Landon & Shay: Part One (L&S Duet, #1)

by Brittainy C. Cherry

I turned to say good night to her, and that was when I found her lips. Her lips. Pressed against… Mine. Her hands rested against my cheeks as she pulled me in toward her. She tasted like salty tears and peach Chapstick, and oddly enough, that was my new favorite taste. At first I didn’t kiss her back. At first I stayed frozen, thinking if I moved, the moment would disappear and I’d never be able to return to it. “Landon,” she whispered, her eyes closed as her forehead rested against mine. I loved that. I loved when she said my name. Not Satan. Not asshole. But Landon. I loved when those two syllables rolled off her tongue. It made me feel seen. I didn’t know the last time someone had been able to see me so clearly. “Yeah?” I breathed out, my breaths brushing against her lips, her full, plump lips. “Kiss me back,” she ordered, and so I did. My lips. Pressed against… Hers.

I was kissing a girl—and not just any girl, the girl. I was kissing Shay Gable, and every time our lips touched, she stole a piece of me.

I was having a hard time recognizing myself, but there I was sitting in my car, at half-past two in the morning, quoting Shakespeare to the girl I’d once hated. Hated—past tense. Truth was I couldn’t have told you the last time I had hated that girl. Maybe when she’d sat with me in my bedroom a year earlier, maybe never. All I knew was my lips tingled from the fact that hers had been against them, and I loved her taste.

My hands fell onto my chest, and I felt my heart rapidly beating against my rib cage. She did that to me. She made my heart turn back on. Her kiss gave me life.

Screw you, Shay Gable. Screw her for making me feel again.

When I got to school that morning, I opened my locker and gasped when I saw it was filled with peonies and dozens of banana Laffy Taffys. There was a sticky note sitting against the metal locker, and I pulled it off and read it. Here’s some flowers and candy to make up for your crappy night. I was going to get you penises, but went with peonies instead. -Satan P.S. Do you know how hard it is to find peonies during this time of the year? It’s almost impossible. Almost.

I pulled out the flowers and breathed them in. They were perfect. So, so perfect. I placed them back into the locker, pulled out a Laffy Taffy, and began nibbling at it as I looked back over to Landon. His eyes? Still on me. I smiled. He almost smiled back. The right side of his lips kind of curved up, and to me, that was a win.

“You in love with me yet?” he asked. “No. Not at all. You love me yet?” His stare fell to my lips. “Not a chance.” “You still hate me?” I whispered, my eyes moving to his mouth…that same mouth I’d tasted…that same mouth that had tasted me. “Yes.” “Good, because I hate you, too.” “Good,” he echoed. “Good,” I replied.

We went our separate ways after lunch, and for some reason I found the need to break into Landon’s locker during sixth period to leave him a thank you note for the candy and peonies. As I opened it, I saw grocery bags filled with Laffy Taffy—all the flavors but banana. He’d bought jumbo packs of candy and sifted through them to pick out my favorite flavor. Who knew it could happen? Who knew a heart could skip for the Devil himself?

Everything changed once Landon and I kissed—at least for me it did. It was as if the wall we’d spent years building was finally coming down, brick by brick. After the night we shared together, after the night I showed him my scars and he showed me his, I was hooked. The candy and flowers were what pushed me overboard. I wanted to be close to him, because I liked how he sped up my heartbeats. I wanted to be near him, because I liked how he grimaced. I liked how he smiled even more.

My heart craved him, even if my brain told me not to do so.

We still had our sharp tongues. We still hurled insults toward each other on a daily basis, but they felt so lighthearted, so flirty and fun. Sometimes he’d smile at me, and I’d be smiling all day from his smirk alone.

I wrote down everything about him in my notebook. Before the bet had even started, I’d already filled a notebook with my thoughts on Landon. I’d started it the night of his uncle’s funeral. I couldn’t get him off my mind after that, and every now and then, I’d add my thoughts on the type of person Landon was. In the beginning, the words were not the kindest. In the beginning, I wrote with hatred and annoyance. I spelled out my anger toward him through my written words. Even after the bet began, my words stayed on edge. But lately the narrative had shifted. The story of the boy I’d once hated was shifting into something new every time he showed me a part of him he hid from the rest of the world. He was one of the most complex characters I’d ever had the honor of studying, and if we kept down this road, it would be my heart that was going to fall first and hard, not his.

When I needed a break, I went to Landon and lost myself in him, in us—whatever we were. He always welcomed me in, too. No matter the time or the last-minuteness of me reaching out to him, he always told me to come over. I was thankful for that, for his willingness to let me in.

I pressed my hands to his chest and felt his heart beating. It was wild, erratic, untamed—like mine.

