If I Stay (12 page)

“What are you saying?” I asked. “You've been inside? Did you break in?”

“Break in?” he laughed again, and I immediately felt foolish. Because deep down, I knew the answer. “No, Gemma. I didn't break in. I live there.”

“You live...in McMansion?”

My words practically slurred.

“Is that what you call it?” he nearly giggled, like a little schoolboy. If I wasn't so stunned, it would have been hilarious. “McMansion?”

“It's just...” I stared at him. I stared for a really long time before I could actually speak again. “This is beyond insane.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Unbuckling my seat-belt, I slid onto his lap. I didn't kiss him, though. Not right away. Instead, I took my time reaching a hand up and tracing the outline of his lips with my fingertips, his hands reaching up to rest gently on my lower back.

“Smile,” Ben prompted. I gave him a hasty-half attempt, and his eyes narrowed. “I still hold to what I said back there, at the hotel. You should smile more.”

“I do smile.”

“Not enough,” he remarked. “And you should. You're beautiful.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, although it was more of a gasp, and he leaned forward just enough so that our lips were scarcely touching. One quick, soft kiss. Then he drew away.

“I said you're beautiful,” he repeated. “You are.”

“Guys always say that,” I said, wishing that I hadn't. Ben shook his head.

“I'm not just a guy,” he replied. “I'm...well, maybe I am just a guy. But I'm an honest guy. Can you trust in that?”

“Should I?” I asked. “I'm not even sure what
this
is.”

He ran a hand through my hair, his palm skimming over my cheek. He looked warm, bordering on hot at his eyes fell to my mouth. I knew he wanted to kiss me again.

“This is the story about a girl that meets a guy – no, a
gentleman –
under very unlikely circumstances. And they like each other. Very much, in fact. But circumstances threaten to tear these two star-crossed individuals apart in the fiercest storm of the century.”

“Sounds tragic,” I laughed gently. He followed, laughing too.

“All the best of these kind are.”

He kissed me again, hard as his tongue slid effortlessly into my mouth. We were wrapped in each other, totally and completely. Both bound by layers and yet so close, warm, utterly feverish. Everything from within me lit up like my core was set fire, slowly eating away at my nerves like they were nothing but a burning rope. I could practically taste his skin as his tongue slid against mine, his lips softer than maybe a man's should be. There was no aggression, only tenderness. And when he drew away, his eyes were like two melting pots. Dark, dancing. His hand didn't move from my cheek, the touch of his skin so wonderful I nearly felt compelled to close my eyes and wish that it would stay forever.

Quietly, like the wind that graced the branches outside, a noise we couldn't hear from inside the silver bullet, we both just sat. Looking, listening, breathing. And eventually, as the heat evaporated like stagnant water in sunlight, I asked:

“What happened to your mother?”

Ben kissed me again. Soft, quick kisses that traced along my jawline. When his lips met my ear, he paused. I could feel that his eyes were elsewhere, looking through the windshield.

“She passed away some time ago. When I was young and reckless.”

“I'm so sorry,” I immediately said. “I shouldn't have asked.”

“It's fine, Gemma. Really,” he kissed my cheek, drawing me against him in the first real embrace that we ever shared. “These things do happen.”

I moved back to my seat, careful not to kick anything. The last thing he needed after my nudging that piece of information from him was a nice footprint on his fine leather seats. But like everything else, he didn't seem to mind. He was effortlessly calm, collected, and his eyes, even in their dark and wavering softness that I knew could quickly turn into something deliciously wicked, were kind. Nothing but kindness radiated from his warm, perfectly serpentine smile.

“You really are something else.”

I grinned, and we met halfway, sharing a quick kiss. Too quick, almost. We eventually drove up the short street to my apartment building, and he kept the car running as he stepped out and opened my door for me. Standing outside the nearly crumbling complex, he looked as uneasy as he had when he'd first spotted my vehicle.

“This is where you live,” he said, still looking at the building. I nodded.

“Yep. This is home.”

He looked down, rubbing his hands together before touching my clothed shoulders, like he was afraid of making me cold. Not that it would have mattered in the still snow-dusted streets.

“I like you, Gemma Davies,” he professed. “I like you lots.”

“And I like you, Professor Lawson,” I replied. “I like you lots, too.”

Ben pulled me into another embrace, wrapping his arms around me like he didn't want to let go. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't.

“Do
not
call me professor,” he murmured softly. “Do you want to drive me insane?”

