But not for long.
“Winter, I leave for the airport at five a.m.!” someone shouted upstairs. “You couldn’t call?”
I looked around, scanning the kitchen and area, finding it empty. Quietly closing the door, I walked as softly as possible down the hall and into the foyer, staying close to the stairs for cover.
“I’m sorry,” I heard Winter say.
They were upset because she was late and hadn’t called.
“Have you been crying?” her mother asked, sounding exasperated.
But she didn’t have a chance to answer before her father bellowed from down the hall, “You’re lucky I didn’t phone the station! If you can’t handle some common courtesy, then you’re quitting that job, or any job for that matter.” And then he added, “It’s utterly pointless anyway.”
Motherfucker. No wonder she was desperate for a little freedom. They tho
ught she was too stupid to handle any.
“I’ll deal with this. Go to bed,” his wife told him.
“Don’t shut me up. She’s just as much mine as yours.”
She’s not either of yours. They were nothing to her.
“And this is why Montreal is best for you,” her father went on. “The school there can give you a community where you’re safe and comfortable and help you find a college and part-time job if you want.”
Winter didn’t say anything, and I pictured her sitting on her bed, letting them talk, like she either thought it was pointless to argue or thought maybe they were right.
It was neither.
They were so boring. She was incredible.
“Alright,” her mother interjected, “as long as you’re okay. We’ll talk about this when I get home next week. I need at least a few hours of sleep tonight. I have to get to bed.”
I waited there for several minutes as footsteps pounded above, lights turned off, and doors closed, and after another minute, I swung around the bannister and slowly crept up the stairs, keeping an eye out for anyone still up.
Winter walked across the landing and headed into the bathroom, and as she started the shower and her music, I flew up the steps, dove in after her, and closed the door, grabbing her as she whipped around and sucked in a breath.
I kissed her, cutting off her cry, her protest fading away when she realized it was me.
I hauled her up, wrapped her legs around me, and I ate up her full lips, dragging out the bottom one between my teeth and tasting the tears still on her cheeks.
“What are you doing?” she asked, probably worried I’d be caught.
But I just shook my head, keeping my voice low in case her parents were still awake. “I don’t know, baby,” I told her. “Just don’t let me go, okay?”
She broke down, more tears spilling from her eyes as she kissed and held me so tight.
The lights were off, but the moon lit up the floor, and I slipped my hand under her skirt, letting her know I wanted her. My shit had nothing to do with the fact that she couldn’t see me. I wasn’t shallow, and this was so much more complicated than she would ever know. Hopefully ever know.
We deserved one night. A few minutes or a few hours, just a little longer.
I knew this was bad. I knew I was fucked.
She hated me. Her family hated me.
She was one of the few people I didn’t want to hurt.
I was nineteen, and she was too young.