Page 10

That’s my book.
I mean, I could’ve survived the sex.
Before her, it was little more than a biological function. Like eating or breathing. Something I had to do keep myself level. Feel normal.
Last night was something else entirely. Making her come is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Even now, I can still feel her pussy, slick and tight, around my cock. Her wrists trapped between my fingers. Her nipples, hot and swollen on my tongue. The desperate pump of her hips against mine, her need for release making her shameless.
For me.
Watching her come undone is addictive. Knowing it’s me. That I’m the one. Taking her. Having her.
That I’m the only one who has.
Yeah, that’s something else entirely. Woke up a part of me I forgot existed.
The part of me that needs her. Can’t survive without her. Would do anything to keep her.
Trust me, I understand just how messed up this whole thing is. But as messed up as it is, I could’ve survived it. It would’ve been hard, and I probably would’ve died never having fucked another living thing ever again, but I would’ve lived.
But I didn’t just fuck her.
I asked her to kiss me.
Because I’m a self-destructive asshole who obviously gets off on hurting himself.
I know that sounds weird.
That kissing her is more damaging than fucking her but nothing about me makes much sense, and I stopped trying to figure myself out a long time ago.
The first girl I ever kissed was named Penny Wilson. Ryan and I snuck into her basement during a slumber party. We were playing Spin the Bottle. I didn’t want to kiss her, but I did because I was thirteen and I was supposed to want to. That’s what a normal, heterosexual guy my age would do. If a pretty girl was willing to kiss him, he’d kiss her. He’d want to.
So I did.
And I felt absolutely nothing.
I’d known for a while that there was something wrong with me. That I don’t feel things the way I should. That I’m broken.
Kissing Penny Wilson just proved it.
But I kept doing it. Made myself do it because that’s what was normal and if I couldn’t be normal, then I sure as fuck was going to act like I was.
Before I knew it, I was seventeen and had plowed my way through more girls than I want to remember. I earned a reputation for being a slut when all I was trying to do was feel normal. Feel something.
Something real.
Looking at Henley over the top of her broken down backpack, watching her rip her calculus notes from her notebook to give to me, was the first time I ever felt for someone who didn’t have my blood pumping through their veins.
I liked her.
Cared about what happened to her.
Wanted to make her happy.
Take care of her, even if she didn’t want me to.
Henley was the first girl I ever wanted to kiss.
Walking her home at night, I’d think about it. What it would be like to kiss her under the street light outside her building.