I follow Rem up the stairs, my excitement increasing with every step. His dad isn't home, so we have the whole house to ourselves.

And of course, being the hormonal teenagers that we are, we're heading straight to the bedroom.

Rem's room is not what I expected. The walls are painted a dark blue, while the ceiling is covered in pastel glow-in-the-dark stars. His twin-sized bed is pushed into one corner, and the adjacent corner contains a well-loved electronic keyboard. His sliding closet door is pushed open, revealing his everyday wardrobe that I've grown familiar with. Various posters decorate the walls, showing his eclectic music preferences; this boy likes everything from Kanye to Lewis Capaldi.

I take off my sweatshirt and throw it to the floor. He follows suit, shedding his jacket and shoes. I take a deep breath before bringing my lips to his. We kiss with passion, with ferocity, with a sense of urgency that makes me wonder not if we'll end up doing more, but when.

As more clothing is tossed to the ground, I think back to my first time with Nash. I think about the way he pressured me into taking off my clothes, the pain I experienced when he impatiently pushed himself inside of me, and the fear I felt when I discovered no preventative measures were taken.

I think myself into a panic, because the next thing I know, I'm pushing Rem away from me as I gather my belongings off the floor.

Way to go, Vange. Way to ruin everything.

"Hey, hey, hey." Rem quickly zips up his pants and scoops me into his arms, holding me to his chest as I try not to burst into tears. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry. I didn't plan for this, I swear."

"I know." I nod my head and muster a smile. "I'm being such a tease. I'm sor—"

"Hold on. You're being a tease? Vange, I never said that. Hell, I would never even think that," he says, a serious expression on his face. "I wanted to take things slow, remember? We've been on one date. You've been my girlfriend for, like, twenty-four hours. Trust me, I am not upset that you won't sleep with me."

I can't stop the river of tears that cascades down my cheeks. I cry for the girl I was six months ago, the girl who thought she had to have sex with a man in order to maintain his interest. I know better than that now, but I wish I had known that back then, back before I gave my virginity to a boy who thought I was expendable, who made me feel disposable.

"Vange, I know you dated Nash Garner last year," Rem whispers, lifting my chin and forcing me to look at him. My teary eyes meet his chocolate brown ones as he continues, "I'm not asking for details, because it's not my business, but did he... did Nash ever—?"

"He never forced me to do anything," I respond quickly. "We... we did have sex, though."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I just want to make sure you're okay," he murmurs, grazing his thumb over my now damp cheek.

"I'm okay," I assure him. "Is it alright if we put a pause to this, though? I'm not saying I don't want to—trust me, I do—but I don't think I'm ready."

"Vange, you don't have to ask for permission not to sleep with me. If you say no, then the answer's no." He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. "It's almost dinner time. How about I make you something to eat?"

Once I'm fully clothed and my tears are dried, we make our way downstairs. Rem takes out a carton of eggs before turning on the stove, vowing to cook me the best scrambled eggs I've ever had.

"Good luck," I tease him. "My gram makes amazing scrambled eggs."

"No shade to your grandma, but mine are probably better." He shrugs his shoulders, forgetting the fact that he just dissed a sixty-year-old woman, and begins to cook.

Twenty minutes later, he hands me a plate of steaming eggs and buttered toast. The meal looks delicious, and I don't think it's just because I'm hungry.

"Eat," he instructs, nodding toward my untouched food.

"Thank you." I smile before taking my first bite.

"Anything for you, pretty girl." He kisses me on the cheek before plating his own dinner. "Let me know who the winner is—me or your grandma."

As we eat, he asks about the nightmare that had me biking to Kira's at five o'clock in the morning. I share with him the same details I shared with her, including the fact that this wasn't my first time dreaming about the terrified little girl.

"Have you ever thought that maybe these are more than just dreams?" he inquires, spooning more eggs onto my plate.

"Kira thinks they're representative of some sort of deep-seated fear. She likes to pull the my-mom's-a-therapist card a lot," I reply with a chuckle.

He shakes his head. "I don't mean like that. What if these aren't dreams? What if they're, like, repressed memories? You told me the first seven years of your life are a blur."

"That seems like a stretch. What could have happened that was so bad my brain had to block it out?" I toss back.

He shoots me a pointed look. "Vange, your mom killed herself."

"That's another mystery I'll probably never solve," I mumble, leaning back in my chair. "I get that people don't typically off themselves for one specific reason, but I wish I knew what drove her to that point. What was so bad that made her not want to be alive anymore?"

"Maybe she was depressed. Maybe it was a chemical thing."

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Have you asked your grandparents?"

"They don't like talking about my parents. No one in my family does," I say with a roll of my eyes.

"You live with your dad's parents, right?" he asks, to which I nod my head in response. "Does your mom have any family left?"

"Yeah, her mother." I cringe at the mention of Carla Porter. "She's... unreliable. She's a slave to pills and can't maintain her sobriety for more than a couple months."

"We could try talking to her," he suggests.

"We?" I smirk.

"I obviously am not letting you talk to a raging drug addict alone, even if she is your grandmother."

"Okay, it's a date."

Chuckling, he brings our now empty plates to the dishwasher. I stand up and wrap my arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. I place a kiss between his shoulder blades and feel his muscles tighten beneath his shirt.

"I'm glad I drunkenly sat on your lap at Fiona's party," I muse. "If I hadn't made a total fool of myself, we wouldn't be here right now."

He spins around and places his hands on my hips. "Vange, you think that's what attracted me to you?" he asks, an expression of disbelief on his face.

"Um, yeah," I admit. "Was I wrong?"

"Don't laugh at me," he says, blushing scarlet, "but when we were in the fifth grade, there was this kid, Billy, who always used to pick on you and Kira."

"I remember Billy!" I exclaim. "God, I was so glad when he moved."

"I think our entire fifth grade class was," Rem mutters. "One day, he got in your face and started threatening you. I was about to step in when you kicked him right in the shin. You were so... fearless. I'd never seen a girl stand up for herself like that before. I just... I don't know. I couldn't get it, or you, out of my head."

Now I'm the one who's blushing. "I almost forgot about that. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised  that I punched Fiona in the face."

"Billy deserved it, and Fiona probably did, too," he jokes.

"What you're saying, though, is that you've had a thing for me since we were ten?" I look up at him, my green eyes gazing into his chocolate brown ones.

"Never thought I'd admit that, but yes," he confirms, making my heart swell.

"Well, I've got you beat," I say. "When we were in second grade, you sang 'You're Beautiful' in the school talent show. I don't even like that song, but ever since I heard you sing it... well, I guess the rest is history."

"No, it's not history." Shaking his head, his cups my face in his hands. "It's just starting right now."

Sorry for the sappiness. I'm having way too much fun over here. I'm a little obsessed with these two❣️

Don't  forget to give that star a quick tap before you go⭐️⭐️