VERY MILD SPOILER ALERT FOR A FOX OF STORMS AND STARLIGHT. It’s a minor explanatory thing that comes out in chapter 9 of Fox Book, which provides motivation for a major plot point that happens in chapter 12 (there are 49 chapters).
CONTENT NOTIFICATION: Kevin’s point-of-view scenes have a lot of swearing. Sorry-not-sorry. But maybe don’t read if the f-word offends you.
Also, this is an unedited draft. Feel free to let me know in the comments if you spot typos etc, but yo: unedited draft, so read accordingly.
Catch up on Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, chapter 12.
13: Kevin
I stop with my back to the wall in the brick stairwell, the smell of cold concrete around us here in the middle of the school where the sun never hits. It’s blessedly cool, and I want to stand here and breathe and never move again.
Sunny stops in front of me, something flashing in her dark eyes, and it takes my fucken breath away. I haven’t seen her look like that since that first time, back in week one, in history class when I gave her that very first rose.
I love it.
“We need to talk,” she says.
Adrenalin floods over me.
We probably do. But even if it’s technically the mature thing to do, I’d rather she just let me drift away quietly. You know? Fucken hurts less that way.
“I’m sorry.”
I blink. “What?” Of all the things… But wait, it’s a precursor, it has to be. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore.’ ‘I’m sorry, I should never have done this in the first place.’ Something like that.
“I should have talked to you about this yesterday.”
She’s rigid as stone, tension fairly crackling off her, just like before a summer storm.
I should say something, I know I should, but I just… can’t.
Whatever.
Fuck this school.
Fuck the roses.
They meant nothing anyway.
(Eighteen paper fucken roses? Yeah, sure they meant nothing. Not a bit.)
No one here deserves to see the real me after all.
“I just… I react weirdly to violence, you know?”
I blink again. What the… “What?”
I’ve slipped sideways. I’m in a conversation I didn’t know I was having, on a topic I know nothing about. What the fuck are we talking about?
She inhales deeply, and if I hadn’t spent all term watching her I’d have missed the slight shakiness. “I don’t blame you,” she says, like it’s related to the last thing she said, like there’s a thread of logic here somewhere that she’s following but that’s invisible to me. “Actually, I think you probably did the right thing.”
Right thing??
Oh.
I don’t like violence. Right. Of all the things we’d be out here to discuss, I didn’t pick me slugging Dickie Clearwater as on the list of contenders–let alone top of the list.
The frown knitting my brows has clued her in on my confusion. She sighs again, shakes her head, rubs a little at her forehead with her fingertips. “Wait,” she says. “I’m making a complete mess of this.” A steadying, readying breath. She squares her shoulders.
Fuck, I want her so much when she’s like this.
“I’m sorry I acted weird yesterday,” she says. “I don’t think you did the wrong thing in hitting Rick–actually, I’m kind of impressed at you for standing up for Ethan”–blotchy red climbs her neck and flushes her cheeks–“but I have this weird reaction to anything violent. Ask Ellie, I’m a pain in the neck to watch movies with.”
I’m blinking again, furiously trying to catch the thread of this conversation, trying to figure out the bit where she dumps me.
“So yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to freak you out.” She glances down at the concrete path. “I guess you must have thought I was mad at you.”
“Yeah,” I say, truth blurting itself out of my mouth before I have time to think.
She inhales, and the breath sticks, tension in the lines of her body tight enough that she’ll get a muscle cramp if she keeps it up for any longer.
I don’t blame her. My body’s practically her mirror.
“I understand if you don’t… You know.” Her voice is so heavy it might as well be lead. “If you don’t want to…” She swallows, fingers flexing instinctively. “Hang out with me anymore.”
Fuck, she looks so sad I just want to wrap her up in my arms and never let her go. I can’t believe I was so fucken stupid I made her look like that.
Then… Something sharp punctures my chest. “Wait.” The air’s practically frozen, cool concrete and the sound of a mower starting up in the distance and shouting from the classroom nearby. “You’re not breaking up with me?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Breaking up? We’d have to be dating first for me to break up with you.” Then her lips press together, eyes a little wide as though surprised at herself for saying so. And the grin that breaks through lights up my world and sends shivers through my chest. “Does this… Does this mean you thought we were dating?”
Oh.
Fuck.
Oh, shit.
Oh fucking fucketty fuck fuck, she’s not breaking up with me.
We’re dating.
We’re actually dating.
She was scared I’d dump her.
I’m trembling. And it strikes me how much of a stretch this has been for her, being this forthright, speaking her mind, even though she was scared of how I’d react.
Fuck that.
I reach out. Cup her soft, warm face in my hands.
I kiss her. One short, hard, passionate kiss where I try to say everything I’m too stupid to say aloud.
No.
Fuck that too.
I’m not.
If she can say what she’s scared to say, I can do it too:
“I love you.”
I pull back and give her space, in case she didn’t like the kiss or something. But I can’t help myself from saying it again. “I love you.”
And fuck me if she doesn’t start crying, just these soft, gentle tears spilling over her lashes and down her cheeks in this constant, never-ending stream.
Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, what the fuck have I done?
“I’m sorry.” I look away, shame heating my cheeks, knotting my fists.
“No.”
The strength in her voice pulls my gaze back to her, and the strength and determination I see there knocks down something inside of me, and I soften.
“Don’t be sorry.”
She reaches for me, and my heart hammers so hard it’s going to fall right out of my chest and smash right there on the concrete. Her soft fingers cup my face this time, one hand on my cheek, one hand on my shoulder, insistent, pulling me closer.
Her lips find mine.
Her head tilts.
My eyes close, and I can smell the rose scent of her perfume, taste the soft sweetness of her mouth, feel the slightly damp warmth of her hand on my cheek, and fuck. That’s it. I’m gone.
Footsteps echo down the corridor. “Hey!”
We jump.
It’s Mr Reiger. Of course it is.
I brace myself for another round of detentions.
But this time, Mr Reiger’s frowning down at me, something analytical in his eyes, like he’s weighing up the situation.
Sunny’s hand has found mine, gripping mine tightly, anchoring me in this moment. And I realise. I can face anything, now, if she’s going to be by my side.
Abruptly, Mr Reiger nods, a single, decisive movement. “Not at school, please,” he says.
I glance at Sunny, who also nods. “Not at school,” I murmur, and I think Sunny knows about the rush of relief that fills me.
Mr Reiger leaves.
Sunny beams at me, living up to her name more than ever before.
I wish I was a rose. Then I could bask in her rays for ever, photosynthesising her light, never needing anything else.
Her smile widens, softens, and I’m in awe of the way she looks at me. She reaches out, tucks back a lock of my unruly hair. “We’d better get back to class.” She squeezes my hand, lets it go, and steps back.
But instead of loss, all I feel is safe. She’s right there by my side, and I sense, now, the possibilities.
Maybe sometimes the people who’re meant to stay do just what they’re meant to after all.
And it crosses my mind that although I’m the one glowing inside because of how she’s looking at me… I’m the one who made her look like that.
I’m the one who made her smile.
~ THE END ~
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride <3 If you did like it, you’ll probably like A Fox Of Storms And Starlight too, if you haven’t read that yet.
See you tomorrow for the year’s first Regularly Scheduled Content! <3 <3 <3