Torn

I think all relationships start with an invisible line, and even though we can't see it, we all know it's there because we can feel it. We respect that line because it keeps the bounds of the relationship intact. The line guides us within our relationships and dictates who is our friend, who is our family, who is our lover, who is someone we can or can't trust. The line between Tor and I is somewhat unique, because it criss-crosses between family and friend, and just now it blurred into something I can't quite describe. I'm not sure where our line is anymore, or if I even want a line at all.

I quickly change out of my prom dress, into Tor's t-shirt, and climb into the bed I've slept in many times before. The purple comforter with a big gothic sugar skull on it that Tor bought for me a few years ago is still on the bed and it's softness and familiarity calms me. He said he wanted me to have something girly, but cool, here. His house has always been like a second home for me and I stayed here a lot when my parents were on tour. Since Tor lives closer to my Dad than my grandparents do, it wasn't unusual for me to stay with him so he could bring me to school every day. For the past two years, I've come here twice a week to clean and do his laundry because he usually doesn't have time to do it himself and he pays me fifty dollars a week that I stash away for when I can have my own car. Tonight, though, I don't really feel like I'm staying over at my father's best friend’s house. Something feels different.

How can one little moment, one tiny touch, one quickening breath change so much?

It didn't.

I'm being ridiculous and hyper-sensitive because Jason was nasty to me. I wanted to feel pretty - maybe even wanted and cared about - tonight and when that didn't happen I must have just projected that onto poor Toren. No wonder he couldn't wait to make me go to bed.

And telling him I want to put him in a box! Gawd. So awkward and borderline psychotic.

Cringing at myself, I grab my phone from the nightstand to see ten text messages. Eight are from Chloe and two are from Jason. All ten asking if I'm okay and where the hell am I? I'm surprised Jason even bothered after the way he treated me.

I text them both that I'm home and put the phone back so I can bury myself under the comforter, where I toss and turn. It's four a.m. and I should be exhausted, but I can't get my mind to turn off and let me sleep. It keeps shifting back to Tor and how his hand felt on my cheek, and how warm his chest felt against my hands through his thin shirt. When our bodies leaned against each other for those few moments, it was like a silent click into place. It's exactly the type of feeling I read about in all my romance novels. This proves that crazy butterfly moment really does exist after all, and it's not a myth.

The only problem is, it's all wrong. Very wrong.

Toren can't make me feel that way. He's old. Okay, not old, but way older than me. He's practically family. He freakin' babysat me. He's been to all my birthday parties and all my school events. He's taken care of me when I was sick. He taught me how to ride a bicycle. He held me when I cried for my mom. He knows all my secrets and dreams. He's...

... everything.

I have no idea when I finally fell asleep but I'm woken up by the scent of coffee. The clock on the wall reads seven a.m. Great. Not getting enough sleep is going to make me cranky all day.

After using the restroom and making sure I look somewhat presentable, I follow the aroma to the kitchen to find Tor standing at the kitchen window, wearing old faded jeans and no shirt. I'm surprised to see his entire back covered in tattoos now because he didn't have all those last summer when he was in our pool. That funny feeling returns to my chest and stomach as my eyes rake over not just the new artwork, but the muscles and definition beneath the ink. When did Tor get so hot? Have I been living under a rock?

"Hi..." I finally say, stepping further into the kitchen.

He turns with a look of surprise, and I notice how his eyes quickly take in that I'm still wearing his shirt, which comes down to my thighs. I've dressed like this a hundred times in front of him and never felt self-conscious, but today I do. My legs feel incredibly naked and I'm so glad I shaved them yesterday before the prom.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd be up this early."

"The smell of the coffee woke me up." If coffee was a person, it would be my best friend. I'm definitely addicted in a bad way.

"You want some? You look pretty tired." He steps over to the counter and grabs the coffee pot, pouring some into a mug before I have a chance to answer. "I don't have any of that caramel milk stuff you like, though."

"That's okay; I'll drink it with regular milk."

"And about twenty sugars?" He flashes me a teasing grin as he adds milk and sugar just the way I like it and then hands it to me.

"Thanks. Are you working today?"

He steps closer to me and grabs my hand, his eyes twinkling with that sparkling diamond glint he sometimes gets, and pulls his hair tie off my wrist.

