What Lurks Beneath the Surface ✔️

chapter eight

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.