Carl. Mother hasn't approved of him since that day I came home from school and said I was in love with an older man (I was 9, he was 10). I was intrigued by his quietness and communicated with hasty lipstick kisses on the door of his locker. Sometimes he walked me home, sometimes we sat together on his bed in the dark, listening to Let it bleed. When I modeled endless skirts and dresses from mother's wardrobe he looked away every time I changed, a perfect little gentleman in gray Diesel jeans and a scarf carefully wrapped around that boyish neck of his.
I don't know when he fell for me, he never even told me that he did. I noticed it gradually and pushed him away, this was years later and we had just started talking again after what I did to him that dreadful summer in the country house.
Now I feel I need him again, and not just as a friend. I only wish I knew how to tell him that.