My heart does an odd clench. "You're taking it back?" I ask.

"I'm borrowing it."

"Oh. Okay..." He's never taken back anything I've lifted off him before. Maybe he's finally fed up with my silly little game. I remind myself that I'm not five anymore, and collecting items from him is probably immensely annoying and possibly perceived as stealing and not cute.

"Hey don't look all wounded, Kenz. It's the last one I have. I'll pick some up today and you can have this one back. I promise."

I sip my coffee, feeling idiotic for letting myself get upset over something so ridiculous as a rubber band. But it's his. It's special.

Shaking my head, I pretend to be nonchalant. "You don't have to do that. It's just a stupid little game."

"I know I don't have to. I want to. And it's not stupid, it's our game, and I'd miss it if you stopped," he leans back against the kitchen counter, crosses his arms, and studies my face for a moment with a faint smirk. "I was thinking, though, maybe I should take something of yours for once. Kind of like a trade."

Warmth floods through my body in a swift wave. It starts in my chest and scatters down between my thighs, intensifying with every passing second. I grip my coffee cup and hope I don't fall over into the wall.

"Oh," I reply, surprised. "I guess that's fair, huh?"

He nods slowly, his eyes dark and intent. Mesmerizing. "I want that black beanie you wear all the time," he says without any hesitation, and I wonder when he decided that's the thing he wants.

"It has a little purple heart on it," I protest. And it's my favorite, but I don't care anymore. I'll love it even more once it's on his head.

"So? I can rock a purple heart, Angel."

No doubt he can rock anything. But him rocking my favorite beanie is something I can't wait to see.

I smile at him. "Consider it yours then. Next time you see me, you can have it."

"Don't forget or next time you try to take something of mine, I'm not gonna let ya."

He wants something of mine. I'm pretty sure I've got a fever. Maybe even the flu. My body is on fire, and my insides are shaking again. My head feels buzzy and floaty. My lips feel stuck in a demented smile. I wish I had pants on.

"Deal." I manage to say.

He pushes himself off the counter. "I gotta get going. I have to go to work and pick up Tanner then we're busting some douchebags with fighting dogs."

The excited nervousness I felt a second ago quickly turns into worry. The whole dog fighting thing scares the hell out of me. Usually, the guys that run them are drug dealers or worse, and most of the dogs are dangerous. I've seen the dogs they rescue and bring to Tor's mother's shelter to evaluate for training and veterinary care. They're either all torn up and bloody or totally aggressive from fear and starvation. Or both.

"Be careful, Tor. Those guys are crazy." It’s hard to believe that people who run dog fighting rings exist right here in our cozy little New England towns, but they do.

"I'm always careful." He goes to the laundry room down the hall and comes back pulling a heather gray t-shirt on. "Do you need a ride home? Or you can stay here for the day, do the stuff you do, and I'll take you home later?"

"Can I stay here? I'll clean up for you. I could make dinner if you have food."

"Yeah, I got some stuff in the 'fridge. I'll be home around five. Make anything you find, I'm easy," he grabs his keys off the table. "Get in touch with your dad and let him know you're okay. I'm sure he's wondering how your night went."

"I will. I'm not going to tell him what happened with Jason. If he knows I had a sucky time he'll get upset and he doesn't need that now."

"Your call. I'm not going to tell him anything, but if he asks we'll just tell him you were here cleaning like you always do, and you came here from Chloe's after the prom."

I nod gratefully. "Thanks, Tor."

"Don't thank me. I don't like lying to Asher, though, so I don't want any more shit like this going on. I'll always help you if you need it but I don't like keeping things about you from him."

I nod again, knowing if I apologize it will just make him angry. I feel terrible that I put him in a bad position of having to lie to my father because that's something he would normally never do. Tor is a good guy with strong values, especially when it comes to his family and friends, and I hate that my bad decision has now affected him.

He pauses at the door and turns to me before he leaves. "Go take a nap, Kenz. You know how you get when you're over tired. You don't even have to clean today if you don't want to, and I'll still pay you. I'll be happy with a dinner that didn't come out of the microwave and hasn't been frozen for the past four years."

I shake my head. "No. I'm not letting you pay me this week. You drove three hours for me in the middle of the night. So forget it."