Sensitive Skin

Every year, people have the nerve to ask me why I hate the summertime. If it were any of their business, I’d tell them the whole idea is depressing. It’s sweaty, it’s lonely, and there’s nothing to do. Not to mention that it’s when all the bugs come out, I’m allergic to bee stings, and sunscreen can kiss my ass. 

I decide to forgo wearing a bathing suit to the pool party because the water’s too cold, I’m having bad cramps, or I just don’t feel like swimming, depending on who asks. I wear a long sleeved body suit and shorts, but the sun still fries my skin like it’s been coated in butter and heat rash lines my ankles at their first exposure to light. I sit under a tree hugging my knees to my chest and scoffed at the girls in cheap plastic flip-flops. I wince at the flimsy triangle bikinis that look like they could fall off at any moment, and sheer beach covers that cover almost nothing. I thought of the marks they would leave at the end of the day from tan lines and chaffing. It reminds me of those jelly bracelets we all wore in fourth grade that ate at our wrists and pulled out our arm hair, now abandoned along with butterfly hair clips and chunky necklaces. 

I regret my choice of clothes only once, and only a tiny bit, at one moment during the party. I go sprinting down the hall of a house that isn’t mine, my clothes and hair sticking to my skin with sweat. I nearly run into a wall when I come across two doors at the end of a corridor behind the kitchen. After a split second descision, I open the one to the right, and disappear into a face full of clothes that smell like him: his cologne, his shampoo, the detergent he uses for his sensitive skin. My fingers itch to take something in my hand and sniff it, but I resist and hold my breath as footsteps start and stop in front of my hiding place. 

I silently cuss to myself as I resolve not to breathe, even if it means my passing out. 

“Talk to Nell! You can’t keep hiding forever, Cait.” I shudder at the difference at the sound of my name and hers. It’s like he wants emphasis on who he’s defending here. He’s never been one for making a scene. 

“Yeah that didn’t flipping occur to me at all!” She snaps. I wince at the sound of her trying to hide her profanity. “You don’t say? Talk to her. Teddy, you were with her. You were alone with her. Tell me what the eff happened or I—”

“Keep your voice down. This isn’t like you.” 

“No, it isn’t like me at all. She makes me crazy. She makes me so effing crazy and I used to want her so bad. Why couldn’t you have smacked me across the face and told me she was like this?” 

“Woah woah woah, I didn’t know this was going to happen.”

“But you promised me she was different,” Cait sobs. “You set me up!”

“This is insane. I did not set you up for failure and you don’t get to accuse me of that when things don’t go your way. I love you as my friend, but this is getting too much.”

I let out a few shaky breaths from my hiding spot, the scent of his cologne filling the air around me. It is my only solace as my heart is about to rip itself out of my chest. The more I try to keep it quiet, the louder it is my head. I decide to close my eyes and think of him in the hopes that my memories of the past week will help me remain calm. I fill my head with the sound of his voice cooing softly in my ears, walking next to him during long hikes, the stories we told while eating marshmallows around the fire. I can still feel my heart pounding in my ears from when he crawled into my sleeping bag on that particularly cold night, his face in my neck as he told me he loved me, my skin on fire as he kissed me. But most of all, I remember my hands on his molten gold skin, gripping and scratching at his back like he was too far away from me and I needed him closer. I thought of those delicate, almond shaped eyes filled with determination and want. 

“I’m the only one on the trip who knew about you guys.” His voice was now a whisper muffled through the thick closet door. I have to risk pressing my forehead against it in order to hear everything. “I know her too and I wanted to be there for her so that is what I did. What did you want me to do, interrogate her about why she didn’t live up to your unrealistic expectations?”

“You told me we were on the same page! I can’t believe this, was that conversation even about me or did you just say that to mislead me?” 

“I said nothing like that! I told you to talk to her about your relationship. It’s not my fault she broke up with you instead.”

“You are such an asshole.” Caitlin hisses. “Because, actually, the stories you tell influence how other people act. I chose to act based on what you told me and I accepted it as a fact. Now I’ve burned my only bridge, wasted all of this effort, and lost my only shot with Nell all because you told me something that wasn’t true.” 

“You might as well be speaking mandarin to me right now because you are making zero sense. Was I supposed to wear a mic every time I spoke to her?” 

I squeeze my eyes shut as a lump begins to form in my throat. For a moment, I feel the urge to burst out of here and scream in her face that I hate her or that I’m sorry and she was right all along. But I keep the door closed tight. I can’t be tempted to look at her or engage with her anymore. 

“You lied to me,” Caitlin insists on this, again and again both out loud and under her breath. She lets out a few pathetic sniffs as the slow thumping of her footsteps away fill the echo of the house. I push the door open slightly, enough to see her arms crossed, red hair flowing but tattered at the edges, distressed, like she is. 

“I never lied to you, she broke up with you—” he stops mid-rant and buries his face in his hands, like he knows it isn’t worth it. 

I’m still trapped here as he shakes his head and begins to follow her. The rest of the group is calling out that it’s time to sing happy birthday to Bridget. I wait a few seconds before stepping out, but the hinges creak loud enough to get his attention. I wince as he meets my eye. 

“You heard—”

“Yeah, all of it. So that’s what she thinks of me.” 

“I guess it is.” He whispers but his tone is tired, loud and clear. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

I open my mouth but hesitate and struggle to get words out. “I...I don’t know.”

“You like the smell of my clothes that much?” 

“...yes, but that isn’t why I hid there.”

He chuckles softly. “Borrow whatever you want. Just return it eventually, okay?” 

I nod, and find myself scratching my cheek as it tingles from embarrassment. 

I follow him in silence back to the outside, squinting at the hangs in light as I mumble out “Happy Birthday” with the rest of the group. Bridget squeals as she blows out the candles and her friends bombard her with hugs. I bite my lip and clap for her, and get icing all over my chin on my first bite of cake. I barely notice him approach me until wipes it off with his thumb, lingering so that I feel him close to me. 

I guess we’re official now, I think, as I feel thirty pairs of eyes piercing my skin. But I let myself smile and allow the heat to melt me so that I fit perfectly into his arms as they wrap around my waist. His face finds its way to my neck where it belongs, and I sigh in content. My face tingles with either excitement or the beginnings of a burn because of the sunscreen I didn’t wear. Maybe I can grow to like the summer after all, but sunblock can still very much kiss my ass.