Charade

              “Her name is Cheye

              A laugh is his only reply. I pull the door open. She looks different than usual—her hair is a tied back and she’s wearing faded shorts and a t-shirt. This doesn’t look like the kind of clothes she’d ever let someone see her in. I don’t know why, but it makes my skin feel tight.

              “Back to give me more shit?” I ask, leaning my hand against the doorframe.

              “No. I came to tell you its over.” Her voice cracks slightly.

              “Shit,” I ground out. “Let’s go in my room. I don’t like other people in my business.”

              I’m surprised when Cheye

              “It’s really clean in here…and white.” She has her back to me.

              “What? A guy like me can’t like his shit clean?” I don’t care how I look, but I like my stuff to be in order.

              “The rest of the house was trashed.”

              “I don’t have control over the rest of the house. I doubt you came here to talk about my white sheets though.” I lean against the old desk in my room. Mom got for me at a yard sale, all stoked because she knew I’d need somewhere to do my homework.

              “I already told you what I came here to say. It’s over. The charade.”

              I laugh and scratch my head. “Yeah I figured that out when you got all pissed at me the other day and then didn’t give me my next assignment.”

              Which should be a fucking blessing to me, but for some reason, I find myself a

              Cheye

              I have no idea what the hell is going on here, but it’s obvious something’s up.

              “Feel free to take it all!” I dodge her purse that flies at my head. She’s not crying, but it looks like she wants to. Her chest rises and falls with big surges. Something twists in my gut.

              “Hey. Is it me or did we just step into the Twilight Zone or something?” I take a step toward her. The look of rage—or pain, maybe both— in her eyes slices through me. “What’s wrong?” Another step.

              “You mean besides the fact that my mom is dead, I didn’t know and I’ve hated her for years? Nothing,” she snaps, her voice like acid.

              Those words slam into me like nothing else she could have said. Nothing else anyone could have said. My body wants to tense up and slacken at the same time. “Fuck,” I run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”

              I’m not good with words. I’ve never cared about it before, but in this moment, I wish I knew what else to say.

              Cheye

              Her words grate on me the wrong way. She wants them to be real, but like everything else she does, they’re fake. “So…you’re all tough then? You’re just pretending this isn’t a big deal? Eh, I found out my mom’s dead, but I’m just going to go about my business.”

              “You smug son-of-a-bitch.” She tries to slap me, but I grab her wrist. Like always she didn’t hold back. It was a full swing. “Don’t do that. You’re not better than I am, hiding behind the fact that you’re an asshole.”

              “There’s a difference because I’m not in denial about it.” The way her eyes dim, sad and acknowledging my words, does something to me. I feel them on me…in me. It’s fucking ridiculous and I’m the last one who should be consoling this girl, but I grab her hand and pull her to me. “Come here.”

              She comes. Her arms wrap around my neck and mine around her waist. She feels small—smaller than usual, but soft and feminine tucked against me. “Life’s shitty sometimes.”

              I expect her to cry. Wait for it. Mom’s always been a crier. Real emotional about stuff, but there’s no wetness seeping through my shirt from where her head rests on my shoulder.

              No sniffling or shakes. Just…nothing.

              Damn, this girl is shutdown tight. Which I should be thankful for, that way I don’t have to deal with it. I find myself ru

              “Your mom…what’s wrong with her?”

              Her question is a vise-grip, squeezing the life out of me. “Cancer. What else?”

              “I’m sorry,” she says, looking up at me.

              “Me, too.”

              She dips her head and I know what she’s going to do before she does it. Her lips brush against my neck and I squeeze her waist. Christ, this is fucking dumb. All kinds of dumb, but I don’t pull away when her lips skate over my throat again.

              I don’t let myself think, but tilt her head up and take her lips. I’m not slow about it either. I’m hungry, needy for her. My tongue pushes into her mouth. A little groan escapes from the back of her throat and damn it turns me on.

              Her nails dig into my skin and it only spurs me on more. I kiss her deeper, studying every part of her mouth. With my lips on hers, nothing else matters, but what we’re doing. I lift her up and her legs wrap around my waist. Stumbling, I walk to the bed, our mouths never parting.

              Cheye

              My mouth slides down her neck. My tongue licking that little hollow spot I didn’t realize until this second, I wanted to taste. Cheye

              I push the top of her t-shirt down, taking my tongue across the swells of her breasts. I move far enough away that I can push her shirt up this time. Her bra is satin, but still not as smooth as her skin. I cup one breast, teasing the other through the fabric.

              I’m on fire. Inside and out. My hand moves to the top of her pants. Before I go any farther, I look up at her. The heartbreak on her face—the pain in her eyes, douses my wildfire.

              Fuck. What the hell am I doing? I sit up and pull away from her. I ache from wanting her so fucking bad, but I say, “We need to chill out.”

              If anything, my words make the darkness in her eyes worse.

              Cheye

              “You don’t have to.” I shrug, wondering where in the hell those words came from.

              “Yeah, I do.” She grabs her purse. I get up and start grabbing the money and cards she threw on the ground.

              “I…” she shakes her head.

              “It’s cool,” I tell her. “We all lose it sometimes.”