My Escape Chapter 12

I stayed at school as late as I possibly could. The newspaper room was closed - our sponsor was sick so we couldn’t use it - and the library closed at four. So I stayed in the library until four.
And then after that, I swung by the local Starbucks at bought me a frappachino. I would need all the sugar and caffeine possible for the talk with Oliver. It was pretty simple to say that I was terrified of going home.
When I drove down my street, my stomach started filling with tons of butterflies and I was finding it very hard to concentrate. As I got towards my house and I caught sight of the black truck, my breathing started to shallow out. This was crazy, so stupid. Why was I freaking out just because I was going to have a conversation with a guy? I used to be able to have a ton of conversations with guys - mostly dealing with school stuff - and not even be affected. But this, this was crazy.

I pulled up behind him and took a few minutes to get out of my car. I tried to take a few breaths to even myself out - that didn’t work - and I tried picturing him in a giant carrot suit. That didn’t work either. And my dad’s car wasn’t home either so that meant we had the house to ourselves. Shit.
Then after a couple of seconds, he got fed up and walked over to my car. He knocked on my window and gave me a comforting smile. Yeah, that didn’t exactly help me out either. I slowly got out of the car and he asked, "Took the long way home, eh?"
I rolled my eyes at him and then started up the path to the front door. He followed behind me and when I tried to unlock the door, I noticed my hand trembling. His eyes were intent on me and I could feel them scorching my skin. All I wanted to do was kiss him; hard.
When I finally got the door open, I noticed that it smelt like beer. My dad must have been drinking sometime today. But I was too preoccupied trying to calm my body down from being around Oliver to be upset.

Oliver asked from behind me, "Someone like to drink?"
"That would be my dad," I informed him with a smile and then flicked on the ceiling fan light. All of a sudden my home felt too messy. Usually it didn’t really bother me, but with Oliver in the house, I was mortified. It looked like a bunch of pigs lived in my house.
I would have invited him into my room to where it was clean, but being alone in my room with the big bed and everything…not a good idea. Well, it was actually a very good idea, but it wouldn’t have good consequences.
"Sorry about the mess," I mumbled and then walked over into the kitchen. I grabbed two water bottles and then tossed him one. He had made himself at home by sinking into the couch. He didn’t seem to mind the mess or the stench at all.

I sat in the arm chair next to the couch - sitting next to him wouldn’t do me any good - and then asked, "So what do you want to talk about?" I had no idea why I asked this because I already completely knew why. But I felt like I needed to say something.
"Gees, blunt much?" he joked wryly, and then took a big swig of the water bottle.
I said, "Well, I’m just ready for this whole conversation to be over…so…can we get to moving?"
He sighed and then asked me, "Do you really hate me that much?"
As much as I wanted to say "yes, I really do," I found myself shaking my head and blushing. There it goes with my body control. His puppet strings were alive and working now. He had full control over me now. Shit.

He smiled and I felt my knees start to turn to jelly again. Oh look, the puppeteer had started his act. He stood up and then walked over to the chair where I was sitting. He sat down on the arm rest and then looked down at me. I tired to turn away, but he placed his hand against my cheek and made me look at him.
I don’t know what did me in; maybe it was the dark curls hanging in his face, or the chocolate brown eyes framed by long eyelashes, it may have even been the smell of beer lingering in the room. Even his cockiness was now cute in my eyes. How sick was that? But all of a sudden, I decided to give in what I wanted: him.

And that just made me feel so much better. All of the stress from me trying to hate him evaporated and all I felt was happiness. I was no longer at constant battle with myself and it was so freeing that it was crazy. All I felt was happiness. Well that, and a little bit turned on. But it seemed like I always was when Oliver Carter was around me.
He somehow noticed the change in my expression and a huge smile lit up his adorably handsome face. The boy could read me like an open book. At first, I absolutely hated it, but now, it was somewhat refreshing. He understood me and that was something no one else in the world could pull off. He had known me better than I knew myself from the moment he met me.
Not only was it terrifying, it was sweet. And it just made me want him that much more.
He said with a grin, "I broke up with Tanya last night."
My heart jumped inside my chest so hard that it was almost audible. I smiled back at him and said; "Really now?"

