Remember Last Knight

sue me


I fold my hands together, pushing my arms out in front of me. I don’t stifle the yawn rising up in my throat, twisting my body around in my first attempt to stretch this morning. I sighed, opening my eyes. My body was aching, my head numb; both were from the lack of sleep I had gotten after a late night on the roof.

Knight swung by after some party, relatively early, seeing as it was only 9:30 when he parked a few feet from my mailbox. He’d asked me if I wanted to go with him a few days prior, but I had declined the invitation, remembering the incidents that had taken place at the last party I had gone to.

I didn’t expect him to show up here, actually. I didn’t mind if he went to the party, I just wanted him to call me afterwards so I knew he got home safely. “It wasn’t that great of a party. I couldn’t get into it. Andy understood, I guess. Well, he was too into the whole thing to notice I left, but that’s fine. I’d much rather be here, I guess.” That’s what he told me, when I let him inside after he’d called me from the front steps.

He didn’t smell heavily of beer, though a slight tinge of it might have been evident on his breath, and I didn’t taste it on his lips when he’d reached in for his first kiss of the night. He’d been doing better, I guess, about drinking. He never said it aloud, but after he spilled himself to me in his car that one day two weeks ago, he’d been very watchful of himself. I could tell. He didn’t rush to go drink, or go out in general. He’d turned down two invitations from his best friend Andy to “chill,” which meant sitting around, drinking a forty and smoking. Like now, he could be doing the usual for his past Friday nights, but he’s not. He’s walking up the steps to my room, two at a time, where he closes the door after I walk in, and grabs for me.

I take a step backwards, but he’s faster. He pulls at my waist, spinning us around, before stopping us, my back pressed firmly to the door frame.

“Good evening, Knight,” I say, looking up at him. He grins, his hands moving to my hips, shrugging one shoulder, and then the other.

“Good evening, Elle.” I started to fidget with my hands, which were hanging at my sides. I wanted to laugh, actually, as Knight looked at me, my hands fidgeting, his fingers warm on the skin that had been exposed from under the hem of my shirt. I looked up at him, and he just continued to stare, teasing me, his mouth slightly open, his breath filling the space between us, the space that I want to close – I reached up fast, my hands sliding up his arms, gripping onto the back of his shirt.

I got lost for a moment, Knight’s lips pressed to mine, hands firm on my skin, my head a dizzy mess as I accept my life being thrust back into a relationship, into having someone so close and the kissing and the butterflies – after so much time apart from it.

Then, it’s over, and Knight’s pulling up on my window, crawling out onto the roof, extending a hand for me. I take a breath, a relatively deep breath, steadying myself as I step toward the window, accept his outstretched hand and take my seat beside him, never letting his palm leave mine as it anchored me to this spot beside him.


We’re taking things slowly. For two fresh, high school grads in the beginning of summer, that is not an easy thing to do. I see Knight a lot, whether at his house or mine or out somewhere, because of my lack of things to do. It’s not like I’ve got anyone else, really, beside Ayden, who spends the majority of his time during the day with his skateboard coasting under his feet. Still, despite these things, I think we’re doing pretty well with this plan.

The funny thing is, I don’t get sick of him. It may be the fresh-to-a-relationship newness, but I have yet to feel the annoyance and anger I’ve felt to past boyfriends at this time in a relationship, AKA Louis. Back then, I had wanted my space. Then again, back then, I’d also had friends who I liked to hang out with regularly and parents who actually enjoyed my company.

Knight’s fine with it. He’s even said so himself, a few days before when we were sitting at the park in his neighborhood, on a bench that was hidden by a rather large rose bush. We were sitting side by side, our knees bumping one another’s every few minutes, his right hand enclosing my left, his thumb rubbing over my skin. I’d just made a small mention of how new and different our pairing was to me, which he replied to with a laugh, a quick kiss to the skin below my ear, and this:

“I understand, you know. You can talk to me about it. You haven’t been with anyone in a while, and neither have I. Well, not romantically. I’ve messed up, I guess you can say, on that part. I didn’t need to… do those things. I could have waited. I should have waited. I’m not perfect, and neither are you, and neither are we. I like that. I like you, Elle. So, sue me if I don’t care that we spend the majority of our time together, I think I deserve it. I worked pretty damn hard to get you, pulling all those outbursts out of my ass just so I could get a little ass…”

I scoffed, turning to send a punch to his shoulder, which pushed him to the left of the bench. I used my other hand, the one still holding his, to pull him back, toward me, where he just laughed in my ear, his fingers resting on the nape of my neck.

So, even now, when I was exhausted and in need of sleep, I didn’t mind getting up and blindly walking to my closet to get ready to see Knight for breakfast.


It’s times like these when I could really care less about my past. I know it’s a problem. I know that I did some not-so-good stuff, some bad stuff and some illegal stuff. I also know that my past, well, it’s an easily accessible place to get to, just take a left out of my driveway, take the road until it curves right and turn left onto the first road. My past lives, well, not my past – but a good example of my actions, it lives there. Past, past actions, my best friend Andy… they’re all names for the same thing, the same guy and the wrong things to have done.

The thing is, though, is I’ve got a girl. I’ve got a girl, and honestly, I’d like to hold onto her. I’d like to hold on to her, and sit with her, and talk with her, for a very, very long time. So, sue me if I don’t really feel like taking that left out of my driveway, and follow the familiar path to Andy’s. I’m happy, for once, having clean fun. I’m happy, finally, in a situation where I can act like myself, speak my mind, and not feel penalized for it. Sue me, please, for being happy, and sue me, please, for not caring anymore about what being happy might mean.
♠ ♠ ♠
Elle's outfit.