Impulse Control (ON HOLD)

Chapter 23

"Are you okay?" Cleo asks, holding me at arm's length to examine me, head to toe. I nod silently, shuddering slightly as the memory of Mark's cruel laughter fills my ears. Cleo pulls me into another hug, and I let out my bottled up tears, crying into her hair as she hugs and comforts me.

When I finally have a hold on myself, Cleo slips her hand into mine and tows me towards my car. I sigh with the stress of the day, allowing my pale, cold hand to rest in her soft, warm one as we make our way towards the car.

***

"I'm sorry," I say as soon as I'm settled in the passenger seat and Cleo in the driver's. "I'm sorry for yelling at you last night." Cleo turns to look at me while turning on the car and pulling out onto the road. "I'm sorry, too," she says. "For what?" I whisper. "For pushing you," Cleo replies. "You're new to hanging out with lesbians. I shouldn't have automatically assumed that you were one, too."

I sigh. "Cleo, I..." "What?" she asks, her hands clutching at the steering wheel as she steers the car out into traffic. "What I told you last night...I don't know..." I sigh, stop, and look at Cleo. Quietly, hopefully, she says, in a barely audible whisper, "What don't you know?" "I don't know if I'm really straight," I answer in the softest voice possible.

When Cleo makes no reply, I hurriedly rush on. "I just...I've been having all these weird feelings when you're around me and I don't know...I just don't know what they are or where they're coming from or if I'm straight or not. I know I want to kiss you, but that shouldn't mean I'm gay, should it? I thought I was straight, but then you came along, and you gave me butterflies and made me feel safe and special and accepted. You made my skin feel electric and my cheeks go pink every time I look at you. I just, I need you and want you in every way but I don't know. I just don't know. I'm not ready for this."

Cleo nods along as I ramble on. When I'm finished, she's staring straight ahead into the big blue of the sky. A single word escapes her tight, wooden lips: "Okay."

And we ride in silence all the way home.

***

When the car pulls into the campground, I take off my seat belt and sigh, looking out the passenger side window. I watch as the world slides past, in a blur of RVs, water, trees, and sites. Most eye-catching of all is the huge lake. It glimmers and sparkles like a big, beautiful jewel. I can just barely see Mom's boat moored at the lake's edge. All in all, the sweet picture makes me think of home. In a way, this campground feels more like home than my actual home, and I definitely wouldn't mind staying here, on the lake, for the rest of my life. It wouldn't bother me one bit, and it wouldn't bother Cleo, either. I can tell from the peaceful look on her face that she's thinking the same thing.

We pull into Cleo's campsite. I want to spend the rest of the day with her, so I dash over to my campsite to let Mom know, but I find a note saying she's swimming with David.

I grab a few cookies from the kitchen and walk back to Cleo's camper. I fling the door open and make my way inside.

She's lounging on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. "Hey," she greets as I hand her a cookie, which she promptly stuffs in her mouth. I smile at her childlike eagerness. 

"Do you remember, back when we were kids?" Cleo asks me wistfully. "Oh, yeah," I reply, my eyes clouding. "My dad used to give me piggyback rides all the time, before he left." Cleo goes quiet for a minute, then says, softly, "I'll give you a piggyback ride."

"Okay," I say, smiling, walking towards Cleo. She bends down, offering her back for me to jump on. I jump and Cleo staggers a bit because of the added weight settled on her shoulders. She straightens up with obvious effort, and shifts me higher on her back, so that I can wrap my legs around her back and my hands across her chest, going dangerously close to one breast. 

Cleo begins to walk forward with unsteady, lurching steps. I throw my head back and laugh from the sheer simplicity of it. For once, the memories of my father aren't predominant in my mind. My cloud of red hair rushes past my face and into Cleo's, but she just laughs and brushes it away. I shiver at her touch.

Finally, I guess unable to carry me any longer, Cleo stops and I slide off. 

"That was so fun!" I exclaim breathlessly. Cleo nods and smiles. Suddenly her face morphs into startled worry. "What?" I ask, my smile fading. "Sierra, your shirt!" Cleo says, pointing. I look down. There's a big spot of blood at the nape of it. "Oh no!" I cry out. "It must be from him. But I don't want Mom to know. What do I do?"

"I'll lend you mine," Cleo answers. "I didn't pack any extra shirts, so I'll just wear yours." Then she begins to slide off her hoodie and shirt. Right in front of me.

My breath hitches slightly as Cleo's head disappears into her shirt and it rises off of her chest. And, just like that, her bare skin is completely exposed.

Exposed to me.

It's tan and the muscles are tight and toned. Her bra hugs every curve in her body, and her golden hair swings like a small sun in the wind.

I feel my face becoming hot as she notices my staring. She doesn't break the silence, just stares back, right into my eyes. Her ocean blue eyes are a mystery to me, swirling with secrets that burn into my soul. I feel a catlike desire to know her secrets, her past, her mysteries.

Her eyes seem to pull me in from a long ways off, like a big rope steadily pulling me in from somewhere in the distance. Like a dark, mysterious day with an envigorating feel that keeps me interested long after I know I should've ran away.

You would think that I'd find dark days depressing, but instead I find them pretty and mysterious. I feel myself falling, falling into Cleo's mystery eyes. I feel myself getting lost in the pearly heaven that is herself.

Unconsciously, I move forward. Cleo copies me, inching towards my blood-red lips, drawn by some outside force. A line, drawing us together, putting our lips closer and closer to each other.

As we drift slowly towards each other, I'm aware of nothing but the moment at hand. Nothing but the slow advancement of her head and mouth matters. All thoughts of my uncanny feelings for Cleo flees my head all I can think of is the burning desire in my heart to lean forward just a little and touch my lips to hers.

I feel my eyes gently flutter closed in the heat of the moment. Suddenly the cool camper feels like a baking oven. My skin prickles with excitement and anticipation. I wait. I wait, shaking with desire, for the slight touching of her gentle, delicious lips to mine.

But they don't come.

I open my eyes, and Cleo is folding over slowly, on the ground. She puts her head in her hands and shakes from side to side, like she's having a seizure.

"Cleo!" I scream, rushing to her side and shaking her. "Cleo, what is it? What's wrong?" She takes a deep, shuddering breath that ends with a crying sound. Her wheat-golden hair folds over her face, her hands, her eyes.

Then she sits up, removes her hands, and flings the pieces of her hair backwards.

"Sierra, stop it!" "Stop what?" I ask, thoroughly confused. "Stop playing with my heart! I know you're straight, so just stop! I like you. I really like you. If you want to date me, just fucking say so. But stop this. I don't want to be played around with. I've had my heart broken before, and it felt like my world was ending. If you think you're not actually straight, and you want to be my girlfriend, I'm yours. But until you figure out what you are, I'm not going to do anything with you.

I sit back, stunned to silence by her angry rant. She gets up and walks away. Not far. Just away.

Leaving me to ponder my sexuality for the second time in two days.