Dreams of 18 (Heartstone, #2)

by Saffron A. Kent

The point is: I like bad things.

I call him the Strawberry Man. In my head, I mean. Because he makes me feel exactly how I feel when I’m craving the fruit I’m allergic to: restless and out of control, breaker of rules and avoider of common sense. I know I’m not supposed to want it but I do anyway.

“Well, if you gave me one indication that you are one of those girls, I’d leave everyone for you.”

“Because no one else wants the bad ones,” I say. “And you do.” I look up. “Yes. I always want the bad ones.” Bad things. Bad roses. Bad crushes.

“Something that’s fresh and beautiful. Something that’s perfect. But then, what about the things that are imperfect? Things that might not be as pretty or as conventional. Things that might be weird, outdated or outcast? They’re not in much demand, are they? They’re not wanted. But I do. I want them. So they don’t feel rejected.”

But I know I’m not going to. Bukowski said to let the thing that you love kill you. Not that this is love but it’s okay if he kills me for this.

Mr. Edwards’s smile goes even meaner, even colder. “You look a little flushed. Are you okay? A little turned on, maybe?”

“Trust me, I haven’t even begun hurting you.”

“You. A teenage girl who stunk of a thousand-dollar rum. You are my moment. A girl who ruined my life. That’s what I think about. I think about my lost peace of mind. The peace that you took from me. I think about the shitshow my life has become. I think about how the fuck to forget you. And I think about how no matter what I do, I never will. Because you’re a nightmare that’s goddamn unforgettable.”

waiting for her to walk by like some criminal. Just to make sure that… no one is kidnapping her. Apparently, I have a conscience when it comes to her.

Her soft voice makes me crazy.

he’s not wearing a shirt.

Not to mention, I can see the hair on his chest, a light smattering at first, but then thickening and darkening as it goes down and becomes a furry trail around his belly button, that disappears under the waistband of his pajamas.

“It means I’m a masochist, Mr. Edwards. I like the pain. The pain doesn’t scare me. You don’t scare me. And let me tell you another secret – masochists like me? We have really tasty skin. You can eat me up all you want. You can eat me up a hundred different ways. I’m gonna like your teeth and your tongue and I’m gonna fall in love with the sting of it all. You’re my Strawberry Man. At least, that’s what I call you in my head.”

“They remind me of you,” he rasps at last, jolting the breath out of me. “Your roses?” “Yeah.”

I wish I didn’t want my son’s best friend – the girl he secretly liked.

“Because guys don’t notice me and that’s okay. I’m pretty invisible, Mr. Edwards.” I chuckle. Because chuckling is so much more preferable to crying over the fact that I’m lying to him. That no one forced me to do it but I’m doing it anyway. But then, I notice something that makes my chuckle die down. He’s staring at me so hard that I’m pretty sure that he’s drilling holes in my body. “What?” I ask. “You’re kidding, right?” The way he says it makes me think that he wants me to be kidding. That I better be kidding. “I’m kidding?” I dart my eyes around the room and sit up straight, lifting my chin from my knees, going alert. “Okay. About what though?” He doesn’t answer me as he takes long seconds to analyze my face. I’m analyzing his face, in turn. For the first time ever, I can read him. There’s a touch of disbelief on his features. His frown is one of incredulity and his eyes are inquisitive. “You don’t know,” he concludes finally, whatever he was trying to conclude. “Yeah, it makes sense. It’s the highway all over again. You don’t notice anything. How could you? You with your giant headphones and your nose stuck in a book. You’d sit under that tree, the one by the chemistry lab window and you’d write whatever the fuck you write in those goddamn journals. Of course, you don’t have a clue.” “What?” He shakes his head and scoffs. “Tell me something. In a class, how many times has a teacher singled you out to answer a question?” That is a very weird, out-of-the-blue query. I ...

“Bri? Why did you say that?” “Because he likes you too.”

He thinks he’s betrayed his son for wanting me. He hates himself for wanting what his son wanted. Oh God, he hates himself.

“She deserves someone like you, Dad.”

“Y-you think my smile is gorgeous?”

“You’re not a slut,”

“You think I’m afraid of that? I’m afraid of going to jail for you?” he rasps.

“Because you’re my Jailbait.” He presses the pads of his fingers on the apple of my cheek as he continues, “And I’ll destroy anyone who dares to hurt you. All the people who made you feel less and called you names for that kiss. Everyone. You’re not a slut, all right? I won’t let you think you are.”

“Besides, I don’t wanna be their slut, anyway.” “What?” I close the last inch. Our bodies were already touching. My breasts were already at his ribs and my stomach was already pressing against his pelvis and now, I get up on his feet to reach his mouth. “I’m tired of being their slut, Graham. I wanna be yours.”

He puts his mouth on mine.

“You know why my favorite color is red?” I shake my head. “It’s because it’s the color of your lips. It’s the color of your smile.” The said lips part and I breathe out, “No way.” “I didn’t have a favorite color before you.” My mouth falls open. “Seriously?” His nostrils flare. “I didn’t notice colors before I met you.”

“I’m going to make you my slut,” he growls, tugging the dress down and it goes easily.

That she deserves, anyway. Because she’s made of moon and magic.

“You deserve that. You deserve someone who takes you out on dates and to movies and someone who holds your hand and walks on the goddamn beach with you or whatever the fuck you want him to do. Paint your toenails and chat with you all night on the couch while eating cheap pizza. You deserve someone who wakes up every morning and gets down on his knees to thank God that you belong to him. And then he does it all over again before he goes to sleep. You deserve someone who lives in awe of you, understand?”

someone who doesn’t make you cry.” “Why not?” “Because it fucks with my head when you cry,” he snaps with clenched teeth. “It makes me want to destroy something. I can take anyone’s tears but I can’t take yours. So promise me you’ll find someone who won’t make you cry.”

Don’t all normal girls want to turn bad boys good?

just wanted to thank you,” I whisper. “For what?” “For calling me beautiful.” An emotion moves over his face. “You are. You’re fucking breathtaking.”

“Your pussy tastes like she’s mine,”

He’s picking me over everything.

“W-what was it?” “My soul,” he whispers. “It was my soul waking up. The thing that keeps a man alive, came alive in me when I saw you. You woke up my soul, Violet.” “I did?”

“I’m going to try. I’m going to learn, Violet.” “Learn what?” “Poetry.” “Poetry?”

For you. I’ll learn all of that. I’ll learn to be soft. I’ll learn to be gentle and tender. I’ll learn to dream when I’ve got my eyes closed. Because I don’t think I can live in my world anymore. I don’t like my world, Violet. I want to live in a different world.”

“Oh, one more thing.” “What?” “I love you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. In fact, she said that my dress is pretty.” His hands settle on my waist as he bows down to get our faces close together. “It’s not.” “It’s not?” He shakes his head slowly, his eyes all dark and beautiful. “You’re prettier.”

People go through lives barely living.