Around 11 pm, after the lights go out in the master bedroom, my door begins to open on its own. A faint crack of light from the hallway seeps into the room. As I lay in bed, my eyes are riveted on the familiar figure that appears in my doorway. 

Tall. 

Masculine. 

It's Cruz, of course. 

The door clicks shut behind him. It's followed by the even softer click of the lock. These nightly visits of his are fast becoming our norm. From the shadows, Cruz walks towards me. His footsteps are quiet on the hardwood. I scoot over on the mattress to give him some room. He climbs in beside me, immediately drawing my smaller body against his larger frame. We lay there together in tense silence for a few minutes.

There's so much to discuss. So much to address. It's fucking stressful. It's fucking fucked up. My mind feels like it's about to crash. I need a breather, a moment to rest, to escape reality, and I think Cruz needs it as well.

For these few, fleeting minutes, we simply say nothing. I'm the little spoon. He's the big spoon. That's it. Nothing more. We try to find comfort in each other, and, yet, it feels impossible to breathe, to rest, or to escape.

I wish I could shut down my brain as easily as Ron can turn off his rage.

I wish Cruz's body didn't feel so tense and restless behind me.

I wish stress wasn't radiating from our very core.

It's not easy to breathe or forget or escape when life tightens around your neck like a noose. All of the pent up emotional and sexual and mental strain within us needs to be unwound, somehow.

It needs... release.

Cruz's hands begin to wander up and down my waist, caressing me everywhere. My hips. My back. My stomach. I shuffle closer to him, tucking my bum into his crotch. Cruz lets out a needy grunt as he presses himself against me, rubbing, grinding, a few times before growing hard as steel.

Soon, he flips me around to face him. His arm wraps around my shoulders as he leans over to kiss me. His teeth gently tug on my lower lip. His tongue slides in to tease mine. I sigh with relief, with delight, and kiss him back with everything I've got.

This is helping me breathe, forget, escape.

His fingers trail over my belly, ghosting up to my chest. I'm not wearing a bra again. His palm hovers over my boobs. Not quite touching. His head lifts away from my mouth then. I take in a much needed breath and stare at him in the dark. Wide-eyed and wanting. He looks back at me with tenderness and desire. Heat darkens his gaze to a pure black color.

There's a question in his eyes: May I?

I nod, smiling shyly, knowing that he wants to touch me.

Cruz's hand brushes against my breast, lightly, somewhat cautiously, at first, as though he doesn't want to hurt me, then, with more confidence, massaging the rounded swells and using his palm and fingers to circle my nipples over the barrier of my tank top. My nipples harden at his touch. Pleasure flows through me.

At the same time, my hand drifts down to the hardness between his thighs. Before I can ask for permission, his other hand clasps my wrist and guides it to his cock.

"Please," Cruz pleads softly.

He doesn't need to ask twice. I start fondling him over his joggers. Tugging and twisting his shaft lightly. Gliding my fingers up and down the underside of his length. The sweats mold perfectly to the shape of his thickness and hardness, and soon a small wet spot stains the fabric near the tip of his hardon.

It doesn't take long for Cruz to start humping my hand while he twists my nipples between his fingers. I moan and pant as my excitement builds alongside his passion. We continue groping each other and making out for a while longer before—

"Wait," Cruz winces suddenly and pulls away, "hold on."

I snatch my hand away and demand worriedly, "What's wrong?"

Cruz chuckles in a strained manner. "Nothing, nothing. Everything just—"

"What?"

"Feels too good," he grumbles.

My eyebrows rise with amusement. "I see..."

I laugh, then, feeling naughty and smug over my effect on Cruz. I bet dozens of girls at school would kill to be in my position. It's no secret that Cruz has quite a little fan club on campus since, not only is my guy smart and good-looking, but he's also a beast at soccer as well.

A fucking triple threat.

It makes me wonder what he sees me: A nobody with no special talents or achievements.

"Am I too much for you to handle?" I tease even though I'm feeling every bit as horny as him.

I'm also teasing him to mask my inferiority complex. Deep down, I know Cruz is out of my league.

"Not at all. You're exactly what I need."

"In what way?" I breathe out with wide eyes, "show me."

He doesn't respond with words. Instead, Cruz simply groans and hauls me towards his chest, caging me in a bear hug with his entire body. His head dips into the crook between my ear and collarbone. Cruz leaves a trail of kisses along the slope of my neck. He stops at my shoulder to nip and suck on my skin. Aggressive enough to leave a hickey. It leaves me breathless and lightheaded.

Cruz makes me feel... wanted.

I no longer feel so inferior as his body clings to mine. He confesses, "Fuck, I want more. I want to do all kinds of filthy things to your body."

