so wet that the noise of his fingers working between your legs is actually audible and if you weren’t so out-of-your-mind horny, you’d be embarrassed. But it felt too fucking good to be concerned about that. 

He pulls his fingers out and takes your jaw in his other hand, urging you to open and feed those very same fingers into your mouth. You were upset he stopped with the mind-boggling manipulation of your pussy, but obediently sucked your own arousal off of his fingers. How base, how depraved! 

He then quickly replaced his fingers with an unyielding, searing kiss. Collie had noticed you were rubbing yourself all over his thigh and knee, so, to appease you, positioned himself over you, arms bracketing your head. You were ecstatic, frantic, emphatically nodding hell yes, and trying to guide him where you wanted him. 

“Oh!” You couldn’t hide the pain in your voice. It was a dull kind of pain, nothing like the agony you assumed it would be. But achey all the same. 

“You all right?” He asked, checking in, shaking his hair out of his face and yours. “This okay?” 

“That kind of hurt.” You admitted. It was futile, his hair just came right back down, cascading over his shoulders.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, no, just… could you go a little slower, like when you first put it in?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Sorry.”

You shush him. “Don’t be sorry. Keep going. It’s starting to feel really fucking good.” 

He pushes in again, slower, as requested, but goes a little faster each time, building up a pace. Each thrust and slide has you gasping and nearly crying. You are drowning in pleasure, awash in him; he’s moving his hips in a sinful way that’s just barely brushing your clit, providing some relief but not enough. You dig your heels into his lower back to pull him closer, exert control over the stride, chasing that wonderful feeling. Collie’s grunting in your ear and telling you that you feel so fucking good, keep squeezing him like that and he’s gonna come, fucking fuck, fuck, it’s good, it’s so good. 

—

Your first time together ends up being on that couch. Your second through fifth time takes place in your bed. 

It was like you were trying to make up for lost time. All the past times you wanted to fuck him and never gave any indication of feeling that particular way, and now? He was laying on your bed, hands gripped tight on your hips pulling you down on his dick while you grabbed onto the headboard for purchase, barely able to stop moaning loudly and his vocals not any quieter. He pulls you closer to mouth at your breasts, lightly nibbling and sucking on the pebbled nipples, which just makes you moan louder. 

Yes, this is where you wanted to be. Missionary on the couch with your legs wrapped around him had been perfect, nice. You had almost come that way. But you had other things in mind now that you were letting your slut flag fly. 

You signaled him to slow down, he does, a little confused, but not totally stopping. 

“What’s up?” 

You rise, him slipping out of you halfway, and say, “I wanna try something else.”  

You turn yourself around and adjust your legs to lay comfortably bracketing his thighs. He rushes to sit up, hands still roaming your body. 

All you wanted was the same but more? You couldn't explain. You had to show him. 

You lowered yourself onto him again and he let out an approving moan, “Fucking oh my god. You look so fucking sexy like this.” 

He likes this view just as much if not more, his wandering hands running over your thighs and ass. Even spreading you a tad more to watch himself disappear in and out of you. 

“Holy fuck.” 

You used the leverage from your hands on the bed to work your hips up and around in a circular fashion. 

“Oh, god. Fuck,” you responded in kind. 

The other way was definitely good but you couldn’t get quite there. Moving this direction had been the right call because now he was hitting exactly where you wanted it.

Loud, desperate cries fell from your mouth as he kept his steady, brisk pace, not giving in just yet. You lean backwards, arching your back to its near limits, to feel his skin on yours. He moves his hands from your hips to embrace you closer. His lips brush your jaw, not marking any target, just aimless, in a frenzy. You can’t see him directly but you know he’s about to come, and you know this because he’s making the exact same noises he did a few minutes ago. 

His pace was not as controlled, more animalistic and you were so exhausted that you stopped actively moving your hips, letting him fuck you like a toy. To give control was to be in control and you were exactly where you wanted to be. Orgasming, finally, thank fucking god. 

