More Than Forever Read online

And then I touch it.

  "Shit," he breathes.

  "Penis," I squeak.

  ***

  Penis.

  Penis Penis.

  Penis Penis Penis.

  That's all I've thought about since touching him this morning. I had to draw a diagram of test tubes in science lab. You know what I drew? Penis.

  Penis Penis.

  "I have a lot of homework tonight, so maybe skip coming over?"

  He pulls his bike out of the rack but refuses to look at me. "Okay, see ya!"

  -CAMERON-

  For twenty minutes I try to catch Mark's gaze while him and Mom sit on the couch watching TV. When he finally realizes, I inconspicuously jerk my head toward the stairs. "My room," I mouth.

  His eyes narrow in confusion.

  I widen my eyes, and do it again, as if doing so will make him understand.

  He shakes his head slowly.

  "Now," I mouth, and then run up the stairs and into my room.

  He makes me wait another ten minutes before knocking on my door. He must be able to see the panic on my face because his confusion turns to concern. "What's with you?"

  "Something's wrong with my dick."

  "WHAT!"

  I shut the door and tell him to keep it down.

  "I'm panicking here, kid. What the hell?"

  "You should be panicking! I'm panicking. Something's wrong with my dick."

  His voice rises. "What the hell does that mean? What happened to it?"

  "Lucy touched it and she—"

  "Lucy touched your thing?" he shouts.

  I pick up the nearest thing I can reach and throw it at his head; a piece of paper. "Keep your voice down, jerk. Mom doesn't need to hear about my broken dick!"

  "It's broken!" he shouts again.

  I sigh and flop down on my bed.

  "Okay." He starts pacing the room. "Rewind and tell me what happened from the beginning."

  "Okay." I blow out a breath and try to calm down. "So she touched my dick."

  "Where?"

  "MY DICK! Are you not listening?"

  "Settle down, asshole. Where were you when she touched..." His face contorts to a grimace. "You know... your..."

  "My dick? At school."

  "HOLY SHIT! What the hell are they letting happen in schools these days?"

  "What?" I yell, frustrated. "No! It's not like she pulled my pants down in the cafeteria while we were all eating lunch and decided to tug me."

  "Gross."

  "Shut up!" I stand up and start pacing with him. "It was like... a little brush."

  "A little brush?"

  "Her hand! It kind of just... brushed me."

  "And then?"

  "And she hasn't spoken to me since. She didn't want me at her house. She thinks it's broken or something."

  "What the hell?" He stops pacing and rests his hands on his hips, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. "So what do you want me to do?"

  "I don't know!" I throw my hands in the air. Then drop my pants. "Check it!"

  "Jesus Christ!" He turns swiftly—one hand covering his eyes, the other waving me off. "Put your pants back on!"

  I sigh and pull them up. "I don't know what's wrong with it!"

  "I'm not a doctor, I can't tell. Do you even have pubes yet?" He turns slowly, opening one eye first, scoping me out, then opening the other.

  "Yes I have pubes. I'm not eight."

  He rolls his eyes. "So she brushed a hand on your... you know... and then she didn't want to see you?"

  "Yeah. Me, or my broken dick."

  He laughs, but then stops when he sees that I'm not even close to joking. "She's probably just nervous, or embarrassed. I'm sure it's nothing. You guys are young, probably too young to be touching each other like that. Maybe it just surprised her and she feels awkward. You just need to talk to her. Like adults... and go from there."

  I nod, my breath finally resembling something like normal.

  He walks to the door and places his hand on the handle. "You okay, Cam?"

  "Yeah," I rush out. "I think so."

  "Okay." He turns the doorknob, but doesn't open the door. All signs of amusement and panic have left him. "Thank you for coming to me with this. It means a lot."

  I shrug, confused by his words. "Why wouldn't I?"

  ***

  "So we need to talk about what happened yesterday." We're at the dock on her lake, sitting opposite each other. We're trying to study but I can see her eyes keep wandering to my junk.

  "About what?" she says, her eyes forced to focus on her textbook.

  "About what happened in the classroom."

  She looks up at me now. "Penis?"

