I've made this journey countless times before when I used to meet Abby, and it's gone faster than it has ever. And it's the holiday season so I'm more than shocked.
Around an hour into the drive, we turned my loud ass rock music off and put one some Christmas songs to set the vibe. Ethan's face was a picture, and even though he didn't know all the songs, he caught on quick enough.
It still breaks me that he's never celebrated Christmas, and I just want to give him all of the experiences I had, especially as a child. It was always my favorite holiday growing up, I loved everything about it. The food, the music, the company of friends and family, the decorations, did I mention the food?
I keep glancing over at Ethan, watching his face as we drive through the busy streets of Manhattan. He's quite literally in awe right now. The traffic has been chaotic, but we're here and on time.
"I thought you said you'd been to New York?" I wonder, smiling over at him.
"I have, but not Manhattan, and when we did, I really didn't take much notice of the sights." He tells me with a little smile on his face.
"We're going to Central Park first. Are you ready for the chaos?" I ask, only I don't think he's taking me seriously. "Ethan. It's Christmas time in New York, it's busy on a normal day, it's going to be busy."
"Will you be okay?" He asks with worry, and my heart skips knowing that was his first response.
"I honestly don't know. I've walked the New York streets alone several times, it never bothering me. I have you, and I'm never letting go of your hand, so I hope I'll be okay. The busy streets are so chaotic that I feel somewhat reassured that I'm safe. Do I sound totally stupid?" I ask, looking briefly over at him. It may sound totally stupid but I think it makes sense.
"No, I actually get it. And I aren't letting go of your hand either." He says, resting his hand on my thigh and I smile. The first time he did that last week, I jolted and he apologized profusely. It wasn't that I was scared of him, I just didn't expect it. I explained and he insisted that he wouldn't do it again, so then I grabbed his hand and put it on my thigh, proving that I was in fact okay with it. I hate that there's still hesitation there, but we're learning together.
It's been eleven days since that night and having him as my support has meant more than he knows. I know I could have gotten through this because I would have had to but having him here has helped me so much. We've not gone any further that kissing, cuddling, and a somewhat shameless makeout session in bed one night. I stopped it though before it went further.
It wasn't that I didn't want to, or that I was scared, nervous or anything like that, there was just this voice in my head. I'm so unsure how I'm supposed to feel after all this, and I don't know when is too soon. I want to move on with Ethan, I was us to get back to what we were but I don't know how without a part of myself judging me.
I haven't brushed what happened under the carpet, I haven't because I can't just do that like I have done in the past. I've spoke openly with Ethan and my friends when I've needed to. I've pushed through my fears to try and move forward. I didn't expect it to all go back to normal, it hasn't but it's getting there.
My friends have stopped tiptoeing around me, treating me like a normal person. I feel like me, and everyone treats me like me. The only one who has stopped me from being me, is, well, me. The part in my brain that judges me, that questions me, is stopping me from moving further. I'm frustrated with the unknown. The question I keep asking myself is; when is the right time to start doing sexual things? Google hasn't exactly been great with that answer, but I read a few blogs online that helped massively.
There isn't a "right time." I know that now, but I have been searching for that answer. I expected a specific timeline. But it's when you feel comfortable, and no one can judge you for when that is.
With Ethan, I really believe I will be okay when it happens. For the first few days after, I never thought about it, and Ethan hasn't brought it up. But the more I felt more me, the more the old me shun through, the more I did think about it. Overthinking about it. My hormones didn't magically stop, and I was even questioning why I was getting turned on in moments that would be totally normal for me.
It's been such a confusing situation.
I feel weird- wrong admitting to myself that I'm ready because eleven days isn't a long time, but it's not short either. It's felt like a whole month already. The blog has helped me, reassured me that I'm not wrong nor am I weird for feeling ready. For some of the women, they didn't wait, but some waited months. There's literally no right answer to my question, and that made me feel better, relieved. It's been an inside battle of mine; it's the only thing I haven't spoken with anyone about because I felt ashamed almost for feeling like this.
