We watch each other for a moment and it’s almost like looking into a broken mirror. He leans in slowly, but not toward my mouth. He presses his lips against my shoulder, so gentle it feels like a graze.

I close my eyes and inhale.

I’ve never felt anything so sensual. So perfect.

One of his hands disappears under the water and finds my waist. When I open my eyes, his face is just a couple of inches from mine.

We both look at each other’s mouths for a brief second, and then it’s like fire shoots down my entire leg.

“Fuck!”

Something just stung me.

Something just stung the shit out of me right when I was about to be kissed and if this isn’t my damn luck. “Shit, shit, shit.” I grip Samson’s shoulders. “Something just stung me.”

He shakes his head as if he’s pulling himself out of a trance. He catches up to what just happened. “Jellyfish,” he says. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the shore, but my leg hurts so bad, it’s difficult to walk.

“Oh my God, it hurts.”

“Sara keeps a bottle of vinegar in their outdoor shower. It’ll help the sting.”

When he can tell I’m struggling to keep up, he bends down and scoops me up. I want to enjoy the fact that he’s carrying me, but I can’t enjoy anything.

“Where did it get you?” he asks.

“My right leg.”

When the water is just below his knees, he’s able to walk faster. He rushes me past the fire, toward the outdoor shower on Sara’s stilt level. I hear Sara yell after us. “What happened?”

“Jellyfish!” he yells over his shoulder.

When we reach the shower, there’s barely enough room for both of us inside. He sets me down and I spin around and press my hands against the shower wall. “It got the top of my thigh.”

When he starts to spray the vinegar on my leg, it feels like tiny knives stabbing me in the fleshiest part of my thigh. I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the wooden shower wall. I moan in agony. “Oh, God.”

“Beyah,” Samson says, his voice strained and deep. “Please don’t make that noise.”

I’m in too much pain to dissect that comment. All I feel is pain on top of more pain when the vinegar hits my skin. “Samson, it hurts. Please stop.”

“Not yet,” he says, spraying down my leg to ensure he gets all the sting. “It’ll feel better in a second.”

He’s a liar, I want to die. “No, it hurts. Please stop.”

“I’m almost finished.”

He stops suddenly after saying that, but not by choice. Samson disappears in a confusing flash. I spin around and peek my head out just in time to witness my father punch Samson in the face.

Samson stumbles back and then falls over the concrete ledge of the foundation.

“She said stop, you son of a bitch!” my father yells at him.

Samson scrambles to his feet and backs away from my father. He holds his hands up in defense, but my father goes to hit him again. I grab my father’s arm, but it does little to ease the impact of the second hit.

“Dad, stop!”

Sara appears and I look at her pleadingly for help. She runs over and tries to grab my father’s other arm, but he’s got Samson by the throat now.

“He was helping me!” I yell. “Let go of him!”

This prompts my father to release some of the pressure around Samson’s throat, but he doesn’t let go. Samson has blood running from his nose. I’m sure he could fight back, but he isn’t. He’s just shaking his head, staring at my father wide-eyed. “I wasn’t—she got stung by a jellyfish. I was helping her.”

My father looks over his shoulder, searching for me. When we lock eyes, I nod vigorously. “He’s telling you the truth. He was spraying vinegar on my leg.”

“But I heard you say...” My father closes his eyes when he realizes it truly was a misunderstanding. He exhales deeply. “Shit.” He releases Samson.

There’s blood running all the way down Samson’s neck now.

My father puts his hands on his hips and tries to catch his breath for a few seconds. Then he motions for Samson to follow him. “Come inside,” he mutters. “I think I broke your nose.”

TWELVE

Samson is leaning against the guest bathroom counter holding a rag to his nose to stop the bleeding. I’m sitting on a heat compress in the dry bathtub. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and even though Alana and my father are down the hall, we can hear every word they’re saying.

“He’s going to sue us,” my father says.

Samson laughs quietly. “I’m not going to sue him,” he whispers.

“He’s not going to sue us,” Alana says.

“You don’t know that. We barely know him and I broke his nose,” my father says.

Samson looks at me. “It’s not broken. He doesn’t hit that hard.”

I laugh.

“I’m confused,” I hear Alana say. “Why did you hit him?”

“They were in the outdoor shower. I thought he was—”

“We can hear you!” I yell. I don’t want him to finish that sentence. This is already too embarrassing.

My father walks to the bathroom and opens the door all the way. “Are you on birth control?”

Oh, my God.

Alana tries pulling him out of the bathroom. “Not in front of the boy, Brian.”

Samson pulls the rag from his nose and narrows his eyes at me. “The boy?” he whispers.

At least he has a good sense of humor about this.

“Maybe you should go,” I suggest. “This is getting too embarrassing.”

Samson nods, but my father is back in the doorway. “I’m not saying you aren’t allowed to have sex. You’re almost an adult. I just want you to be safe about it.”

“I am an adult. There’s nothing almost about it,” I say.

Samson is standing near my father, but my father is blocking the entire doorway as he speaks to me. He doesn’t notice Samson attempting to squeeze by him to escape.

“This is my only way out,” Samson says to my dad, pointing over his shoulder. “Please let me out.”

My father realizes he’s blocking him and quickly steps aside. “Sorry about your nose.”

Samson nods and then leaves. I wish I could escape, but I’m pretty sure there are tentacles still embedded in my leg and it hurts to move.

My father returns his attention back to me. “Alana can take you to get on the pill if you aren’t already on it.”

“We aren’t…Samson and I aren’t…never mind.” I push myself out of the tub and stand up. “This is a really intense conversation and my thigh feels like it’s melting off my body. Can we please do this later?”

They both nod, but my father follows after me. “Ask Sara. We’re very open about this stuff if you ever want to talk about it.”

“I’m aware of that now. Thank you,” I say, heading up the stairs to my room.

Wow. So this is what it’s like to have involved parents? I’m not sure I like it.

I walk straight to my bedroom window and watch as Samson enters his house. He turns on his kitchen light and then he leans over the counter and folds in on himself, pressing his forehead to the granite. He’s gripping the back of his neck with his hands.