He held her close in the cold of the room as if he really cared, but she knew better. This was his game; a chorus of “I love you,”s and secret conversations that meant nothing. She knew he was insincere; she knew that she was sharing him. He smiled and again, she felt as though he was her world. He was everything. Of course, he could never do anything wrong. Of course, he didn’t mean to hurt her. They never did. Naive.
His eyes were so light, though. He felt so solid when her mind was falling to pieces. How could he be bad if he made everything okay? Her skin began to tingle. Her body began to shake. His arms became tighter around her and he kissed her forehead. Yet again, she fell into him. She loved him; she was sure of it. The tears came silently, yet he felt it when they landed on his shirt. He let go. Crying always made him leave. “I have to leave, pretty girl,” he whispered to her.
She was cold again, still shaking. She was alone and this time he wouldn’t be coming back.
I was beyond upset. I was shaking and I could hardly walk. I met an old friend at a park, because he thought I would do something stupid if I was alone. We walked the green trails and talked about what the boy had done to me. He could see that I was struggling to walk and my legs were still feeling weak so, we set up my hammock and we laid in it together. He asked what I was thinking like he always did. I curled my body tighter and buried my face in his chest so that I wouldn’t have to answer. His arms found their way around me and he let me lay there, silent and still.
A few minutes passed and neither of us had said a word. I felt his arm shift and his hands make their way to my sides as he began to tickle me. I squirmed in his arms trying to get him to stop. Suddenly, we were face to face, millimeters apart. His hands stilled when he noticed how close we were. His eyes met mine for a long moment and one of his hands lifted my chin as my eyes teared up he asked again, “What are you thinking?” I knew my response before he even asked.
“That I’m going to kiss you.” I spoke softly and I wasn’t sure that he would hear me, but in an instant his lips were on mine and I was kissing him. It had been months since we’d kissed. This time was so much different. This was hungry, needy, and without emotion. Yet, it was something we had both been dying for.
The night was the color of the roses sitting by my sink; the wilted dead ones. You sat across the table from me with anger painted on your face and I wasn’t sure why we were still holding on. It was silent. My fork scraped the plate as I shivered from the cold of the room. I looked down and shakily set my fork on the table. You couldn’t stand it anymore and you pushed your chair backwards and stood hastily. “I’m done.” You spoke and left without another word.
I couldn’t blame you for leaving me. After all, I wasn’t what you were looking for when we started. I was quiet and shy, but always looking for a story to write. You wanted someone by your side to adventure and wander the world, but I was always behind you. I was always waiting for you to become my story. You never did. You never let me see your weakness; you never let me into your head.
You weren’t the story I needed.
You were the hope of a story I wanted and never recieved.
I was not the adventure you craved.
I was the failed attempt at settling for less than what you truly wanted.
There was a deep chill in her bones as she held the pen in her hands. Words raced through her mind, but the pen hovered over her paper unmoving. The summer carried on like this: devilishly cold and dry pages aching for wet ink. Fall came, gracefully she emerged from her bedroom to take on the world. Out there, she met him, the boy she once knew. She felt the strings attached to her body pulled her in to him without caution.
One the night she dared herself to kiss him and finally did shock-waves rang out from her lips. She brushed her frozen fingertips across his cheeks and suddenly they were warm again. Her mind was freed from the chains as winter rose. With his body next to hers there was no danger of the cold and ink flowed freely.
His eyes were bright and wild and he looked at me just like he used to, like the earth was behind my eyelids. He tangled his fingers in mine and spun me around to face him. His free hand found its way to the base of my skull and pulled my lips to his. There was an intensity to it. He didn’t just want to kiss me; he needed to. He let my hand go and put his on the small of my back and pulled my body closer until there was no air between us. My hands ran down his back until they found the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, breaking the kiss for only a brief moment. Then the music began, distant at first then drawing nearer and nearer until it was too loud to ignore. I opened my eyes but he was gone and all I could see were the stars on my ceiling and my alarm clock lighting up beside me.