I personally think it's because of how much I trust and like Ethan, that I am ready. He's hardly left my side through this hard time; he's still here making me feel safe and not alone. It's not even been a month since the first time we kissed, the first time we slept together, but the feelings for him that I'm feeling are so foreign. It's soon, but I remind myself that even though it's been less than a month, we were also involved unromantically before that. And in that time, we got to know each other, we trusted one another, and it's when I caved and somewhat fell for him and his charm.
If I'm not as ready as I think I am, I know I'm with a guy who will stop, comfort and wait until I am. It reassures me so much.
~~
Parking in New York City is personally above a joke. If there's a secret everyone knows about, please, I'd like to know. I tell myself every single time, I'm never driving again because of this reason, but here I am unable to get a space to park Ethan's stupid car in.
We've been looking for parking close to half an hour now, and as soon as I'm about to give up and exit this parking lot block, Ethan yells pointing towards a car that is reversing from a space pretty much in front of me. Apparently, luck is on my side today. Did he have to yell though?
Due to Christmas, it's more than packed, and I swear I was about to give up and go back to college.
If you haven't already caught on from the amount of times, we've mentioned it, we're staying in Manhattan for the next two days. I love this part of New York so much; it feels like home even though I've never stayed here longer than a night. I just love the pace of this city; it makes me feel alive.
Manhattan is massive, and I really don't believe we'll see everything we want to see during out time here. I'm going to try with all my power to get us to the Rockefeller Tree at some point before we leave though. For today, we're going to stay in upper Manhattan since I'm meeting Abby in Central Park for a coffee – the time is still undecided because the last time I heard from her, she still had quite a drive.
I don't exactly have many plans for this weekend, but I feel like it's just going to fall into place.
"I feel like I need a nap just from parking this thing." I exhale, lying my head back on the seat. I'm worn out and we've not even been anywhere yet.
"Do you wanna nap?" He asks me, his voice serious even though he knows we can't, but I'd like to agree. "Come on, we'll get our coats on and just explore. I've got you."
There's a little flutter in my chest just from those three words. I've got you.
"Do I look okay?" I don't know why all of a sudden, I've become self-conscious of my outfit, but I have. I'm wearing some blue skinny jeans with a ringlet black belt, a black tank top underneath an off the shoulder white sweater. I'm so used to wearing oversized t-shirt and sweats, especially lately, and this is quite different. I don't feel overly confident about.
I shouldn't listen to what that guy that night said that I was dressed for it, but I have and I've just been a little in my head about my style since then. I know a skintight dress is quite the opposite to what I'm wearing, but even skinny jeans are making me feel weary.
"You look absolutely beautiful, please don't doubt that." He tells me softly with a frown, and I smile at the compliment.
"I'm not doubting that as such, I'm just a little... I don't know, I just- it doesn't matter. Forget I even said anything." I shrug it off, undoing my seatbelt, and he grabs my wrist to stop me from opening the door.
"Talk." He urges.
"It's stupid." I tell him, hating how weak I sound.
"And? Stupid or not, I want to know." He says, and my heart somewhat picks up at his bossy tone.
"I usually drown my body with oversized clothing, and the last time I wore anything remotely tight, I was... cornered in a bathroom. I just feel weird wearing skinny jeans, that's all. And I didn't really have time to think it through until now." I say, cringing slightly when his face falls and washes with emotion.
"If you want to get changed, you can in the back of there right now. It's not stupid – and the fault wasn't what you were wearing that night, the fault was the disgrace of that guy who even though to do that. You are allowed to dress how you like, and I want you to feel comfortable." He says, and I sigh closing my eyes.
"I don't want to get dressed; I really like what I'm wearing. I guess, I guess it's just another one of these steps. I feel so weak though." I admit, blinking up at him and he presses his lips together, watching me carefully.
"What do you want to do? Do you want to sit in here for five, we can talk? You can get changed if you really want to, into something that will make you feel comfortable. You're not weak, I promise you." He says, taking my hands over the console and I nod gently.
"I think the more I stay in here, the more I'll think about it. It's crept up on me. I felt great less than two minutes ago, so, can we just go out before I dwell further?" I ask shyly, knowing I'm making the right choice by pushing through my insecurities and fears.
One step in front of the other.
"Of course. Remember I'm here, you look amazing." He says and I smile at him, he's amazing and I really don't deserve him. "And we're in New York."
