Hunter Hill University: Reaching Rose Part 30

"Sure." His hand goes to the small of my back to lead me out of the room, even though it's my house.

We sit close to each other on the loveseat in the family room. Ben on my right. It's as if he already knows that's how I like it. While I flick through the On-Demand movies on the television, Ben's hand finds its way to my thigh again. His fingers make little circular motions and I end up not even reading the t.i.tles of the movies as I'm flicking.

"Holly called me this morning," he says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"She asked me to go to some college party Friday night."

Figures she'd call him. "Oh yeah?"

"At Griffin's."

"Hmmm." I do not want to encourage this conversation.

"She knows I don't do parties."

My eyes are still on the television. I don't want him to see how nervous I'm getting.

"I believe she thinks if I go, she has a better chance of getting you to go."

"Good. So you don't have to worry about going then. 'Cause I'm not."

"You don't do parties either?"

After a second's pause, "No."

"So can I just ask you something, then?"

I put down the remote and s.h.i.+ft my eyes toward him, not looking completely at him.

"If it were last semester, would you be going?"

I pick up the remote and continue my movie search.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

I don't respond. He already knows the answer.

"It's fine," he says. "We don't have to talk about it. But one of these days, I'd like to find out more about you."

"I'm not that interesting," I say to the TV.

His fingers continue doing their thing on my good thigh. "I beg to differ. I find you very interesting. That's why I have this overwhelming desire to know more."

I barely shake my head. "How 'bout this?" I ask, pointing the remote at the screen. Horrible Bosses is highlighted in yellow.

"Sure. That's fine."

I look at him. "You saw this already?"

He uses his hand on my thigh to turn me toward him.

"I'm not here for the movie, Rose. I'm here to be with you."

I tuck my lips in at his admission.

"We can watch whatever you want or we can stare at a blank screen. I'm just so happy to be sitting here in the same room, on the same couch, in the same s.p.a.ce as you. Breathing in your scent. Being able to touch you. This is all I want. You're happy with Horrible Bosses then I'm happy with Horrible Bosses."

His words make me want to cry. In fact, I'm finding it hard not to. It's crazy. Why do I want to cry so badly?

He takes his hand from my thigh, leaving a cold, surprisingly absent feeling on my leg. But then he wraps his arm around my shoulder and tugs me closer. I close my eyes at the closeness and then his lips are pressed to the top of my head.

We sit there like that for I'm not sure how long. My eyes remain closed, his lips keep their contact. Horrible Bosses stays highlighted on the television. My eyes are still closed when I feel his touch on my face. When I open them, it's his thumb tracing my scar, up and down, up and down.

"You really are beautiful, you know?"

I shake my head.

"You are," he insists.

Again, I shake my head, but he stops me by spreading his fingers and cupping my face in his hand. Without thinking about it, I lean into it, taking a deep breath to appreciate the security of this moment. Even if it is only fleeting. My breathing picks up when his eyes pierce mine, and in the next second, he's leaning in closer. My eyes flutter when his lips touch mine. They're soft. Warm. And taste like bacon.

For several minutes, our lips are locked and our tongues are engaged. And my head and my heart are at conflict with one another.

This is nice. It feels right. But if we continue, where will it lead? Maybe not tonight. Maybe not next week. But if we take our friends.h.i.+p further, it's going to lead to s.e.x. In clothes, we can pretend I look normal. Undressed, even in the dark, he's sure to see my mutilations.

But when he breaks our kiss, his hands on either side of my jaw, he gazes into my eyes again and all my worries fade into the background. His thumb grazes my scar again when he says, "I'm sorry you were hurt so badly."

I was not expecting that. I take a swallow, then hold my breath while he touches my scar with his lips. They first kiss the top of my scar where it begins at my temple. His lips then follow the scar down my cheek, pressing soft, short pecks as he travels lower until he reaches the part of my scar just below my neck. His lips feel so good on my mangled skin that I am once again conflicted. So badly I want to lean back and give him access to the rest of it.

But I can't.

I'm afraid he'll take one look at the whole thing and decide he can't handle the ugliness. The scar only gets worse as it travels down my body. My lower torso and what's left of my leg look like someone took a machete to it. Then there's the part where my leg went missing. If I didn't have scar tissue, I wouldn't have any skin covering the wound at all. I still can't look at myself in a full-length mirror. How could I expect the guy I like to look at me and not get grossed out?

When he kisses the last spot above my collarbone, he looks up at me and takes my cheek in his hand again. "I wish I could take your pain away."

My eyes sting from holding back tears that I'm not sure are trying to escape because of sadness or happiness. Ben's acknowledgement of my accident scares me. I don't want to talk about it. Or remember it.

But at the same time, it feels good that he's concerned. Then again, that's going to be bad for me. It means I have to talk about it. My mouth may be speaking words again, but it's not like I'm okay with talking about what happened. It just makes me depressed all over again. I try to forget. Which is ironic, because it's all I think about. My ugly leg. My Skellington face. My thwarted dreams.

But Ben's thumb running along my cheek distracts me again. "If you let me in, I might be able to do that."

"You trying to play counselor?" I joke, my quickening breaths making my words sound shaky.

"I'm trying to be your friend."

I smile.

"More than that if you'll let me."

"Thank you." How do I respond to that? Okay, I'll let you? But I keep the smile on my face to let him know I'm contemplating that idea.

He kisses me again on the lips and then says, "Okay. Horrible Bosses."

I let out the most lame t.i.tter, because really, I'd much rather him be kissing me. But I don't let on. I can't.

We play the movie, but I hardly pay any attention. My mind and my heart are racing with each other to see which can move faster. The whole time, though, Ben's hand is back on my thigh and I'm leaning on him. It's nice. And it's over way too quickly. When he tells me he has to go, that his laundry's not going to jump into the machine by itself, I'm disappointed. But it's not like I didn't know he had laundry to do.

