Breathe Me || Completed

19.2

19.2 - The Wrong Thing

I sit on the rock with my dry clothes, watching the river drain slowly away from me. My towel grows damp and cold around my shoulders as it picks up all the water from my arms and stomach. I rub the grainy fabric over my thighs and calves, watching it grow dingy and gray with brackish water.

I take a new pair of underwear and a new bra from my backpack. I'm so busy making sure that my fresh clothes don't touch the loose dirt on the ground that I guess I don't hear Chris coming.

"Sally?" says a voice.

I startle so hard that I throw my shirt three yards away from me. I finish yanking my sweatpants over my legs and whip around to see Chris's head sticking out of the pipe, a confused grin on his face. My shirt glows white on the silty ground in front of him.

He picks it up and brushes it down with his hand. "Sorry," he says. "Did I scare you?"

I cross my arms over my chest, squealing, "Stop looking! I'm not wearing a bra!"

"Whoops, sorry." Chris covers his eyes with his hand, holding out the shirt between two fingers. "You can come get it. I promise, I won't peek."

My entire body burning with mortification, I inch closer to Chris and hold out one arm to take the shirt from him.

He lets his fingers slip apart like he's peeking through a set of blinds. I see a flash of an olive green eye, an impish smile playing on his face. "Whoops, sorry," he says.

"Chris!"

"I said I was sorry!"

"Jesus Christ." I turn my back and throw the shirt over my body as quickly as I can. My hands are shaking with nerves, but I can't help giggling along with him.

"You done?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He opens his eyes, looking around at the gently flowing river in front of us and the silver moon above us. I sit back down on the rock, pulling my knees to my chest. "Mind if I join you?" he asks. I shake my head.

So Chris climbs up on the rock beside me. Strangely enough, he's wearing plaid pajama bottoms paired with a red tank top that seems to grip and accentuate his breasts, showing off two perfectly sized bumps, like he's just slipped some apples under his shirt. His nipples are hard and show through the cloth in the cool wind. His boobs bounce slightly as he adjusts himself on the rock beside me.

He looks over at me. Smooths a clump of wet hair away from my forehead. "You're all wet," he notes.

I can't stop myself from blushing.

"Were you in the river?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just . . ." I shrug. There's no good answer, so I don't finish the sentence. I'm shivering as the water dries on my damp skin.

Chris notices my tremors. He puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him. My head rests right beside a thin, freckled neck, highlighted silver in the moonlight. "You're shaking," he notes.

"Mhm." We're looking at each other, Chris gazing down at me as I stare up at him, my arm bumping against one shockingly soft breast.

And before I know what's happening, he's in my mouth and under my fingertips, burning in my stomach like a smoldering flame.

I hate myself so much, but I can't stop touching him, kissing him. Our lips are awkward together at first, both of us tilting our heads to try and fit together, but after a moment, I sink into his soft, warm body and can't get out. He tastes like minty toothpaste and the cool, humid breeze. We breathe through our noses as we attack each other with hungry mouths.

I run my hands over Chris's hair, stiff and bristly as a toothbrush, and over his elegant neck and smooth, thin back. He starts to caress my skin under my shirt, sending shivers through my body. I lift the bottom of his tank top with my fingertips and snake my hands up underneath it. I run my knuckle over the bottom of his breast, lifting, lifting, lifting.

He doesn't stop me until I take them both in my hands, moaning softly into his lips.

Then he pushes me away.

"Sally," he breathes.

We both look at each other, horrified.

My lips, my body, my insides buzz with arousal. I curl myself into a ball on the other side of the rock, as far away from him as I can get. Not very far. "I'm so sorry," I mutter.

"Sally," he repeats. "Don't -- don't apologize. It's okay."

"It's not okay."

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's all my fault. I've been wanting to do that since I met you."

I shiver, feeling sick with dread. I look over at the pipe. Samantha is nowhere to be seen. I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but in reality, I had almost been hoping I would see her there, watching us with a furious look on her face. I don't want her not to know. I hate myself.

"Jesus, Chris," I say, rubbing my eyes with my palms. He doesn't look real anymore. Just another character in a cartoon world. "I have a girlfriend."

"I know," he says.

"And so do you!"

I watch him frown to himself, crossing his arms over his chest. He watches the way his breasts come together in a line of shadowy cleavage when he squeezes them in his arms. "Why do I keep falling for lesbians?" he wonders.

I frown at him. "I don't know."

We're quiet for a moment. I am silenced by my own horror at the two of us, but Chris just looks pensive. After a moment he says, "Don't tell Samantha. Please."

Oh, if only I had that kind of courage. "I won't," I tell him. "She doesn't deserve that."

Chris nods in agreement. "We did the wrong thing," he says. But it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. 

He reaches for me again.