“Maybe,” I smirked, my face hidden in the wool of his jacket. Which, thinking on it, was likely also very expensive. We stayed in the embrace for as long as we could, until he forced himself to let go. Looking at him, at the way his lips fell into a small pout, I could tell he didn't want to leave.

“Goodbye for now, Gemma,” he said, grabbing my bag (with the book tucked away inside) and handing it to me. “Until Wednesday.”

“Not soon enough,” I said, and that at least made him smile.

“One last question,” he grinned, and I stood still, simply waiting. “Your car. Back at the mall. Do you need it terribly?”

Damn.
In the span of time we'd spent together, I'd managed to forget about my stupid car and the horrid flat tire. I groaned, wishing he hadn't asked anything at all.

“I'll have to get it towed and have the tire taken care of tomorrow,” I told him. “Why?”

He shook his head, and in the last expected of gestures, tossed me the keys to his Audi.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of it. You can borrow mine until yours is patched up. Besides, I live close enough to walk. And
yes
, I have another car at home. I would not leave myself stranded.”

“I can't imagine someone as important as yourself would benefit from not being able to drive.”

“Well, there's always car service.”

If he wasn't so sweet, I'd think the car service remark would have left me feeling as if just for that second, he was a bit snobby. Unintentionally snobby, yet snobby nonetheless.

“And my car isn't junked,” I snapped. “It's just loved, is all.”

“Well now,” he raised his eyebrows at my sudden sharpness. “Yours is one lucky car, then.”

I waved him farewell, watching as he turned around the corner before I slid the book out from my bag. When I was certain that he was gone, I did the one thing I hadn't thought to do. I flipped a few pages from the beginning until I reached the dedication page, my finger skimming over the three words:

For my mother.

TWELVE

Since I was home early, I decided to do some light cleaning. I picked up around the living room, took out all the garbage, and cleaned up each and every soda can that was littered around Brandon's room. I even took the dry mop to the faux-hardwood floors (that sounded a lot nicer than they actually were) and dusted the single bookshelf that rested against the supposed-to-be dining room wall. The shelf held mostly my array of sketchbooks, CDs, DVDs, and Brandon's magazines. But aside from that one piece of office furniture, the little cutout of a room was useless. There wasn't even a table.

After, I took a shower, dried my hair, straightened it, and then waited around for Brandon to come home while watching a running marathon of Boy Meets World (which was an all-time favorite) and thinking about the sad fact that yes, Ben's mother really had passed away.

It made me feel admittedly grateful for lot of things. That my mom was still around, even though my family dynamics were far from perfect. At least I had them around to stress over from time to time. I suppose we can take those emotions for granted when the people evoking them are still alive and breathing.

I turned up the volume, all snuggled up in my favorite sweatshirt, my favorite jeans that hugged perfectly against the curves of my legs pulled up against my chest. As Eric was standing in the yard screaming for Mr. Pheeney, Brandon opened the door and echoed:

“You would NOT BELIEVE what I got to bring home from the record store.”

Glancing away from the television set, I looked at Brandon as he tossed his wallet on the counter. In his arms, or under them rather, was a life-sized cutout of Justin Bieber. Old-school Justin Bieber, I should mention. Purple hoodie, side-swept bangs and all.

“That's going in your room, right? I really don't want the Biebs lurking over my shoulder while I'm trying to vegetate and watch TV.”

“Obviously,” he remarked, like the answer was indeed obvious. “You should have seen the taxi driver's face. He was all like:
oh, you like his music
? Totally all pissy and everything. You know, the typical mainstream-hating hater douchebag. So I looked at him, straight in the eye, and asked him if he liked breathing.”

“I doubt he cared,” I mumbled. “Really, though? Nic Cage isn't enough?”

He walked over and set it down in the dining area, next to the book shelf. I stifled a loud sigh, deciding that it was better to just let him do what he wanted than to pitch a fit. Particularly if he'd likely be contributing to a larger chunk of the bills this month. I'd let him have Bieber.

“You cleaned?” he asked, running his finger over the top of the shelf. “The place looks nice. Oh, and did you notice the freaking Audi outside of our building?”

“Yeah,” I grinned. “It's mine.”

“Bullshit.”

“You think I'm lying?” I walked over to the counter, grabbed Ben's keys, and dangled them in front of Brandon's face. He practically fainted.