Gazing into his eyes, I whisper invitingly, "Go ahead. Nobody's stopping you."

His hard cock hardens even more against my thigh. With a heated, helpless look, he rasps, "Damn it, Athena, you can't say shit like that..."

"Why not?" I counter with an innocent smile.

His palm slides down my body to cup my sex, squeezing my mound, possessively, as he grunts, "We're definitely gonna fuck some day—"

Jesus, that's hot.

His fingers begin to circle my clit through my panties. My eyes nearly roll back as a desperate spike of lust shoots through my core. Cruz makes me feel so good, so desired, so safe in every way: Mind, body, and heart. Heat throbs between my thighs. I want him to keep going so bad, but, after releasing a shaky, shuddering sigh, Cruz's teasing and toying simply... stops.

He lets me go like a goddamn gentleman. I groan in protest. The absence of his hand makes me want to whimper for more, to beg him to touch me there again.

With another sigh, Cruz finishes, "But not tonight."

His words bring the unpleasantness of our reality back into play. My overwhelming need to be touched fades away in a split second.

Because Cruz is right.

Tonight isn't really the right time for fun or fucking. A sad, sullen breath escapes my lungs. It echoes Cruz's disappointment.

Everything between us feels like it's progressing way too fast, anyway. Only a week ago, we were still trying to rip out each other's throats. He was putting blue dye in my shower, and I was super-gluing googly eyes to all of his shit. Yet, the terrible shit that's gone down over the past few days have thrown us together like two survivors on a lifeboat. I feel more connected to him than anyone else at present. Even more so than Persie. Because she doesn't know anything about what happened at Sam's party.

This sudden closeness between Cruz and me feels exhilarating and incredible and terrifying all at the same time. It makes me worry.

Should put the brakes on my feelings?

Too much of a good thing can definitely backfire, right?

Cruz and I shuffle onto our backs to get more comfortable. We need to calm down from our heavy petting and kissing. The sheets and blanket rustle with our movements. Cruz snakes an arm around me to pull me close, and I nestle my head into the curve of his neck.

A car drives by the house then. Its headlights shine through the window, making shadows and light dance across my ceiling.

One of the shadows looks like a monster in the dark. Distress circles back to dampen my mood.

"What a day, huh?" I mutter.

My awful encounter with Chrissa in the restroom.

Cruz's fight with Brody in the cafeteria.

The in-school suspension.

"What a night, huh?" he mutters back.

Ron's burst of anger and violence in the study.

The shattered paperweight.

His quick and all too sudden apology.

Aunt Katrina's willingness to look the other way in spite of the bright red flags.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Like shit."

Shame and guilt claw at my heart.

I feel the urge to apologize again and again and again, "I'm so sorry about... everything. The fight. The suspension. Your dad. All of this is my fault."

If I had just stayed away from Brody in the cafeteria, then Cruz would've never gotten into a fight. He would've never been suspended, and his dad wouldn't have found a reason to go apeshit on his ass.

Cruz shakes his head as though rejecting my apology. "Stop. Please. None of this is your fault, okay? Quit apologizing. Or else."

I frown. "Or else what?"

The fact that he's not holding any of this against me fills my heart with awe. It makes me respect him so much even though this moment remains conflicting as hell: On one hand, everything truly sucks ass right now because I don't have any control over what Chrissa or Brody or Ron might do in the days to come. On the other hand, Cruz makes me feel as though everything will be okay as long we're together.

"Or else," he leans over to kiss the top of my head, "whenever we do fuck, I'm gonna go rough and hard and punish your sweet little ass for being such a dummy."

The mood between us shifts again. His chaste peck is in direct contrast with the wickedness of his threat.

My breath hitches slightly. "Rough and hard, huh?"

He gives me a little smirk. "Yeah, rough and hard."

"Damn, Cruz, I never knew you had such a dirty mind," I murmur in surprise, "I always thought you'd be kinda... vanilla."

He laughs darkly and gives my boob a quick, playful squeeze. "I thought so, too, but then I found myself this really hot girlfriend, so, now, it's hard to think about anything other than the crazy shit I wanna do to her."

Cruz thinks I'm hot?

He wants to do dirty stuff to me?

Like... what?

In spite of the heaviness looming over us, I can't help but blush, squeaking, "How... crazy?"

Cruz side-eyes me with heat and amusement. "You'll see."

"Can't wait," I mumble, feeling happy from my head to my toes.

Cruz is the only silver lining to this crazy, fucked up cloud, and, if I'm being totally honest, I want to give myself to him, fully, even if we're going too fast and being too reckless with our hearts. We're meant to crash and burn. But I don't mind. 

I'll happily go up in flames if it means I get to call him mine.