“Can I make a change to the rules of our game?” He arched an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?” “We have to make it real. Only our truths, no lies. No more pranks. No trying to make each other swoon or trying to get under each other’s skin just in an attempt to win the game. I need you to be you—the realest version of you, and I’ll be the realest version of me. Then, if one of us falls in love, that’s game. That’s how we’ll determine a winner, by being real.”

“I think that’s an unfair playing field.” “Why do you say that?” “Because my truths aren’t really something worth loving.” Oh, Landon. Just those words alone made my heart ache.

“I hate you so much.” “I hate you, too.” “Yeah, well, I hate you the most,” he promised before he leaned in and kissed my forehead. It felt so much more intimate than anything we’d done before. Forehead kisses had officially become my favorite thing he had given to me.

“The people who show the least emotions are normally the ones who hurt the most,” he stated. My chest tightened. “Personal experience?” “Something like that.”

“What should we talk about?” “Anything you want…everything.” So, that was exactly what we did. We talked about stupid things. Favorite things.

I gave him facts about me, too. How my goal in life was to see one of my screenplays made into a film or television series. How I dreamed of achieving the EGOT—an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony. Sure, it seemed like a farfetched dream, but if Audrey Hepburn could do it, maybe I could, too. Even though I was nowhere near as talented as Audrey. I told him she was my favorite actress. Her romantic comedies were some of my favorites and the reason I’d fallen in love with writing romances. I told him my favorite writers, too. I told him so many things others probably found boring, but he listened and asked me questions about my dreams, my wishes, and my hopes. “You can do it all, Chick. You will do it all,” he promised. “You’re too damn stubborn not to.”

Maybe parents were still kids with old, tired hearts, and every time they beat, they cracked a little more.

“Good. He’s a fucking asshole. And that means a lot coming from an asshole like me.” “You’re not an asshole, Landon,” I yawned again, “You’re a like a teddy bear hiding in a grizzly bear outfit.”

“Good night, Chicken. I hate you.” He’d called me Chicken, and I hadn’t known I could love a nickname that grew from hate. “I hate you, too, Satan.” “Yeah, but I hate you the most.”

I went to sleep with the moon and woke to the sun.

She was concerned about me. Even though I was broken and bruised, even though I looked like an untamed beast, Beauty still saw me and wondered about my wellbeing. I nodded once. Yes, Chick. I’m okay.

“Geez, Chick, I can do without the heart attack.” “Well, you should drive an automatic car like a regular person, not a stick.” I sat up in my seat as my eyes widened in horror. “You don’t know how to drive stick?!” I blurted out. “No.” She shrugged. “I figured it couldn’t be that different.” Jerk. Stop. Jerk. Ohmygoshwearegoingtodie. “Pull the car over!” “But—” “Shannon Sofia! Pull the car over now!”

“When you used to come over to my place with your grandmother as a kid, she yelled it at you once. It’s just something that stuck in my head.” Along with every detail about her since the first day I saw her. I could feel her eyes on me, and I wished I could read her mind. I wished I knew how her thoughts worked. I wished I could read her the way she was so effortlessly good at reading me.

“I noticed your everything,” she confessed, and that frozen heart of mine thawed a bit. That happened a lot when she was around.

“I just…you just…” She sighed. “You’re nothing like the person I’ve spent years building you up to be in my head.” “I think the same about you more and more each day.”

“If you had to choose one word to describe me, what word would you choose?” she asked, and that was the easiest question ever. “Good.” She raised an eyebrow. “Good? That’s it?” “Yes. Good. You’re good to everyone on so many levels, even people who don’t deserve it, like me. You take the time to look deeper into people and see things from different sides. You’re patient, too. That would be my second word for you. You don’t rush people to be what you think they should be. You just let them exist.” “Wow…” She held her hand to her chest. “That’s the nicest thing an enemy has ever said to me,” she joked. I snickered. Not your enemy, Chick. Never your enemy.

“Monica, don’t do this. You know why that’s never going to be a thing. You and I are toxic.” “Yeah, like Romeo and Juliet. Don’t you see? I want to be your Juliet. I’m meant to be your Juliet, not her. She doesn’t deserve you.” Lies. I didn’t deserve Shay. I didn’t deserve her, and yet I couldn’t stop craving her.

I was changing, because Shay believed in my growth. She believed in me. And I was starting to do the same.

