“I’m not in pain.”
“Are you?” I ask, and she bites her lip. “Because from what I see, you’re drowning, and because you are, you try to suffocate yourself before, so you don’t feel powerless when it finally happens.”
Her carotid is pulsating under the skin of her neck. And when I count for thirty seconds following the handle on the clock behind her, I find she has a pulse of 138 beats per minute.
“I’m just having fun,” she says. “For the first time in my life, I’m doing something for me.”
“Are you? Because it looks like you are doing it more for her than you.”
“And what if? What does it matter?”
“Because what you are looking for isn’t found in denial. It’s found in being able to hold the uncomfortable.”
Her chest heaves up and down, faster. Her eyes widen. She is having an intense reaction, a trigger. I know I hit the spot. I am good at what I do. At reading people. Understanding people. Analyzing people. The only question is whether she can override her flight response.
Suddenly, she makes a step forward.
She is so close, her scent washes over me.
Lavender.
Mixed with a sweet perfume that consumes me.
Her eyes strip me bare.
And there is a sensation in me.
A fluttery sensation in my chest.
My breathing flattens.
For this infinite moment, everything around me stands still.
Her eyes break the gaze into mine as they glance at my lips for a single second.
Her hand grasps the side of my face, and then her lips find mine.
A bolt surges through me, as I am ripped of my breath.
Her soft, yet firm and demanding lips on mine.
No one has ever kissed me before.
I haven’t kissed anyone except my own hand to practice it.
And now—she—student?—
This can’t be happening.
And I react.
I push her away.
My arms are drawn up immediately.
How could she?—
The rules?—
