Trapped✔️

9

H O L D E N

"Just like old times, right?" Nina grinned at him, her hair drenched and flat, clinging to her neck and bare shoulders like black silk ribbons.

"Exactly," he replied, though he was pretty sure that in old times his desire to kiss her had been far less prominent.

"Come on!" She waved him over enthusiastically as she got out of the water. She'd informed him grudgingly that, this morning, she'd thrown on a bikini instead of underwear.

"It's going to be too cold," he answered, but followed her all the same.

And it wasn't cold, as it turned out, but pleasantly cool, the water drying as his skin hit the sunlight.

"I'm glad we came here," Nina told him, preening in her swimsuit as they stretched out on the ratty towels provided by the pool for ten cents.

"Me, too." He had to admit that most of his motive was to see her in a swimsuit, but he'd also wanted to bring back the happy times of their friendship. "If we could, would you ever want to restart? Just go back to the way things were when we were twelve?"

"Maybe." She admitted, turning away from him. He had an arm around her shoulder, fingers playing with the strap of her bikini. "But - no."

"No?" He wanted to see her face, see the reasons in her eyes. But he wouldn't push it - wouldn't push her. "Why?"

"I think - we wouldn't be the people we are without the things we've done. We'd still be childish, immature. We would break up eventually, or maybe we'd just be friends with benefits. It wouldn't feel this real, because we wouldn't have sacrificed so much for it."

"Love is pain?" He joked, testing the words on his tongue.

"No," she said, and finally, leaning in, kissed him. When they pulled apart, her body was flush against his, another reminder that they were not the same people they used to be. "Love is wanting pain, for love's sake."

:::

They drove the rest of the way to Nina's father's house in companionable silence, Holden occasionally taking his hand off the gearshift to hold Nina's, Nina frequently turning on the radio and changing the stations until she found a song she liked.

When they got there, Nina unlocked the door to find her dad on the couch, the TV still showing the football game despite the fact that he was asleep. The living room was cluttered, as though to soften the hard parts of the room: modern lighting, walls white as a starched shirt, a coffee table that was all sharp corners, and smooth, pale tile on the floor. Nina's mom had decorated it, Holden recalled, and her father had never changed it, like he still held out hope that she'd come back.

"Shh," Nina whispered, holding a finger to her lips. She tiptoed over to the couch, and picked up the blanket that was lying there to put it over her dad.

They walked quietly up to her room, sitting on her bed. "Make yourself at home."

The room had scarcely changed: Nina's boy band posters had been taken down, but the walls were the same white with one wall of turquoise and ivory floral wallpaper, the blue beanbag chair still in a corner, and her bed was still four-poster, with a canopy of teal fabric.

"You still like blue, I see." Holden flopped down on her bed, staring up at the light coming through the gossamer veil.

"Yeah." She sat down next to his feet, and picked up her phone. "I'm going to text mom that we got home safe."

"Okay."

How many nights had this happened? How many times had he wanted this to happen?

How could it be so different now?

She was a foot away from him. It felt like an ocean to cross; it felt like a stone's throw.

"Come over here and kiss me," Holden suggested, moving over on the bed so that there would be room for Nina.

She obliged, and there was no better feeling than being with her.

It didn't matter what they were doing - walking, listening to music, driving - all of it felt more vivid with Nina. There was no one he wanted to be with more.

:::

N I N A

How had she spent so much time - wasted so much time - not kissing him? How did anyone waste so much time not kissing him?

It wasn't just the physical aspect of it - though Holden was a surprisingly good kisser - or that they had teenage hormones on their side, but it was him. It felt entirely natural to kiss him, like an extension of loving him.

There was no part of her that was not pressed to some part of him, and no part of her that did not want to be closer. His hands were in her hair, still damp from the pool, and she had her arms around his shoulders, fingers laced together behind his neck. Holden was broader than she remembered, no longer in the skinny frame of childhood, but lean, toned.

All of a sudden, there was a sharp, piercing ringtone, and they pulled apart reluctantly, both of their faces flushed. He looked at her apologetically before picking up his phone from the bedside table.

He looked at the screen for a moment before tossing it to the floor, where it landed face-down on the grey carpet.

"It's nobody," he told her. "I'll text them back later."

Why did she get the feeling he was lying?

And what should she do about it?

"No." She held a hand between them, and sat up on the mattress. "You're lying to me."

A long pause, silence. He didn't leave. She was terrifyingly, overwhelmingly relieved. Then, he spoke, so softly, so tentatively, "That was my pot dealer."

She said nothing. There was nothing to do but hear him out.

"I stopped smoking pot, Nina. I'm not running anymore - if you promise not to."