Far From You

52

TEN MONTHS AGO (SIXTEEN YEARS OLD)

I can’t stop crying as I slip through the back door of the Bishop house. “Mina? Mina, are you here?”

When she doesn’t answer, I open her bedroom door without knocking. She’s sitting on her canopied bed, legs crossed.

She doesn’t ask me what’s wrong.

She’s been waiting for me.

We stare at each other, silent, and I suddenly understand why she looks so guilty. Why she has to force herself to meet my gaze.

She knows.

She’s the one who told my parents where to find the drugs. And the prescription triplicates I’d stolen from Dad’s office.

The betrayal swamps me. I want to punch her. Grab a handful of her hair and pull until it rips out in my hand. Punish her the way she’s been punishing me all along. Is this her new solution—get me sent away so I won’t be a temptation?

“I had to tell them, Sophie,” she says.

“No.”

“I had to.” She gets up from the bed when I start to back away from her. “You don’t listen to me. You won’t talk to me. You need help.”

“I can’t believe you did this!” I’m almost out of her bedroom, horror coursing through me.

“I had to!” She chases after me and yanks me back into her room, slamming the door behind me, locking us in.

My balance, always precarious, is thrown off and I stumble, knocking into her.

“You told me you were getting off those pills,” Mina hisses, all hints of apology or guilt erased now. Her fingers bite into my arm, and I squeeze her wrist tight where I’m holding on to her, because this is what we’re good at: hurting each other.

“I lied,” I say. I drawl it out right in her face.

She goes white, letting go of me so fast, I’m reeling. “How could you do this?” she demands. “Stealing from your dad? That’s not you. You could have killed yourself, taking so many pills!”

“Maybe that’s what I wanted.”

Mina makes a sound, inarticulate and feral. Then she pushes me.

She puts her weight into it, pushes me like she would a steady person. No more careful touches, no arm looped through mine. Now is the time to make me fall, twist me up, ruin me for good.

I topple, but I bring her down with me, reaching out at the last second and dragging her to the carpet. My hands are in her hair, and I pull. Her nails dig into my shoulder.

“Don’t you dare say that,” she gasps. “Take it back.”

“No.” I buck beneath her; she’s half sprawled on top of me. I can’t breathe around the feeling. Her hands press down on my shoulders, pinning me to the floor. My back aches, my leg twisted at a bad angle, but her eyes burn into mine. She won’t look away now. I can’t, because I’ve never seen her this way before, like this is the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. She leans down, so close I can feel her breath against my skin. Her hair spills across my shoulder, brushing my neck.

“Take it back,” she says again.

I lick my lips and shake my head. My final dare.

Mina breaks, and the space between us is finally gone.

She kisses me, and even now I’m amazed that it’s her instead of me who concedes.

“Take it back,” she whispers into my mouth, and my breath hitches, my body hitches, rises up to meet hers when her palms slip underneath my shirt, touching the fragile skin around my belly button.

I trail my hands down the sides of her face, kiss her hard, tongue and teeth. This has never been soft or sweet; we’ve always been more than that, sharpened by time and want, our secret war finally won.

I start to say please, but I really want to say her name, pressed against her lips, mouthed along her collarbone, so I do, murmuring it like a mantra, like a thank-you, like a blessing.

Her hand pushes farther up my shirt. She brushes her knuckles against me, underneath my bra, and I let my body arch into her.

We take forever, kissing for minutes at a time, clothing shed piece by piece, until finally her fingers slip into my underwear and I moan against her neck, jerk beneath her hand as the feeling flutters through me, as her fingers circle and seek and I can’t breathe through it, I can’t breathe at all as I tense and shake and pulse around her.

After, when it’s her turn, when she trembles below me, soft, slick skin and warm hands, her breasts pressed against mine, my mouth, trailing down, down, down, salt and silk and her whispering my name, I’m awestruck.

I want to remember everything because it’s the first time.

Later, I’ll remember everything because it’s the only time.