  I throw my pen in the water and lie down on the wooden planks. "Oh my God," I groan. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. I want to die." Stupid Marky Mark and his stupid advice can get funked.

  "What's wrong?" she says, her voice dripping with innocence. She has no idea I spent all night examining my broken dick. And not in the good way, either.

  "I don't think we should do it again." I say, the same time she says, "I want to touch it again."

  "What?" we both huff.

  I sit up, bend my knees and rest my elbows on them. "Lucy..." I shake my head, not believing what I'm about to say. "I think maybe we need to cool it with that. Look at how we reacted. I just think maybe we're not mature enough to deal with that kind of stuff. The sex stuff."

  "But penis," she whispers.

  I eye her curiously, but continue anyway. "I know that I may have gotten a little... full on yesterday, and I apologize. But I think we should keep these hormones in check, just for a little bit."

  "So no penis?"

  "No penis." I laugh. "And I think you should stop calling it a penis."

  She throws her head back in laughter and lies down next to me. Taking my hand, she says quietly, "But I can't stop thinking about penis."

  A slow chuckle builds in the back of my throat. "You better shut that shit down. Get rid of it now."

  She sucks in a loud, long breath. "PEEEEEEEENNNNIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSS!" she shouts. "Wow, I feel so much better now."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  -CAMERON-

  "What the hell are we doing here? And what's that smell?" She sniffs the air with a look of disgust on her face.

  "I want to show you something." I lead her through the junkyard until I find what we came for. "So, what do you think?"

  We stand in front of an old bus, and I mean old. Late-sixties-VW-hippie-bus, kind of old.

  She looks at me like I'm crazy. "What do I think about what?"

  I shake my head and stand in front of the bus, tapping it a few times. "I think I'm going to name her Filmore, like in that movie Cars."

  "Yeah." She rolls her eyes. "Six little brothers, remember? I know the movie."

  "So?" I ask again.

  Her eyes narrow. "Why a bus like this though? I mean, why not just get a normal car?"

  "I don't know." I shrug. "I figure I'm a few months older than you, so I've got a few months of driving you and your brothers around."

  Her eyes widen. "What?" she almost yells. Then tears instantly well in her eyes.

  I step closer and make her look up at me, just to be sure that I wasn't imagining it. "Why are you crying? What happened?"

  "You can't buy a bus to drive me and my brothers around, Cam. That's just stupid."

  "What?" I cross my arms over my chest. "Who says I can't?"

  "Me!" She points to herself. "You're fifteen years-old, Cameron. You don't need to do this. You don't need to take care of me, or my brothers. They're not your responsibility!"

  "Lucy, I've already bought it, and you need to calm down. It's not like-"

  "No, I will not calm down." Great, now she's pissed. "You can't choose a car based on me or my life."

  "Why?" I yell. And now I'm pissed.

  She takes a deep breath, her fists balled at her sides. "Fine, Cameron," she snaps through clenche
d teeth. "I'm breaking up with you!"

  My heart drops. What? "What?" I say out loud.

  She turns in her spot and starts walking away. I chase after her, pulling on her arm to stop her.

  She turns to me, her eyes narrowed.

  "You can't break up with me, Luce. Come on." My voice breaks. I'm on the edge of crying. I'm a pussy. I admit it. But she's threatening to walk and I can't let it happen. She's my world.

  She must realize what she's done because her glare turns to sympathy and her mouth turns to a frown. "I'm sorry," she says, wrapping her arms around my waist and looking up at me. "I didn't mean that."

  I hold her head close to my chest, waiting for the beating of my heart to settle.

  "Okay," she agrees, "I'll let you buy it on one condition."

  I pull back and laugh a little. Fine, I'll entertain her. Raising my eyebrows, I say, "What? What's your condition?"

  Getting out of my hold, she walks back to the bus. She sticks her head inside and looks around before turning to me. "The day you get your license..." She takes two steps to cover the distance between us. "You pick me up and take me somewhere secluded, and we make out in the back. For hours."

  My eyes go huge and I slowly nod. "That can be arranged."

