I hadn't realized that I was holding my breath until the lack of air in my brain made me gasp softly. Suddenly Weston seemed too close—not because I was afraid of him, but the opposite. I was terrified of my desire for him. It was like an unleashed beast that would claw and fight and do anything to get what it wanted.
I'd never felt this way before, and it scared me.
Weston was gripping me gently enough that I could wrench myself out of his hands. I stumbled back, my heart racing.
What is happening to me?
Even as I backed off, I couldn't stop staring at Weston. He seemed like the centre of the world, its culminating point. Everything radiated out from him like he was the sun.
What the hell am I saying?
I gasped again, unable to breathe.
"I—" I said pathetically, trying to speak and failing. Even if I could've worked my tongue properly, what would I have even said? I couldn't say any of this to him. It sounded crazy. This was even worse than barging into my ex’s apartment demanding to know why he wasn't speaking to me. Not even Weston, with all his non-judgmental patience, would understand.
"I'm sorry," I blurted out. Shame flooded me, making my face feel even hotter. There was no way Weston didn't see the blush burning in my cheeks.
Determined not to embarrass myself further, I turned and ran into the woods.