“Wait, wait, wait a second...” he inhaled sharply. “You're driving Benjamin Cullen's car?”

“The Audi. Yes. Well, technically it's just on loan until the car is patched up. Flat tire.”

I grimaced, remembering it like a needle-prick in the side.

“Because a flat tire is exactly what we need right now,” he groaned .So you hung out with him today, I'm going to assume.”

“Well, he sort of showed up out of the blue while I was working. Then they cut my hours. Now that I think about it, the whole affair was rather serendipitous.”

Brandon swept his hair back, sighing heavily.

“Oy,” he said. “Well, we'll figure something out.”

“We always do,” I said, smiling. “And you know what else?”

“What?” he asked, smirking coyly.

“You'll never believe where Ben lives,” I said. “Take one guess.”

He shook his head, and I grabbed him by the shoulders as he so often did to me. Yanking him close, I stood on my toes and quietly hissed into his ear:

“McMansion.”

“You. Are. Kidding.” I let go, and Brandon nearly fell over. “You're screwing around with Professor McMansion?”

“I'd hardly call it screwing around,” I replied smugly. “We're friends. Good friends.”

“
Really
good friends,” he smirked. “I'm going to get changed. If there's a knock on the door, answer it for me.”

“Wait, Sacha aside...how many people did you invite over?”

“Just a handful,” he replied. “Don't worry about it, Gems. I know how you are about big crowds and being introverted and everything.”

He disappeared into his room, I fell back on the couch, and about ten minutes later came a knock on the door. Jumping up, I ran over and scrambled to unlock it, finding Sacha standing with a paper bag that smelled of MSG and greasy goodness.

“I'd say I brought enough for you and me, but I don't really think there's enough for everyone...” he started, turning around. I looked at the several people that stood behind him, and as Brandon emerged from his bedroom he howled, quoting the words of my most beloved book that I'd only brought up just an hour before:

“Let the wild rumpus start!”

Sacha and I looked at each other, both slowly swallowing.

So it begins.

It really wasn't many people. Just six of us, sitting in a circle while Brandon messed around with his iPod and played DJ. Two of the girls had brought a handle of rum and vodka; another had snuck a bottle of Hypnotiq. Sacha and I sat next to each other, picking at our plates of fried rice and generously offering whatever we had to the other visitors. Everyone sat around, picking at egg rolls and other treats while a few secretly unhashed a bit of pot. I watched one of the girls roll a joint, light it, and then it went around the circle like a childrens' game. I declined. Sacha, too.

“No thanks,” I said, taking a sip of my rum and Coke. The rum was spiced, and sweet enough that I actually enjoyed it. I was on my second at that point, and the music was starting to make me feel warm and comfortable, which was nice. Brandon had started dancing with his cutout of Nic Cage, and a few of the girls were dancing around him, moving to the music while the others laughed.

“Drinking games?” One of them asked. “Come on, let's do something instead of just lazing around and getting buzzed.”

“What are we, teenagers?” Another cracked a grin. “I'm
not
playing beer pong, if that's what you're alluding to.”

Brandon was already tossing around his DVDs, finally yanking out his old copy of the first
Harry Potter installment. Even Sacha looked deliriously overjoyed.

“Yes!” I chimed in, excited to re-live that beautiful moment of childhood nostalgia. We didn't even make it half-way through the masterpiece before the lot of us were already feeling the effects from far too many shots. Sacha, who was a total light-weight to begin with, was leaning against me and mumbling that shouldn't have played.

“Yeah,” I felt the same, leaning back as his head still rested on my shoulder. “I'm feeling you on that one.”

Brandon was laughing hilariously at Hagrid, and the two girls (who hell, I didn't even
know
their names or how Brandon knew them) were already making out. A total show-case, I knew, and nothing else. Anthony had shown up again, and was threatening to tear the two of them apart. Jokingly, of course. He walked over the closet, throwing his coat on the floor before asking aloud if any of us had ever played Seven Minutes in Heaven.

“Yeah,” Brandon swayed back and forth, moving to the sounds of some strange house beat. “When I was like, fifteen.”

“We should play!” he exclaimed. “There's enough of us. And it's even. Three guys, three girls. It's perfect.”

“No,” I said. “I'm definitely not playing some closet makeout game.”

“Oh, come on, Gems.” Brandon fell at my feet, clasping my hands like a ridiculous fool. “Come on, I'll make it easy on you. We'll pair you with the most obvious choice. Which, ahem, I think we all know who
that
is.”

