Title: Negative Love
Author: Elizabeth (uhmidont@theglobe.com)
URL: http://ficorama.cjb.net/
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kyle/Isabel, Kyle POV. This fic is a follow-up to 
"The Eternal Now"
Rating: NC-17
Dedication: To Shana-who saw the one thing no one else did, 
and gave me the kick in the ass I needed to finish this fic. Thank 
you!
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. And the title of the fic 
comes from a poem by John Donne. 
__________________________________________

 


"My stomach dropped when I realized Isabel had possibly set the 
whole thing up to get back at Max" from Shana's e-mail to me 
about "The Eternal Now"

 

You make me come
You make me complete
You make me completely miserable

--Lit "Miserable"

 

**

 

Panic is always described as some sort of drowning sensation. 
You know, 'I was choking on my fear' and all that.

 

Bullshit.

 

Panic is pain. Panic is throwing up in the bathroom, listening to 
your stomach search for any stray remnants it can find. Panic is 
shear, unrelenting, mortifying terror.

 

Panic is waking up at three in the morning on the day you are 
supposed to meet a certain someone at the reservoir and realizing 
that maybe the someone you are meeting is meeting you not 
because she wants to, but for some complicated series of reasons 
that you're too stupid to understand.

 

Panic is realizing that there's no maybe about it. Panic is 
knowing that Isabel Evans let you touch her because you are the 
one person that her brother hates. Panic is knowing that Isabel 
Evans used you and you were too stupid to figure it out. Panic is 
sitting on the bathroom floor, realizing that you should do 
something, but it's already out of your hands. Panic is because 
you are going to go and wait for her and be made a fool of 
because you're already a jackass of an idiot who's half in love 
with a girl you don't know. 

 

Panic is a big pain in the ass.

 

**

 

How long was I happy for? I don't know. Not long enough. I'd 
gone to sleep all stupid and content and woke up because I had a 
dream about Isabel. I was talking to her, and she was just looking 
at me. Then I heard myself talking, and I wasn't really saying 
anything, I was just babbling. And she was smiling at me, that 
same smile she had that first day in her room, when she thought I 
wasn't looking. That 'poor dumb fuck Kyle' smile.

 

And then I heard someone say, "Is?" and I turned and Max was 
standing there. He looked upset and then Isabel said, "How do 
you like this Max? How does this make you feel? Are you happy 
now? It's better that mom doesn't know, right? Kyle's better than 
mom, right?" Then she turned to me and said, "And you even 
drove me home. It worked out better than I ever thought it 
would." And there was that smile again.

 

That's when I woke up. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I 
tried to convince myself that maybe I had the flu or something, 
maybe I'd had too much to drink at the party, but I knew I was 
lying; I kept seeing her face. Just staring at Max. None of it was 
about me at all, it never was. I thought about the things I told her 
and I felt my face burn. I looked in the mirror and I saw how 
stupid I'd been. Why else would Isabel Evans let me touch her? 
I'm such an idiot.

 

**

 

I went to the reservoir. What else could I do? The morning went 
by too quickly, I couldn't decide what I should do. First I thought 
I just shouldn't go. Then I thought I should go see my father. 
Then I thought I should go. Then I went back round in circles 
again, and all I could see was her face, the look in her eyes as 
she kissed me, the look on her face as she came that first time. I 
didn't imagine that, I didn't. Then I realized I didn't know 
anything, and I drove out to the reservoir anyway.

 

She wasn't there, and I felt that hot miserable feeling that seems 
to be my best friend these days. She didn't show. She wasn't 
going to show.

 

Did you think that she would come to see me? Did you think that 
she would be there, a smile on her face, a song in her heart? Did 
you think that she would welcome me with open arms?

 

You're as fucking stupid as I am.

 

It's nice to know I'm not alone.

 

**

 

"Why did you do it?"

 

She looks up, shock on her face. I'm speaking to her in a public 
place. She can't avoid me here. Yes, I broke, I snapped, I came to 
the Crashdown, I knew she'd be here. Her brother is nearby, 
talking to Liz. Michael is pretending he isn't looking at Maria, he 
is looking over at us, fake interest in his eyes.