After you’ve both settled down, you made him get up to grab some water. You both must have lost a liter of body fluids between the two of you. You had tried to stand but it felt awkward and unpleasant. You weren’t in agonizing pain, but between your legs there was this new sensation that you didn’t know what to do with. He returned with two glasses of water and came back to bed.  

You laid there, feeling light as a feather, and thought of nothing at all. Mind completely empty. Not thinking about how this would majorly change things between you two, because, surely, it would. How you were not going to bring up your acceptance into the university that was an hour and a half away in another state. Nope, none of that. 

You turned your head to remark on something he had done that you liked, but Collie was asleep. Passed out. 

Yeah, you grinned delightfully, me, too, babe. 

—

The following morning. 

“You were wild last night.” He says in lieu of a good morning. 

“Was I?”

“Yes. You were. I was not expecting that.” 

“So were you!”

“Maybe. All I know is I’m gonna be thinking about you reverse cowgirling on me all day at work.” 

“Oh, you liked it?”

“Oh, I liked it.” He teases, matching your cadence. “Watching my cock sliding into you… yeah, that was… Yeah.” 

“I’m so glad I could do that for you.” You say in a slightly jesting voice. You lean over to pat his shoulder. “Thanks for fucking the shit out of me. Finally.”

“Hey,” he put up his hands defensively, “we could have been doing this a lot earlier if you weren’t allergic to expressing your feelings.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Like you were any more forthcoming with me.”

His expression was almost a scowl. Yeah fuckin’ right was he going to let you place the blame solely on him. “Maybe I never said it in actual words, but I think I showed it plenty through my actions.”

He looked at you for confirmation when you didn’t answer. “Didn’t I?”

You made a noncommittal noise which annoyed him. So he felt he had to roll himself on top of you and declare. “Let me be clear. I like you. I like you a lot.” 

“We should get up and shower…” you say, shutting his protests up before they began with a heavy kiss. You didn’t just like this boy. You might actually love him. 

If you hadn’t been involuntarily paired together in a project for history class, you probably never would have ever spoken to him. But you were, and you did. He didn’t seem so scary, as others had written him off as; just quiet.

Boys who don’t say much must have lots of thoughts inside. You could understand that. 

You weren’t so much scared of him as much as you were scared of yourself. What you could potentially say or do to make yourself seem like a bigger idiot in his presence. He had a certain ambience around him; not off putting, but not particularly welcoming either. Perfectly neutral. 

—

The first time you ever saw him was the previous year; you on one side of the gym’s bleachers, him on the other, speaking quietly to a friend. He had a serious expression on his face, eyebrows dented, mouth going. His hair had been shorter then. You looked at him for a moment longer and then turned your attention elsewhere. 

—

Another time, you were walking home from the town library and waited at a corner. It was chilly and your fingers were so cold as you adjusted the straps of your backpack to clutch your sweater closer, chasing warmth. In your movement, a pencil fell from between the pages of the notebook in your arms. You swooped down to get it and on the way back up, a figure across the street caught your attention. You did a double take. It was that boy from your school. 

He sat on the top of a geometric dome style jungle gym looking like the king of the world. A very small world, as it was a children’s playground and child-sized equipment that he was perched on. You looked around to see if he had company, but there was no one. He was alone. In a motion similar to yours prior, he clutched his jacket closer to himself, a useless fight against the wind picking up. 

The sight of him was captivating. No one else dressed like he did, no one else had this don’t-give-a-fuck attitude on full display, one that was slightly menacing, but still kind of approachable. There was this proud, rebellious way he let his loose, wavy black hair hang down his back and the two black hair ties around his wrist that left a mark if worn for too long. He absently flicked one against the skin of his wrist. 

He looked lonely. You felt that way, too. Perhaps two lonely people could be lonely near one another without noticing. 

