So it feels sacred.
And I let myself have it. Just for a second. Just this.
Except —
Suddenly, I’m on top of him.
• • •
The air changes.
Too close. Too warm. I become suddenly, unbearably aware of every point of contact between us — his hands bracing against the mattress, my knee against his ribs, the way his breath has gone slightly uneven.
My body understands before my brain does.
The kind of awareness that can’t be unlearned.
Want.
I freeze.
Because we both know.
We both felt it.
We’re sixteen.
We’ve had nearly a year since the almost.
I thought I knew what to do with this feeling by now.
I don’t.
Not like this.
Not with him looking up at me like that.
Looking at me the same way.
I push off him quickly, muttering something under my breath. Blaming it on anything that makes this mean less than it does.
I don’t look at him.
I can’t.
My chest feels too tight. My skin too hot.
If I look at him I might see it on his face.
Disgust.
Confusion.
Something worse.
My face is buried in my pillow. I hope it’s enough to suffocate me so I don’t have to come back up.
“Hey.”