“You?” I sneered.

Every one of them looked at Sacha. And before I knew it, the both of us were in that stupid, musty-smelling closet, listening to Brandon as he yelled through the door: “Seven minutes! Oh, you filthy animals.”

I could feel Sacha peering at me from the blackness. Total and complete dark. I wouldn't even know where he stood if it wasn't for the heat between our bodies.

“Brandon is a real ass sometimes,” he mumbled. “Even though I know he doesn't mean it. It's just fun.”

“Just fun,” I repeated, wondering how many seconds had already passed. Then, silently, Sacha's hand reached out and skimmed down the side of my neck. “I love how we can go from having such depth to being so stupidly dumb all within a matter of days. Is that really what the twenties are all about?”

“Maybe,” he answered quietly, his hand still resting on my skin. “Gems, can I ask you something?”

I nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see. Outside, I heard the sound of murmurs. They were wondering, no doubt, what it is that we were doing. I wondered if anyone had their ears pressed against the door.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Of course.”

He stepped forward, and I could feel the front of his body brushing against mine. I felt dizzy, the rum and fumes from the joint I never even smoked now running through my veins like slow moving water, the blood slowly freezing. I was so cold and yet so hot at the same time, the place Sacha touched feeling almost like an acidic burn.

“Could I kiss you?” he asked. “You don't have to kiss me back. It's just, it's all I've been thinking about for the longest time. But you were with Toby, and I never had the chance...it doesn't have to mean anything after tonight.”

My throat was closing up. What could I say to him? Here he was, Sacha, the kind and warm
and safe and welcoming friend that I'd known for so long now standing in front of me. Asking, of all the things he could ask, for a kiss.

I pressed my lips together, my hands at my sides.

“Yes,” I finally said. I could practically see Sacha light up like a million fireworks. His kind eyes nervous and delighted and anxious all at once, even with the alcohol slowing his hands and making him laugh so gently. He pulled me forward; my entire length pressed against his, and kissed me with a playground sort of gentleness. I stayed there, our lips merged together in that single kiss until it reached the point where neither of us could breathe. The closeness in the room was unbearable.

When he drew away, his hand rested softly on my cheek. And while I knew there was still so much he wanted to say, he couldn't. Not because of the lack of words, or because either of us were speechless – we weren't. It was Brandon, bursting through the door and with the biggest shit-eaten grin on his face that left us unable.

“You two look like you've got a secret or two,” he said, arms crossed. I shoved him playfully, Sacha following like a lost puppy behind. We sat on the couch, attempting our best at some kind of normal
something
as Ben Folds sang about Jesusland and the rest of the party-goers took their turns in the closet. And while I'm not too sure about what exactly went down, there was one couple that definitely extended beyond their allotted seven minutes.

“The sneaky bastards,” Brandon murmured, a knowing smile on his lips. “I should totally bust in on them. But I won't.”

The remaining bunch of us sat around, finishing Harry Potter and the rest of the Chinese food. I wasn't hungry at that point, the pit in my stomach growing harder from the booze and the grease and something else. Guilt, maybe. Just a little.

Sacha's fingers tickled my ear, and I smiled at him. He smiled at me, sticking his tongue out just slightly – and there he was, normal Sacha. Not the boy who had kissed me in the closet. Just my friend.

I rested my head on his shoulder, watching as Harry and Draco were getting into a pissing match. Lady Gaga was singing about paparazzi. The last of the couples emerged from the closet, stumbling and laughing and still holding each other.

And me.

I was thinking about Ben.

That night, everyone left except Sacha, who crashed on the couch. The next morning, Brandon slept in the Audi on the ride to school, opening his mouth only to moan that he needed coffee or else he would undoubtedly die. Apparently, no vital organs can function without caffeine.

Sacha and I were silent as we drifted through the parking lot, ordered our drinks, and then returned to the car. When inside, he kept his eyes on his decaf latte.

“Whose car is this?” he eventually asked. After a few moments, Brandon gave a quick answer. Thank God.

“It's my dad's.”

“What?” Sacha turned around, staring at Brandon who was sitting crisscross in the back seat, looking totally blank. “Your dad doesn't drive an Audi.”

“Obviously,” he muttered. “Alright. So I lied. Sue me, Kellin Quinn.”

Sacha blinked, looking over at me as if I had the answer. Which, obviously, I did. But I didn't want to give it to him.