"What does New York have to do with this?" I ask with a little laugh.
"Nothing really, but I just thought I'd remind you." He says quickly before grabbing the door handle. I watch him climb out of the car, and I just watch his face, he looks so happy and I love to see it. He then peeps his head in with a frown. "Come on darling, Manhattan is waiting."
All I can do is smile.
Okay, creepy, get your shit together, he's going to think you're on drugs. You don't want that.
Taking my own advice, I grab his keys from the ignition and get out, and the chill in the air hits me as soon as I do. It's no different to what we deal with in New Jersey, but being in a parking lot block, it feels colder that it actually is.
I don't trust myself to keep ahold of Ethan's keys because I just shouldn't be trusted, so I pass them to him as soon as I meet him at the trunk which he then opens.
"My coat – I'll put my wallet and phone in the inside pockets. It saves carrying around my purse." I explain, and he grabs my grey puffer coat which technically is actually his. Yes, for some reason I've started using it again. After sleeping at his place nearly two weeks ago, I've just been constantly wearing it when I go out. He doesn't wear it and he complains it's too puffy and warm, which is why I love it – it may sound silly, but it also weirdly makes me feel close to him and safe.
"Okay, here is yours... and finally mine." He has to rummage under our bags to find his thick leather jacket which has a faux fur lining – I've worn it once before and it's really warm, I won't lie. He shrugs his on, and turns to me, a smile coming to his face. "You look comfy."
"I'm not surprised, I feel like I'm wrapped in a duvet." I say with a smile, zipping it up to my chin.
"It is like three times bigger than the size you are." He says with a smug smile as he shuts the trunk.
"I'm teeny, I know. I'm tall though." I point out.
"You're like five-foot." He teases and I scoff dramatically.
"I'm five-foot-six!" I exclaim.
"Like the six inches matter." He rolls his eyes.
"For your information, yes it does." I tell him, only the tone in my voice may suggest another thing that require those inches. He looks over at me with his eyes squinted into a line, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "You were the one who said inches didn't matter, six inches off what you are, well..."
I fall into a fit of giggles when his arms wrap around me, he dips his head into my neck and I smile as I lean back against his chest.
"You know, disrespecting someone's dick size is like saying someone has small boobs." He says and I gasp, looking back at him.
"You like my boobs." I argue.
"You like my dick." He retorts, and I groan, he's got me there. He puts his arm around me, and we begin to walk instead of just standing around. "And you'd still have like three inches, so I think you'd be fine."
"Since when have you been nine inches?" I blurt out with a laugh, and he groans, tipping his head back.
"You know what, I- you're so annoying." He says, but I really want to know how he knows. I'm not doubting anything he's saying, he's bigger than average, but I can't picture him measuring it – but guys are guys, and I've been friends with guys, they do, do these things. "And no, before you even ask, I didn't get a fucking tape-measure out."
"Then how?" I ask, smiling up at him.
"iPhone." He mutters, and I don't know why I immediately know exactly what he means, but I do. There's an app which comes with the phone, that can measure anything. But the thought of him doing it has me laughing way harder than needed. "Oh, shut up."
"You shut up; this is hilarious." I say and he shakes his head with a roll of his eyes. "You know, some would say this is really inappropriate chitchat for the outdoors."
"Maybe so." He shrugs, not bothered in the slightest.
I think he thinks I'm going to drop this, but that is where he's wrong. I can't stop laughing over it, I find this hilarious. I won't lie, I don't blame him because if I had a dick for a day, that would be – apart from the obvious – one of the first things I'd do.
"Nine inches, are you sure?" I ask and watch his jaw tick, then he looks over at me. "I'm sorry, I'll stop, I have small boobs, I get it."
"You don't... okay maybe a little." He says and I giggle, wrapping my arm around his waist, leaning into his side. "I like your small boobs, they're the perfect size. And... It's either eight and a half, or nine."
"I still can't believe you did it with your phone. How- like, did you get yourself hard, then think, oh I'll get my phone out to measure this?" I ask, falling into some more laughter.
"I really regret telling you this." He mutters.
"Fine, I'll drop it." I say, smiling like a Cheshire cat. I'm going to be nice for once, and actually drop it because I can see how much he's hating this.