So, here goes. Being alone makes me sad, and for a while I thought I’d get used to it. I’ve been alone for so long, and I thought the sad part of it all would disappear, but it stays. Every night, I sit in bed and loneliness swallows me whole. I struggle with sleeping and overthinking. It’s a buzzkill, and I hate it. Some day I hope I can get past it. Some day I hope I can fall asleep and be happy. The whole being sad thing is exhausting. I’m tired. All the time. Have you ever been so young but felt so old? That’s the kind of tired I am. I’m the ninety-years-old kind of tired, the kind of tired where everything aches right down to my bones. This sounds real emo and I am seconds away from ripping this whole notebook apart and ditching this whole idea, so I am going to close it now and shut the hell up. -Satan

Without any words, I wrapped my arms around his frame and pulled him into the tightest hug known to mankind. Everyone in the cafeteria was watching, I was sure. Everyone was staring as Shay Gable wrapped her arms around her sworn enemy. Everyone looked on as Landon Harrison wrapped his arms around me, too. He hugged me back. Oh my gosh, he was hugging me back, and that made me tug on his body even harder. There was no way to tell where his heartbeats began and where mine ended. It was as if they were beating as one, as if we were two willows tangled up with each other. For his birthday, he smelled like smoky oak and dressed like darkness. My favorite version of him—the realest one.

“Thank you, Chick,” he said softly, his words cracking as if they were hard to get out. “Always, Satan,” I replied. I think I meant that, too. I think I meant always.

A perfect day with a perfect girl. I am falling in love with you…

“You always stare at people when they aren’t looking?” she joked, peeling a pepperoni off her pizza. “Only you. Only ever you.”

“What are we doing, Landon?” she asked, her voice so low and shaky. “I don’t know.” “Is this still a game?” “I don’t know…” That was true. I didn’t know if we were still doing this because of the bet, or if this was becoming something real for the both of us. I didn’t know if she was beginning to feel things the way I felt them, too. I didn’t know if she was falling, falling, falling… “It scares me a little,” she confessed. “Whatever’s happening in my heart when I’m around you…it scares me.” “It scares me too, but I know one thing for certain,” I said, placing my fingers beneath her chin and lifting it so we were looking into each other’s eyes. “What’s that?” “I am going to love loving you as much as I loved hating you.”

She kissed me, and the last sleeping part of my soul finally woke up as she fell against my lips. I tasted her heaven as I fed her my sins.

I kept my back turned to her, lifted the edges of my shirt, and pulled it over my head. I revealed the markings that raced up and down my arms. Cuts from my past panics. Cuts from my messed-up brain. Cuts from my pained heart. Her gasp was loud and clear. “Oh my gosh, Landon. What happened to you?!” she said, moving over toward me to examine the marks to my skin. Each mark stood for a time I lost myself. Each mark showed my pain and struggles against my skin.

She probably thought I was the worst kind of damaged goods, unworthy of love, unworthy of anything and anyone. Who could love someone with a mind as heavy as mine? Who could want someone with such ugly markings of their pain resting against their skin?

A chill raced down my spine as her fingers moved across the markings on my forearms. My shoulders rounded forward, and she traced the markings. My head lowered and I shut my eyes. I’d never felt so weak, so exposed…so real. “You’re sad?” she whispered. “Yes.” “How sad?” “Very sad.” “How often?” I swallowed hard. “All the time.” That truth was the hardest to tell. “My uncle was sad, too. He kept his hurting to himself. I saw it sometimes. I saw it, and I didn’t do anything about it. Not that I could. But, I should’ve tried harder. If I’d tried harder, maybe he wouldn’t have…” I took a breath. I lowered my head. “I found his journals after he passed away. He had a lot of dark thoughts. He was so lonely…but the scariest thing about reading his words was how much they matched my own mind, and that scares me. It scares me how much of my uncle I see inside of myself.”

“Can I ask you something that I asked you before?” she whispered, her voice low, controlled, perfect. “Yes.” “Are you depressed?” The tears rolled down my cheeks, and I didn’t even try to wipe them away. I nodded slowly, feeling as if there was a bomb inside my chest that was seconds away from exploding. “Yes.” “Okay.” She sighed and moved in closer. “Okay.”

That was all she said. She didn’t run. She didn’t tell me my depression was wrong. She didn’t shy away. That was exactly what I needed. I just needed someone to stay. Her mouth fell against the scars and she gave them small kisses. She made sure to kiss every single one, before moving to my cheeks and kissing my tears away.

“You are more than the story these scars tell, Landon. You are more than your uncle. You are more than your depression. You are kind.” She kissed my chest. “You are strong.” She kissed my neck. “You are intelligent.” She kissed my palms. “You are talented.” She kissed my thumbs. “You are beautiful.” She kissed the corners of my eyes. “And this world needs you. I know those are just words, and you might not even believe them, but I am going to tell you them every single day, just as a reminder when you need it.” She kept telling me things about myself as she kissed every piece of me. For every scar, she gave five mo...

“All of me,” she promised. “All of me is yours.”

I hovered over her body, my eyes dancing across her frame, and I loved every inch I was able to see.

“Go slow.” I didn’t know if she meant go slow with her body or with her heart. So I took my time with both.

I loved it. I loved how she felt. I loved how she moaned. I…loved…her.