The crosswalk was free for pedestrians to go, and you watched him up until he was no longer in your sights. You didn’t consciously think about him again for a while. 

—

Later, in the car with your friends, loud and raucous, the spirited conversation reached dizzying heights. One friend, Gen, gushed about her crush, and the meager crumbs mercifully given to her by an upperclassman, who she described as “foxy as all hell”. This upperclassman was a handsome boy, sure, blonde and tall and stolid. 

All you ladies in the car indulged her, but the truth was, the guy was never going to seriously engage with Gen. He was a boy who liked being liked and kept his own feelings close like currency. You are feeling a bit brave this evening–the gin swiped from Gen’s parent’s liquor cabinet certainly helped–and that boy’s peculiar silhouette cast a shadow on your mind. So you started to fish. 

“Does anyone know that one g?--” You start to say, but the girls chime in at various intervals, overwhelming your voice. 

A guy? What guy? A guy? Is he cute? Who is he? 

You laugh patiently. “I don’t know who he is! Just wanna know if you guys did.” 

There was a cacophonous outburst from the backseat. “Well, don’t leave us in suspense…” and “Who are you talking about?” Followed by another exasperated voice, “What does he look like, then?” “Yeah, describe him already!” 

“He’s, like, kinda tall. He’s got,” you pause to control your voice, “This”—beautiful, enticing, lovely—“nice head of hair. Really long, actually. Uh, he’s kinda by himself a lot…” 

The car is consumed by intrigued murmurings before being broken by a gasp from Shay, “Oh, I know who you’re talking about!” 

Who, who? A chorus of eager owls follows and almost drowns out the rest of Shay’s voice. 

“—Collie Parker!” 

“Oh, yeah, I know him!—“

“Super scary-looking, but kinda cute… if you’re into that sort of thing—“ 

“—Was friends with my brother, but they don’t hang anymore. Not sure wh—“

“—That kid barely speaks.” 

“Collie Parker?” You ask, working to maintain a convincingly causal affect to your voice. “That’s his name?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Shay confirms. 

Giggles erupt out of Shay as she studies your face. “You sweet on him or something?” 

“No!” You blurt. Betrayed by your own blushing face. 

Wow, that sounds like a yes. You’re not convincing anyone, sweetie! You like him! You like him, you wanna marry him! 

The taunting didn’t stop until Gen pulled out the cache of joints she had painstakingly rolled— by herself last night, she’ll have you know! And then the girls got totally and pleasantly high. 

—

If you had never asked your friends about him, you wouldn't have known that you just needed to wait a little bit longer. About a week or so after this car conversation, you officially got to learn about him. Things that weren’t secondhand or hearsay. 

It was a Tuesday and he was transferred into your advanced history class. You’ll later learn that it was to accommodate a scheduling conflict between core classes and an enrichment music class. Soon his name joined the class roster and it would sound so beautiful out of the dour mouth of the teacher as they called for him. 

“Collie Parker?”

“Here.” His flat, even voice came from the back of the classroom. 

You turned your head over your shoulder, nonchalant, to glance at him. He was looking blankly at his desk, down his delicate nose. Suddenly his eyes flitted up and met yours. You kept it for three whole seconds before breaking it. By the end of the period, your neck and shoulders were so stiff,  you were determined not to move even an inch to the left for fear of making eye contact again. 

Don’t give into temptation! Don’t look at him! 

Through the glossy, black curtain of his hair, he had brown eyes. Nice eyes. 

You deprived yourself of the sight of him on purpose for reasons you couldn’t consciously name. 

—

It became a little game for you. Your surname put you into the first half of class roll and so once you got your “present!” out of the way, it was an anxiety-inducing, thrilling wait for the teacher to get to him. “Here.” Always here. Always your heart skipped a beat. 

