Chapter Eleven

We sat around the kitchen table, with Chris at the head and me choosing to occupy a farther seat from where I could sulk and consult my racing thoughts.

The proposed game helped me conceal my choice of distance in the guise of fairness: I just didn't want Chris, who dealt us our cards, to see my hand.

Night crept up on us, growing darker while we were distracted, until the only light to illuminate the entire house was the one hanging lazily above our heads – all else was shadowy, covered by the thick sheet of darkness, but none of us seemed to mind.

Of course distraction was a given – but even when I was caught in the moment, in the effort of trying to win, I still willed myself to remember my offense and sulk over it. It felt that, if I didn't mind, I'd be simply accepting it, agreeing with the childish role he clad me in and getting farther and farther from… whatever it was he hinted at, whatever it was I hoped.

In any case, I'd occasionally forget, absorbed by the task at hand, by his mellow voice narrating the rules, dictating the mood of the night.

Absorbed or not though, there was not enough practice to render any lesson learned: All evening Chris tried to teach me how to play, and all evening I had my ass handed to me in every game I purposed to learn.

Chris would occasionally chide, playfully or otherwise, accusing me of not paying enough attention, or not trying hard enough. Eventually, he truly lost his patience and called me to him at the occasion of my taking too long to make a move.

"Come here" he beckoned imperatively with his hand, like a teacher did once when he caught me cheating on a test. "Come on!" he rushed, restating the seriousness of his command when I hesitated. "Let me see that hand!"

"That's cheating!" I accused.

"I'll show you cheating… now come here!"

And unwilling to wait on my lag, Chris leaned forward on the table and stretched his arm, reaching for me. I shrieked, caught up in that hysterical touch-and-go mood, and well tried to dodge his approaching hand, but it captured my flailing arm and pulled me to him as if I was some seriously light weight – and, indeed, I must have been, for though I did my best to resist the imposition, I laughed as if I was being tickled to death, and that was enough to rob me of strength.

Left to stand by his side, I turned to shield my cards from his glare. Chris ignored the childish tease, placed his hand on my lower back and pulled me closer, adjusting me in his view. I went from playful to shy, and didn't resist any more as he pulled my hand and placed it between us for his perusal. The proximity made me sweat… as did his hand so low, covering my back. As I was inevitably pulled closer at intervals, I could feel the heat of his leg transferring to mine, and the whole made me react like the innocent kid he had teased me for being: I grew nervous. The awareness served as an additional sting to my pride.

"Uh-uh!" He rebuked decisively, eyes focused on the cards, when I tried to move an inch away – only slightly so, just to escape those childish, exaggerated reactions.

His fingers wrapped lightly around my waist as I tried. A mere twitch from them was enough to send a shudder up my spine. The back of my neck grew intolerably hot.

His free hand seized mine, steadying my wobbly arm and pressing down my fingers as to better spread out my cards.

"There!" He spoke, startling me from my trance. "Do you see it?"

I hadn't been looking, and I didn't really know where my mind was.

"Well?" he demanded "What have you got here, huh?"

I couldn't tell. In fact, I couldn't really reason anymore, not with that heat, not with that proximity. The sudden rush of unfamiliar feelings that began swirling around my stomach occupied all my attention, the overwhelming heat creeping up my skin!

"Well?" Chris arched his eyebrows, demanding my eyes. I looked into his – individually into each one, then regarding the pair… it made feel strange. The air grew thicker, warmer.

"You do know it, come on! I'm waiting!" He pretended to be the angry, firm testing-teacher… but the corners of his mouth twisted with a playful smile.

He played me.

I grew to feel stranger still. That strange swirl… it swirled faster, wider, so deep inside me, like a messy yarn ball tangling and twisting at the bottom of my torso, Chris yanking at it before it could resolve – each yank a pinch, almost painful, but skillfully administered to be dulled by something else, something his eyes – and the persistence of them – fed me.

"It's a three of a kind." He spoke placidly, his eyes blatantly looking at me in my current state, as if it was nothing to him… nothing to be controlled, to be avoided… rather a game to amuse his bored evening, one his lips couldn't help but curl upwards at.

