Wrong

Wrong

I found him drumming. He was alone, assigned to a different tent than Feral Children this time around. He wasn’t paying perfect attention to anything but the drums. I stood just inside the door, watching him play, and trying to keep my face composed. He certainly was a better player than Pete, though less flashy. This was rhythm, not just flashy drum solo after flashy drum solo.

When he was finished, he looked up. When he looked up, he saw me. When he saw me, he stood, and his face crumpled into a question. And I thought I’d done well in hiding whatever it was I was feeling. Whatever was I feeling?



“Sloan,” he asked anxiously, coming forward. “What’s wrong?”

There was something about how he said it, or maybe that he said it at all, that made me cry. I didn’t break into gigantic, heaving sobs, but I could feel my face turn red and tears form faster than I could blink them away. I ducked my head so Kyle wouldn’t see. Moments later his hands were on my shoulders. “What’s wrong?” His tone was now bordering on frantic. “Are you hurt? Are you okay? What happened?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.” He pulled his head against my shoulder and I cried. It was stupid, and it wasn’t fair of me to bring Kyle into it, but at that moment I didn’t particularly care, because I was hurt and I was tired and I didn’t know what else to do.

For some long time we stood there, with his arms around me, rubbing my left shoulder in circles and circles and circles. After some amount of time it occurred to me that someone might walk in—I pulled back and wiped my eyes. Kyle was biting his lip in a concerned sort of way. “I’m sorry,” I apologized. And I was. I felt genuinely bad about dragging him into all of this.
He wiped his thumb over my cheek, smearing away a tear. The gesture made me want to cry again. “No, no,” he said. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you came to find me.” He rubbed his thumb against my face again. “Tell me what happened, sweetheart. Was it Ian?” I nearly had to wince.

“We,” I paused and swallowed hard. “We fought.”

His eyes grew tight. “Physically?” Everything about him was tense now, but his touch was as light as could be. He only relaxed slightly when I shook my head.

“I’m fine,” I hiccoughed. Even to me, the words didn’t sound particularly convincing. “Really, Kyle, I’m fine. I just—I just needed someone’s shoulder to cry on, you know?” I looked him straight in the face. He was looking back down at me.

Something was wrong in the tenor of what was going on here. Kyle dropped his hand from my face to my shoulder. “You can cry on my shoulder whenever you want, sweetheart,” he promised me. “Whenever.”

I nodded.

A Happening:
I looked up at Kyle.
He looked down at me.
He took a step closer.
I didn’t move.
He kissed me.
I let him.

The first kiss was sweet and short. Kyle had been waiting for this, biding his time, sweet-talking me to get his chance. He pulled that asshole act in front of everyone else, but he had this sweet, gentle attitude with me—and he had his motives. That bothered me much less than I knew it probably ought to.

But when he pulled away, I didn’t say any of the things I should have said, didn’t tell him to stop. Because—even though I knew it was wrong, even though I loved Ian, even though I knew that this, in the end, would wind up hurting Kyle—his kiss felt good. It felt incredibly and remarkably and fantastically good, because I was lonely. I was very, very lonely.

So when he pulled away, instead of saying any of the things I should have said—“Stop, Kyle. This isn’t right. I’m married. I don’t love you. I don’t even want you.”—I smiled. And then he smiled, and the smile was even more perfect and beautiful than any of the other attractive smiles he’d given me before. He was still smiling as he kissed me for a second time.