— 

It was just genuine interest and curiosity into a new classmate, you rationalized. You wanted to talk to him, get to know him. But you couldn’t make yourself do it. You’d sit at your seat towards the middle of the classroom and he’d walk into class. Maybe I should just look up at him this time, say hi to him as he passes? Your eyes wouldn’t cooperate and so you focused on the floor, his tan boots walking by, then out of your lowered field of vision. 

Surreptitiously, you used your peripheral vision to look at him. Blue chambray long shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, twine and beads on one wrist, the other a watch. Tanned forearms that twitched as he took notes. Callused fingers. The look of concentration and determination burned into his face. 

Again, his eyes meet yours. Even though you’re not directly looking at him, he sees you. His writing slows, his hand stills, a look of confusion, amusement on his face, maybe? You don’t find out. You turn fully around towards the board and do not look behind you again. When the bell rings, you are out of there like a shot. I don’t know why I keep doing this, staring like a creep? Keep your fucking eyes forward, girl! 

Why can’t I just talk to him? But you knew. You knew why. 

— 

So now you are project partners. You couldn’t secretly stare at him anymore, if only because he was sitting right across from you in the school library. No need to be secretive. 

The day before, you had felt on the edge of vomiting when making plans to meet up here. Actually talking to him? Even conversation as mundane as “I’m free this period, I’m free after school,” had your heart beating a punishing rhythm in your chest. His voice was so nice, soft to listen to. Even if it filled you with painful jolts of electricity. 

So you are in the library, sitting across from him. He’s slouching but he still looks effortlessly cool anyway. You, on the other hand, are fruitlessly trying to put out a raging conflagration inside of you with a cracked shot glass. Not good, you felt kind of sick. I’m not turning red, am I? I can’t trust myself to behave! No! What is wrong with me? 

While this tormented internal dialogue went on, Collie studied his hands and wondered why you hadn’t returned his greeting. A simple, “Hey,” and you had just stared at the floor, eyes wide, nodding without purpose. 

It was a few seconds more and he tried again. “Hey.” 

Your eyes went back to their normal size, head snapping up. Totally casual and normal. Like you hadn’t just ignored him by accident. You smiled at him in your most dazzling attempt. 

“Hi, there, Collie.” 

That was good, right? Nice and normal sounding? Not bursting at the seams with uncontrollable teenage girl lust, marking every word that tumbled out your mouth with filthy undertones? Even how you said it, you know you just sounded like a total whore. 

“Hi.” He nodded. “Are you all right?” His eyebrow sidled up in question, some stray hairs moving with it. 

“Hm? Me? Yeah!” You practically shout this. As if earnestness can cancel out desperation. 

“Okay.” He inhaled. “‘Cause you don’t seem all right.” 

His concern brings your eyes back to him, regarding him. Your eyes rove over his shoulders. My god, he’s sturdy, eh? Looking past his clavicle and on to his pecs, kind of visible through the threadbare white t-shirt he’s wearing. But it’s not like you’re looking at his chest, that’s just weird. Certainly not admiring the soft way his hair feathers around his upper arms. 

Oh, my god. Stop ogling him and say something already. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble before quickly finding your voice, quietly clapping your hands together. “Okay! Confucianism! Thoughts?” 

Your turnabout was so swift and sudden, he blinked in perplexity and let out a genuine chuckle, despite himself. He didn’t mean to mock you, however, your behavior, while strange and enthusiastic, was charming. 

—

“Is your name short for anything?” You wondered aloud, flicking away petals off your knee. You lay prone on a faded red blanket underneath a cherry blossom tree that shed its blossoms every toss of the wind; they collected on your body with relentless intention. 

Collie, a few feet from you, sitting in a truly awful camping chair, shook his head. “No. Just Collie.” He picked up his beer bottle off the ground and drank from it, wincing at the subpar taste of it.  

“Okay, Just Collie,” you said with a devilish smile, teasing. “My name is short for something. In case you were wondering.” 

“I do wonder.” He says with his own vaguely wicked grin. 

