Her Name is Sorrel

XI

11

I wanted her. 

Not in a creepy way. 

I just wanted to lie in bed with her (clothes on of course, you dirty gremlin) and whisper cheesy things in her ear under the light hum of the ceiling fan.

I wanted to lay side by side and squint as the moonlight fluttered through the half crescent window of her bedroom.

I wanted to mumble incoherent Gatsby’s quotes under tired breaths as we fought drowsy eyes threatening to close from exhaustion.

I wanted to be with her.

So I did.

I got up from my bed and in a moment of sheer panic, I realized what I was doing: sneaking out.

It wasn’t my first time; Jared and I had snook out to some house parties prior but that was different. This time, I wasn’t sneaking out to go to a party; I was sneaking out to see her.

Throwing on miscellaneous Nike sweats scattered on the floor of my bed and a random jacket hanging on knob of the door, I quietly threaded down the wooden stairs to the front door. Careful not to make a sound, I shut the door lightly, a quiet click ensuring it locked from the inside.

There, I jogged along the driveway to my car where I revved the boisterous engine and prayed my parents wouldn’t stir. 

1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 

After holding my breath, I proceeded to back up and quietly drive out the gate and onto the dark road.

3:45am

Surely Sorrel wouldn’t be awake. It was a cold, December Saturday and she was probably tucked in and fast asleep, dreaming about God knows what, under a cloud of marijuana wafting around the house.

I arrived at her house faster than anticipated and every bone in my being shook a nervous tremor.  Now what, Daniel? Waltz through the front door and risk getting beaten to death with a bong by Kurt or worse: kissed by Barb’s dry lips?

Fuck.

I sent her a speedy text, praying her phone was on.

Pacing up and down her driveway, I anxiously awaited for the message that would calm me down.

My window’s opened x

Breathing a sigh of pure relief, I jogged behind her house and scaled panels that would lead to the crescent window of her room.

She met me at the window and I instantly perspired at the scorching heat her small room radiated. “Holy cow Sorrel, turn on a goddamn fan for Christ’s sake-”

“What the fuck?” she hissed as she grabbed my hand and tugged me through the frame, “Why the hell are you here?”

To see you, you dumb girl.

“I don’t know,” I muttered stupidly and Sorrel glared at me with piercing eyes, “Go home you dumb ass!”

“Are you not wearing a bra?”

Her eyes widened and instinctively, she crossed both arms over her chest, “You sick, twisted, perverted FREAK!”

“SHHH!”

“Don’t tell me what to-”

I leaned in and this time, I made sure her goddamn mouth was closed.

It felt foreign - kissing Sorrel - not kissing in general.

She sucked. S.U.C.K.E.D, SUCKED.

It was kind of cute though.

“You’re drooling,” she whispered, pulling away and resting her forehead against mine, “A lot.”

“Um, that’s actually your drool.”

“Oh. I’m sorry-”

I kissed her again, and again. Her lips tasted like Listerine mouth wash and strawberry Chapstick.

“Don’t be.”

It felt so right. More so than making out with Bianca Thompson in 9th grade. Yes, Sorrel sucked. She was sloppy and lacked technique; it was simultaneously so goddamn awful but amazing. She made me a contradicting mess. The way her delicate hands hesitantly rested on my biceps and her body molded into mine like a puzzle piece.

“So what now,” she challenged, her arms wrapped around me neck, “I suppose we keep this a secret? Don’t want Mr. Big Shot’s reputation damaged right? With Squirrel.”

Oh, right. She didn’t sound bitter though. Not even the slightest angry to my amazement. Maybe she was as desperate as me. 

“Yeah,” I muttered apologetically and my stomach dropped at the sight of her brown eyes slowly watering. “I’m sorry. I know this is super douche-baggy of me to come and kiss you and-”

“I get it,” Sorrel muttered caustically, dropping her arms to her waist, “Jared would probably give you so much shit if he found out.”

At least she understood.

“So, like, what are we?” I gaped, “I mean, are we still friends? Are you still going to tutor me cause I really need help or else I’ll fail out of English-”

Sorrel leaned in and I braced myself for a kiss. Instead, I felt her soft lips brush against mine and her fingers push my damp hair off my sweaty forehead.

“So, is this like a friends with benefits kind of ordeal?”

It felt cheap and sleazy and my whole body stiffened at the phrase.

Friends with benefits. It was so wrong yet so right.

“Yeah, sounds legit.”

And then I kissed her with desperate lips. I kissed her anxiously and desperately because I was an addict and she was my drug and to my surprise and dismay, it felt so perfect and so wrong at the same time. 

Every nerve ending in my body was a live wire.