Sarah:
The month of carrying out my servitude was finally over! But towards the fact that it’s nearing the end of March, coming closer to April, we all had to prepare ourselves for prom. And honestly, I was never a big fan of these events. However, for dances, normally Leanne and Sophia would go with dates while Seth and I had no one. Okay, so not necessarily—we had each other—but it wasn’t a big deal. We’d just dance once for the heck of it and then we’d just talk about random stuff like always.
Since I have a boyfriend, who my date is, is a given. Never in my life had I imagined me going to the prom with my childhood bully—the one I hated most in the world. Now, I’m in love with him (though I still will never forgive him for what he did), and he’s my boyfriend. Still, I don’t want to go; it’s our last year, but I just hate dances.
Lee and Soph have dragged me out my house to the mall to pick out dresses. Predictably, Sophia would get a strapless white prom dress with a hot pink bow that goes just above her knees. Leanne and I didn’t argue, but sometimes—I mean always—we wonder why someone like Sophia—an “in crowd” person—would bother hanging out with us. Even her preference in prom dresses was different from ours. We had to admit that the prom dress looked really well on her. As for Leanne, she picked out this nice, strapless, long green gown. She was more on the conservative side—I’m the same.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t given the freedom to choose my prom dress—Sophia was arguing with me towards what I should wear (Lee contributing to the argument ever so seldom). “No!” Soph bickered, “it’s too traditional!”
“But Leanne gets to”—
“I don’t mind if it’s her, but come on, Sarah! You’ve got to impress Leon! At least wear something above the knees.”
“Hell. No.”
Sophia pouted. “I promise it won’t be too promiscuous or slutty! It’ll look sophisticated yet gorgeously attractive. Please?”
“No,” I answered straightforwardly.
Sophia turned to the closest dress by her and shoved it to me. “How about this?” she asked. “This’ll really bring out your eyes—and it looks great with your blonde hair! It’s such a beautiful dress, so don’t turn it down!”
The dress was a royal blue color or something, strapless as well—and it was breathtakingly gorgeous. It would go above my knees, but I honestly could not turn it down. I bet it would look great on me—but I didn’t want to give in; Sophia could already see that I was. Her grin was widening as I started to consider it. Even Leanne pitched in, saying, “It really is a nice dress. I wouldn’t turn it down if I were you.” Groaning in defeat, I turned to the dressing room with Sophia squealing in victory.
It. Was. Perfect. Seriously, Sophia sure as hell knows how to pick the perfect prom dresses for people. It’s true—though I hate to admit it. When I stepped out of my little room, Sophia and Leanne both flashed wide grins that were a mirror of Cheshire’s. “Absolutely gorgeous,” they said in unison. I rolled my eyes.
“Leon is going to want you now,” Sophia teased, waggling her eyebrows.
“He’s wanted me for eight years,” I pointed out bluntly.
“Well, he’s going to want to ravage you on prom night—you know, in the good way.” When she burst into a fit of giggles, I turned back to my room to change out of my dress.
Walking back out, I said to Sophia, “I swear, Soph, sometimes you’ve got such crazy fantasies.” She continued to giggle, even as Lee and I dragged her out to pay for our dresses.
* * * *
On my way home, Leon called—our song, “Decembers” by HawthorneHeights, ringing in my ears—picking it up, putting it on speaker since no one’s in the car to listen to our conversation anyway, I greet, “Hey, Leon.”
“Hey, Sarah,” he replied simply. “So what are you doing?”
“Driving home…why?”
After a fairly long pause, Leon insisted, “Do you not mind if you come by my place?”
I smiled as I answered, “Of course I don’t mind. It’s about time I see your apartment. Let’s see, how long did I have to wait? Oh yeah, like two months. Seriously…you take forever trying to personalize it, don’t you?”
“Oh shush,” he snapped jokingly, “it takes time to make my apartment look like a masterpiece.”
“Masterpiece,” I echoed, “right…”
“Seriously though, and I gave you my address, right?”