Over a few weeks time, you and Collie had graduated from group partners to something resembling a friendship. God, when he smiled, it made you actually insane. This insanity led to some serious short circuiting inside your brain, to the point that you had a compulsive need to keep needling him, teasing him, and being borderline mean to him. You stopped caring about acting a fool around him a long time ago. He seemed to accept it, anyway. 

“Since you didn’t ask.” 

“I’m askin’.” 

His voice produced the tiniest crack, but it was so earnest then, all teasing gone from his voice. Overcome, you laughed into your palm and almost knocked over your own shitty beer. 

“You just sounded so adorable then!” The laughing turned to cackling and you tried to unsuccessfully smother with your other hand. 

“Huh? Don’t know what you’re laughing about.” He mumbled, trying not to laugh with you, but it was very contagious and he had to make a conscious effort. “I am not adorable.” 

“Don’t—“ Laughter. Ha ha ha. “Stop speaking–your voice! It’s just too cute!” 

He glanced at his beer. “Did I pick the tainted batch or what?”

 Now he’s laughing too. This dynamic is night and day from the first time you two had worked together on that history assignment. It wasn’t so weird now if you guys decided spontaneously to start hanging out in the park to engage in underage drinking. Were you the you from a few months back, you’d have never come so undone like this in his presence. Gasping and turning red, deep ruts of laughter erupting from your throat. 

You kick at the leg of his chair as you writhe on the blanket, completely gone to a laugh attack. 

“Hey!” He protested, righting his chair from falling and almost spilling his beer onto his jeans. “You’re certifiable.” 

While wiping tears from your eyes, you uttered an acknowledgment while your laughter got under control before tapering off. 

He leaves the chair and joins you on the blanket. It belongs to him in the first place, but you are entertaining thoughts of keeping it. Keeping him, too, maybe. 

A few moments pass. The sky will be darkening soon and he keeps a small gap between the two of you, however, his warmth is still felt. Neither of you have any plans of separating anytime soon. There was that heavy unnamed feeling that lingered around you. 

Interestingly enough, you wanted to dance around it as long as possible, because it was scary and humiliating, liking someone and being liked, but simultaneously fun to keep yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion; because you liked him. A lot.

It was such a rush to sit next to the object of your affections and not speak of it. You’re not sure what your exact damage is, but it seems to complement his own. 

You lift your bottle up. “Thanks again for this. You’re the best.”

“No problem,” he clinks his with yours, the glass against glass sound sparking a pleasant feeling in your heart. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers, Collie,” you said quietly before downing the rest, doing your best to hide your disgust from the bitter taste. Not the most quality beer out there, but it’s what he brought. 

An errant petal falls and lands in the crown of his hair. You contemplated on plucking it right off. 

“Now,” he said, turning to face you, serious. “What is your name short for?” 

—

Collie has a large family with completely different schedules. In the basement den of his house, from the hours between 2 and 7, the place is completely family-free and he takes full advantage of this. He could read in peace, practice with his guitar, or just nap with zero interruptions when he comes home from school at 3. 

There’s a sliding glass door at the back of the house and that’s where you usually meet him. Normally you would watch outrageous Italian horror movies together, or watch him try to play the drums, play with the family dog, and actually study together sometimes. 

You two had nothing productive for the day, just plans for a hang and a smoke sesh. Once you arrive, you avoid his eye, greet him with a fist bump, toss your coat across the couch and walk back outside to sit on the bench by the massive oak tree in his family’s backyard. Collie’s dog whines and scratches at the glass door and Collie, half-way out, turns back to let him loose, the little dog happily trotting out, taking big sniffs of the cool air. 

You are a little on edge today, not going to lie. The previous night’s events had you so shaken. It was something you were actively ignoring but couldn’t possibly ignore, all at the same time. 

