Head Above Water Pt. 01

"I get that," he said. "But you're still beautiful. I haven't been able to take my eyes off you. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

"It tells me that you're not shallow."

"I don't know how you convinced yourself that you're 'plain'. You're probably just so isolated that you never hear it."

I didn't say anything. I was isolated but that didn't make his words true. I'd heard people compliment my looks before.

"If that's not it then what is it?" he asked, reading my expression.

"Wes."

"I'm going to tell you everyday."

"Stop it."

"No."

"It makes me uncomfortable."

"Why? Because you're not used to it? Well, tough shit."

It made me uncomfortable because I was plain and I actually went out of my way to make sure that I remained this way. I'm not ugly, but I've never been interested in making myself out to be more than I was. I didn't want to be beautiful. I didn't want the attention. I didn't want to be known for how I looked. I wanted to be known for who I was. I thought Wes would've understood that. He wanted to be known as himself, not a surgeon.

Wes put down his fork and knife and turned to face me.

"Listen to me," he said. "You're allowed to be multidimensional. Being beautiful doesn't take away from who you are."

"Wes—"

"You really don't want to see what I'm like when I'm angry. Don't ever say that shit again."

He brooded for a while and I let him. I didn't expect him to understand. Most people didn't. I grew up being sexually harassed by the people I should have been able to trust. Being plain was my shield. It was my protection. I didn't like anyone taking that away from me.

"So," I said after the waitress had cleared our plates. "You gonna act like a baby for the rest of the night?"

"I'll stop if you give me permission to call you beautiful."

"What does permission have to do with it? You're practically shoving it down my throat already."

"Because you don't like to hear it. I'm not going to make you tell me why. That's your business to share if and when you want to. I need permission because I want to make sure I'm not hurting you by telling you something that's supposed to make you feel good."

"It doesn't make me feel good, Wes."

"Let me try."

"Try what?"

"To show you that it's okay to be beautiful."

"So pushy," I muttered.

"Give me the green light, Celine."

"Fine. But don't go overboard. I don't want you making me out to be better than I am. Just remember how it feels when people write you off as a surgeon."

"I know. I won't forget," he said. "Anyways, let's change the subject before you bite my head off. What do you want to do Saturday?"

"I honestly think you'll be too tired. Don't downplay that. Thirty hours. Fucking hell."

"Is this your way of asking to come over to my apartment and keeping me company?"

"What the fuck, Wes. How the hell did you even come to that conclusion from what I just said? No."

"Well, you should."

"That's way too fast."

"What'd I tell you the other day, Celie? Fast is our speed."

"Don't call me that."

"We don't have to do what you're thinking," he said.

"I don't trust you. You're pushy."

"The odds of me raping you are zero to none. I thought you would know that by now."

"I'm not saying you'd rape me, jeez."

"Oh," he said with a grin. "You don't think you'll be able to resist me."

"You really are full of yourself."

"Come over anyways."

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"I'll get avocados. As many as you want."

I tried not to smile, but I'm pretty sure I didn't succeed.

"You think I can be tempted over to your apartment with avocados?"

"I'm about to find out."

"You really are going to be tired," I said thoughtfully.

"Go on."

"So I'll see you some other time."

He let out a frustrated groan.

"Your suggestion better be good. You shot down my idea so it's up to you now to think of something better than a quiet relaxing day in my apartment. I just wanted to hang out. Cook for you, watch movies, talk. I don't know."

Well, fuck. Why hadn't he put it that way in the first place? I might not have shot it down. He'd suggested it like a pervert.

Wes was smirking. Little bastard knew every thought that was going through my head.

"Knock that look off your face before I do."

"Kiss me. It'll knock it right off."

"Ugh."

At that moment the waitress appeared with the bill. Wes and I both reached for it.

"Don't," Wes said, snatching it off the table.

"Why do you always insist on doing this? It's sexist."

"Relax, Susan B. Anthony. It's not a matter of money."

"What's it a matter of?"

"It's a matter of shut the hell up."

I laughed even though I didn't want to.

"We could go dutch."

"Or we could go have sex. There's so much we could go do."

"Wes."

"I'm kidding. I've got this. Don't worry about it. You already got me an avocado and a coffee."

"Right, because this is so comparable."