 

Alex looks confused. "Kyle?"

 

I ignore him. It just figures he would be here. Open up my skin a 
little more, why don't you Isabel? There's a salt shaker on the 
table, just pick it up and pour it on. I would welcome the pain; it 
would distract me. "Why did you do it?"

 

Her face, that beautiful, lying face, all innocent eyes and soft 
skin; it gives me a blank look. "What are you talking about?"

 

I stare at her, incredulous. She's forgotten?

 

Of course she has. Why should I be surprised?

 

I open my mouth, ready to wipe that look of hopeful expectation 
off Alex's face. Do you know what the girl you want did with 
me? Do you see her brother over there? It's not about you, it'll 
never be about you. It'll always be about them; it will never be 
about you. You poor dumb shit Alex, at least I got to touch her.

 

I start talking and it's not coming out right, it's just a babble of 
sound. I try to speak again, and all that comes out is "Max. Max. 
Max. Max. Max."

 

Alex looks confused. Max looks up, looks away from Liz. Nice 
to know that he recognizes his own name. Isabel smiles at me. 
She looks over at Max and her smile gets bigger. She opens her 
mouth, and I wait for her to flay my skin a little more. The salt is 
right there, go ahead and reach for it.

 

"Mr. Valenti?"

 

"Mr. Valenti!"

 

I wake up with a start. "What?"

 

"Nice of you to join us." My history teacher is staring at me. "I 
know that what happened in World War II couldn't possibly be 
of any sort of relevance to you." (Is that a sneer on his face? Of 
course it is. He probably thinks I can't spell World War)

 

I look around the room. I'm in class. I was just dreaming.

 

Isabel is sitting behind me, in the back row, next to Max. She 
isn't even looking at me.

 

Welcome to my life.

 

**

 

Of course nothing happened. I'm stuck in indecision land, lost in 
the confusion place. I've gone over and over and over everything 
in my mind again and again and again till I can recite it all in a 
litany. "I found out, I touched her, she touched me, then it all 
changed, and then she let me drive her home and Max saw us 
and then she told me she wanted to meet me and then it all went 
back to the way it was before." My mother was Catholic, she 
taught me the Hail Mary. So I'm good at reciting things.

 

I still get up every morning; I still go to school. I go to practice 
every day. Basketball season is almost over, but it's ok because 
baseball season is next. I welcome the calendar of sports that is 
my life; the routine of having my day all planned out.

 

My father is worried about me. Ha, ha. All it took was me 
discovering aliens. Is that irony? I don't know; I usually sleep 
through English class too.

 

He talked to me last night.

 

"Kyle?"

 

"Yeah dad."

 

"How are things going?"

 

"Fine."

 

"You sure?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Ok."

 

Now, don't get all down on my dad. For him, that's major, and I 
mean major quality time. I've tried to tell him about Isabel a 
million times. Sometimes I even get it my speech all ready, I go 
to see him at work, or I watch him while we're eating dinner.

 

Dad, guess what? There are aliens in town. You were right, 
Grandpa is only slightly crazy. Isn't that great? By the way, I 
think I might have fallen in love with one of them, so when you 
call the FBI, can I come and watch them take her away?

 

But I can never say it. That's how I know she got the revenge 
thing all right. She knew I wouldn't tell, that I couldn't tell. How 
did she know me better than I know myself?

 

I wonder about that, because it doesn't seem like she thought 
about what she was doing at all. I figure that it just sort of 
happened, that the first time came out of fear and surprise. But 
the party? What about what happened there?

 

Was it just to laugh at me? Was it because Max didn't want her 
to tell her mother who she is, and she wanted to make him 
sweat? Look who drove me home, are you scared that he knows?

 

And why did she tell me she'd meet me? Was she going to drag 
Max there? What was her motive? Why? Why? Why?

 

Susan touches my arm. "Hey, are you ok?"

 

I smile at her. Susan is my new girlfriend. I can't remember her 
last name to save my life. Sometimes, when we're out on a date 
and I look over at her, I'm surprised to see her there. Where did 
she come from, how did I pull it together long enough to ask 
anyone to go out? 