Yes, Collie made you hot. Of course he did. Would you ever admit this? Not a chance. Were you guys in some weird limbo of friends who are maybe not wanting to be friends for longer…? Yes, that certainly was proving to be true. But you felt like you had crossed a line you couldn’t un-cross. And it wasn’t even from something that you had consciously done, either! 

Last night, you drowsily awakened from a deep sleep to find yourself grinding the hell out of the hard ridge of your palm and whimpering and moaning Collie’s name. Jesus Christ, just thinking about it again made your ears redden and the guilt came off you like flashing sirens. 

Usually, you would’ve just given him a quick hug when you met him at the door. You guys hugged all the time. But this time was different, due to the aforementioned mercilessly rubbing your clit to thoughts of him while dreaming about god knows what. 

Thats why you met him with the rather terse but causal fist bump. You initially wanted to even cancel this smoke session, but you couldn’t do that. Your hangouts were the one thing keeping you from tearing your hair out and ripping yourself apart.

 Ironically, of course, Collie himself also made you want to tear your hair out and rip yourself apart. But, alas, you wanted to see him real bad. You needed to see him. Because he was your friend. You would suffer for your friend. 

You hope he doesn’t notice anything is different with you today and you hope that you play-fighting with the dog comes off in a convincing, normal way. 

But he knows you by now. You try so hard to act like nothing's wrong that it becomes abundantly clear that something is indeed wrong. He can just tell, like when you unwittingly flinch away from him, how he doesn’t really believe you when you say you don’t know what he’s referring to when called out on it, and indulges the way you strategically avoid the topic of whatever is bothering you. It’s frustrating. It seems like you don’t really trust him, which hurts, but how can that really be, given all the time you spend together? You’re friends, right? 

He came close to telling you this once. That it was okay. It’s just him. Just say what you need to say already. Advice he couldn’t take himself as he was still embarrassed by what had happened the last time you saw each other. 

Collie had convinced you to hike with him the previous weekend and almost killed you. Not really, but it was something close to that. What had happened was he had stumbled over a tree root, went backwards, and in your panic you caught his weight and tried to pivot towards stable ground,  but neither of you had any hold on your balance and fell on top of each other.

“Oh, f—shit! Sorry!” 

Him landing right between your legs, your chest to his back. Tail bone on fire. You both groaned in pain and you gripped his shoulders so you could get up again. But he was partially on top of your legs and extricating yourself from this twisted pretzel you found yourselves in was too much. So you just sighed into his back  and started to laugh against the denim fabric of his jacket. Because what else could you do? 

“Jesus, Collie. A stunning display of grace and composure!”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, sounding genuinely upset. He tried to move to face you but his ass hurt, too. “Are you okay?”

“I will be once you get off me.” You didn’t mean to sound harsh, you had meant for a lighter tone. But that’s not how it came out. 

He obliged, crawling to his knees and off of you. He didn’t make it to stand, sitting with you, one leg folded in, visually assessing you for damage. 

“You’re not hurt?” Collie seemed to be so concerned, that you briefly thought to milk this for all it was worth, but then decided against it. His hands hovered over your arms and he leaned in to see if you had hit your head or if there was blood. 

“I’m fine, really,” you assured him, but it didn’t seem to do any good. His hair was disheveled, caught in a ponytail. It brushed your face as he kept checking on you. 

“Oof, okay! You can stop now.” Leaned away from him so fast, he seemed a little taken aback by it. Like he was some stranger to you and not the pleasantly warm individual he was.  

Not that you were repulsed; the opposite, in fact. You were so amped up by the feeling of his back on your chest, his thighs between yours, and then the pine scent of him so close to you had you clamming up before you could even think twice about it. 

But the moment was definitely gone now, and you had ruined it. You hadn’t even asked him if he was okay. Collie, in his own mind, was thinking of all the ways he had ruined it. 