  She smiles. "And I'm talking full on making out, Cameron. I mean, I want you shirtless and horizontal." I try not to look down at my shorts; positive I'm sporting a semi. She continues, "And I want to be shirtless and you better be touching boob."

  I choke on air.

  She giggles, and then crosses her arms over her breasts. "Deal?"

  I think I agree, but I can't be sure, because now all I can think about is boob. I place my hands on her waist and gently push her until she's against the bus.

  And then I kiss her.

  Her hands go to my hair, tugging a little, and bringing me closer to her.

  And we kiss.

  When she finally loosens her hold, I pull back.

  She kisses me once, and then sighs. "You really bought this bus, huh?"

  I nod.

  "So that you can help me out with my brothers?"

  I nod again. "Of course, Luce, you're my girl. It's my job to take care of you."

  Her eyes glaze over with tears again.

  I wanted to kick myself for making her cry. But before I can say anything, she wraps her arm around my neck and brings me down for another quick kiss. She pulls away and says, "I really like you, Cameron."

  I grin. "Yeah?"

  "Yeah," she says dreamily.

  And then my heart begins to race.

  My palms begin to sweat.

  And all I can hear is the blood pumping in my ears.

  "Good," I respond, and then inhale a huge breath. "Because I'm kind of in love with you, Lucy."

  Her eyes bug out. Her jaw drops to the floor. "What?" she breathes out.

  I lift my chin and fake a confidence that doesn't exist. "You heard me."

  Silence.

  It's the longest three seconds of my life.

  Then finally, "Cameron, I love you so much."

  And then she kisses me.

  Five weeks, three days and eight hours later, I touch boob.

  ***

  "I've been thinking," she says, snapping her bra back on. I've parked the bus near her dock on her lake. It seems fitting—considering it's become our spot.

  I crack a few windows in the bus, and then sit back down next to her. She lays her head on my lap and looks up at me. And I can't help but smile. "What have you been thinking?"

  She lifts her head to kiss my bare chest and then starts tracing hearts over it. "I think I want to wait. For sex, I mean. I was thinking about what you said, you know... after Penisgate."

  I laugh. "Penisgate?"

  "Yeah, you know... all scandalous things end in 'gate'."

  I suppress my smile. "Yeah."

  "Okay, so after Penisgate... I got to thinking... and I think you're right—about being ready... emotionally. I don't think I am yet."

  "Okay, so we wait." I shrug.

  "If that's okay?"

  I roll my eyes. "Of course it's okay, Luce. I'd never make you do something you weren't ready for. You know that."

  "I know," she says, kissing my chest again. "The thing is I don't want to promise you a time or date or anything, because I can't tell, and I don't want you—"

  "Stop," I cut her off. "You don't need to promise anything. When it happens, it happens." And as the words leave my lips there isn't an ounce of doubt in my mind that I'd wait forever for her.

  "What?" She must see that my head’s somewhere else because she asks, "What are you thinking?"

  My mind's racing with so many thoughts, so many emotions—that I struggle to find the words. I struggle to speak. "It's dumb."

  She reaches up and runs a finger across my jaw. "Tell me anyway."

  I lift my knees, causing her head to rise. I kiss her softly, knowing that our lips are raw from making out for so long. "Luce..." I blow out a breath and ignore the ache in my chest. I don't know what it is, or why it's there. "Sometimes I think that this—you and me—this could be as good as it gets for the rest of my life and that would be perfect. I feel like I've loved you for eternity, and it's not even close to long enough. Even now, when it's summer and there's no school and we can spend every second of every day together it doesn't seem like enough. Do you think it's normal? To feel that? To be sixteen and feel like your life begins and ends with one person?"

  She shakes her head slowly. "It's not dumb," she says. "And I don't know what's normal. I know that I love you, and I know that I feel sorry for all the people that never get to experience the kind of love we have. Even if it's short lived."

  My brows bunch. "You think ours will be short lived?"

  She shakes her head slowly. "I don't think anything can ever get in the way of our love. Ever."

  -LUCY-

  There's a banging on my bedroom door—or so I think. When I open my eyes I'm not in my room. But the banging is incessant.

