#netflix and...chill?

ATTINA: Attina had been invited to Paul’s house to “Netflix and Chill”. Though, really, she wasn’t sure if Netflix and chilling was the proper term when you’d been dating someone for a month and a half and you hung out with them whenever you got the chance. Obviously, it had started as hook-up culture, but did it transfer over? It kind of felt like it, it kind of felt like Paul had just invited her to his apartment for sex.

Okay, wait, let’s back up.

They had just been on a lovely autumn-themed date. Attina wore her cutest sweater and boots and a scarf and they’d gone to Hatter’s for hot chocolate and slices of warmed pie. They’d joked and laughed and Paul had gotten whipped cream on his nose and Attina had thought it was the cutest thing she didn’t even tell him about it for several minutes (which was a miracle considering that Attina’s stomach curled a little if someone had sauce in the corner of their lips.) But, Paul could make anything look charming and purposeful. Even whip cream to the nose. She’d told him about it eventually, after snapping a picture.

Then, they’d gone for a walk through the park as the sun was setting. The leaves crunched underfoot and the wind smelled crisp and was cool against Attina’s cheeks, peeking them up slightly. They held hands and she’d tucked the fingers of her other hand in between Paul’s arm and rib cage, leaning into him as they walked along, talking, but mostly just enjoying the company and the peace and quiet of the park. Everything was tinted orange by the setting sun, and it had all looked so beautiful.

Attina had lived in Swynlake her whole life, she’d walked through Main Street Park hundreds of times, but it had never looked as beautiful as it did now, walking hand-in-hand through it with her very handsome and very kind boyfriend.

So, she’d been in a rosy-hued state of mind when he’d pulled her up when they found themselves back on Main Street and asked if she wanted to go back to his place to watch a movie. She’d blushed and smiled and kissed him and told him yes.

It was only later, when they’d gotten back to his place that she realized the babies were with Perdita and Stanley was at Ellie’s house and the apartment was quiet and empty.

They were totally Netflix-ing and Chilling.

She should probably excuse herself to go to the bathroom and call Andy, but Andy would just tell her to chill the fuck out. Which was not helpful advice.

Instead, she’d plopped herself on the couch while Paul had popped popcorn and told her she could choose the movie.

She’d chosen Saw. The perfect not-having sex movie.

But, the movie had ended, and instead of leaving, like she should’ve, Paul had tricked Attina into a debate over proper torturing practices and how to survive during a horror movie. They’d argued and teased and talked and then—

Yeah, they’d started kissing, and once they’d started they hadn’t really stopped. And, don’t get Attina wrong. She loved kissing. She loved kissing Paul, especially. Right now, he tasted like chocolate and popcorn and his lips were still a little cool because it was cool outside and his beard scratched against her lips and he was very solid and warm. She really, really did love kissing. But, kissing was all it would be and that distracted her because they hadn’t done much besides kissing and Attina knew she was holding out and probably being a tease, but kissing Paul was just so nice she couldn’t help herself as her hand tangled in his hair. She wasn’t even thinking about the eighty million bacteria exchanged every ten seconds of their kiss…

PAUL: Did Paul intend for this date to turn into a potential Netflix and Chill? No. No, he did not--honest.

Did he want to have sex with Attina though? Yes, yes he did.

But that wasn’t the point of tonight.

The point of tonight was: pie. Pumpkin pie, apple butter pie, triple pear pie with a walnut crust, harvest pie full of raspberries, cranberries, blueberries, glazed over with almond and cinnamon. Pie with a dollop of cream or a slice of cheese on the side. Pie sprinkled with powder, pie drizzled with caramel sauce. Pie-- plus gooey caramel apple cider, or a pumpkin spice latte with pumpkin whipped cream, or rich, dark hot chocolate with chocolate whipped cream if you’d opted for the caramel chess pie with the oreo base. Pie, pie, pie. Delicious-- buy-one-get-one free-- pie night.

Yes, Paul had seen a sign in Hatter’s advertising their special Pieday Friday and decided to turn it into a low-cost, high-romance, super-fall-infused date night.

