Ugly Love Part 8

Most of me wants to kiss her again, especially now that the door is open and she's standing right in front of me.

"Want to come in for a little while?" she asks. "She won't be back for a few hours, at least."

I nod. I wonder if she loves my nod as much as I love hers.

She shuts the door behind me, and I look around. Their apartment is small. I've never lived in a place this small. I think I like it. The smaller the house, the more a family is forced to love one another. They have no extra s.p.a.ce not to. It makes me wish my dad and I would get a smaller place. A place where we'd be forced to interact. A place where we'd stop having to pretend that my mother didn't leave way too much s.p.a.ce in our house after she died.

Rachel walks to the kitchen. She asks me if I want something to drink.

I follow her and ask her what she has. She tells me she has pretty much everything except milk, tea, soda, coffee, juice, and alcohol. "I hope you like water," she says. She laughs at herself.

I laugh with her. "Water is perfect. Would have been my first choice."

She gets us each a gla.s.s of water. We lean against opposite counters.

We stare at each other.

I shouldn't have kissed her last night.

"I shouldn't have kissed you, Rachel."

"I shouldn't have let you," she tells me.

We stare at each other some more. I'm wondering if she would let me kiss her again. I'm wondering if I should leave.

"It'll be easy to stop this," I say.

I'm lying.

"No, it won't," she says.

She's telling the truth.

"You think they'll get married?"

She nods. For some reason, I don't love this nod as much. I don't love the question it's answering.

"Miles?"

She looks down at her feet. She says my name like it's a gun and she's firing a warning shot and I'm supposed to run.

I sprint. "What?"

"We only rented the apartment for a month. I overheard her on the phone with him yesterday." She looks back up at me.

"We're moving in with you in two weeks."

I trip over the hurdle.

She's moving in with me.

She'll be living in my house.

Her mother is going to fill all my mother's empty s.p.a.ces.

I close my eyes. I still see Rachel.

I open my eyes. I stare at Rachel.

I turn around and grip the counter. I let my head fall between my shoulders. I don't know what to do. I don't want to like her.

I don't want to fall in love with you, Rachel.

I'm not stupid. I know how l.u.s.t works.

l.u.s.t wants what l.u.s.t can't have.

l.u.s.t wants me to have Rachel.

Reasoning wants Rachel to go away.

I take Reasoning's side, and I turn to face Rachel again. "This won't go anywhere," I tell her. "Thisthing with us. It won't end well."

"I know," she whispers.

"How do we stop it?" I ask her.

She looks at me, hoping I'll answer my own question.

I can't.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

LOUD, DEAFENING SILENCE.

I want to cover my ears with my hands.

I want to cover my heart with armor.

I don't even know you, Rachel.

"I should leave," I say.

She tells me okay.

"I can't," I whisper.

She tells me okay.

We stare at each other.

Maybe if I stare at her enough, I'll get tired of staring at her.

I want to taste her again.

Maybe if I taste her enough, I'll get tired of tasting her.

She doesn't wait for me to reach her. She meets me halfway.

I grab her face and she grabs my arms, and our guilt collides when our mouths collide. We lie to ourselves about the truth.

We tell ourselves we've got this . . . when we don't have it at all.

My skin feels better with her touching it. My hair feels better with her hands in it. My mouth feels better with her tongue inside of it.

I wish we could breathe like this.

Live like this.

Life would feel better with her like this.

Her back is against the refrigerator now. My hands are beside her head. I pull away and look at her.

"I want to ask you a million questions," I say to her.

She smiles. "I guess you'd better get started."

"Where are you going to college?"

"Michigan," she says. "What about you?"

"Staying here to get my bachelor's, and then my best friend, Ian, and I are going to flight school. I want to be a pilot. What do you want to be?"

"Happy," she says with a smile.

That's the perfect answer.

"When's your birthday?" I ask her.

"January third," she says. "I'll be eighteen. When's yours?"

"Tomorrow," I tell her. "I'll be eighteen."

She doesn't believe that my birthday is tomorrow. I show her my ID. She tells me happy early birthday. She kisses me again.

"What happens if they get married?" I ask her.

"They'll never approve of us being together, even if they don't get married."

She's right. It would be hard to explain to their friends. Hard to explain to the rest of the family.

"So what's the point of continuing this if we know it won't end well?" I ask her.

"Because we don't know how to stop."

She's right.

"You're going to Michigan in seven months, and I'll be here in San Francisco. Maybe that's our answer."

She nods. "Seven months?"

I nod. I touch her lips with my finger, because her lips are the kind of lips that need appreciating, even when they aren't being kissed. "We do this for seven months. We don't tell anyone. Then . . ." I stop talking, because I don't know how to say the words We stop.

"Then we stop," she whispers.

"Then we stop," I agree.

She nods, and I can actually hear our countdown begin.

I kiss her, and it feels even better now that we have a plan.

"We've got this, Rachel."

She smiles in agreement. "We've got this, Miles."

I give her mouth the appreciation it deserves.

I'm gonna love you for seven months, Rachel.

chapter nine.

TATE.

"Nurse!" Corbin yells. He walks into the kitchen, and Miles is following behind him. Corbin steps aside and points toward Miles. His hand is covered in blood. It's dripping. Miles is looking at me like I'm supposed to know what to do. This isn't an ER. This is my mom's kitchen.

"A little help here?" Miles says, gripping his wrist tightly. His blood is dripping all over the floor.

"Mom!" I yell. "Where's your first-aid kit?" I'm opening cabinets, trying to find it.