You made me blush in the middle of homeroom. So here’s my revenge: I think about you at night, every night.
Love,
F.
“You got your revenge,” I murmur now.
“Hmm?” He’s kissing my face like he’s stocking up for the whole week.
“Your letter. You made me blush.”
“Good. I feel thoroughly vindicated.”
“There you go again, speaking fancily.”
“The words ‘thoroughly’ and ‘vindicated’ are not fancy,” he says.
“Yeah, okay.” I have to stop talking for a bit because he’s kissing my lips. When he moves to my hairline, I continue, “I think about you at night too. Every night.”
He pauses, mouth hovering above my skin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say. “The truth is…” I swallow, feeling a tremor of fear. Just say it. Remember, you can say anything to him. “I think that I…care about you. A lot.”
There’s a deafening silence for a few seconds. Fuck. Did I ruin everything?
Then he says, “I care about you too.” His face is above mine. “I like you. And I’ve never seen you in light. It should be impossible, but I do like you.”
My shoulders relax. I didn’t realise they were hunched up. “I like you too. I like the way you talk, the way you touch me, and I like it when you open up to me, and I even like your handwriting.”
He makes a surprised noise, but before I can ask about it, he’s kissing me. It’s not long before his tongue pushes into my mouth, and I’m sliding my hands up under the hem of his shirt.
If he knew who I really was…if he saw every part of me…my appearance, the way I act outside this tiny, dark room…
The thought’s not so scary anymore. I’ve already shared so much of myself with him, and he’s accepted every part of me. Foronce, I think if I show my whole self to someone, they’ll still like me.
“You’re thinking about something,” F murmurs against my lips.
“I’m thinking about you,” I say, renewing my focus on him, on his kisses and the heat of him. I’m overwhelmed with feelings for him, so much that it could tip into sexual arousal, but I’m happy to keep kissing like this, mostly clothed.
“Everything’s better now that I’ve met you,” he whispers, so low I’m unsure if he intends for me to hear. “I used to be so lonely.”
I don’t want him to go through another sad thing ever again. I roll us over so he’s on his back and I’m the one on top, and I try to communicate just how much I care with every kiss and the way my fingers thread through his hair.
“Lunch is going to end soon,” he says ruefully.
I groan.
“I know,” he says, sighing. “I wish I could stay.”
I kiss him once more and climb off him.
He stands up and moves the chair out of the way. “I’m closing my eyes now.”
“Same,” I say.
“I’ll see you Friday.”
Behind my eyelids, there’s a flash of orange light, then the sound of the door closing. I remain on the floor and pull my blazer back on. I feel dazed, mostly from joy, so I’m not sure how long I’ve been waiting. I pat my pockets for my phone. It’s not there.