"Let's go face the so-called chaos." He says, and I smile taking his hand in mine.
~~
He wasn't at all ready for the 'so-called chaos', he really thought I was being dramatic. He soon learned that I wasn't. Even though the streets were busy, busier than usual, I felt safe with his arm around my waist, always holding me whilst we walked and talked.
Watching the glee on his face as we pass different shop windows, made this whole trip, the traffic, the stupid busy parking worth it and we've not even been here half an hour.
Every store we walked past had extremely expensive window displays, for one of them, he pulled me to a stop so he could have a really good look at it. I've never seen him like this outside of our little bubble we create when we're alone. He's the person I know, the person he keeps hidden around other people so he doesn't seem vulnerable. He doesn't know I take notice, but I see how he changes around me, how he's a different person to other people.
There's still a lot I don't know about Ethan, things he hasn't told me yet. I aren't a hypocrite; I won't rush him into telling me because I wouldn't want that. But the things he has, they've only been small details which have broken little pieces of my heart for him. Once he starts talking, he becomes very vulnerable, but then he shuts up after a minute, shutting himself down like I'd judge him. What he has told me which isn't much, it's been the 'minor' things.
The night we went to the garages, that night back in late September, he showed me the things he drew as a thirteen-year-old boy, the 'demons'. It broke my heart that, that was what he drew, but what broke me further was he said they were his carers – people who were supposed to take care of him, to protect him. He's not spoken anymore on that matter, he's not mentioned being in care at all, not until this morning when he told me he's never celebrated Christmas.
The fact he has never once celebrated Christmas at the age of twenty-one saddens me. The fact that when we're in bed on a night I can feel marks under his tattoos, kills me – he knows I know, but we've never spoken about burns and scars there.
I want to reach out, tell him he can trust me but he knows that, and I aren't going to be the one to push him. I've got my demons, and so has he. I'll be here when he needs me, and I know he'll be there for me.
From window displays to a quiet stroll through Central Park, I couldn't stop watching him, and he caught me a couple times, giving me a shy smile yet his eyebrows were tugged together in an accusing manor. But I couldn't help it.
He's still a little boy at heart, and I want to show that person that's still there, what he's been missing at this special time of year.
"I want food, do you want food?" He turns to me, his voice happy and relaxed. My Ethan.
"Yes, I'd love some." I say.
And that's how twenty minutes later, we're sat on the bench where I'll be meeting Abby at – the bench we meet at every single time. We've got quite a platter that we're sharing; some cheese fries with mayo, a hot dog each, some nachos, and some churros drizzled in white chocolate for desert.
"So, you said you hadn't celebrated Christmas before, do you mean you've not done Christmas day?" I ask curiously, it's been spinning around my mind what he has and hasn't done.
"Um, all of it, I guess. When I came to your dorm at the beginning of this month, everyone was there and we watched Home Alone, I guess that's the only thing that I've remotely done Christmassy. Um, I'm going to tell you something, but you can tell me to shut up if it's stupid or-" He starts to ramble but I cut him off.
"Nothing you will say will be stupid, I promise." I say, grasping his hands across the table.
"I haven't told anyone anything about this, I'm not great with words." He tells me looking a little lost, and I sigh, rubbing over his rose tattoo that's creeping down his wrist. "In my fifth home – it was in California somewhere, I was nine I think – I woke up Christmas morning, and there was a tree, there was presents under it and they'd even got a Santa to come in. Everyone was ecstatic but I was very confused, I was new to the place, I'd only been there a month, and I didn't know what Christmas was. I was never told about it; I just knew some parents came to visit sometimes. In the homes before, I knew to just keep your head down and not start trouble – but this place was something else, the people were nice, it was weird. I didn't understand why there were presents, why we were getting them. I just watched everyone from the corner, letting everyone take the presents. Then people had turns to take a picture with Santa. I didn't like him; he was just so red... and weird. This Santa dude, he, um, he had this girl on his lap, Diya, she was my age, she hated my guts. I was in the corner, I could see what he was doing, whereas no one else could, and he was squeezing the top of her leg, I knew at nine that it was wrong, so I got up, marched over to him and hit him. I hit Santa, and I got kicked out of there that afternoon."