"You could have gone all in…" he declared conceitedly with those very lips I now watched through a hazy sight. "You could have beaten me." He teased further with his smug smile, leaning slightly backwards and lifting his chin to meet me. "What's the matter, too scared to do it?"

His fingers… I felt them tighten. Or did I? What did he sit there for, what did he look at me for, as if he teased, as if he waited? Yes… I could have gone all in, if I wasn't such a coward – so his eyes told me, but it was too late to place a bet, so why did he still look at me so defyingly, waiting? I could do it: I decided!

I leaned forward, supporting one hand on his back and the other on that table, for I felt I would fall if I didn't: I leaned forward and put my lips to his, and experienced it as gravity failed me, my head spun so fast I thought I'd somehow get sucked up to space. But fall I didn't – neither upwards nor down. Instead, my head slowly stabilized, the bright glare of a thousand electrical pulses eventually subsided into darkness under my closed lids, and my lips… they pressed frozenly against Chris's, not moving until the sensation grew numb.

I knew something was wrong – this wasn't how you do it. I didn't know what came next, how to move… how did a peck ever turn into a full-blown kiss? How did it happen last night? Thoughts got in my way, and I suddenly felt like I was just embarrassing myself.

I pulled away and faced him, nerve-wrecking as it was. He stared at me with a frown – it wasn't a happy one. A reproach? Did I go too far? Suddenly, gravity hit me again and I was made painfully aware of our age difference, of the fact I was just 14 years old, utterly trespassing upon an adult's personal space, being so bold as to even… my cheeks burned!

His voice was raspy, low and grave:

"You are making this very difficult, you know that?"

Shame! Physically painful embarrassment consumed me under those following, hawk blue eyes chastising me from under coppery eyebrows. I couldn't say anything – speaking would be worse, and I couldn't think of anything to say anyway. How to escape that torturing moment? Escaping, indeed, and only that: I'd turn and leave, and close myself in my room, and hope it would all be less inflamed in the morning: my bared nerves.

I tried pulling away – briefly. Very briefly. His hand on my back wouldn't budge. Whatever feeble attempt I made at breaking it went unnoticed, as his eyes still chased down mine, demanding an explanation. When I tried to pull my arm away, he held me by the wrist, securing my hand at the table, where it had been. I thought I'd say I'm sorry, or beg him to let me go… I mindlessly thought that, even when he pulled me to him, ignoring what was to come: my lips against his once more, this time for no fault of mine… I was free to enjoy it, to be yanked from the collapsing shame and back into the present moment, and what a present moment:

His lips… I could feel their contour, their warmth as they moved, nothing like the feeble attempt I had made. Then…most naturally, they opened, sucking mine. It got wet, it got hot, my mind flared! Had I forgotten to breathe? It felt like so, my chest ached, ready to burst. Chris's hand was in my face, in the darkness of my squeezed eyes. I felt his thumb on my chin, he pulled it down, pulled my mouth open, for the softness of his tongue to invade. I gasped, hyperventilated, my head spinning and my entire body tingling as his tongue pressed down on mine, moved, explored… So this was a kiss! I didn't how it began, I didn't know what I was doing… all I knew is that it was exhilarating!

And this time, I was fully awake to experience it. There could be no mistaking it… no denying it in the next morning. I could feel the heat of his skin, the perfume of his face, his hand at the back of my neck pulling me to him as if I could not be close enough for his mouth to close around mine as it did. It felt entirely like a dream, but unlike last night, there was no denying it today, and that made me happy… it made me so happy, I felt myself smile.

I feebly felt Chris's hand behind my leg… his fingers poked behind my knee. In a firm, unannounced swoop, he pulled upwards, robbing me of balance, and sat me over his lap. My heart beat loose then, violently: I was embarrassed and didn't know how to behave, so I put my hands on his shoulders and stayed very still as he kissed me, my veins throbbing with the thrill of that very daring, very adult encounter I hadn't even been optimistic enough to covet.