  "What's going on?" Cam blinks rapidly, trying to wake himself. The banging won't stop.

  "LUCY!" Dad's voice jerks us both awake. "LUCY!" he shouts again. He's slamming his palm on the back window of Cam's bus.

  "Oh my God, Cam. We must've fallen asleep!"

  He doesn't speak, his focus solely on my breasts. I look down. "Shit," I whisper. I'm not wearing a shirt, just my bra.

  "LUCY!"

  I find my shirt and rush to put it on, even though I know it's too late. Dad's face is pressed against the window, I'm sure he's already seen us. And Cam—he's shirtless, too.

  "Nothing happened," he rushes out. "We didn't do anything wrong." And even as he says it, I can see the panic in his eyes. "We just need to explain it to him, okay? It'll be fine."

  He puts on his shirt and opens the door. "Mr. Preston," he starts, his hands going up in surrender. "We fell asleep. I'm sorry. It's my fault. I should—"

  "Shut up!" Dad growls. "Just shut up, Cameron."

  "DAD!" I try to get off the bus but he grips my arm tight and roughly pulls me down. He uses so much force I fall to the ground. "Dad, stop! You're hurting me!" I get out of his hold and try to straighten.

  Cameron's arms are around my waist, helping me to stand upright. But I can't. Dad's pulling me away again.

  Away from Cameron.

  "Mr. Preston." Cam's in front of us now, walking backwards and trying to talk sense into him. "I swear to you, nothing happened."

  But Dad doesn't care.

  And now I'm crying.

  I use all of my strength, shrug out of his hold, and run to Cameron. He stops walking and moves me behind him, becoming a shield between us, like he's done before. "We fell asleep—" Cam starts.

  "Shut up!" Dad shouts. "I told you to shut up!" He shoves Cam out of the way so forcefully that he hits the ground hard.

  I try to say his name but I can't. I can't because my cries won't let me. I can't breathe. I can't see t
hrough the tears.

  Then Dad looks at me—right into my eyes. And even through his anger I can see the truth; shame.

  He sucks in a breath, as if trying to calm himself, but it doesn't work, because his eyes narrow and a look of pure hatred washes over him. And if he says what he says next to ruin me, it works. "What would your mother think if she were alive? What do you think she'd say if she knew her daughter was a whore?"

  Empty. Darkness.

  That's all I feel. That's all I see.

  Somewhere in the distance, I hear Cameron's voice. "Don't you dare talk to her like that."

  His hand on mine is pure fire.

  It burns.

  It hurts.

  I hurt.

  Everywhere.

  I open my eyes, and I let the numbness from the hurt drive me. "Go home, Cameron."

  ***

  Every day for the next two weeks he knocks on our door. Vagina tells him I'm not allowed visitors; Dad's orders. But she knows. She sees me. She understands. It's not just Dad that won't allow it. I won't either. Every day I watch him from the window in my room as he gets in his shitty bus, the one he bought for us. He sits in the driver's seat and looks up at my window—for minutes that feel like hours. I know because I watch him. I watch him watch me, and I do nothing to make the pain go away. Not for him, or for me.

  Dad doesn't speak to me. He won't even look at me. I'm his only daughter. His daughter—the whore.

  I don't leave the house. I barely leave my room. The place is always full of people, full of laughter, full of joy. Me? I'm empty. I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing but the constant churning in my stomach. Sometimes, I let that churning feeling control me. And sometimes, I empty that feeling.

  -CAMERON-

  For two weeks I try to see her. I need to make sure that she's okay. If she feels half of what I feel, I know she's hurting. And the kind of hurt she feels shouldn't exist. Which is why I find myself in the last place any sane person would be. "Is Mr. Preston here?"

  The middle-aged man removes his hard hat and looks up from the blueprints in front of him. He eyes me up and down quickly before asking, "You here for a job?"

  "No, sir." I take a look around the construction site. "I'm here to speak to Mr. Preston."

  He nods and walks away.

  And I wait.

  With sweaty palms and a hammering heart, I wait.

  "What do you want?" His voice makes me jump, but I hide the reaction.