"And what do you have to say about that?" he asked, bending his face just a centimeter towards mine.
That was the point where I wanted to say something witty, funny, something to make him laugh. But I couldn’t think of anything other than how much I wanted to press my lips against his. Then I remembered something he said to me once. I blushed as I told him, "Some things don’t require talking."
That did make him smile and I felt like I was worth a million bucks. I had told him the right thing. He rested his forehead against mine and looked right into my eyes. His face was less than centimeters from mine and it was like his eyes were piercing right through me. I shivered.
He said, "You’re making it unbelievably hard to show you that I don’t just want you for that kind of stuff."

My lips curved into a smile. It felt so amazing not to have any restraints anymore, to act how I wanted to and be who I wanted to be. I grabbed the fabric of his shirt and said, "You don’t have to prove that to me. I believe you."
His smile got even bigger, said, "Thank God," and then finally kissed me. Sure, Oliver and I had kissed before, but never, had it been like this. Those past few times, I had tried so hard not to enjoy it and that did take some of the fun out of it. But to know that no one was around, that it was just the two of us, that we both wanted to be with each other, it was pure bliss.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and he fell into the chair with me. He positioned himself so that I was sitting on his lap and I tangled my hands in his dark, curly hair. Unlike previous kisses with the boy, my head was clear of thoughts. All I was focused on was Oliver and how much I wanted this moment to never, ever end.

His hands made their way around my back and touched the bare skin right below where my shirt had ridden up. It made me start to lose control of my breath and to pay him back; I tugged at the ends of his hair.
I heard a light groan escape the interior of his neck and then I felt him pulling away from me. He rested his forehead against mine and murmured, "See? I can stop."
When I looked into those eyes of his I realized how stupid I had been the past couple of months. I had spent so munch energy arguing with this guy when I could have been making out with him instead. And making out was a lot more fun.
"Kudos for you," I told him sarcastically, earning a sadistic grin from him. Oh no. I didn’t want to see what this was going to lead to.

He removed his forehead from mine and asked, "Are you making fun of me?" He got out of the chair and I hated having his body not next to mine. But I could tell he was about to do something and I needed to be fully alert.
"Of course not!" I exclaimed. But I had been picking on him and he knew it. Deep down he knew that I had been mocking him and now I was going to pay.
He gave me a slow grin and then darted up the stairs. I didn’t know how he knew my room was up there, but then again, it was kind of obvious. I mean, bedrooms were usually upstairs. And he was going to try and find something in my room to make fun of me for.
"Oliver!" I yelled at him and when he didn’t respond, I ran up the stairs also. The first place I checked was my room and sure enough, he was in there, digging through my things. "It’s called privacy," I scolded.

He laughed and said, "Your privacy went through the window when you kissed me downstairs." He opened my jewelry box on my dresser and when that didn’t satisfy him, he opened the top drawer. The top drawer of my dresser contained my bras and my socks. Shit.
I ran over to him and playfully jumped on his back, making him stop dead in his tracks. I wrapped my arms around his neck and when I should have yelled at him, I kissed him on the crook of his neck. "You should know not to dig through my things," I murmured in his ear.
He countered, "You should know not to jump on my back," and then threw me on my bed. Thank God it wasn’t a twin-sized bed, it was a full.
Before I could get up, he crawled on top of me and held himself up with his two arms. I could look on either side of me and see pure muscled bliss. Oliver’s arms were amazing; I would have to remember that. "Don’t even think about it," I warned him when I saw the devilish grin appear on his face.

"You shouldn’t have jumped on me."
"You shouldn’t have invaded my room. I would have invited you up here sooner or later." And truth was that downstairs, I had been about to. That chair had been much too cramped and the room had smelt like stale chips and beer. But in my room, we had my big, comfortable bed and I had one of those plug-in smell good devices.
He whined, "But you took too long."
"Maybe you’re just impatient," I teased.
"Maybe you’re just too slow."
"Maybe you’re acting like a little kid right now."
"Maybe you’re only insulting me right now because you know you’d rather be kissing me, but you don’t want to give into temptation because you know that would make me know you liked me."

"Maybe you’re a little too full of yourself."
"Maybe I should be."
"Maybe you shouldn’t be."
He rolled his eyes at me and said, "Maybe I shouldn’t be in here. What if your dad walks in?"
I wrapped my arms around his neck and said, "Maybe I don’t care." And I no longer cared about certain things anymore. I didn’t care about Oliver and my brother hating each other. I didn’t care about Oliver not thinking I was perfect. I didn’t care that some day Oliver would find out what had happened to my mom. I just didn’t give a flying flip anymore.
Because at the moment, all I cared about was me and Oliver.