"It is to me," he said, sliding his credit card in the pocket of the waiter wallet.

The waitress looked amused. She'd been waiting to pick up the check, watching us fighting like a couple of teenagers. Wes really turned up the charm, thanking her, smiling that stupid Hollywood smile, praising her for taking such good care of us. The poor girl didn't stand a chance. He turned her legs to jelly.

"Stop it," I hissed when she walked away.

"Stop what?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, that? Why, you jealous?"

"I don't get jealous. I just meant stop teasing women. It's cruel."

"You seem to like it when I do it to you."

"I hate you."

Stubborn. This guy was so fucking stubborn. And weird. And pushy. And overbearing.

And yet I was starting to like all those things about him. God help me.

"So, what's the plan tonight?" he asked, putting an arm around my waist. "Your place or mine?"

"Go to hell."

He let out a deep chuckle, and god—why did that make my entire stomach flop? This was my body's way of telling my brain to fuck off and accept what was happening. Wes had pulled me out of the water with a fucking kiss. A kiss. What else was he capable of?

Wes did end up leaving that waitress a generous tip. So generous that she ran out of the restaurant to thank Wes and almost cried. I'd never seen anything like that before. I always left at least twenty percent and I'd never gotten a reaction like that. I couldn't imagine what kind of tip he'd left her, but it had to have been a lot. You could usually tell a lot about a person by how they treat their servers. What Wes had done said a lot about him. He was annoying and arrogant and pushy, but he was also a good person. I'd never doubted knowing that about him, but I'd also never faced it head-on.

"Did you have a nice time?" Wes asked. He reached for my hand and I let him take it.

"No."

"You're breaking my heart, Celine."

I tugged him by the hand down the empty outdoor outlet mall. All the stores were closed with only the neon glow from the AMC movie theater guiding my way. The cold breeze rustled my clothes, making my hair ripple. The only warm thing left was what tethered me to the world: Wes.

We might've looked weird, a doctor in his hospital scrubs and a woman in her business suit, but there was an image of us in my mind and in it, nothing mattered because I was giving in. He was an enigma, and maybe I was one to him, but I wanted to crack him, wanted to know how he worked, wanted to know what made him tick—and I knew he felt the same about me. So yes, I gave in.

We walked together, his skin that golden tan, and mine the color of deep caramel, two hands of two different shades, blending together until I swear I could see the colors bleeding, until there was nothing that was him that wasn't me, and nothing that was me that wasn't him.

"I don't want this to end," I said breathlessly, smiling like I had never before in my entire life.

Wes had a tender look in his eyes, watching me, his hand in mine tightening, his warmth transferring, sending me heat, sending me everything he was feeling as I sent it back. There weren't sparks between us, maybe there had been at first, but these were embers, coming alive as we just drank each other in, holding hands, looking at each other like everything else had become a blur. It was a slow fire, not the kind that could burn you, but the kind you could sit around on a cold winter night until your very heart was snug in the center of your chest.

"Dance with me," he said, pulling me to him. He guided my arms around his neck and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"There's no music."

"So we'll make some," he said. "Close your eyes."

I did.

And then he was humming "My Heart Will Go On" and began to sway with me in the wide open space in front of the movie theater.

"Wes!" I laughed, almost pulling away, but he wouldn't let me. He leaned down and kissed me beneath my jaw, nuzzling his nose into the crook of my neck. I felt shivers go through me, my knees almost buckling.

"I've got you," he said, tightening his hold around my waist. "Let go."

And I did.

The sky was purple, wisps of clouds drifting, the moon a bright sliver in the distance. I had my head tipped back, feeling completely weightless because I'd trusted him, had taken that trust fall, and now I was letting someone hold me up while I looked up at the stars, seeing the world through new eyes, seeing it without any fear, without having to protect myself.

Because he was there.

"You're beautiful," he said softly.

I lifted my head, smiling, my eyes glistening. I was floating, my skin glowing like his, and I let my arms drop, let him support me, let him look down at me with those beautiful dark eyes, the color of the deepest blues of the ocean, watching me like nothing else in this entire world existed. The iciness in my chest melted, rushing like water through my veins, but it didn't flood me, it didn't drown me.

Because he was there.

"Kiss me, Wes."

And he did.