 

I tell her I'm fine, put my arm around her, walk out of class with 
her. Isabel is standing in the hallway, talking to Alex. Her eyes 
meet mine, and I think of how happy I was that night. How I 
thought that something good had happened, how I'd found 
someone who understood.

 

I bump into Liz, who is standing near Max. Max's eyes meet 
mine, and I don't see anything in them other than his usual 
doughy Liz glance. He's a better person than I am. I can accept 
that. I look back over at Isabel.

 

She's pulled her hair back today. It should make her look severe, 
aloof. All I see is the bare skin of her stomach; all I hear is her 
voice in my ear. "Kyle."

 

As we walk by her, I lean over and tell Alex hello. He blinks. 
"Hey Kyle."

 

Isabel's face clouds; a look of confusion crosses her face.

 

It's the little things that get me through the day.

 

**

 

Basketball practice is the same as it always is. I'm really too 
short to play basketball, but I manage to do ok. Lately I've been 
doing pretty well in the games, though I'm forever getting 
personal fouls for throwing my elbows about. I find that it works 
as an excellent stress reliever-oh, look there's Alex. Oh look, he's 
sitting by Isabel. Oh look, I accidentally jabbed my elbow into 
your throat, oh sorry, did that hurt? At least if I have to go sit on 
the bench I can't see her in the stands.

 

After practice is over, I drive home to find my father pacing and 
muttering and going through his personal box. You remember 
the box; it's the one I'm supposed to stay out of. He's been to see 
Grandpa again; he has that look in his eye. I end up making 
dinner (Yes, I can cook. You try eating a gazillion boxes of mac 
and cheese, it sort of forces you to learn) and my dad tells me he 
forgot something at work and he has to go back. "Don't wait up."

 

I haven't waited up for Dad since I was maybe twelve. But I say, 
"Ok, I won't" and watch him leave.

 

After he's gone, I go through Grandpa's stuff. It's kind of sad that 
you can stuff an entire person's life into part of one box. My stuff 
would probably fit in a shoebox that Dad could stick in the 
corner next to Mom's letters.

 

I get tired of looking at the old newspaper articles and the letters 
Grandpa wrote to every government official, asking for support 
of his UFO investigations. Yeah, Isabel really did make a good 
choice, didn't she? I mean, my family history's is comprised of 
believing in stuff that isn't really there.

 

I call Susan and watch tv while she talks about today (I will 
never understand that about women-I was there for the same day, 
it's not like we didn't see the exact same things, but whatever). 
After I get tired of listening to her talk, I tell her I have to go and 
I hang up the phone, and then wander around the house for a 
while. And then I go and get in my car and decide to drive to the 
reservoir for a little more self-torture. I guess that's my new 
hobby. I suppose it's better than stamp-collecting.

 

**

 

I make a stop along the way. I didn't think I'd do it, I've thought 
about it before, but I guess tonight I'm finally bored enough 
(notice I didn't say desperate or lonely, I said bored and that's 
what I'm sticking with) to follow through.

 

Mrs. Evans looks surprised when she opens the door. Of course 
she is, she doesn't know me at all.

 

"Hello, Kyle. It is Kyle - Sheriff Valenti's son - right?"

 

"Yes ma'am. Is Isabel here?"

 

Mrs. Evans' brow gets all furrowed and for a moment, I think I 
see a little of Isabel in her. Which just goes to show how 
delusional I am. "She is. Do you want to come in?"

 

"Sure" The sofa is right where it was the last time, and I sit 
down. I do refrain from putting my feet up on the coffee table. 
Pretty classy of me.

 

Max comes into the living room. "Mom? Who's at the do..." His 
eyes widen.

 

"Kyle?"

 

"Hey, Max." Oh, this was so worth it. I should have done it 
weeks ago.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

Mrs. Evans shoots me a quick look. Max doesn't look too happy. 
Maybe now she's starting to wonder why she let me in the house. 
"He's here to see Isabel."