So there had been pie, pie with all the trimmings. Attina looked like some sort of--autumn goddess when she’d bustled in in a warm sweater dress, her long hair golden-red under the light. For a while they’d debated over which pies to get and Attina cajoled small samples from Hatter until they settled on their perfect slices. And after their bellies were full of pie and cider, they walked into a brisk twilight, Attina wrapped around Paul’s arm. He breathed in the scent of the changing leaves and felt like kissing Attina up against the trees in the park and he barely resisted, settling for little kisses on the cheek, then cheeky whispered come-ons in her ear. And when it was time to go, well, Attina’s nose was pink, her hand still wrapped around his arm and he didn’t want to end Pieday Friday. So yes. He invited Attina over. Though-- not necessarily to have sex.

He just wanted the time.

So first there really had been just a movie. A bloody, gory, terrifying movie which had Paul shrieking and hiding behind Attina, or pushing his face into her shoulder as he groaned out such eloquent things like “Holy fucking shit” and  “Aw, c’mon, don’t-- aw, don’t cut off your foot--!”

But it was worth it in the end. In the end, Paul felt his heart alive in his chest, going rapid-fire, his brain turned up to top-speed. Of course he launched into a tirade about torture devices. Of course, eventually, he kissed Attina, kissed her harder than normal, and pressed her into the couch.

He didn’t think about it. He just did it.

And then they were kissing like teenagers on his couch in his near-empty flat, one lamp on. He could taste the sticky sugar-and-salt of the popcorn on her lips as well as a hint of tea behind it all. He kissed her deep, her lips pliant under his own. He kissed her and time started to move away so he wasn’t thinking about how long he had been kissing her, just wanted to kiss her and kiss her till he needed to breathe.

His hand moved down her body, skirting past her waist, following the curve of her hip down to the thin netting of her stockings. He could feel her body heat through them. He could feel her body heat everywhere, as their lips tangled and her hand knotted itself in the locks of his hair, giving it little tugs that made his blood roar in his ears. And Paul, he’d been so good. He’d been an angel. He’d stayed above the waist whenever they snogged a little like this, sometimes ending it with tickling because he loved the taste of Attina’s laughter in his mouth.

But Attina wasn’t laughing. She was breathing heavy. He was breathing heavy. She sighed against him and Paul’s hand moved up again, right under the dress, over her stockings, curving over Attina’s ass as he lifted her pelvis closer to his own.

ATTINA: Attina was very aware of Paul’s gentlemanly behavior. Because Attina had not been afforded very much gentlemanly behavior in the past. Men liked to grab and grope. They thought if they paid for dinner they paid for a glance up your skirt or a squeeze of your breast. That wasn’t how Attina did things, though.

The only boy who’d gotten that far was Adrian Cobb. That was when Attina was just freshly sixteen, the summer before she started sixth form. They’d been dating for three months at that point, and Adrian had decided they were ready. Attina had loved him. She’d thought she’d loved him, and they’d had sex on the couch in his basement while his parents were out. It had hurt and afterwards she’d felt dirty for the first time. Dirty enough to go home and scrub her skin pink.

Her mother had known—somehow. She’d cornered Attina in the bathtub after dinner three nights after it had happened, asking about it.

She had asked how it went. Just that—“How did it go?”

Attina had burst into tears. She didn’t know why, because she did love Adrian and he hadn’t necessarily been mean to her or anything. Her heart had just exploded. And her mother had held her and shushed her and told her that she shouldn’t let anyone touch her unless she really, really wanted them to. Unless she trusted them with everything.

Everything, Attina had known, even then, meant her secret.

Anything less than that would be lying. Lying about the biggest part of herself. The part of herself that Attina loved the most sometimes. Hated the most other times. It was a complicated relationship, to put it not-so-simply.

She wasn’t really thinking about this—she was thinking about Paul’s tongue and his chest pressed against hers and how warm he was and how he made her feel like there were butterflies in her stomach, how he made her laugh and shiver, sometimes in the same breath and how no one had really done that before.

Until his hand slipped up her dress.

She froze at once, involuntarily really. It was just her instinctual response to those things. Her hand moved from his back to clamp down on his wrist. Her mouth popped off of his and she drew in a shaky little gasp of air. Then, just as quickly as she grabbed it, she released his wrist and brought her hands up to her face. Her heartbeat, which had been beating hard but slow, now kicked up its rhythm so it felt like an engine in her chest.