“Mm-hmm,” I replied.
“Okay, then I’ll see you,” was all he said before hanging up.
After giving my simple three knocks, Leon opened his door immediately. “Were you that excited?”
Leon smirked. “What’s wrong with that? My girlfriend gets to see my place.” When he opens the door wider to allow entrance, I step in, looking around, taking in the scenery of his apartment.
The walls were painted blue and orange (definitely something I wasn’t expecting), and the rest of the furniture was white, gray, or black. It was…colorful. Needless to say, I love it—it really expressed “Leon Ferron”. And right at the corners would be these weird sculptures that just looked all wiggly; on each wall would be all sorts of abstract paintings—but most of the paintings were pop art. He had a huge flat-screen TV along with a black loveseat, and two gray couches. But what attracted me the most were these paintings of Leon and me.
We were smiling, laughing. I was on his back—as though he’s giving me a piggyback ride—my arms wrapped around him. My chin rested on his shoulder, my wavy blonde hair in a messy ponytail. And we were staring at each other like we’re madly in love—our eyes showed the emotions and feelings we held for each other. The painting felt so real, it’s like this really happened.
The one adjacent to it was much more subtle. We were sitting on the edge of my bed, the sunlight hitting our side. We were holding hands, fingers intertwined, and the looks on our faces were serious—contemplating. My head rested on his shoulder, my blue-eyed gaze staring right out the picture. Leon’s wasn’t staring right out—his steady, grey eyes were directed more towards me.
The very paintings seemed so surreal yet it felt like these moments happened—like someone was there to take a picture. I was astonished, speechless. For a moment, I forgot where I even was. That’s why when I felt a pair of arms wrapping around my waist from behind, I shook a little. Following was a hushed voice, asking, “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful—amazing…” I answered, utterly dazed. Turning to him, I ask, “Did you paint these?”
“Mm-hmmm,” he answered, kissing the nape of my neck afterwards.
“I didn’t know you could paint,” I murmured.
I could feel his lips forming a smile on my neck. “That’s what I was working on these past two months—other than painting the others and the walls. This took up the most time. I knew you’d love it.”
Smiling in return, I muttered, “I do love it… Do you have anymore?”
Leon shook his head. “I’m working on another, but it’s not finished.” I nodded.
After a moment, I asked, “Since when were you able to paint?”
Thinking about it for a while, he replied, “Since I was thirteen.”
“Goodness…five years and you’re already a pro at it.”
“Oh come on, it’s not that great,” he denied.
“Don’t be modest. It’s amazing,” I countered, overemphasizing the word “amazing”.
Ignoring my remark, he released his arms on me, taking my hand as he noted, “Come on, that’s just the living room.”
The only other masterpiece-like room was his bedroom. There was a smaller flat-screen, and the walls were blue and green. The bed sheets were just plain gray and I could see tiny specks of paint on the wooden floor. More paintings hung on the walls—one of them was a portrait. And we can all guess who it is: me. Turning to Leon, I teased, “Do you have this obsession with me?”
He merely shrugged. “Maybe…but you know its more ‘love’ than ‘obsession’.”
“Yeah, I know.” Looking at the portrait of me, all I could stare at were my sky blue eyes—perfectly depicted. The very features of my face: my lips, my cheekbones, my jaw, my eyebrows, everything. I was staring at a mirror of myself—everything was just pictured perfect; not only my face, but my hair, collarbone, and shoulders. I turned back to Leon. “You really know every feature about me, huh?”
He smirked. “Obviously,” he said.
The other paintings were off waterfalls, forests, and meadows of flowers. Seriously, Leon’s artworks never ceased to amaze me. Why didn’t he tell me though? Oh well, this was quite the surprise—and it was so worth never knowing until now. I don’t know, I guess it made the paintings feel like they mean much more to me.