 

Max nods and says, "I'll go get her."

 

Mrs. Evans and I wait in silence. She looks at me once in a while 
and I just look back at her. If she was any other girl's mother, I 
might try to be charming. But I don't feel like trying.

 

There's some noise upstairs, and I can hear Isabel say "What?" 

 

Mrs. Evans clears her throat and asks how my father's doing.

 

"He's fine."

 

Her brow furrows again and she gets up and goes to the foot of 
the stairs. "Isabel?"

 

"I'm coming, Mom!"

 

She walks downstairs, Max behind her. "Kyle."

 

"Hey, Isabel."

 

She looks back at Max, who is trying to catch his mother's eye. 
Too bad Isabel, what are you going to do now?

 

"Ummmm...I guess you came to talk about the project."

 

I smile at her. "What? Oh, right...the project." Just enough 
hesitation so that everyone knows I could be lying. Perfect.

 

Mrs. Evans looks at Max and then back at me. I smile at her, turn 
to look at Isabel. "Don't you think we should go work on it? I 
mean, I have to keep my grades up, you know," I glance at Mrs. 
Evans, "cause grades are important to my father." I might stress 
that last word a little. Just for fun.

 

"Why don't you stay here?" Max actually looks a little 
threatening. Except that the light from the stairs is shining right 
through those big-ass ears of his, and I'm enjoying this moment 
too much to be threatened.

 

"That's a great id..."Isabel starts.

 

I cut her off "Except we're supposed to meet everyone else at the 
library."

 

Mrs. Evans looks more confused and now she looks a little 
worried. I've never worried a parent before. It's kind of cool.

 

Isabel looks at Max, then back at me. "Right. I forgot. I guess 
we'd better go."

 

She walks to the door, her mother trailing after her.

 

Max grabs my arm. "What are you doing?"

 

Oh God, I've waited for this moment for so long. And it feels 
good. Yeah, that's right. I don't feel guilty or bad or any of those 
things that you're supposed to feel when you act like a shit. I feel 
positively giddy.

 

"Oh, don't worry Max," I lean in towards him, lower my voice to 
a whisper "your secret is safe with me."

 

His face falters, his expression is all bewilderment and confusion 
and fear.

 

Well, I'll be damned. She didn't tell him that I know.

 

I look back at him, and I must look confused too because we 
both just stare at each other. He's trying to figure out exactly 
what I know, when I knew it, why I'm here to see his sister-

 

And me? I'm trying to understand what's going on. I thought I'd 
figured out what Isabel was all about and now I'm right back to 
square one. Damn it.

 

Isabel is outside, she's turned back to look at us, and she's 
nodding at what her mother is saying.

 

"Make sure to be home by eleven," Mrs. Evans tells Isabel. 
Isabel says, "Ok, Mom," and I watch as she and Max exchange a 
look--hers full of sorrow and anger and Max's look...oh, it's 
priceless.

 

Like I said, it's the little things that get me through the day. 

 

**

 

Isabel gets in my car, as docile as you please, and waves to her 
mother. Then she turns on me.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

I take my eyes off the road long enough to look at her. 
Unfortunately, now that I'm finally alone with her, I've forgotten 
all the things I wanted to say to her. Yay Kyle, way to go.

 

When I don't say anything she tells me to stop the car. I do, 
because I can't think of anything else to do instead.

 

She unbuckles her seat belt. She opens the door.

 

Shit, she's really going to get out of the car. I just went through 
all the trouble of going to see her, why can't I think?

 

She starts to get out of the car.

 

"Why didn't you tell Max?"

 

Oh damn, that's not what I meant to say.

 

She turns to look at me. Her face is pale, and the streetlight 
shines around the back of her head. It's really not fair that she's 
so good-looking. "What do you mean?"

 

"You did everything to get back at Max, right? So why didn't 
you tell him that I knew? I mean, wasn't that the whole idea? 
Didn't you want him to worry?"

 

She gets back in the car. "You told Max you knew?! Why did 
you do that?"

 

Now I feel guilty. God, I hate being me.

 

"I thought you'd told him already!" Now I sound defensive.

