“Lark…” The name leaves his mouth, as if it were a question, as if it were a devotion, a desire. A request.
Heat roars in my cheeks. I feel his heart racing beneath my palm, and the divide between us evaporates, as if the particles of air couldn’t possibly exist between us. As if nothing would dare separate us. As if fate were a force stronger than any fear coiled tight in my chest.
His lips hover over mine. Barely touching all the hurt I hold, both of us scared to death. Both of us unable to pull away. Both of us… lost in a future we can never have.
And maybe this is why.
We have nothing more to lose….
I breathe, unable to hold myself steady another second more. I press my mouth to his, deep and angry and broken. I let my lips sink in; I let myself forget every moment before this one. I don’t care if I shouldn’t. If it’ll only make the goodbye harder. I kiss him. I kiss the only boy I’ve ever dared to press my mouth against, and I feel his warm, dangerous fingertip slide carefully along my jaw, behind my ear, into my hair at the base of my neck.
I kiss him for every minute we lost with each other.
I kiss him for every night I lay awake, wishing I could touch him again.
I kiss him for every line of his face I drew with my pencil, etching him into memory.
And he kisses me back, ferociously, like he knows I’m going toslip from his grasp. Eventually. Always. Like he knows what he feels for me is long gone. And this is the last goodbye.
Because it’s my heart that feels shredded, that feels tangled up in the sway of his mouth, his hands as they slide up the back of my shirt, soaked with rain, against my skin. I feel dizzy and drunk and like I’d trade everything to be with him. Sacrifice every plan I’ve made. I’d give it all up,all of it, just to hold on to this feeling, just to be here with him in the warmth of his truck, the rain falling down, and forget about the life waiting for me beyond this town.
I am a stupid girl,I think again. But I don’t care.
His mouth finds my throat, and I hope he never lets go. I hope time stalls on this moment, refuses to click forward. I hope this isn’t a dream. I hope I never wake. Why do his hands feel like relief against my skin, like the only thing I need?
My eyelids flutter open; I need to remind myself to breathe….
I blink and stare at the paperback on the dash.Atonement.A story of loss and heartache and passion. I think of how he’s touched its pages like he touches me now. I think of the stories resting beneath his skin. I think of how we are a story that keeps weaving together.
Fated.
Predestined.
Doomed.
I think how impossible it is to forget him. His hands trace my rib bones, and I think of the first time I saw him, standing in the parking lot, shoulder pressed to a tree, a book in his hand. I remember how he looked walking away.
And I hated it. Even then. Before I knew his name.
I hated seeing him striding away from me, not knowing whetherI’d ever see him again, whether his eyes would ever peer into mine. I knew I needed to be closer to him, even then. Even when I tried to push the thought away.
He was always there, beneath my skin, as if he were stronger than the curse.
As if he might be the only thing to save me.
But he wasn’t. It was all a lie.
His mouth strays over mine, and I feel myself unraveling again beneath his hands, forgetting about the train, about leaving, about the house carried away into the trees. But I can’t pull my eyes from the book, something about it… something keeps me glued to its wrinkled pages, still damp from the flood. They fan open slightly, the pages beginning to dry, heat pouring from the vents, and there is something there. Pressed flat.
Innocent and delicate—tucked between the pages.
Hidden.
Safe.
I narrow my gaze, trying to see….
A cruel, treacherousredagainst the white of the paper.
