All the Little Things by Sarah Lawton (the best books to read txt) 📕

His hands are in my hair now, twisting fingers, tugging, pulling. I wrap my arms around him and pull him down against me, like he could melt into me, like every inch of our bodies could touch all at once.

The friction he’s creating between us as he rocks his hips between my legs is building up into something that I’ve never felt before. I can feel a flush rising up my chest, and I’m making stupid noises in my throat because my mouth is still full of his and I can feel that something, something is about to happen inside me when he suddenly stops and pulls away. The disappointment is crushing. I can’t speak, I can’t breathe, I could scream.

He looks at me and his eyes are darker than ever and his hair is sticking up where I’ve ruffled it.

‘I’d better go,’ he says, dipping his head and kissing my collarbone and nipping at my shoulder. I want him so badly to keep touching me it is literally hurting; I want to pull his head and his mouth back to me, but he sits and then stands up, arranging himself in his jeans, running his hands through his hair.

‘See you later, Vivian.’

And then he’s gone, leaving me feeling frustrated and more than a bit drunk. Did any of that even happen? Are we together now? I don’t even have his phone number!

I’m furious he’s just come over and done that to me – who does he think he is? – and I need some air, so I decide to go to the Lav and see Mum and Steve. They will probably be pissed by now and won’t notice if I’m being weird. My legs are shaking as I get ready to go.

The field is getting really dusty now, the path is almost bare apart from some raggedy, yellow stalks of grass. The air is humming with heat, it matches my insides. I never thought that anything people did together looked enjoyable, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I would like to do those things. With Alex, if it feels like that. I can’t believe I liked it.

I’m almost at the pub when I bump into bloody Tristan again, sitting on the bench by the duck pond, and he’s just as drunk as he was last week, but not so amorous this time, thank god. He looks up at me as I walk towards him, briefly confused, but then he focuses.

‘Where’s your little blonde friend today, Vivvy?’

‘Shut up, Tris. I don’t want to talk to you.’

‘You’re as stuck up as she is. Happy to fuck me when she wants it though, isn’t she? Likes a bit of my cock when it fucking suits her.’

‘What are you talking about? Shut up, Tristan, you pervert!’ I shout at him now, head hurting and feeling sick from the wine, remembering now the look he gave Molly last week. Surely she wouldn’t go there – not with Tris, of all people? He’s Tilly’s brother! Even if he was attractive, and he is not, that’s so gross. Something clicks in my head. This explains our fight in the canteen. Molly thought I knew about her and Tris, the dirty bitch! I’m utterly revolted at the thought of Molly, beautiful Molly, polluting herself with this horrible, grabby-fingered goblin.

‘Ask her,’ he says. ‘Ask her, and when she lies, ask her how many moles she’s got on the inside of her leg. I know how many, because, because I saw them when she was sitting on my fucking face!’ He stands up and staggers off, almost falling. ‘And tell her I’m going to tell everyone what a slut she is! You can’t just go around fucking with people’s heads, using people. See how fucking popular she is then!’

He’s almost in tears as he stumbles off, his shoulder bouncing off the wall of the pub. I forget about going in to see Mum; I should go and find Molly and tell her what he’s saying about her.

It’s not far to her house and when I get there I go straight around the back because I know that if she is home, then she’ll be sunning herself like a cat in the garden, as always, and I’m right. She’s lying on a sun lounger on her front in shorts and nothing else, reading Jane Eyre in the last of the evening light.

‘Put some clothes on, Molly!’ I yell at her, covering my eyes. Now that I’m here it suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea how to speak to her about this. Do I just say, Hey Moll, how is it having sex with every boy that moves? Is there anyone left you haven’t felt up? By the way, our best friend’s brother – you know, the really manky one with the horrid, greasy hair who spends his days getting intimate with dead chickens – is about to out you as a big slag to the whole village.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asks, pulling on a vest top. ‘You look all hot and bothered, what have you been up to?’

‘Nothing,’ I say, immediately defensive, putting my fingers to my hair to make sure it’s straight.

‘Liar,’ she says, seeing straight through me in a second. ‘Tell me.’

‘I haven’t been doing anything! I was at home revising, then I was going to go and see my mum in the Lav and I bumped into Tris again, and he was drunk again and…’ I trail off.

Molly’s eyes suddenly go very cold, blue chips of ice gleaming. ‘And what, Viv?’ She leans towards me and tilts her head to one side. ‘And. What? Did he touch you again? Because I will fucking kill him if he did.’

‘No,’ I blurt out, ‘he says it’s you who’s been doing the touching.’ I look at the ground because I don’t want to watch her lie to my face again, it makes me so mad.

‘Ugh,’ she says, leaning back