It felt reckless… it felt careless, all the attention I received. As if we were indeed both adults, as if we had both experienced this before and there was nothing of new – except each other. Going through it all at once – the kissing, his hands embracing me, pulling me, my being seated over his lap – felt overwhelming, as it all happened too fast. It felt dangerous as it ventured outside those thresholds my imagination couldn't venture beyond… and that dangerous feeling pulled at my stomach with a pleasant sensation I couldn't place. His mouth sucking mine, his teeth brushing, pressing down my lower lip, threatening it with a hot pinch of pain, sufficed to pull me back, before sending me there again.

Then, just the air seemed to run short, so did space shift: It started with a commotion, Chris's arms wrapping around my torso, pressing me tighter against his chest, his legs moving from under me. I was suspended! And in the darkness of my closed lids, I was electrified with a jolt of fear – as if I might fall, as if I had ever feared heights before! And fall I did, but only when Chris allowed me to: he dropped me, and I fell for what felt like a cliff onto the edge of the table, startling and gasping at the impact.

Chris wouldn't let me locate myself for long though: he held the back of my head in his hand again, and pulled me back to his kiss before I could express my fright. He kissed me hungrily, agitatedly, at once pulling me to him with more strength than I could counter and leaning forward, over me, bending me under his weight.

A clatter of glass and utensils filled the air as the table shook.

"C-Chris!" I tried to call as some distant concern pulled me, from our breathless kissing. I tried to pause, to regroup my neurons before continuing, to find my bearings… I stiffened my back to try and sit properly back up, only to find Chris's weight finally bending me all the way down and pressing me there.

Nothing I could do then but trust him… trust that he knew better, that he knew what to do, that he wasn't scared like I was because there was no reason to, I could go back to the moment….

…but why did my heart suddenly beat so much faster? So… uncomfortably faster?!

"Chris… wait!" I moaned, placing my hands around his wrists, around his hand that framed and stiffened my jaw. To my surprised, they were promptly captured, like in an armed trap, and pinned down against the table – my wrists.

At that moment, Chris paused to look at me – at my frightened eyes, my wordless stare, my completely open and vulnerable position held still by his weight. I thought I might control my reaction, to not look too childish scared…I must have succeeded at it more than I intended, for, having regarded me for the length of a second, his mouth half-open for air, Chris leaned down and kissed me again – harder still, hungrier too, his weight folding down on me.

I was not in control. In fact, I couldn't even move. I couldn't budge… and the awareness made me try progressively harder. And the more I failed, the harder I tried, until my body moved on its own, wiggling and squirming and trying to pull my wrists free from the firmness of his grip. It seemed the more I thrashed, the more Chris moved to contain me, until everything on the table began falling to the floor: glasses shattered, porcelain cracked into shards and takeout boxes spilled cold noodles all over the floor. The deck of cards we played on sprawled about, hovering down as they fell. The sound and sigh of destruction disturbed me… but Chris didn't seem to care.

"Wait… the things!" I tried to speak in between kisses, but was efficiently silenced.

His grip loosened around my hands, and I immediately sprang my arm to try and hold another plate from falling. Before I could, Chris captured them again, pulling both wrists over my head and securing them there with one hand. The other was free, and he bent down to kiss me again, but leaning sideways, reaching backwards…

"Chris!" I called again, when the agitation of his kissing subsided… when his hand travelled up my leg, wrapped around my knee, slowly pulled it upwards… and pulled my legs apart. Effortlessly.

At once I understood what was happening – where we were going – and the tingling thrill at the pit of my stomach turned into raw, unfiltered fear!

"No!! Wait!" I cried – my heart, which already beat so fast, making a run for it at last.

That's when I really tried – when I really pulled my arms with all my strength, against the pain of his grip intensifying. That's when I moved under his weight and tried desperately to pull myself free, and when I realized I couldn't move if he didn't want to let me.

"Please!" I cried, and when he wouldn't listen, I screamed "STOP!"

My voice erupted – shaky, panicked, and so much louder than I thought it would be. It must have been really unexpectedly loud, for Chris's first reaction was to cover my mouth in his palm as he pulled himself up to look at me: He was panting, short of breath, the top of his cheeks were colored a redder hue, right under his eyes, and his eyes… they were fixed, fierce… unforgiving. I frowned, scared at the feeling of being robbed of my voice, being robbed of breath while he breathed noisily, watching me, recovering – or pondering? I moaned lightly… cowardly… confused.

