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Like an unbearable pressure just about to pop. Particles fusing together too fucking fast, too fucking right, until something just… gives.
Hands smack against my pecs, punching a gasp out of me. And just when I feel our kiss deepen, and his fingers curl into me, just like they were curled against the wall behind him a second ago?—
He shoves me.
Forcibly tearing our mouths apart.
I stumble back, caught off guard by the power behind it—the unexpectedness of it.
Blinking, I stutter, “Wh-what?—”
Jeremy’s face is flushed and pulled so taut with anger, it kills whatever I was about to say.
“Why the fuck did you do that?” he says, voice quivering, his lips hardly moving.
I open my mouth. Close it. And shake my head, not sure what to tell him—how to describe it. He was saying all these things—logical things—and yet…
His eyes redden, and he roughly wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, dropping his gaze. He mutters something into his knuckles, too muffled and quiet for me to make out.
My chest rises and falls rapidly, like I just ran a mile. “Jeremy.”
Is that my voice sounding so small?
I lick my lips, my tongue flicking my lip ring. I can still taste him. Clinging to my lips.
He sniffs. “I shouldn’t have come tonight.” His throat dips with a hard swallow, and he cracks his knuckles against his chest. I don’t miss the tremble in his slim fingers. “This was a mistake. I don’t… fuck, I don’t?—”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just—I wanted—I thought?—”
“You wanted what?” he utters tightly, gaze delving back into mine.
“I wanted to see if you were right.”
Because I knew you weren’t…
A beat passes, where he holds itself impossibly still. So still I can’t even be certain he’s breathing.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but-but I’m sober. And?—”
“Izzy.”
The second her name spills out, quiet yet powerful and caked with grief—with remorse—everything in me stills. My heart pounds. Whatever I was going to say is just…
Gone.
Pain etches around his eyes. “Exactly.”
And it’s enough.
Enough to remind me why this is all sorts of wrong.
Enough to remind me this isn’t just about me, and my impulsive need to… to what, prove something?
“You couldn’t even admit she was dead until a month ago,” Jeremy reminds me.
I wince. “Yeah. I know.”
“You didn’t want me,” he says thickly, eyes shining back at me. “That day, that night… You wanted her. I saw your face when you were reminded where we were. And then you vomited all over the pavement.”
