Page 96 of Tiny Fractures
“You’re so full of it,” I say despite loving his statement.
“I’m serious, Cat,” he says, pushing himself up into a sitting position, looking at me with intense eyes. “I’ve never felt like this; I’ve never been this drawn to someone.”
I study him. His eyes are serious, conveying the depth of his words. I didn’t think boys like him existed, yet here we are.
“Oh my gosh.” I jerk up, and Ronan looks at me, eyebrows raised. “I completely forgot to give this to you.” I begin rummaging through my bag as Ronan leans back on his elbows. Finally, I find the small, clear bag filled with candy I bought in Buffalo. I turn around and hold it out to him.
He furrows his brow as he analyzes what’s in the bag, then a smile breaks across his face as he beams at me. “You got me candy?” he asks, laughter in his voice.
“Yep. It made me so sad when you told me your mom wouldn’t let you have any, so I thought I’d try to make up for you missing out.”
For a second, Ronan’s face takes on a pained expression. He shakes his head before reaching for me and kissing me so fiercely it takes my breath away. I drop the bag with candy as my hands wind around the back of his neck and hold on to him for dear life.
“Why are you so good to me?” he breathes against me while his hands sear scorching-hot paths under my shirt and across my skin. It takes only seconds before both our shirts come off and I’m in his lap, my legs wrapped around and my hips grinding against him while he kisses my right breast, cupping the other with his left hand. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathes again just as a moan escapes my lips.
My hands come up to his face and I force him to look at me. His eyes are glossy and hooded but intense. “You keep saying that,” I say breathlessly, “but you’re wrong.”
He responds by crashing his lips against mine, once more stealing every breath and thought from my body.
Sunday, July 4th
Ronan
I don’t deserve Cat, not in the least. And I don’t understand her, don’t understand why she’s so damn good to me.
When she held u the bag of candy and told me she wanted to make up for me missing out, it felt like she was breaking me into pieces. I don’t know what to do with all of that. I know I should stay away from her because of all the reasons in the world. I’m not worthy of her; I’m not good enough. It’s a fact that has been pounded and beaten into me all of my life, no matter what I do to prove my worth. And if this keeps going, Cat is going to get hurt somehow, and it will have been my fault.
The problem is, I don’t know how to stay away from her. I’m drawn to her like a ship out on the dark sea sailing toward a lighthouse, because that’s what my life feels like—an endless, dark ocean, ready to drown me any second. And Cat is the light in the dark. When I’m with her all the heaviness momentarily lifts. It’s such a welcome respite for my anxious mind and tired body—until I realize that I’m setting her up for pain that is surely going to come for her, because that’s what I do: I fuck things up—always have, always will. And if I were less selfish, I would have never let it get this far. I’d have put a stop to this before it had a chance to get started, or I would at least stop it now. But I can’t find the strength or the willpower. She’s like medicine for my aching mind. And, fuck, I want to make her happy. I want to be with her. I want it more than I want anything else in my life. I’m at war with myself—the need to keep her safe and protected clashing with my desperate desire to be with her because the two cannot coexist. Not in my world. They’re mutually exclusive.
I woke up startled after a nightmare. It happens sometimes—indistinct darkness pressing on my chest, causing me to wake up, making it impossible to fall asleep again. And so I’ve been lying next to Cat, feeling her body against mine, breathing her in, allowing myself to feel this moment. Being with her feels unbelievably good, and it’s so damn scary because I feel so much with her when I’ve been shutting it all down for the past seventeen years. Everything has always been muted—even the good times, the fun, the laughter, because no matter how good a day was, I know that at the end of it all I have to come home. I have to step back into the darkness where monsters wait, where life is unpredictable, where I’m always on guard, always on edge, always anticipating the pain that inevitably comes.
I'm such an asshole for doing what I’m doing—dragging her into my bullshit. She’s not like Miranda. Miranda had her very own demons to battle, just like I have mine. Miranda knew what my mother was doing to me just like I knew what Miranda’s father was doing to her. We bonded over the fact that we were both occupying our own versions of hell. But I can’t share that shit with Cat; I want to protect her from it, so fucking badly.
“How do I keep you safe?” I whisper, grazing her arm softly. We both fell asleep without putting our shirts back on and I kiss her shoulder softly, moving her long hair from her neck before kissing her warm skin there, then her earlobe. The darkness in the tent is diminishing with the slow rise of the sun over the horizon.
“This might be my new favorite way of waking up,” Cat says sleepily, repeating my own words, and just like that my racing mind stills.
I smile. “Hey,” I say, nuzzling the space between her shoulder and her neck. Her skin is warm and soft as I kiss her. Her left arm reaches up and around my neck and I let my hand slide up her side and to her breast, caressing it. I allow myself a minute to feel and taste her before urging her to face me.
“You’re up early,” she says, her hand resting against my chest, right over my heart. I wonder if she can feel it beating against my ribs, if she has any idea at all what she does to me, how much I care about her. “You should try to get a little more sleep,” she says, and I can tell she’s beginning to doze off again. Her nearness, her breathing, and her scent begin to pull me under, and I gladly drift off to sleep with her.
The next time I wake up the sun is high in the sky. I can hear voices outside, people splashing in the water. The smell of food is in the air, but no Cat next to me. I maneuver out of the small tent and spot Cat in the water with everyone else, so I quickly brush my teeth, then change into my board shorts and join her.
We spend the day much like we did the last, with lots of time in the water, and we squeeze in another round of volleyball. This time, though, I make sure Cat is on my team. It’s still distracting as hell seeing her get after a ball or spike it, but at least I’m not giving away points, to Shane’s absolute delight. Nonetheless, I have the hardest time keeping my hands off Cat, who stays in her blue bikini the majority of the day, and even though she eventually pulls on a pair of short jean cutoffs, it really doesn’t help my situation. I take every opportunity to touch her exposed skin, every chance to kiss her. She does the same, running her hand up my stomach and chest, touching my back, kissing me whenever she has the chance. And I fucking love it. I love everything about this weekend: the uninterrupted time I have with Cat, having her near me around the clock, spending the days with the people I care about most, and, fuck, just not being at home and in a constant state of alertness.
I help Zack prep dinner by the time the sun gets low on the horizon. I throw aluminum foil-wrapped potatoes into the embers of the fire pit and cut up whatever food Zack instructs me to chop while he mans the barbeque.
“You sure you want to go to L.A. and direct movies? You should be a chef instead,” I tell Zack while I poke the potatoes with a stick to roast them evenly.
“Dude, once I’m a director I’ll hire someone to cook for me,” he says.
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
“Food!” I yell loudly once everything is prepped and ready to be devoured, and everyone gathers around the crackling fire pit. Cat is still wearing her blue bikini top and short cutoffs when I sit down next to her in the sand. We eat, not to mention drink—god, there’s so much drinking—while Shane tells us all about his less-than-successful search for a roommate for his apartment in Queens.
“I’m pretty sure the guy who showed up on Thursday was just released from prison,” Shane says, “because he was wearing a gray sweat suit and only had a plastic bag with him.”
“Oh, an ex-felon. How exciting!” Summer snorts a laugh.