 

She sighs. "God, Kyle!" She shuts the car door, chews on her lip 
for a moment. I want to push her out of the car; I want to grab 
her and kiss her. I settle for doing neither.

 

"Why didn't you come meet me that day?" Please dear God, don't 
let me sound as sad and pathetic as I think I probably do.

 

"Just drive," she tells me. "I need to think."

 

So I do. Drive, that is. I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my 
hands start to hurt. And yet I continue to drive. I don't trust 
myself to speak yet, but at least I have an idea of where to go.

 

**

 

There's silence until I make the turn.

 

"The reservoir? Why are you bringing me here?" She gives me a 
look, all raised eyebrows and scorn.

 

I shrug. "I didn't hear you offering any suggestions."

 

I know the area around the reservoir pretty well now. I park in 
the same spot every time, the same spot I parked in that first day, 
when I sat on the hood of my car, calling myself names till it got 
so dark that I couldn't see anything at all.

 

I get out of the car and walk over to the rocks. For a while, I 
would climb up them and sit on the top, stare out over the water, 
but I started feeling like a loser (I mean, isn't that the sort of 
moping everyone does?) so eventually I just started leaning 
against the wall of rock that looks out over the water and 
wondering what would happen if the reservoir got a leak or 
something.

 

I figure if I stand there long enough maybe I'll come up with 
some sort of plan. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm hoping she'll come 
over and talk to me, and hearing her get out of the car and walk 
towards me is enough to make me smile.

 

I hear her pause-her footsteps stop and I wonder what she's 
thinking about. Eventually, she starts walking again, comes and 
stands next to me. We both look out over the water, all bottled 
up in its nice man-made environment.

 

"Look, Kyle," she finally says, "I couldn't come meet you. I just 
can't do this sort of thing. It's already gotten so out of hand. It 
was bad enough before-just knowing that you know and uh, 
everything." 

 

I swallow around the lump in my throat and turn to face her. I 
don't know what to believe anymore. I don't know what I'm 
doing. I don't know what to say.

 

"Then why did you let me touch you?"

 

She blushes. I hate that. I hate seeing that she has feelings. It's 
easier to assign her the role of heartless bitch and stumble 
through the days with the knowledge that I at least got something 
right. But how can I be king of the jungle gym when it's forever 
getting knocked out from under me?

 

"Well?" I'm still waiting here, Isabel. Cut me loose, why don't 
you? I can handle that; I can deal with that. It's this forever world 
of indecision that's killing me.

 

She finally shrugs. "I don't know. Are you happy now, Kyle? I 
don't know."

 

I can't help it. I'm weak, I'm stupid, and I'm worthless. I couldn't 
turn away from her even if I wanted to.

 

I kiss her, I touch her. We move away from the rock we were 
standing next to. The backseat of my car is familiar; I've been 
here before. I've done this with other girls, it's not any different.. 
this won't be any different. I try to tell her this, but what comes 
out is "Are you sure?"

 

Her dress is bunched up around her hips. She makes a noise, 
incoherent welcome and surprise, and I slide her underwear 
down her legs, watch my shaking fingers.

 

Her hand fumbles with the zipper on my pants, a clumsy caress 
that surprises me even as it makes me sweat and shake like a 
moron. The backseat of my car is small, too small, and for the 
first time ever, I wish I had thought about this more, that I had at 
least done something with some small amount of grace. But then 
I realize that this is probably what she expected, and my heart 
sinks even though I've told myself that I don't care if she's 
disappointed.

 

I've missed touching her, but I remembered what she liked; I 
want her to feel the way I do. Her fingernails move down my 
chest, goosebumps pop up in their wake. I kiss her, wanting to 
imprint her mouth on my own, wanting to reassure myself that 
this is real, that despite everything, despite her plans, whatever 
they were, and the motives that elude me, that she wants this, 
that she wants me.

 

Her mouth leaves mine, I hear her breathing in my ear, feel her 
teeth on my earlobe. Her breast is a soft weight in my hand, her 
nipple stabs into my palm. She says my name on a breath, just 
the slightest exhalation of sound, and I shake my head, not 
wanting to hear a feeling that might not be there.

