I can’t believe Kim let me do that: take her virginity. It sounds sappy, but it felt like she was giving me a gift.

A gift I know I don’t deserve.

I look down at her. The dawn’s light is only just beginning to spill over the horizon, but the orange glow shines on her red curls, spilling out over the white pillowcase.

“Stop staring at me,” Kim groans, pressing her head against the pillow. Her tiny little hands dig into the sheets. I remember them wrapped around the base of my cock last night.

“Can’t,” I whisper, kissing the crown of her head, “won’t.”

“I look like a mess,” Kim mutters. Her voice is still raspy with sleep. I don’t care. To me, she looks perfect; sounds perfect; is perfect. I wouldn’t swap her for anyone in the world.

It’s hard to explain why. Somehow I feel like her innocence, it … hell, I don’t know. I never was good with emotions. Still, this one’s not muted, like the rest. It’s screaming out to be heard. There’s no denying it.

Kim is different. She fits with me better than anyone I’ve ever met. Not just physically – though her curves meet deliciously with mine. It’s like her naivety and innocence fills some gaping hole in my soul. I don’t know if I ever had what was supposed to fill that hole – or whether life stole it from me.

Somehow, for now, Kim is papering over the cracks.

“Stop playing around,” she says, her mouth still smothered by the bedding. “Tell me what time it is. After last night, I need to wash my hair.”

I groan. The idea of going to work today fills me with dread.

“Can’t we just call in sick?” I ask. “Maybe spend the day in bed? You’ve got a whole lot of,” I pause, dragging my tongue across my bottom lip, “learning to do.”

I roll over and tug the sheet from her naked body. Kim mewls as the cold air kisses her shoulders. “Put it back!”

I kiss the back of her neck, right at the top of her spine. Kim shivers, and I caress her shoulders. My fingers stroke her skin, and she jumps every time they move.

“Nate,” Kim whispers, though it sounds like she’s fighting a losing battle inside her head, “we don’t have time…”

“It’s six, Kiss. We’ve got all the time in the world.” I lay a trail of kisses down the smooth dotted line of her spine. I watch with delight as she trembles every time my lips meet her skin.

Kim, my Kiss, pushes herself upright. Her brilliant red hair falls like drapes and covers her face entirely. She grabs the pillow and hugs it to her chest, then turns and lies against my body.

“We don’t have time,” she says, correcting me, “because I can’t just stroll into work after running a hand through my head like you –.”

I cut her off. “Why not? You look beautiful.”

Kiss can’t hide the smile that tickles her lips. “To you, maybe. Besides,” she says, tucking enough of her hair behind her ear that I can see those fierce blue eyes of hers, “after last night, I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk straight for a week…”

This time it’s me who can’t hide a grin: a proud grin. Who wouldn’t be proud after making a girl this hot moan like I made Kim cry outlast night?

There isn’t a man alive, that’s who.

“I’m sorry, Nate,” Kim says. For a second, my heart jumps right up into my mouth. It feels like a “dear John” kind of moment. I didn’t realize that Kim was a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of girl. I’m kind of impressed…

Kim sits up straight, still hugging that pillow. It’s like she needs it: like it’s a comforter.

“For what?”

“For being such a –,” her voice catches, “– a bitch. To you. I was out of line when I slapped you last night. And it’s not just then, either. I’ve treated you like crap for weeks, almost.”

I’m glad she’s not looking at my face. Hell, I can’t even talk. The guilt over the way I’m playing this girl is stomping on my voice box. It’s laying blows into my gut. What’s happening to me?

Kim doesn’t notice my silence. “I don’t know why you kept coming back, but I’m glad you did. I’m glad you were the one who showed me how good making love could be…”

I’m still paralyzed. On any other day, with any other woman, I’d be beaming. Right now: I feel like a piece of shit.

Kim pushes herself upright, and crawls up my body. I don’t move a muscle. This girl is too good for me … way too good. I need to say something – something to scare her away from me before it’s too late. I’m going to hurt her – I know it – sooner or later. I can’t bear the idea of breaking her heart.

“So thank you, Nate Foster,” she whispers, using a made up name, and hitting me once more. “Thank you.”

Kim kisses me on the lips, and her skin feels like silk. I can’t help but lean into her touch. She lies down next to me, and I rack my brain for something to say, but I don’t trust my voice.

The silence feels like a wall between us. At least, it does to me. I’m not sure Kim notices.

“Can I tell you something?” Kim says. Her voice sounds quiet, almost subdued. I get the feeling she’s about to share a secret I don’t deserve to hear.

“Anything,” I croak.

“You promise you won’t laugh?” God, she sounds so timid. Whatever this is, it’s important to her.

“I promise. I would never laugh if you asked me to not do it.”

“You know the letter, the one you –, the one I thought you wrote?”

I nod.

“It ruined my life, that letter.” Kim laughs. It’s jarring. “Well, at least high school. At the time, what’s the difference?”

I keep silent.

“It was from you. At least, they said it was. Karen and Teresa, and a bunch more I barely remember. It was in my locker when I got back from class. I was so excited…” Kim says, her voice trailing off as she delves deeper into the memory.