"Ethan." I whisper and he shakes his head. "No, please don't. I want you to know it's not your fault."
"I just told you I hit Santa." He tells me with an amused smile.
"For a good reason, he was touching that girl. You just told me that. You can't blame yourself for hitting Santa." I say, trying not to laugh because the fact he hit Santa is becoming more and more funny.
"You can laugh, I hit Santa." He says and I shake my head, hiding it. "Come on, I know you wanna."
"But it's not funny. Yeah, okay, the picture in my head of nine-year-old you hitting Santa, that's funny, but not the situation – you got kicked out of there." I say, and he sighs, looking down at our hands.
"I was moved to another home somewhere in California, I don't know where because I was young – but that's when the homes got... worse." He hesitates, and this is when he'd usually shut down, so I'm surprised when he continues. "When I was a little boy, they were still bad but you'd still get dinner every night, have a warm shower and have friends. But after the fight, I was claimed to be dangerous and I wasn't allowed with the normal kids. I was with the felons, the kids that went to juvie. And that's what I was living with for the next five years, only I was moved twice again, only the last time was to New Jersey."
"When you were twelve?" I ask, and he nods slightly.
"So, that's the only Christmassy thing I have come close to. I've watched some movies with Felix over the years, heard the occasional song on the radio for a few seconds before I'd switch it over. But, um, I'd usually go on a bender; get really high and drunk – that started when I was thirteen, the first Christmas at my last placement." He mumbles, looking a little lost. I realize how he switched the conversation, avoiding talking about the years when he were twelve to fourteen at the home.
"I'm sorry you went through that; I wish I could take that away. I wish I could have shown you what Christmas really is." I say, meaning every single word.
"You are, we're creating new memories now. This is where our Christmas starts, right here in New York eating junk food at a wooden bench table thing. I just, I don't know how I'll be on Christmas day and I don't want to ruin that for you. It sometimes gets too much for me, and I have to leave. That's why even though I have a family now, I can't stick around to watch everything happen. It's painful for me really. But I'm going to try, I want to try for you. I want to know what I've been missing." He wants this, he looks like he's needed this for a long time.
"If it does get bad, we can do whatever you want to do. We can fuck off somewhere, get drunk, smoke weed and have our own fun. I don't want you to put yourself through pain, just because you want to try for me, I just think you deserve it. You deserve a lot better than what you've been through." I tell him.
"So do you Francesca, I mean that too. No one deserves what you've been through either – I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, even worse, I wouldn't wish it on your scumbag ex." He says with a serious look, and I take his word for it. I hate Chris for what he did, Ethan hates him even more, but he's right, I wouldn't wish what I went through on my worst enemy. Child and dog abusers however, well...
"You know, Chris isn't so bad." I say, and he looks at me like I've just told him I'm a murderer.
"He broke you, over and over again." He tells me.
"Yes, and I hate him for cheating on me, but we were kids. He was a teenage boy, and I don't excuse what he did because he did break me, but I don't exactly hate him as much as I did. We were together in high school for four years. I was fourteen, he was thirteen when I first heard rumors of him cheating on me around a month after I lost my virginity to him." I hesitate when I see his face screw up, yeah, I didn't mention that to him before. "Um, the girl was my ex-best friend, she was called Sophie. Phoebe, Abby, her, Chris and I were all friends from kindergarten, and I guess that's why I didn't believe it. We were barely teenagers and sex was just so new, and I didn't know what I was doing, so I didn't blame him for going else. He was shit in bed, he- fuck, um, he never went on top and when I first walked on him fucking a girl, he was taking her from behind. I felt like shit honestly, not because my boyfriend was fucking a blonde bimbo from school, but because of how he was."
"Wait, you're trying to persuade me that he isn't a bad guy, you do remember?" He checks with me.
"Okay, but remember he was thirteen." I say, and he groans tilting his head to the side.
"Who made you go on top every single time, your poor legs." He says and I laugh, biting down on my lip.
"I won't lie, it was boring." I say, shrugging slightly.
"How the fuck does a guy not have the impulse to throw you around and fuck you like you deserve?" He realizes as soon as he said it, and I shake my head at him to stop him from going off. "Fuck, shit, I'm so sorry."