Back in his backyard, in an easygoing tone, he tries to feel out what’s bothering you. Was it his total lack of physical finesse? Had he maimed you in a way that you hadn’t shared? Nah, you would have shared that with him if he had. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He said softly. “Just want you to know that.” 

From the other end of the bench, you look at him with an incredulous eye. “Collie, I’m fine.” You placed a joint between your lips, lit it and hit it twice and passed it to him. “I totally forgot that even happened until you just reminded me.”

“Really?” He said it in a way that called you a goddamn liar. Clouds of smoke streamed out of his nostrils and he met your incredulous eye with a vexed one. He looked like a pissed off dragon. 

“Yes, really,” you insisted, taking the joint back from him. Before you inhale, quickly you mutter a tiny, “Clumsy motherfucker.” 

He barks a laugh and shoves softly at your side. “I may be clumsy, sure, but,” he concedes, shrugging, “you made a great landing pad. Thanks, again, buddy.” 

“You’re welcome, man,” you say as you duck away from his attempt to ruffle your hair.

 “I’m gonna burn you!” You threaten with the cherry red dart smoking between your fingers, no harm meant. 

“No, you won’t.” He says, moving closer, reaching for your hand. “Give me that.” 

You put your hand out of reach and shoot off the bench instead of letting yourself get boxed in by Collie Parker. You screech as he gives chase. His dog, wanting to join the fun, scampers along, barking happily. 

“No! Don’t come near me!” 

After a few minutes of running around, he finally caught you at the tree furthest away from his house, right on the property line. You tried to fake him out but he got his arms wrapped around your midsection, arms pinned, pulling you against him, effectively immobilizing you. 

He was panting now in your ear and his chest rose and fell against your back. His hair had gotten loose and some of it was caressing your neck. You tried to free yourself by reaching behind and tickling him but he just tightened his hold on you further. You were trying to wiggle out of his grip, but not trying that hard. It felt nice to be held like this. 

All the same, you demanded, “Unhand me!” 

You both slowly fell to the ground, like a controlled trust fall, and sat there for a minute. The small dog sniffed at you briefly and then went on his own way back to the house. 

He let you go but was looking at you intensely, still breathing hard. You inched back a little under his gaze, but a fallen tree stump stopped you where you were. 

You swallowed hard and tried to control your breathing. Sweat was forming in the top part of his t-shirt and you wanted to lick it off him, god! This glorious sight was going into the nocturnal spank bank, most definitely. 

“I’m okay,” you offered, to break this strange atmosphere permeating between you two. “I also lost my joint.” 

His expression, serious, was quickly broken by a smile. “I took it from you.” 

He produced it from one closed hand and lit it again with the big, silver lighter of his. 

“Wow, sneaky boy,” you said, admiringly. “Maybe not so clumsy after all.” 

He laughed, got up and offered his free hand to you. You took it. 

Side by side, you walked back towards the house, hands lightly brushing, the slightest tender touch, here and there, when it was the other’s turn to pull. 

He had planned to show you some tacky vampire movie from overseas, but he fell asleep within the first twenty minutes. You pulled a blanket over him, and then, feeling a little brave, joined him. It was tempting to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair, but he was asleep and so all you did was study him. The small whistle of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. Just sitting with your arms touching was exciting enough. His dog jumped on the couch, circled twice before laying on top of the blanket, front end on you, back on end him. You fell asleep like that. 

—

Collie descended from a pack of elephants. For people with such unusually heavy footfalls it always sounded like booming thunder over his head, like giants in a grape-stomping competition. Today, however, Collie’s older sister and younger female cousin tip-toed gracefully to the top of the basement stairs, trying and failing to keep from giggling. 

“Look it! He’s got his little girlfriend with him,” they quietly jeered to each other. 

Be glad it’s me and not mom, his sister thought. She turned her head in fascination, they looked kind of sweet like that, she thought. 

The cousin thought the same. That didn’t stop her from slamming the basement door anyway, forcefully rousing the sleeping beauties from their slumber.