“I-I—uhm—I—” she stuttered, rather ineloquently, face bright red. She pushed her fingers into her cheeks and closed her eyes in a wince.

PAUL: Paul wasn’t thinking at all. He wasn’t thinking about past girlfriends-- not Mary who he snogged in the loo during Easter Mass once, not Emily who he had sex with for the first time on a couch just like this one-- not Perdita, who he’d kissed just over a month ago, his hand following the same path that traced Attina’s now.. He didn’t think about them because they didn’t matter. Their bodies were not the body that was underneath Paul’s. He knew that. Paul was a lover of detail, and more than that, a lover of new-

And so all he was thinking about was Attina. Her body. The way she smelled, the way she tasted. Her legs shifting under his own, the shape of her thighs, how soft she was. He was thinking about getting under that dress, alright. He wanted to push the dress all the way up to expose the plane of her stomach. He wanted to know the colour of her bra. He wanted to fit his hands around her breasts. He wanted to kiss down her neck, nibble on her collarbone, draw a line with his tongue down her sternum--

So his hand squeezed her ass and he bit down on her lip--

And Attina turned rigid as stone underneath him, before clamping down on his wrist like she was gonna rip his whole hand off. There was a loud pop as their mouths separated, leaving Paul sucking in oxygen right above Attina’s cheek.

And his brain rushed back fast, a different kind of heat flooding his face and his ears. Aw shit. Aw shit, what was he thinking? He wasn’t, that was the answer. He’d been thinking about the pink colour of Attina’s skin and--and getting his hands all over her. He’d been thinking like a pig, was how he’d been thinking, and now Attina was squirming and putting her hands over her face.

Times like this, he really wished he were more like Roger.

He pushed himself up with his one hand, his other slipping back from under her dress. “Sorry,” he blurted at once. Which didn’t peel Attina’s hands from her face. He tried again. “Sorry, I-- I didn’t-- Attina, hey-- it’s okay, it’s my fault,” he reached out and quite gently tried to tug one of her hands away from her face. “Look at me, really. I just-- I… uh got too excited?” An awkward laugh puffed from his lips as he shook his head at himself.

ATTINA: Oh gosh. This was--this was awful. It was worse than when Attina usually stopped this kind of thing (something that had happened a lot over the past ten years.) Because normally the embarrassment came from a place of--fear, almost. Which made all her exes sound like big scary people. They weren't. They were just big, horny people. Who wanted to have sex. And Attina did not want to have sex with them, because it didn't feel right.

Attina was a person of feeling. Her gut instinct directed her romance. It wasn't a perfect compass by any means, which was why she'd wound up dating a bunch of jerks. But she knew that she would know when someone was right.

And Paul felt right. His smiles and his kindness. His creativity and his humor. He made her heart flutter and he made the idea of sex--not quite as scary (sure, she'd still be terrified, but the fact that she was considering it was more of a step than she'd taken in a long, long time).

She was ruining it too. Because she'd stopped this and now Paul would think she was a prude or stringing him along or that she had something to hide.

Which she did. She did have something to hide. And Paul had been so lovely to her up to this point. He was even apologizing and touching her gently and he didn't seem mad at all.

The secret bubbled up to her lips. She wanted to let it out, more than she ever had. If only to smooth the crease between Paul’s brows.

But, she couldn't. And instead, desperate, embarrassed tears stung at the back of her eyes.

“N-no, I-I'm sorry. I just--I-I--” How was she supposed to explain this so he didn't hate her?

“I w-want too.” She blushed bright red and turned to push her face into a pillow, and the she looked up at the ceiling. Face drawn.

“T-there is something that I--have to tell you first. And I'm...I’m not...ready.” She winced and then glanced at Paul. “It's nothing bad!! Not--not really, anyway. I don't like--have a disease,” she said in a scandalized whisper.

PAUL: Paul was prepared to make jokes-- take the mickey outta himself first and foremost, lighten the air, maybe even tickle her if it came down to it, because this wasn’t the first time he’d ever been with a girl who was nervous and he knew better than to put the pressure on or get too serious. Was Paul often with girls who got nervous or were-- shy? Er, truthfully, not really. There was one or two. But the last thing he wanted to be one of those boys who made a girl cry.

