Punk 57

by Penelope Douglas

Eventually we all have to weigh what we want more: wanting back what we had or wanting what could be. To stay or to risk everything to move forward.

“I lied,” he tells me. “I asked her out for food yesterday to make you jealous, and today, when she insinuated shit that didn’t happen, I let her. But I didn’t touch her.” The heat of his breath hits my neck, and I can tell his head is bent to my hair. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want anyone else. I only think about you.” He pauses, his voice shaky. “I think about you all the time, Ryen.”

Me. “I’m sorry,” he continues. “I had to push you. I wanted to know.” I turn my head, glaring at him through my tears. “You didn’t touch her?” He shakes his head. I swing my hand to hit him, but he grabs it and pulls me into his lap, taking my face in his hands. “I had every right to,” he bites out, “especially since you’re still letting Fuckface drool all over you while making me hard as a rock for a damn week.”

“You turn me on.” He cups my face, brushing my hair away from my eyes and a tear off my cheek. “God, you turn me on. You’re driving me crazy. I want you to need my hands on you. Do you?”

And I know right then and there I want to be the only girl he ever looks at like that.

“They’ll never matter to us, Ryen. No one knows how this feels.” Tears ache behind my eyes, and I breathe hard, giving in to it. I slide my thigh over his lap and straddle him. I fist his T-shirt, our lips inches from each other. “If you touched her,” I cry softly, “it’s not going to be pretty.” He nods. “I know. I’ll keep the knife in here for you.”

Masen buries his lips in my neck, kissing and biting. “The windows are blacked out,” he mumbles against my skin. “So tinted it’s illegal.”

I dive down to the shelf on my bedside table, seeing that the few items that were stashed in there are pulled out. I grab the pocket folder where I kept some of her letters—my favorite ones that I reread—but as soon as I pick it up, I already feel the weightlessness of it. “No, no, no, no . . .” I flip open the top and look inside. “What is it?” “Fuck!” I growl. Every single one of them gone. I fling the folder away from me. “Shit!”

The letters. Goddammit! Knowing Ryen’s temper, they’re probably shredded at the bottom of a garbage disposal right now. Fuck!

“Get fucked!” she bursts out.

I’m not going anywhere until she’s mine.

“I love you,” I say, my fingers tingling as my heartbeat picks up. His fingers grip my waist. “It’s about fucking time.” I breathe out a laugh, kissing him.

She raises her eyes, locking on mine and looking like she’s scared of me. “Misha?” Yep. And awesome. She remembers my name. Two points for Mom.

I quickly flip through the mail, seeing a card from my mom, my phone bill—which I won’t look at today—and some credit card offers. Nothing from Misha. My heart sinks. Didn’t he say something was coming today?