A Kind of Contradiction

The look on Nash’s face was (almost) enough to stop me from gathering up my things, slipping the tank top over my head and not bothering to adjust the straps, then stalking past him to climb down the rock face. I was crouching down, ready to start the descent, when a hand shot out and gripped my upper arm.

Nash pulled me to my feet, his hand sliding along my shoulder to my neck. My surprised gasp was interrupted by his mouth crashing onto mine, tasting of whiskey and cheap beer. I wasted no time in dropping my bag, then reaching up to wind my arms around his neck. Nash’s lips were cracked and dry and there was a roughness on his jaw from going a day without shaving, but I’d never wanted to keep on kissing somebody more. I kept my arms locked around his neck while his slipped down my sides and along my hips, dragging the thin material of my tank top along with them.

“Why did you have to put this back on?” he muttered against my mouth, pushing my shirt up around my ribcage. “Completely unnecessary.”

Once the tank top had landed on the rocks, Nash started to work his way down my neck. The opposite side, I noted, that Patrick had left a hickey on. I didn’t even want to think about the conversation I’d be having with my sort-of boyfriend if Nash were to leave one behind.

We stumbled backwards, my arms tightening around him to stop from falling. Nash held my waist firmly, then gently lowered us down onto the rocky surface. Something was jabbing me in the shoulder and the cliff was uncomfortable and hard, but Nash was peppering kissing across the edge of my bikini and nothing else mattered. I knotted my fingers in his hair, biting down hard on my lip as his mouth left a hot trail between my breasts and rolled his hips against mine. Our legs were tangled together, one of mine hooked around his waist, and Nash ran his hand along my thigh, squeezing my hip. He kissed the tattoo on my ribcage, and I wanted him to keep going down, but we couldn’t forget that we were in a public place and somebody could climb up here at any moment.

“Wait,” I said between heavy breaths. “Nash, stop.”

He lifted his head, hovering above my belly button. “Now?”

“We can’t—“ I started, and he sat up immediately. I propped my upper body up, ignoring the pain that shot through my arms when my elbows pressed against the hard, uneven surface. “Not here.”

Nash sighed, though I couldn’t tell if it was in relief or exasperation. He tried to tame the mess I’d made of his hair, managing to get it lie relatively flat against his head. His lips were red and I wanted to kiss him so badly, and I had to stop myself from leaping at him. I was all for holding hands, cuddling, and even some making out, but this was getting too heavy too fast.

“Why did we stop?” he asked, looking at me with furrowed brows. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

I blinked back at him. “Having sex on a rock definitely isn’t what I wanted.”

“We—we weren’t going to—“ Nash stammered, messing up his hair all over again. “I do have some self-control, y’know.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m well aware of your self-control,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “If it wasn’t for your fucking self-control, this would have happened a long time ago.”

Nash nodded, accepting this, and looked at me through his lashes. “What happens now?”

“Well, I’d like to kiss you again.”

Nash grinned, and I took this as permission to crawl over to him. Nash readjusted on the rock, allowing me to straddle his hips and for him to loop his arms around my waist. His thumbs traced spirals against my spine, and our faces were so close together that I could see the freckles peppered over his nose and that his eyes were a lighter brown around the pupil. Before I could get too caught up in examining the angles and curves of his face, imprinting them in my memory, probably to be sketched later, I pressed my lips to his and wound my fingers into his hair.

We stayed there for a while, kissing and touching and exploring, until Nash pointed out that somebody might have noticed that we were missing from the party. Grudgingly, I gathered up my things, very much aware of the fact that Nash was staring at my bum.

“Wait,” he said, before I could start climbing back down. “When we get down there, you’ll still be dating that guy and I’ll still be Danny’s best friend. Nothing will have changed.”

“That depends,” I replied. “Are you ready for this?”

I gestured between us, pulling my lips in between my teeth. Nash hesitated, fiddling with his flask, then sighed. “No. I don’t know.”

“Then nothing has changed,” I told him, and went back to the party.

Julia was nowhere to be found, and she wasn’t answering any of my texts, so I concluded that she had to have gone home with the blonde boy from earlier. I saw Danny flirting with some girl, and to my surprise, Steve and Aubrey were laughing at something (that probably wasn’t actually funny) a few feet away from them.

I texted Patrick, asking if he’d come and get me. For the next two hours, I sat away from the party and stared out at the lake. I could feel somebody watching me, but I never looked over to see who it was. When Patrick arrived, I threw myself into the car and told him to go back to his apartment.

“You still want to stay over?” he asked, shutting the front door to the apartment behind us. I nodded, stepping toward him. “It’s still pretty early, d’you wanna watch a movie?”

“Whatever,” I replied with a shrug. What I really wanted to do was lose myself in Patrick, hoping that maybe this time, it wouldn’t be Nash’s face I saw when I closed my eyes.

While I changed out of my bikini and into a pair of Patrick’s sweatpants, throwing my tank top back on without a bra, Patrick put on some Hitchcock film he liked. I’d only ever seen Psycho, which was brilliant, but Patrick swore up and down that The Birds was the best. I came into the living room and sat in the middle of the couch, pretzeling my legs, studying the muscles in Patrick’s back as he stood before the TV and navigated through the menu screen.

He came over and sat down next to me, propping his feet up on the coffee table and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. It was comforting and warm and…platonic. I didn’t feel butterflies in my stomach; there were no shivers running up my spine. I’d felt these things before with Patrick, when he raked his fingers through his messy hair or looked at me with a certain smile, and for a second I forgot about everything else. But while I should be feeling them now, his side pressed against mine and his fingers twirling a lock of my hair, I barely noticed he was there.

It was all wrong. Patrick was lovely, but I didn’t want him. I sort of did when we met, but it was never enough to keep this going.

I stood up, took a deep breath, and looked at Patrick. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

He followed me to his room, where I’d left my clothes, but upon realizing that I was going to change back into them, waited in the hall until I was done. Meeting his gaze was hard, but I forced myself to do it. “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t fair to you,” I told him. “I haven’t been fair to you. I know we never said we were exclusive or even a couple, but I don’t think we should keep seeing each other.”

Patrick let my words sink in, biting down on his lip and watching me through narrowed eyes. “Did somebody find out? Your brother? He doesn’t want us to be together, right?”

“Danny doesn’t know.”

“Then there’s somebody else,” he decided. When I was quiet, Patrick sighed. “Cosima, I never even thought we’d get as far as we did. I can’t be angry with you, because you’re right. We never talked about what we were. So if you’re going to leave, that’s okay. But I’ll be here if you change your mind.”

I guess that’s the thing with older guys. They aren’t impulsive or irrational, most of the time at least. Patrick especially, since he’s probably the most chill adult I’ve ever met.

I went up on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, touching the curls at the nape of his neck one last time, then left the apartment.