Johnny was a boy who made girls cry. Simon was a boy who made girls cry. But Paul? No. He didn’t want to be. The thought curdled in his stomach.

(And this wasn’t as noble as it looked on the outside or even as Paul liked to think of himself. Paul hated being hated. He needed to be liked and admired. Many girls he’d dated just because they liked him so much, damn his own feelings, and that-- that wasn’t noble at all.)

So when he heard the catch in Attina’s voice and his short, awkward laugh didn’t make anything better, Paul’s stomach gave a small twist. His smile faded a bit, and he furrowed his brow.

There is something that I have to tell you first.

And he had no idea what that could be.

His brain ran rampant through the potential options the way it probably, definitely, shouldn’t, as a cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He jumped to an STI-- course he did-- though that one Attina swatted away fast. So that meant he was falling fast onto the tracks of last autumn’s Paul, who filled his days with alcohol, staring blankly at walls, and trying to come up with the story that would explain Perdita leaving him.

She has a secret husband, she has a boyfriend already, you’re a side piece--

She has some other type of sickness. She has cancer. She’s dying.

She’s sick like Mum.

She’s never done it before and so she’s nervous-- maybe she’s waiting for marriage.

You’re not good enough for her.

It always boiled down to that last one. It was like breathing for his brain, the way it could self-cannibalize. That lesson he learned much too early. Every boy who grew up in his shoddy neighborhood with a dad who drank like his and a mum who barely left the house learned that lesson.

But lucky for Paul, the last thing he wanted to do was fall apart or become a paranoid, overly emotional, over-reactive freak of nature, which would be exactly what he was if he leaned into any of his impulses. No, Paul had to be together and sane and the understanding boyfriend-- the type of leading man you saw in movies and TV shows (not novels though-- piss-poor arseholes like Paul littered the pages of novels).

He did sit up about half-way, thinking it best to give her-- space. “Oh uh-- I-- that’s okay. I mean, I don’t want to-- I want you to be...ready and if you’re not, that’s, that’s fine. Really.” A beat, then-- “You ah… have you er, done it before…?”

ATTINA: Attina watched with her heart in her throat as Paul’s smile faded. She hated that, because Attina loved making Paul smile. He had a nice smile, it crinkled his eyes and made them twinkle. He was one of those people who smiled with their whole body, like Arista or Simba or Nala. It made him seem so big and bright, and when he turned that smile her way—it was like being warmed by her very own sun.

She’d never felt that before with anyone.

So, watching it get snuffed out was terrible. It made her stomach all twisty and all she wanted to do was make him smile again, but she couldn’t because she knew that she couldn’t have sex with him. If she had sex with him right now, she’d ruin all of it. Not just Paul’s smile. Because if she had sex with him now, she’d feel so guilty and like she’d been lying to him this whole time (she had) and that he didn’t even know her (he didn’t.) And these were things that couldn’t be true if they were going to have sex. Sex was more than sex for Attina. Sex was—the ultimate form of trust. Well, the ultimate form of trust after telling someone she was a mermaid.

Those words were still on the tip of her tongue.

She wanted to say them so badly, but her fear kept them locked tightly behind her lips. 

I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid. 

As he sat up, so did she, like there was a string connecting them. That’s what it felt like, except that Attina was dangerously close to cutting that string. Every other boy she’d ever been with—this was the point where they scoffed or stormed off or tried to push her back into the couch anyways. And she really didn’t want to believe that of Paul, but still, when he opened his mouth, she flinched and drew in on herself a little. Her eyes staring down into her lap as she leaned back against the arm of the couch and curled her fingers around the hem of her dress.

Though, after the first few sentences—she glanced back up at him from under her lashes, mouth parted slightly in surprise. Then, she ducked her head and blushed again.

“Yes,” she said at once, a little breathlessly, her cheeks pink. “Uhm, not—not since I was—I was sixteen, though. But that’s—that’s just—just because I’ve dated a bunch of assholes.” She snorted a little humorlessly at herself and shrugged her shoulders in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. 

“And it’s not—I’m not…saving myself…or anything. It’s just—complicated. Sex…makes things complicated…for me. A-and I just—need to know…” Her lip trembled. “I-I just—I need to wait. F-for right now. Not—not for always.” She looked up, her face twisted. “I’m sorry.”