Leon’s hands were at my waist again, his lips brushing my neck. The next thing I know, I find myself turning to face him so our lips would meet. It was the same routine, his tongue would ask for entrance, and I’d allow it. When his hands went under my shirt, I ignored it for the time being—when he started to lift my shirt up, I still didn’t do anything about it. Even my hands were roaming under his shirt, feeling his six-pack (I didn’t even know he had a six-pack!).
Suddenly, I’m pinned down on the couch, both of us shirtless. His kisses trailed down my neck and back to meet my lips once again. My body instinctively arched and my legs were wrapped around his waist. Neither of us could suppress a moan the whole time as our kisses grew rough. I was losing myself—we were losing our self-control. If I knew any better, I’d stop him once his hands were unsnapping my jeans. However, I just kept going, my desire taking over me. I so wanted this—yet it felt like it wasn’t right. I was breaking my promise, but I’m not doing anything about it—not even once he’s tossed my jeans off the bed.
Before I could bother to stop myself, my hands were already working to unsnap his jeans. As I’m doing so, one of his hands would be resting at the small of my back while the other would rub my thigh constantly. Once his jeans were at our pile of clothes, he practically carried me to the top of the bed where the headrest was. When he bit my lower lip, I let out a rather loud moan. Needless to say, he was quite turned on by it.
On his bed, all we had were our undergarments, and I could feel Leon’s hand reaching for my bra. And just as he’s unhooking it, I ask breathlessly, “Do you have anything on you? You know protection?”
God, what was I saying?! Were we seriously crazy enough to cross that line—to actually make love (I prefer that term)? I need to stop this—I swore to myself I’d remain a virgin until marriage, but at the same time, I wanted to do this. I so wanted to do this.
And when my bare chest was against his, I ask again before he could pull down my underwear, “Do you have anything?”
There was a pause—a slight, momentary pause. Right under his breath, he cursed, “Damn it.”
While the back of my head said, close call, my other thoughts were cursing at him for not having anything. “Seriously?!” exclaimed I.
“Look, I’m sorry Sarah,” he muttered remorsefully. “I wasn’t really planning on having s—making love to you. I just—we just—lost it. I didn’t think we’d ever do it now, so I thought it’d be pointless to buy them.”
I flopped on my back, covering my face with my hands. “We’re always so damn close,” I groaned aggravatingly.
“Well…” he began, “it’s kind of a good thing we didn’t do it though. Didn’t we”—
“I know,” I interrupted, “we promised not to do it until marriage. Seriously though, every time we’re just right there, something has to go wrong. What’s going to happen next? My parents come walking in? Leon, they’ll kill us!”
“I know,” he mumbled. He looked at me again, asking, “Did you seriously want to do this though? Were you even ready?”
After a slight pause, I nod. “I wanted it just as bad as you do, I bet.”
“Then let’s just take the chance,” he insisted.
“I’ll get pregnant—and I’m not up for my parents lecturing me and shooting you with a shotgun. And you know I’ll never abort a baby.”
“But”—
“Even if there’s a small chance that I won’t get pregnant—the moment’s already gone…again.” We both heaved a sigh.
“Next time…” Leon huffed.
“Huh?” I asked, confused.
“Next time, I promise everything will be perfect—we’ll be inside a room, no one but us around, and I’ll have protection.”
I twisted my lips doubtfully. “What if I just want to wait?” He cocked his head to the side in confusion. “What if I don’t want to try anymore? Why don’t we just wait until marriage?”
Leon sighed. “It’s not that I have a problem with it. I can wait—I’m ready whenever you are. But is this really what you want? I know how strongly you feel about having sex before marriage, but what if I just might be your future husband?”
“Well if you just might be my future husband, then you should be able to wait a few more years.”
“What if I ask you to marry me now?”
“What?!” cried I.
Leon pressed his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling as he asked:
“Will you marry me, Sarah?”
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Oh shiz! How'd you like that?
So what should Sarah say? Will she agree?
Or will she turn him down?
Rate and comment if you liked it! xD