"No, no please, it's fine. I didn't think about that actually." I say and he looks terribly guilty, so I continue on with my story with my sloppy ex. "But like I was saying. We were young, so I stayed with him even though I saw him with my own two eyes cheating on me. We were toxic, always arguing, he was possessive, and I knew he was cheating behind my back, but I just, I liked the company, I thought I loved him, so I didn't mind. But when I found out I didn't get into Yale; I knew I had to break up with him because he did. It hurt enough to know he was going to my dream school, but I knew I wouldn't be able to live my life if we did long distance – he was very jealous, always logging into my social media, blocking guys on there and everything. Looking back now, I really hate him but I don't think he's a bad person. I see the good in people anyway, but he had awful parents. They were dragging out their divorce for the entirety of our whole relationship, we'd be studying or... well, you know and they'd be arguing so loudly, and I really think that affected him. It doesn't excuse his behavior or how he treated me, but I just, I feel bad for him. His parents would bring hookups home with them, thinking that he didn't know, but we'd both be there witnessing it happen. All I'm trying to say is, I don't think everything he did was just his fault, there's always some reason why people act the way they do."
"There's no excuse for him acting like that... but I know what you're trying to say." He says, frowning at his own words. "But I still think he's a prick, and I hate him even more now. And before you say, oh he was thirteen, he was seventeen or eighteen by the time you broke up, and he should've known better to take it out on you by treating you like shit."
"True." I whisper, picking at my light blue nail vanish. I know Chris was a prick for many reasons, but I've always felt sorry for him.
"Don't, I like it." He says, and I frown up at him, only to see him looking at my nails.
"Really? You never mentioned my nails before." I mumble, not really understanding why he's bothered by chipped nail vanish that needs to be repainted.
"I used to paint mine." He says, flattening his hands out and cringing at his nails. "But, um, I just stopped when I moved to New Jersey."
"Can I do them?" I ask, smiling at him, hoping he will.
"Really?" He asks, looking... happy?
"Yeah, of course, I need to do mine again. I only have this color in my purse though." I say, not knowing if he'd want light blue nails.
"We can buy some other colors though right, it's only cheap?" He asks, and I nod with a genuine smile.
"What colors would you like?" I ask, grabbing some nachos out of the cardboard/paper dish.
"Would it be totally typical of me if I chose black?" He asks, looking really unsure of himself.
"Like I'm typical by choosing English Literature as my major?" I tease, lightening the air, reminding him of the time we first met.
"Oh, shut up or I'll start calling you my damsel in distress." He taunts, and he knows how much I hate that nickname. I don't know why but it just rubs me the wrong way.
"Don't start with me-" I'm cut off by a shrill scream.
My eyes fly up concerned for a second, wondering who the fuck just made that noise but then I see her blonde hair and blue eyes.
Abby.
~~~~~
A/N
Abby's here! Be ready for the next chapter, we got some catching up to do with the blonde haired, blue eyed beauty. PS. I don't really know whom I picture her as so just use your imagination.
I'm sorry that this chapter has a lot of internal dialogue, as well as the previous one also, I just needed to get across how she's been feeling within the last eleven days. Also, I'm so sorry for the amount of times I repeated 'eleven days', but it just made sense to, and I kinda like how she kept repeating it. Either way, sorry about my lackey writing.
I sent a screenshot of a scene that will be in chapter 37, to my friend and she loved it. It's one of my favorite scenes I've wrote in this book, but I have to say, my personal fav has to be what you just read – them talking openly like that and finding out more about Ethan. My plan for this book kind of went down the drain, I wanted to explore more of Ethan's issues too, but that will be happening much later because of everything Francesca has been through. It will happen though, just stick with me.
Life update: I wrote half of this on a bus journey to a shopping center and the way back – so, yeah. I got some really nice clothes though. Then I wrote the rest throughout two days, but now I'm shattered and I'm ready for sleep because I have work tomorrow, yay? It's midnight and I really should sleep now, bye.
Question of the chapter:
What phone do you have?
White iPhone XR.
I hope this chapter was okay!
Buckle your seatbelt, only eleven chapters left!
Thank you for reading! Please comment your thoughts, vote by pressing the little star, and if you want, you can follow me too. Xx
5527 words!
~B