Chris looked up for a second – beyond us, towards the corridor, the door… then to the side – our side, the kitchen window. A strange thing to do… as if he hesitated… as if he decided. My breathing increased into hyperventilation, my eyes widened and sunk into terror…

…but like in a bad dream, it was over. The dark brooding clouds of some storm I failed to understand dissipated as soon as they had gathered: Chris smiled a haggard, drained smile. He pulled his hand from my mouth and stood up, allowing me to finally roll down the table – which I did a little too fast, a little too awkwardly, nearly losing my balanced as I landed on wobbly, almost sore legs.

I looked back at him embarrassedly, hesitant, not certain if I should – if I could bear the awkwardness of it. Chris pulled his hand down his hair, moving the unkempt locks from his forehead, where they had clung to the moisture of his sweat. His face was painted red, as I'd never seen it before… I'd never seen his lips open for air as they did now, never seen his eyes so intense, and indeed never seen him so… overwrought. That feeling haunted me again: not being able to move.

Then, Chris leaned sideways, supporting himself on the table, as if tired, and let out a carefree sigh. A playful, friendly one… his voice was modulated, it wasn't as intense… it was more like the harmless Chris I knew, when he spoke. More like him… but not entirely.

"Oh my…" he briefly shook his head as if waking from a trance, then chuckled nonchalantly "We got a little carried away…"

I swallowed some hard lump in my throat that prevented me from speaking, but failed to produce a response nonetheless. Instead, I studied him quietly, waiting, looking for something that I didn't quite know what it was – something recognizable? Some explanation? Something in his expression that would make me less tense…

But though he smiled, it couldn't quite get through to me – it wasn't the same. His lips were pulled back over his teeth in an unnatural, calculated way… his eyes were sharp, fixed, carefully scrutinizing me.

"I guess we're lucky one of us has so much self-control…" he remarked more seriously now, carefully measuring my reaction "…regardless of…"

The insinuation hung in the air, as did his lip twitching ever so slightly into a cunning smile. I avoided his gaze, afraid of what he meant to say, and focused on my breath: on trying to soothe it.

A sigh followed in response to my withdrawal: I might have been needlessly paranoid, but it sounded like an impatient, surrendering one:

"No need for pointing fingers, I suppose. Nonetheless, a lesson was learned today!"

I knew I was in the wrong – I knew I had teased him… kissed him… I knew I should say something to alleviate that smothering tension that crept in the shades around us, something to make him feel more at peace, something like what he said – that we got carried away. Anything to break the ice of my standing there all bothered and stunned…

…But I was so caught in the aftereffects of my heart thumping violently… in the feeling of my limbs completely prevented from moving, despite increasing attempts… I still tasted the bitter taste of trying and failing to move: of surrendering all control. And for some reason, that feeling stole my voice, and it froze my lips so that I couldn't smile back – I could belittle the silly struggle we accidentally found ourselves in, like he did.

Instead, I just stood there under his scrutiny, for him to notice my stiff stance; my lingering, coward stare. Needless to say, it didn't alleviate anyone's mood.

"Well, I guess we're done playing for the night. It's late. You should go to your room. I'll handle this."

Reminded of the mess we had just made of the kitchen, and eager to use it as an excuse to turn my back on him and not look into his eyes any longer, I crouched, reaching for the spilled boxes first.

"I said leave those!" Chris shouted, startling me.

I gasped and got up at once, frozen stiff, my eyes turning to him with the urgency of prey facing their predator to prevent a pounce. His eyes were shadowed by the scowl in his brow… scowl which quickly softened upon receiving my stare. A smile stretched, this time a clear – and feeble – attempt at dispersing the ill-mood his shout delivered.

"Just… just go to your room, will you? We're done here."

I nodded, turned and moved… slowly at first, then faster… fast: It felt like he could change his mind before I'd reached the end of the corridor, that he'd run after me and grab me, and pin me down again, and continue where we left off. The idea filled me with a childish fear that prompted me to run, just like the one I'd experience sometimes when playing tag and getting too carried away… But back then it wasn't a realistic fear, it was just a game. Was this?