Saturday
9:48 PM
William's house
I feel thankful for the never-ending rain that's poured down on us all day, for several reasons. But mostly because I got to hear William complain and complain about his hair frizzing up, and that's just plain cute. He's still pouting about it after his second performance of the play, as I walk him to his doorstep. As we arrive there, I look at him, and I can't help but chuckle a little at his mess of hair. "You're cute, Beckett," I say.
William smiles. He seems to forget about his hair for a moment and says, "Come in."
I take a quick glance at his front door, as if it would give me an answer as to whether it was okay or not. But I made up my mind way back when we got out of my 20-year-old car. "I can't. It's getting late, I'm sure your parents don't want-"
"Do you see any cars in the driveway?"
And I can tell by the tone of his voice that this is a sensitive subject to him, and I've pulled out a couple bones from one of the bigger skeletons in William's closet. I look over at the driveway then back to him. "No."
William quickly loosens up and says lightly, "So don't ever worry about my parents. They're used to someone always being here with me anyway, when they are home."
I'm about to ask "Ryan?" but I quickly realize it's unnecessary, because he knows it, and I know it, so I'm better off not mentioning his name at all. We won't even have to get on the subject of little Ryan.
William pulls a key from his tight jeans pocket and unlocks the door to his house, and I nervously follow him in, shutting out the smell of the rain.
I instantly feel comfortable in William's house, but that might just be because we're alone. When it's just us, I can do or say anything I want. I can kiss him, I can touch him, I can talk to him about things I haven't even told my best friends. He brings everything out of me - the good, and probably sometime soon, the bad.
I stand in William's living room, observing the place. It's messy, but it's cozy. And there's picture frames scattered all over the place. But all of them are of who I'm guessing is little William and maybe his sister. The cute, scrapbook-worthy kind of pictures - Spaghettios all over the face, wrestling with the dog, etcetera. But that's all there are. I can't see one picture of the William that I know - tall, skinny, and compared to these framed ones, grown-up.
I turn to look at William, who's watching me look at a specific picture framed on the coffee table. It's of William, probably about two or three years old, sitting on a swing, and who I've guessed as his older sister is kissing him on the cheek from her own swing. I smile at William and ask if that really is his sister.
"Yep," he confirms. "That's Amy."
"I didn't know you had any siblings."
"Well," William says with a regretful twist of his lips, "I usually don't go around talking about how my sister dropped out of college and became an alcoholic." I must have made some kind of shocked and apologetic expression because William says with a smile, "No, it's not that bad. It's just... she was better than that, you know?"
I nod. I do know.
It's quiet for a moment, while I take a last glance at the picture in the silver frame. "Are you tired?" William asks.
"A little."
And he doesn't have to say anymore. He just looks at me and smirks, then he turns around, heading down the hallway. I follow him again, and we end up in his bedroom. William's back is toward the door as he takes off his shirt. I just stare at him in amazement for a second... but that doesn't last long.
The cotton sheets on William's bed are a tangled mess between our two bodies as we roll around, and the window beside the bed is fogged by our heat. I'm both nervous and excited and fierce and then gentle all at the same time. Probably because William is new to me. I don't know what he likes. But that doesn't take long to figure out either. He is clearly fascinated by my hair and my piercings. Me, I'm just still stunned to be here, in awe of every inch of William Beckett.
He rolls over me and holds me beneath him like a well-rehearsed swing dance, and he begins to play with my belt buckle. My breathing instantly becomes uneven and I feel cold chills as William's graceful hands brush over that general area of my body. And I probably would have opened my mouth to say something within the next few seconds, if it hadn't been for a hard, constant knocking at the front door.
My eyes dart to look in William's. He hangs his head, his somewhat sweaty brown hair falling in his face. He's definitely annoyed and probably debating if he should actually go answer the door. "Stay here," he whispers and quickly kisses my lips before getting up off of me and his bed and leaving the room.
So I lay there in William's bed on my back, half-naked. Seconds later I hear the door open and some footsteps enter. Whoever it is doesn't sound happy, but it all makes sense when William's muffled voice says, "Ryan, Ryan, what happened?"
Ryan's sobs increase melodramatically after William's voice sounds; he can't seem to answer. More likely than not, I don't feel bad for the kid, but sometimes I do. And right now I can't decide what to think. I've put up with him long enough; I've played the nice acquaintance role. Now I have to choose to be his friend, or tell William that he has to let the kid off his leash, just a little bit.
I roll onto my side, wrapping myself in William's sheets. I'm typically not the jealous person, but I've waited too long to be in this very place, to feel my heart beat at this very pace.
his smile's your rope, so wrap it tight around your throat -->
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