A pink flush paints itself across his neck. “That day that I stole your notebook…”
“Yeah?”
“I may or may not have sneaked a teeny tiny peak.”
“Finley!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it!”
I bolt upright. “How much did you read?”
Finn smiles down at me, twirling the ends of my hair between his fingers. “Enough.”
“Enough?”
He nods. “Enough to grasp every ounce of my attention and have me know that you, my love, are a phenomenal writer.”
My love.
Two words that have made me completely gloss over the rest of the sentence. I cannot currently appreciate that Finn believes me to be a phenomenal writer, not when he puts those two exceptionally large words in front of it. I have lately been aware of the possibility of falling in love with Finn, and the fear that the thought brings with it is something that I have yet to experience in regard to anything else. But hearing such words come out of his mouth about me doesn’t bring the fear like I thought it would. Instead, fire burst through my veins, adrenaline right beside it. Elevation makes my heart feel as if it is twice the size that it once was.
Things with Finn have progressed at a speed that I’m struggling to keep up with. My heart and my emotions seem to be setting the pace, but it has somehow forgotten to bring my mind along for the ride.
“You still with me, Cherry?” Finn’s low, velvety voice entices me away from my thoughts.
“Of course,” I reply. “I’m right here.”
He wraps the ends of my hair around his finger once before giving it a light tug. The action is playful, almost friendly, and yet with Finn I know that there is so much more to it. Sometimes it’s a compulsion, other times it’s a force of habit, and then there’s the rare time—and I could be wrong—when I think it’s just his way of reminding himself that I am still there.
“Good,” he says before placing a soft kiss against my temple. “With me is exactly where I want you to be.”
I hesitate. With him is exactly where I want to be as well, and yet I know deep down that I shouldn’t. I’m not just a bad apple, it would seem, I’m someone who turns others into bad apples. Even now, it’s not escaped me how Finn cares so much less about what others think. He’s starting to make decisions more based off of what he thinks I’ll want, instead of himself and those he cares about, and that’s not what I wanted at all. I wanted him to advocate for himself not me.
“We only have one week left,” I say quietly, enough for Finn to freeze, his fingers mid-twirl of my hair.
“Do we?” he asks, a little too cool to be genuine.
“Well, it will be a month by then.”
His jaw is working overtime, any trace of a good mood vanished. “Yeah, I guess it will be.” His voice is painfully low and clipped. There’s anger mixed with sadness, and it makes his light-brown eyes dip into a darker shade that is almost devoid of color.
“You think we should try plan some big stupendous break-up?”
It’s supposed to be a joke; supposed to be something light and humorous that could bring us back to the time when we could make anything an argument, and yet it ends up spurring him on in a way that I don’t see coming. A large hand wraps around my throat and drags me closer to him, giving him the chance to crash his lips against mine. This kiss is possessive, his lips claiming me and branding my own. He’s biting and nibbling and his grip on my neck is tight, holding me firmly in place. But, before I can really get into it, my hand only halfway up to the back of his head, he pulls away, leaving me craving more.
“You always taste like cherries,” he whispers against my lips.
I huff out a laugh. “Are you really surprised by that?”
He shakes his head without pulling his forehead away from mine. “Just an observation.”
I pull away, scared that if I stay too close, he’ll see the way I’m falling for him more and more by the day. I fiddle with the hem of my top. “I need to stock up on it, I ran out the other day.”
“Oh, here.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a new tube of the cherry lip gloss that I use. He holds it out to me, but I make absolutely no move to pick it up. I just stare. I stare and I stare until my vision turns fuzzy. I pick at the tightness in my chest, at the rapid thumping of my heart. I analyze the sweatiness of my palms, the shiver running down my spine. The more I do so, the more the promise I made to myself crumbles and dissipates into nothing, until I find myself thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be bad at all. Maybe over time I’ve healed and am no longer a rotten piece of fruit passing off my bad luck to other people.
Finn notices my hesitation and a river of pink runs up his neck. He scratches the back of it nervously.