Oliver left two hours later with a long kiss - well another one anyways - and a promise that he would call me or see me soon. He didn’t want to leave but then again he didn’t want my dad to walk in on us when we were well…occupied.
When he left, I walked back up to my room and made my bed. We hadn’t done anything but we sure did wrinkle some sheets when we had had a wrestling match. As I looked at the bed, I realized that yes, I did give up. Yes, I had been defeated in my fight to not like Oliver. And admitting defeat had been the best thing I had ever done. Because I was sure I looked like a goon with that huge smile on my face.
It almost felt wrong to sit down at my computer and start typing my article, but just because I was with Oliver now didn’t mean I could give up my priorities. I was still the editor of the paper and I was still a huge contender for valedictorian. I couldn’t throw all of my work away just for a guy, even if he was an amazing kisser.

As soon as I heard the front door downstairs open and close, I knew that I needed to get to work. It was either write the article which was in dire need of writing or cook dinner for my dad and Greg.
I picked the article.
But an hour later, with the article half-written, my stomach let out a loud howl for food. I sighed, saved my work so far, and then made my way downstairs.
My dad was standing in front of the refrigerator, looking inside at its contents. When he heard me come in he relaxed and said, "Thank God. I was starting to think I would have to cook my own food."
"Dad, I’m not going to be here forever. You’re going to have to learn," I told him with a sigh. I knew that he had been just playing and everything, but he not knowing how to cook was serious. When my mom had been around, she had cooked, and now that she wasn’t around, I had to cook.

My dad couldn’t even make microwavable oatmeal. When I said that, he frowned and then said, "True. But there’s always take-out."
"You’d have a heart attack with all that food," I said with a smile, and then pressed my lips gently against his cheek.
He smiled at me and I noticed he seemed so much happier now that the day before yesterday was over and done with. That day had been a hard day on him and I fully knew why, but he still kind of overreacted. Or maybe he hadn’t. I had no idea how people in my dad’s situation were supposed to act.
He said, "Well I might as well and enjoy you while I have you. What are we having?"
I looked through the contents of the fridge and noticed that barely anything was held inside of its doors. I asked, "Sandwiches okay? I haven’t been to the store lately."

He nodded and then made his way over to the couch. "Sure. Do we have turkey?"
I looked in the fridge once more and noted that we indeed had turkey. I pulled out the container, made sure it hadn’t expired, and then called over to him, "You’re in luck. But we have no mayo. Is just mustard alright?
"Sure thing," he called back and then I heard the volume on the TV increase.
Ten minutes later, I had fixed the two of us dinner and drinks. My dad was still watching TV and I was sitting at the kitchen table, reading yesterday’s newspaper. It was almost surreal how drastically my dad had changed.
When Oliver had been over I had felt like a different person; carefree and happy. But when he had left I had sunk back down into my old person again. It was almost as if Oliver and I had never even gotten together. I mean, yeah, I did feel a little bit happier, but it was kind of funny how the absence of one person could alter my day so drastically.

My brother walked in through the front door as I rinsed the two dishes off. My dad bid him a quick greeting and my brother did the same. He walked into the kitchen and asked, "So how was your day?"
"I’ll tell you later," I told him, not wanting my dad to hear that I had a new boyfriend. Greg, I could handle telling. He had basically been the one to convince me to go for it. But my dad wouldn’t exactly be the same.
He smiled and then pointed out, "I’m home earlier. You proud of me?"
I laughed and then patted his shoulder. "Sure," I said and then jogged up the stairs. It was already eight o’clock and it would take me another two hours to finish my article. And I still had to proofread the three that were sitting in my inbox. I could tell that it would be a long night.

An hour later, my brother lightly rapped on my door and then walked in about the room. I had just put the last period on my article and was now thinking of a title for it.
He sat down on my bed and asked, "So how was your day?"
I looked over at him and couldn’t help but break into a large smile. I had had such a good day and he had helped that happen. Not only had he convinced me to give Oliver a chance; he had also come home earlier and dealt with dad for a while, giving me a chance to work.
"That good, eh?" he asked with a smile on his face.

I nodded and told him, "Everything worked out with Oliver. I think we’re together now." I mean, we hadn’t exactly given ourselves a title, but I knew that he wouldn’t be kissing any other girls. Well, unless he had a death wish.
"Good," he said, smiling, and then pointed out, "Dad looked a lot happier today."
"He had two days to work it out; I’m pretty sure he’s fine." I told him, swiveling around in my desk chair. Doing so always made me feel like a little kid, but it was so much fun.
Greg nodded and then said, "For now anyways."