Page 6 of Bump in the Night
Pumpkin
Ialways get all achy around John and Elliot. John, with his playful little touches, and Elliot with his stern, demanding words. Elliot, though, is the one who surprises me the most. Sometimes he can get into these moods in which it feels like he’s practically begging me to throw myself at him. The way he’d told me that he and John had taken ‘real good care’ of me? I’m still feeling those words knocking around in my belly. They nearly knocked the wind out ofme.
My feelings for themalmostfeel odd – but they definitely feel right. I know, I know – I should slow my roll. Crawl before you ball and all that. At twenty, I’ve barely even kissed a guy before, and after I met John and Elliot, every other man in the world just kind of lost color for me. John and Elliot make my world feel vibrant, warm. They make me feel nervous in a good way. They make me feel more like the person I really am –andmore like the person I really want to be, all at the sametime.
When I close the door behind them, I run upstairs with the same spring in my step that I had when I ran down to greet them. This time, though, I’m not preparing to let them in. I’m preparing to let myselfout.
I run over to my window and catch them talking on the sidewalk. I can’t stay cooped up in my room all night. Oh, I know what happens when I see them and then I’m left alone for any length of time. This time it’s all night – and masturbating just once isn’t something I’m capable of. Twice won’t make me happy, either. My little whimpers and moans will be the outcome of frustration and longing, not pleasure andsatisfaction.
I can go get a drink, if I can find a place that’ll serve me. The bars in Brooklyn used to be more lenient, but they’ve really tightened up in the past few years – not that I’ve ever actually drank at any of them.Or,I could go for a walk. I could go sit in a diner. Whatever I decide on, I can dothis.
Operation:jailbreak.
I dart over to my closet and pull my shoebox of Halloween accessories off a high shelf. I blow the dust off the cover and peek inside. With only time for something quick, I grab a black lace mask. I change into jeans before throwing on my Chucks, and then grab my black raincoat from my closet. Looking down at the sidewalk, I see John and Elliot crossing the street and walking away from thehouse.
I gulp. Just the view of them walking away from my house has my heart full of ache by proxy, and my insides are tensing up and wet forthem.
My heart is dizzy as I shove my raincoat into my backpack. Halloween is the night to be someone else, and damnit — Iamgoing to be someone elsetonight.
I look in the mirror and wrap the lace mask over my face – as if I’m a ninja, ready to go into hyper-mode. A warrior ready for battle. A burglar in thenight.
If I had the skills of a hacker, I could disarm the security cameras – but unfortunately, I have no such skills whatsoever. With the skills of a gymnast, I could leap from the window in the room my dad shares with Cynthia and land in a tree in the backyard – set far away enough from the house to go undetected by the security cameras. After that, I could pommel my way across the bigoaks.
But I don’t have the skills of a gymnast. I’d opted for clarinetinstead.
Hopping out my window isn’t what I really want – but I can’t have what I really want, so second best will have todo.
Rapunzel would be letting her hair out the window for her prince to climb up. A princess would be tearing curtains off the windows and tying bedsheets together to climb down herself. But this is Brooklyn, so I can make like an urban rock climber and scale down the lattice on the side of the brownstone. If I fall, the hedge below will cushion me.Right?
I can do this. I can dothis.
I tear open my lace curtains and throw up the glass window and the fly screen with two quick blows. I toss my backpack to the ground below and then turn around so my back is to the window. With blind faith, I slip the toe of my sneaker onto one of the gaps in the lattice. I slide my other leg over the windowsill and keep my fingers digging into the ledge. I let out a deep breath. I can dothis!
I slide my toe out of the gap and bend my other knee, giving my leg some room to find the next space. I grope around in the dark with my toe, the only light a dim streetlamp a few houses down and the string of Halloween lights I have strung up in my window. They’re the only Halloween decor Cynthia wouldallow.
Relief washes through me when my toe finds a home – but then, just as suddenly, panic lurches through my chest as my toe slips on some damp moss. With my heart plugged in my throat, I try to swallow around the lump. I can’t. As calmly as I can, I try to pull myself up, but I’m only holding on with one shaky leg and the tips of myfingers.
Panic floods me. I can’t hold on any longer, and I know I’m about to become airborne as soon as my fingers are no longer strong enough to hold on. I’m two stories up. I pray to Saint Christopher. He’s the only patron saint I can think of right now. I beg him to protect me in my travels, but I’m probably praying to the wrong saint. Who is the patron saint of plain, oldstupidity?
But just as my heart flies into my throat – and Ishouldbe hitting concrete – I’m suddenly weightless, floating forever on a cloud.Oh, I know this feeling. I peel my eyes open slowly and suck my bottom lip between my teeth. I want something in my mouth right now, for coziness and comfort. I feel small – and I’m being wrapped up inwarmth.
When the veil of my eyelids slip open, Elliot is there, looking down at me. He’s holding me in his arms like I’m a little lamb. I exhale and the shiver in my lungs is apparent to both of us. Elliot sweeps his thumb along my hairline and then caresses my jaw with his fingers. A flock of white doves flies out of a cage inside me as his hand lands at the front of mythroat.
“What are you doing?” he asks roughly. For such a sweet touch, he certainly sounds brutal in comparison. I love that abouthim.
“I just wanted to go to the party,” I reply. Tears sting the corners of my eyes. God, do I have PMS or something? I don’t cry. I’m not a crier. This is not me – but, then again, Ididwant to be someone else for thenight.
And as much as I adore being in Elliot’s arms, it’s bittersweet because I know the guys are going to send me marching right back into thehouse.
“Hey, it’s okay,” John says from behind Elliot. My gaze lands on him – hands on hips, impish grin, gait steady as he starts over to us, arms moving like he’s solely in charge of the earth’s gravitational pull. Elliot puts me down and John continues his condolences. “Where were you headed, Pumpkin? We’ll take you anywhere you want togo.”
My cheeks burn with an instant grin and I feel my pupils dilate. This is what it must feel like to be ondrugs.
“No,” Elliot barks at John. Then he turns to me. “No, I’msorry.”
And then, just as quickly, the balloon floating inside mepops.
“We’ll keep her with us, it’s no big deal. Then we’ll get her home in one piece,” John says gently. “We’ll take care of you. It’s a compromise, right? You get to go out, but we get to be your bodyguards. I know it’s probably not what you had in mind, having the two of us watching you like a couple of hawks, but just say the word and I’ll make the call to yourdad.”