 

Even through her dress, her skin burns mine. I want to unbutton 
her dress, I want to take off her bra but I can't seem to find my 
hands, I can't seem to find myself, I'm lost. Her hips are grinding 
against mine, and the friction, the sound of bare skin on bare 
skin, it scrapes my nerves raw, it stretches me all out of shape. I 
don't recognize who I am when I'm with her.

 

I can't wait anymore. I'm dying. I want to be in control. I'm so 
tired of being used, but I don't have any finesse, I don't have any 
skill. I just push inside her. Her hands are on my shoulders, her 
nails dig into my skin.

 

Pain. Her pain, and she wants me to feel it. It's so sudden and 
intense that I actually forget where I am for a moment.

 

When I open my eyes again, I stare down at her. There's no way 
I can finish what I just started.

 

She's crying. Huge, hiccuping sobs that are ripping up her throat. 
I feel them in my own. I've hurt her.

 

"I don't understand." It's my voice, but it sounds tinny and high, 
an echo of something someone once said to me a long time ago 
that maybe I'd forgotten till now. "What's going on? Why are 
you doing this?"

 

"I don't know." I hear it whispered into my ear, but she isn't 
speaking. She's just staring up at me, her eyes accusing. I want 
you/ I hate you/ I don't understand/ I want you to touch me/ I 
don't like what you are doing/ I don't like what you are making 
me feel/ I want it to stop/ Why did you stop?

 

Why did she pick me? I ask her that. "Why did you do this? I 
thought this was all about revenge."

 

"You're an idiot." Her voice is flat.

 

She's right. I am an idiot. I pull out of her body, wince at the pain 
she sends me. "I know I'm hurting you," I snap at her as I fumble 
with my jeans. "You don't have to keep reminding me."

 

"I can't help it," she tells me. "I can't control it. I never should 
have let you touch me."

 

I laugh. I can't help it, I'm just like her in that respect, I can't 
control my laughter. It comes out, a short bitter sound that I've 
only heard my father make. Suddenly, I know why he is the way 
he is. Life never worked out the way he thought it would, it just 
happened, and he did the best he could.

 

She pulls away from me and sits up. We both look down at the 
backseat of my car, at the stain that's on it. I don't understand it, 
this final revenge. Why would she want her first time to be with 
me? 

 

"Why did you do it?"

 

She shakes her head at me.

 

I say it again, louder. "Why did you do it?"

 

She gets out of the car, her dress swirling around her. She walks 
over to the rocks, stands there, staring out over the desert.

 

I tell myself to get my keys and leave. I could mail her 
underwear to her, to Max. That would hurt her, hurt her the way 
she is forever hurting me. There are my keys, right on the front 
seat. I could be home in time to watch the news; I could talk to 
my dad when he gets home. I could tell him everything now.

 

I get out of the car and walk over to her anyway.

 

She doesn't look at me, just continues to stare out into the desert.

 

"It was never about revenge," she finally says.

 

I don't know what to say to that, because I'm pretty sure that's all 
it was ever about. She turns and looks at me; the tears in her eyes 
startle me. Why would you cry Isabel?

 

"I never wanted anyone to know." Her voice is hesitant, tired, a 
little lost. "I would have been happy if Max hadn't saved Liz that 
day, if he hadn't gone to the Crashdown. I had things all worked 
out. I didn't have to think about what I was, or where I was from. 
Sure, it got mentioned once in a while, but no one knew, and 
there was always a reason to put off looking for answers. But 
now..."

 

She looks at me. "Now so many people know. And that's all I am 
anymore: an alien. I just want to have my own life; I just want to 
be Isabel Evans. And I feel guilty and tired and scared. And I 
don't deserve that. I think that I should have a chance to be 
happy. I think I should have a chance to be me."

 

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

 

Her face twists, a grimace of surprise flashing across her 
features. I wasn't supposed to say that. I was supposed to nod in 
understanding. "What does that mean?" she snaps.