"Mind if I call you every day?" he asks at his car when I walk him out.

"No," I say, freakishly too coyly.

"Good. And then we can make plans for next weekend?"

"Sure. I'd like that."

As he promised, he stays true to his word and calls me every day. He texts too. But he says he wants to call so he can hear my voice each day. I want to hear his as well, but I don't tell him so.

The following Friday night, we finally go to the drive-in movies. It turns out they don't close the theater until after Christmas. People just stay in their cars to watch instead of sitting on lawn chairs outside of them.

It's a double feature. Dumb and Dumber To and Horrible Bosses 2. Silly movies. My suggestion. I stay away from anything serious that may make me cry. At Ben's suggestion, we take my father's old truck. I tell him that means we'd have to park in the back, but he says he prefers that to sitting in the front and having a gears.h.i.+ft between us for four hours. When he puts it that way, I can't help but agree. He insists on driving.

For four hours, that pa.s.s by way too quickly, I sit right up against Ben, my hand on his thigh, his arm wrapped snug behind my shoulder, my head leaning on his. I laugh when I hear Ben laugh, but I'm barely paying attention to what's on the screen. Instead, I'm taking slow, deep breaths, concentrating on Ben's fresh, clean scent and the fact that I'm so comfortable in his arms. So much so that I stopped being conscious of being on his right side a few minutes after he had his arm around me. In between movies, we barely talked. We kissed instead. Again, Ben brushes kisses along the length of my scar that isn't hidden beneath my clothes. And again, I feel less and less self-conscious about it.

At the end of the second movie, rather than tear out of the parking s.p.a.ce like every other car in a hurry to sit in line to exit the lot, we make out. This time, he doesn't kiss my scar at all. He keeps his lips on mine and his tongue in my mouth. He tastes like b.u.t.tered popcorn, but I'm sure I taste the same.

We can feel the empty lot around us before we hear the rapping on the window. "Sir, you need to leave," the attendant says when Ben cranks down the window, "We're locking up."

"Sorry about that, we didn't realize."

"Obviously," he answers, but doesn't seem p.i.s.sed.

"I had a nice time tonight," I say at my front door.

"Me too. And thank you for introducing me to drive-in movies."

I laugh. "Glad to oblige."

We kiss goodnight, long and French, and I hate to say goodbye. But Ben has practice in the morning, and kissing outside on the porch is safe.

When he finally lets me out of his arms, it's not just the brisk December night that makes me cold. It's the lack of his arms around me. He waits until I've shut the door before he gets back in the car, and from the window, it's actually painful to let him drive away. I did not want to feel this way with Ben. Soon he's going to be back in school and his life is going to get busy. He won't have time for me anymore. It'll be about baseball and homework. And I wonder, if like his high school girlfriend, I won't be able to handle it. As it is, I'm still so insecure, and I have so much free time that my mind will always be wondering where he is.

Now that I've gotten to know Ben a little better, I'm pretty sure I can trust him, but it doesn't change much. He'll still have a life that can't possibly include me.

Now that I've gone from excited to be out with Ben, to sad that he left, to uptight about where our relations.h.i.+p is going, I toss and turn all night. Finally, at 4:33 in the morning, I slip on my dancing leg and head back down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, making sure to be really quiet. The last thing I want to do is wake anyone up.

My cla.s.sical CD is already cued in the player. I don't bother trying out another one. There's no point. But I stand at the barre and do my warm-up and stretching bit, and then I practice balancing on my left leg. Progress is slow. I can stand without a problem now, but standing is not what I'm aiming to do. It's not even close to what I'm aiming to do.

26.

BEN.

As much as I've been looking forward to this trip, I'm going to miss Rose like crazy. I've come to enjoy our weekends together. I count on them. Every day, I'm anxious for the next day to come because it's one day closer to Friday. Talking on the phone with her each night and texting her throughout the day is nice, but it's no replacement for holding her in my arms and kissing her. There's nothing like it in the world. She's soft. She's sweet. And I'm not just talking about her personality. Her skin is softer than the lambskin leather jacket my Nona sent me from Italy, and she tastes as sweet as maple sugar - an actual staple in her family's kitchen.

Being away from Rose for the next three weeks is going to be harder than missing this last baseball season. And before Rose, there was nothing I'd ever miss more than I'd missed baseball. I'm almost tempted to have the doctor tell my coach I'm still not ready to return to the game.

But that would go against everything I've worked for. This morning is the last time I'll see Rose before I head home to Cherry Hill this afternoon. I finally made the appointment for the CAT Scan and the only time available is tomorrow morning at 8am. So after Sunday breakfast with the Duncans, I'll be taking off for home and preparing for Florida training.

"I'm going to miss you, Rose," I tell her after breakfast while we take a walk around the farm. Because of the cold, Rose is wearing mittens, so I don't have the benefit of touching her skin while I hold her hand. And I love touching her skin.

When we go into the barn to visit Cloud, I unzip my jacket and then unzip hers. My hands naturally go to her waist where I pull her against me and then wrap the two of us inside my coat. It's as close as we're going to get out here, and I'll take what I can get. "I really am going to miss you," I repeat.

"I'm gonna miss you too."

I rest my chin on her head and sigh. "I'm tempted to tell Coach my doctor won't let me go."

"What?" She pulls her head back to look at me. "Why?"

"Because the next three weeks are going to suck." I can't believe I'm telling her this.

"Ben. You were looking forward to this trip. Why's it gonna suck?" she asks, clueless.

"'Cause you won't be there."

She sighs and blushes at the same time. "Ben." That's all she says, but she looks sad too.

So I kiss her.

And I kiss her.

And I kiss her.

I could kiss her forever.