Impulse Control (ON HOLD)

Chapter 6

"Hey," I say to Cleo as we walk back to our campsites after swimming. "Do you want to stay for dinner and a sleepover?" Her face lights up with a glowing smile, and she says, "I'd love to!" "Okay," I say with a smile of my own. "Sounds like a date." "That it is," Cleo says, blowing her minty breath on my cheek. I nod absentmindedly, trying to ignore the tingly feeling racing across my skin.

***

"Nattie hugged her coat to her chest and started for the..." I read in a clear, strong voice. When I'm finished reading the paragraph, I turn to Cleo for her thoughts.

We're sitting in chairs opposite each other, taking turns reading aloud from our books. Everything in this setting is perfect, from Cleo's beautiful blonde hair to the faint smells of dinner cooking on the fire.

 Cleo tosses her hair, sending a faint, luscious scent of rosemary my way. I inhale deeply, wanting to fill my nose with her scent. She gives me a dazzling smile and says, "That was beautiful." Somehow, I get the feeling that she's not talking about my reading anymore. My breath catches in my throat as her eyes rake up and down my body, taking in every little detail, from the slight waves in my hair to the tiny sprinkling of freckles across my cheeks.

Likewise, I stare just as hard at her, wanting to memorize every single thing about her. I notice the way the blue swirls around in her eyes, the way her hair dances to the slight breeze, the way her delicate palm with long, tapered fingernails, is spread wide and with purpose across the table.

Her legs, crossed and still before, are now bumping up and down, twitching with excitement. I find my own appendages mirroring that nervous energy, creating an aura of happiness that fills me with a warm glow. Cleo reaches out to tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear, and the moment her hand touches my skin, electricity skitters across it, raising goosebumps in it's wake.

I expect Cleo to pull her hand back, but she doesn't, not even when she feels me shiver underneath her touch. There's something soothing, comforting, about the way her fingers are softly grazing my cheek, that I find myself leaning in towards her.

Cleo jerks her hand away from my face as though I've burned her. She sits slightly back on the chair, putting distance between us. My heart hangs heavy with disappointment as she watches me cautiously. Feeling like a fool for making her uncomfortable, I awkwardly clear my throat.

What is wrong with me, anyway? I probably made Cleo think I was trying to kiss her, and that  was definitely not what I was trying to do. Of course it wasn't. It couldn't have been. I'm straight. Completely straight.

Cleo gives my hand a reassuring pat, almost as if she's reading my thoughts and forgiving me. I send her a grateful smile in return. And, just like that, the awkwardness between us evaporates into thin air, disappearing as if it was never there.

Funny how just a little pat on the hand and a smile can clear up tension.

"Girls! Supper is ready!" Mom shouts from the fireplace. I hurry to the stone picnic table to get food, and Cleo follows me. I slide onto the bench and Cleo slides in next to me.

Mom picks up David and puts him on the bench. Then she bows her head and we say grace. On impulse, I open one eye a slit to see Cleo. She's staring down at her plate, eyes wide open. But this isn't what bothers me. What bothers me is that there's a sad look in her eyes. It's a sorrowful, yearning look I've never seen her wear before. It's almost as if she's calling out to someone in heaven, beseeching them to come and save her.

It's such a raw, pained expression that I only last two seconds before I grab hold of her hand, warming it in my own, trying, struggling, to comfort her. She lets me hold it, threading her own fingers through mine. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, and she smiles at me gratefully.

By now, Mom has finished with the grace and is starting to pass out food. Reluctantly, I let go of Cleo's hand to ladle soup into my bowl. It's some kind of tomato-and-cheese mixture. I know that probably sounds terrible to you, but it's actually incredibly good.

"Anyone want a sprig of rosemary for their soup?" Mom asks, holding a plate with rosemary above the table. I look over at Cleo, a grin splitting my face.

Rosemary.

"I want one," I speak up. When Mom hands it to me, I take it. Then, I wait until her back is turned, tending to David. Then I wrap the rosemary in my napkin and I discreetly bury the napkin in my jeans pocket. Smiling now, I grab another napkin from the stack, enjoying the smell of rosemary as it fills my nose and my mind.

***

"Which bunk do you want?" I ask Cleo. After four games of Scrabble that I lost horribly at, we're getting ready to sleep. "I don't care," she replies. "Come on, just choose one," I say. She groans and rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine. That one." I grab her a pillow and an extra blanket for her bunk, and she accepts them, turning her back on me to arrange them.

While she's busy, I put my stuffed animals on my bunk, covering them quickly with the blankets. Needless to say, I don't really want to inform Cleo (or anyone for that matter) that I'm seventeen and still sleep with stuffed animals.

When my animals and bed sheets are in place, I turn back around to ask Cleo if she needs another blanket, and almost gasp aloud at the sight before me.

Cleo's got her shirt off, back facing me. My eyes scan her exposed skin, and all I want to do is reach over and run my fingers along it. Cleo begins to slide down her jeans, and I quickly turn around.

I exhale in shaky gasps as I bring my trembling hands up to my burning, blushing cheeks. My body is racked with spontaneous bouts of shaking, and I sit down on my bunk to try and still my body.

Finally, I stop shaking, but my face is still on fire. Not bothering to change into my nightgown, I slide beneath the sheets. I take the napkin with the rosemary inside of it from my pocket and I gently push it underneath my pillow, hoping the warm, familiar scent will calm my racing heart.

However, while the rosemary does calm my heart, it does nothing to still the racing thoughts in my mind.  I try to force down my thoughts and turn off my brain, and I succeed somewhat, but the image of a topless Cleo still burns in the back of my mind.