 

"Listen to you!" I'm starting to shout, but no one can hear us, and 
I'm beyond caring at this point. "You deserve a chance to be 
happy? Why, just because you're an alien? What makes you so 
goddamn better than the rest of us? What makes you think that 
any of us ever get a chance to be ourselves? What makes you 
think that you should get what you want because you want it? 
This wasn't about me or Max, was it Isabel? This is all about 
you, about how you wanted to prove something to yourself. Are 
you happy now? Would you like me to cut my heart out and put 
it on a platter for you? Would that finally give you what you 
want? Would that make you happy?"

 

Her face is still, and I see suddenly that she's the strongest of the 
three of them. And that she's the most lost. She thought she had 
everything all planned out, she thought she had her life arranged, 
and then things happened. Max told, I found out, her life 
changed, and she's scared.

 

But it's too late now. I'm too tired to care. She might care; in fact, 
I think that she does, but I can't bring myself to travel down this 
road again. I don't want to wake up one day to a hug and come 
home to a note that tells me good-bye. I don't want any more 
returned photos; I don't want to be the remnants of a former life 
again.

 

She sees the look on my face and she nods; she leans against me 
briefly. I close my eyes, tell myself that the burning sensation 
that rises in them is from the wind and nothing more. I smell her 
hair, run my hand down her back, push her away.

 

"I can't do this," I tell her. "I don't want this. I don't want you."

 

She smiles at me. "Thank you, Kyle."

 

I could hit her. For a moment, I actually think about it. I've never 
hit a woman before, and I've never wanted to, but looking at her, 
knowing that she's using me all over again so she can walk away 
from something that might have been, I don't know, just 
something that might have been... I hate her.

 

Her mouth trembles a little, and I know she can see what I'm 
thinking. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I never meant..."

 

"Don't." I tell her. "God, Isabel, just don't. Let me think that it 
was all about revenge, ok? Just give me that. I'll keep your 
secret, just leave me alone. Don't talk to me, don't look at me, 
just stay away from me."

 

I turn to go and she makes a noise. It might be a laugh; it might 
be a sob.

 

My mom used to drag me to church every Sunday. While the 
sermon dragged on and on, I would read the Bible. Not the New 
Testament, with all its boring stories of fish and conversions, but 
the Old Testament, with all the sex and sin and death. And Lot's 
wife. Remember her? She couldn't help but look back, and she 
damned herself and got turned into a pillar of salt. God was a lot 
meaner back then, I guess.

 

Or maybe he hasn't changed all that much. Because I turn and 
look at her and all the big words I just spoke, all the brave things 
I said, they don't mean anything. I can't help it; I'm only human. I 
don't know what her excuse is.

 

I kiss her, because I can't help myself, because I'm already more 
than a little in love with her, because I hate her for that, because I 
don't know her, because I want to. She kisses me back and I push 
her up against the rock, knowing that I'm a fool and hopeless, 
and not caring.

 

I can hear myself breathing; I can feel her tears on my face. I 
slide my hand up under her dress, touch her between her legs, 
rub her flesh till it's slick under my fingers, till she's saying my 
name and then I'm inside her again and it hurts her, but I don't 
care and she doesn't care, and she presses my fingers into the 
spot that makes her body hum, her fingers entwined with mine. I 
hear her voice in my head, in my ear, and I feel her entire body 
clench around mine and there's a black rush in my head, and I 
see her sitting in her room after I dropped her off the night of the 
party, trying to convince herself that she's not in over her head, 
that she hasn't made a mistake. I see her looking at me when I'm 
telling her to stay away from me, I see her thinking that she 
doesn't want to, that she can't, and the release that hits me doesn't 
feel good or happy or any of those things that sex usually brings. 
It feels like ruin, and I embrace it anyway.

 

We've just made everything worse and I know that once I open 
my eyes I will kiss her and she will kiss me back, and things will 
never be the same.

 

But I'm surprisingly ok with it all.

 

What did you expect? Didn't you know that my last name is 
Valenti? 

 

END

 

I love the things that we should fear
and I'm not afraid of being here
--Lit "Miserable"