Until There Was You

nineteen

He understood why he had always thought she was weird, but knew he would never know who she wanted to be or how long she'd be around. He understood what her words meant—the profound ones that woke Jude from an eternal slumber. Waverly Clarke never needed anyone. Their eyes met and galaxies collided. Waverly had finally lured him into her own universe and they shared it. He was sharing the universe with her. The one she showed him over and over again in parts each time.

A certain gentleness flowed over Waverly's cheeks and there were no longer shadows. Hues were splattered across her face, bittersweet light like fireflies or starlight against mere darkness. Waverly and Jude were in an intimate proximity. So close, yet so far apart. Jude's heart was yelping for him to lean in and kiss her, to fucking do something. Don't think just do, it said. Screw the moon and its secrets, mocking Jude and his languid motives. Then the moment dissolved. Waverly laughed at him as if he had misunderstood the entire thing.

"I think the beer's getting to you, Lockhart," she teased. Jude didn't break eye contact when Waverly turned her head in the other direction, and finally he understood and lowered his own eyes at the bottle in his hands.

"Can I tell you something?" Jude asked.

"Yeah, but first me. Why'd you really bring us out here, Jude?"

The memories burned when she asked and he flinched at the reasoning—his own reasoning too. She called him Jude and not Lockhart, which only meant she wanted to be serious. His gaze danced over to his car where Lincoln was asleep, head against the window with his mouth slightly agape.

"I needed a breather," he finally said.

"I had to get away," he added in a tolerable manner that resembled his day without saying it. He still hadn't told anyone, not even Waverly, about his mother's affair. And maybe he never would because silence was the best medicine. So Jude told himself to suck it up and get over it because that was what guys were meant to do—conceal their emotions.

"From what?"

"Everything," he muttered. "But not you, Waverly."

He sounded like such a sap, but no one was around to judge his words so he didn't care. Maybe, that was the beer talking, or the sadness, regardless of which, it was the truth. And he didn't care if saying it made him weak or sappy.

Those words sealed the night for them, and before Jude knew it he was not thinking and doing like he proclaimed moments before. One of his palms had been pressed in the grass and he found himself leaning over and pressing his lips to Waverly's, slowly and fearfully. His eyes were closed. In his head he could hear her retorting and Lincoln teasing him for it, but it wasn't like that.

He wasn't sure how she would react: push him away, curse him out, leave his life altogether. But maybe Jude wasn't thinking rationally then, maybe he had let his emotions get the best of him. And this was the one thing he could control, and that was how he felt about her.

Waverly didn't stop, her eyes weren't closed though. At first they widened as wide as saucers, but then she gave in. She kissed him back and Jude felt his heart beating hard between them like a soulful linger. Her hands were tugging at his hair, and they were tumbling in the grass, all itchy and wild. She tasted like lip balm and coconut oil, a whim of shambling voids. She was the empty space that bled rivers of perplexity. Jude wanted to drown in it.

Constellations against her plushness. Whispers against her city eyes. He felt her palms on his hard chest, fingers blazing with heat. He could hardly breathe, but he cherished every minute of it because it wasn't everyday Waverly Clarke kissed you without giving you a black eye or a shady comment. From the way her lips interlocked with his he knew that this hadn't been her first kiss.