PAPER HEARTS: CHAPTER THREE
They met in February, six months ago, when Donovan walked into her life as a new transfer from another town, and at first, she did not notice him until her friends invited him to sit with them for lunch. He had sat down in the empty seat next to her and said, “Nice to meet you,” in a pleasant, deep voice.
Megan had looked up at him. He had a quick, friendly smile and an athletic look. His dishevelled blonde hair was sun streaked. One moment he looked like the surfers Megan had seen in pictures only, because they lived miles away from a beach with actual waves, and the next he looked the same as Megan had always imagined Prince Charming would look. Regal, blonde, and handsome.
Megan blushed when she looked into his jade-green eyes.
Something he saw on her face made him smile even wider, showing white teeth framed by perfect, kissable lips.
Bethany, Megan's best friend since forever, called his name then, and he had looked away. For the next twenty minutes, Megan laughed at Donovan's jokes as he amused the table with tales of his previous school. She did not think he was trying to be funny; it was in the way he said things, the way his hands moved to emphasise the things he was saying. He was a born performer.
Amid all this gaiety, Megan had the distinct impression Donovan was interested in her, more than he was in the other girls seated at the table.
She gave him a sultry sideways glance, raising her eyelids until he could look into her hazel eyes. As she had thought, he was looking at her, and their eyes met. There was an unmistakable moment of two souls recognising each other. Quickly, Megan looked down at the bunch of grapes in her lunch bag, enjoying the feeling of butterflies knocking against each other in the pit of her stomach.
The next couple of weeks were one continuous flirtation, with small smiles and eyes searching a room until they found each other.
Megan enjoyed his attention. They had a kinship and had the same interests. They spoke about art. She told him about her story idea for a game and the portfolio of drawings she had already created. They spoke about the freedom they would have after they finished school, how they were young enough to accomplish anything they set their minds to. They could be anything they wanted to be, go anywhere they wanted to go. He told her about his dreams of being an actor after he finished school. He wanted to make his mark in the world, be rich and famous in an industry where if he made it, doors of society would open wide to let him in.
When Donovan and Megan could steal a few minutes, or even seconds, away from their group of friends, his hands would wrap around her waist and his lips would press against her neck, her jaw and her lips. He was far bolder than any boy Megan had ever crossed paths with, and he knew how to look at her, or how to touch her, even when it was just to let his fingertips briefly brush against her skin, to set her blood on fire. He was her first crush, her first infatuation.
The warm weather of June chased them out of their homes, and they spent long, lazy days in the park. The weather conspired to heighten the pleasure they found in each other's company. The sun beat down on their heads and shoulders, while a soft warm breeze stirred the air. The trees were full of green, shimmering leaves. The blue skies hinted at a happy future together. The daisy scattered, green grass with its pockets of flowerbeds overflowing with red, pink and blue hydrangeas, made her feel elated and carefree. Her dreams of becoming a gaming developer and having everything she had ever wanted was confirmed by the way she felt, sitting on the sun-drenched grass, next to Donovan.
Donovan moved to sit behind her, and his hands slipped around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. He gave her a soft kiss below her ear, murmuring, “Pretty Megan O'Brien.”
Megan felt the tip of his tongue touch her skin, and his hands moved to caress her midriff, only a finger width away from the bottom of her boobs and felt an – up until now – unknown feeling of excitement.
He asked, his lips moving against her skin. “Do you want to cool down? We have a hot tub at home.”
She thought she loved him.
She thought he loved her.
Hand in hand they left the park and walked to his house a few streets away.
Megan felt a little apprehensive when they arrived at his house and there was nobody at home. She watched him as he switched on the hot tub in the corner of their back garden.
She said, “I don't have a swimsuit.”
He said, “It's so hot, we can go in, in our underwear. It will dry fast once we get out.”
Once they were in the hot tub, Donovan pulled her into his arms and kissed her, lightly at first and then with an increasing pressure.
Megan had never experienced this kind of kissing before. It stirred excited, wanton feelings in her that made her feel light-headed.
Donovan's hands became more and more exploratory. Moving to places on her body, which – until that moment – had not been touched by anyone other than herself.
Soon, Megan became oblivious of the distant sounds of kids playing in the street at the front of the house, of insects buzzing in the hot air. All her senses, every nerve-ending focussed on Donovan and the feelings he was arousing in her.
A thought flashed through her mind that perhaps she should not be so willing, so eager, but she did not care. At that moment, everything she had heard about sex, protection or boys taking advantage of girls was a hundred miles away as all coherent thought moved aside by the way Donovan was touching her, and the way she could feel how much he wanted her. His soft voice in her ear, asked, “Is this okay?”
She whispered, “Yes,” and seconds later every muscle in Megan's body spasmed when a joint stinging and pleasurable sensation intruded on her euphoric feelings. She opened her eyes to see Donovan's eyes were closed, and his jaw was clenched shut.
He gasped two or three times, his body tensing under her palms, and then he opened his eyes. Smiling, he pecked a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose before moving away.
To be honest, Megan did not get it. All that build-up of emotions, and the numbing sensation caused by the feeling of burning oil coursing through her veins, instead of blood, led to a feeling of emptiness and disappointment. It was not, at all, the way she had imagined it would be.
She realised she had crossed a line she could not uncross. There were no do-overs in this situation, and what was done, was done.
Six weeks later, she had an awful foreboding feeling and no matter how much she tried to convince herself it was impossible, deep down she knew it to be the truth. She prayed then, “Please, God, don't let this happen to me.” Sometimes women lost their babies in the first weeks of pregnancy, and she could only hope it happened to her.
All she had then, was hope.