PAUL: As Attina went on, Paul’s wild imagination twisted again. But it didn’t twist against him. For once, his brain wasn’t looking for every single way he had messed up or every single way he’d failed to live up to Attina’s expectation. He was a self-sorry, self-loathing git most of the time (in private, always in private) but he also watched people enough-- he read enough-- to realize when something really wasn’t about him.

This wasn’t about him.

All the clues that Attina was giving him said everything but that. She talked of other boyfriends-- assholes, she called them flippantly before shrugging like she was a small and inconsequential girl, like being treated cruelly was part of life. It was-- Paul knew that. He expected pain, hardship, long hours at work, the ache in the soles of his feet, relationships that didn’t work out. But it shouldn’t be something you shrug at. Paul could never shrug at all his pain. Laugh about it later, twist it into some fantastic story-- but never shrug.

And so whatever it was that Attina had to tell him, it had happened in the before.

And see, everyone always had a before. Some unlucky bastards had several befores. Paul had three. His first before had been the cusp of 18, the last days of secondary, uni bright in the distance. It had been petty squabbles and dirty looks from most of his brothers and his mum wondering to him why he had to go all the way to Durham-- wasn’t he going to miss her?

Then there was after-- Lucas drowned. Durham was no bright light. And his life had come to a standstill.

His second before was before Perdita was pregnant. This one, Paul could look at in fascination because he’d been all roguish and confident but utterly foolish. The after-- Paul had become a man.

His third before was the day before Perdita left him.

Paul was still living in that after now. It was too close. He was deep within its weeds. He could not see a way out and he hoped, he hoped, that Attina might help him find it.

So yeah, he-- he understood having something so big that it reshaped pathways in your life. It could be death, injury, or violence. Whatever it was, it made Attina as young as sixteen again, and Paul wanted to protect her.

He scooched toward her again, his thigh pressing against her leg. He roped his arm around her too, squeezing her other shoulder gently. “Hey, it’s alright. Really-- I don’t need it, but I do need you,” he told her softly. He smiled, his other hand lifting up to touch her cheek. “Whatever it is, it can wait. You just-- tell me in the meantime where I can put my hands, yeah? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I mean, I got sisters, I get it.”

ATTINA: Part of Attina was still sure that Paul was going to laugh at her. Or maybe he was going to lean back in and kiss her again and try to get his hand up her dress again, like she’d said nothing at all. Like she was nothing more than a little doll. That had happened before. More than once. That was usually the reaction when Attina stopped her boyfriends. When she told them no. When she told them that she just couldn’t right now.

They never listened.

But, how could she think that of Paul? Who looked at her so kindly, his eyes the same murky blue-green of the lake she’d come to love and call home. Paul who had sisters, who understood not to push or to laugh. Who was a romantic himself.

Her heart was still pounding away as he scooched towards her, and Attina stiffened, just a bit, until Paul’s arm simply came around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. Her breath shuddered in her chest and she felt so silly for feeling so emotional about all this. Girls weren’t supposed to be like this. Not the pretty ones. Not the ones who were confident. Who could sleep with whoever they wanted. Not girls like Perdita, and all the ones that Paul had probably dated in the past. None of them were as weepy, she bet. None of them had told him no.

She was spiraling down into this thought cycle until he said what he said.

I need you.

Her eyes snapped to his, eyes wide with surprise. She didn’t know what to say to that. No one ever told her they needed her. Not really, not in so many words. If anything her sisters complained. I don’t need you, that was what Ariel had said only recently. It was only Daddy who really said anything along the lines of “I need you” but that was mostly in a grateful without-you-this-house-would-go-to-hell kind of way. Not that he needed her. Just someone to—be there.

Paul said he needed her. Weird, bashful, too-talkative, bossy, crazy clean-freak Attina, who had too short of legs and a too-loud laugh that made her snort sometimes when she really got going. She blinked at him and felt the tears gather again. She didn’t want to cry. She really didn’t.

But, she blinked again and a tear slip out of her eye and over her cheek.

Leaning in, she squeezed her eyes shut and kissed him soft. The kiss broke with a little sound and she ducked her head to rest it against his collarbone, listening to the sound of his heart while her fingers played with the collar of his shirt, and she couldn’t ever remember being so happy.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly to him. I love you, she almost said.