“I was what, thirteen years old: Fourteen? Getting a letter from a boy – it meant the world to me. It was kind of dumb, right?” Kim laughs sadly. I grip her shoulder and squeeze it. I don’t know what to say.

“Karen was there when I got it. I should have known then that it was all a sick joke right then, but –,” Kim chokes, and grinds to a halt. She turns to face me, and I realized that there’s a tear forming in the corner of her eye. “But life was horrid at home. I just wanted something to cling to, you know?”

“Why?” I whisper. I shouldn’t be getting this attached to Kim. Not if I’m going to do my job. But I can’t help but ask. I need to know.

“My mom,” Kim shrugs, “she was stage IV by then. No eyebrows, no hair, attached to a drip in the hospital every Friday while they pumped all kinds of crap into her veins.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. My words sound so empty.

“Please, don’t be,” Kim smiles. That tear is still hanging there. I can’t tear my eyes away from it. I feel like if it was to fall, a dam would burst. “You of all people don’t need to be. Anyways, where was I?”

“Your school locker.”

Kim nods. “The locker, sure. The letter, it was signed by you. I didn’t even know who you were, at the time – it was the start of the semester. Besides, that was nothing new. I didn’t get out much. Karen wouldn’t shut up about you, though. This hot new kid, dad in the Army, you know…”

“What happened?” I ask.

There’s a pit in my stomach. I don’t want to know the answer, but I have to ask. I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Kim at high school. But I can’t help but feel that history is repeating itself. Even if I didn’t hurt her then, maybe that’s just because I didn’t get the chance.

“I was supposed to meet you on the football field: in the center. It sounded so romantic, you know?”

I nod. I close my eyes. I can just picture it now. Kim, my Kim, her fingers curled around the letter that was her escape from the horrors of her mother’s illness. I want to stop the train that is hurtling towards her, but I’m powerless.

“You didn’t turn up, Nate,” she laughs – but behind the tinkling sound, I can hear the hurt that still lingers in her, “not even the fake you.”

“But … Karen did …

… and Teresa …

… and two dozen more of their friends. They streamed out onto the field, made a circle around me, and wouldn’t let me leave until I had tears streaming down my face.”

I pull Kim against me. Her body is stiff with tension as she relives the memory. I push the pillow aside, and she clings onto my arm in its place.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her ear.

Kim laughs again, but this time it’s hard and unforgiving. “That wasn’t all of it. Not the bad part. No one at school knew about mom; not at first. I was bullied before she fell ill. I knew what would happen if the girls found out.”

I feel something against my bare arm. It’s wet. I realize with a horrified start that it’s tears. Kim’s weeping, tears overflowing her eyes, but she’s not sobbing. It’s like the memory is too powerful for crying.

“Did they?” I croak. I don’t want to hear the answer. I know it already.

“Of course: and you know what? They said it was my fault: for being a slut. You believe that? Me!”

I clench Kim to my body. I’m bristling with rage. I know everything she’s telling me happened a decade ago, but I want to storm back in time and save her from a lifetime of hurt. She clutches at my arm harder.

“Is that why you didn’t,” I whisper, “you know –.”

Kim’s hair tickles my arm, and I realize she’s nodding. “– Sleep with anyone?” Kim says. “Yes. But not because I was worried about people calling me names. I’m a big girl, Nate: well, most of the time. You know, you’re only the second person I’ve ever told that story to, after Frankie.”

“Why me?”

Kim answers me simply. “After what happened, I didn’t trust anyone. I learned to trust Frankie. You feel real, Nate. I trust you, too.”

Her declaration feels like a blade through my heart. I want desperately to assure her that I’d never betray her, but I can’t. I’m doing it just by lying here next to her.

“You know something, Nate?”

“What?” I whisper.

“You’re everything I’m not. You’re confident, I’m not. You’re cocky, I’m not. You’re sexy, I’m not. And for a long time, all my adult life really, I thought I would always be this way. Except when I’m around you, I’m not. I stand up taller. I laugh more. I feel wanted.”

Kim turns, and snuggles herself against my body, looking up at my eyes. I want to look away. She’s looking at me with love in those blues, but it burns like an accusation.

“Why are you so sure I’m a good man?” I say. This is a dangerous path. I don’t know where it’s leading. I know I can’t tell Kim the truth, not unless I want her to walk straight out that door.

What if she asked?

I wouldn’t be able to lie to her face.

Kim doesn’t answer me, not in the way I expected. Her fingers caress the tattoo under my left pectoral. “Who is Tony Fawkes, Nate?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. A second ago it was Kim’s messy past that was threatening to make her cry; now it’s mine doing the same to me. But I won’t cry. I still haven’t, not since Tony –

“He died,” I say. My voice is hoarse with raw pain. Just like Kim never told anyone about what happened, nor have I. Not that I’ve got anyone to tell. At least, I didn’t.

“Tony must have meant a lot,” Kim says, resting her cheek against my chest, “for you to tattoo his name onto you, like that.”

“He did,” I whisper.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Kim says, pulling herself up. She kisses me lightly on the lips. “Tell me when you’re ready; never, if you don’t want. But now –,” she grins, “I really do need to shower.”