Page 25 of The Death of Kisses

For the first time, neither of us rushed to break the moment. Anna gently shoved her hands into her pockets, as if grounding herself, while I reached beneath my shirt, feeling the comforting weight of the daisy pendant pressed against my chest. It was warm. It was heavy. It was real.

"You know," Anna started as she kicked a loose rock scuffing across the driveway, "most people would've taken my phone."

I couldn’t help but laugh, a little surprised but mostly overwhelmed. "Most people aren't me," I said, my voice thick with unspoken emotion.

She nodded, the silence hanging heavy between us. Then she smiled—a slow, knowing smile that lit up everything inside me. And in that moment, it somehow felt more dangerous than the kiss we'd shared. We climbed into the car, and I spent the entire drive pretending not to stare at her, my eyes drawn to her like a magnet, caught in the quiet chaos of something just beginning to ignite.

“Charlie?”

I turned, my heart pounding right out of my chest.

Her fingers nervously twisting together as if holding onto a fragile hope.

“Would you maybe stay the night?” she asked, her voice full of longing.

All my thoughts scattered, gone in an instant—“What?”

“Just because it’s late,” she whispered, her eyes searching mine.

I looked at her and then at the porch light, feeling the weight of everything behind me—loss, grief, the ache of a world that had broken me.

And in that moment, something shifted deep inside me. For the first time since Lilly died, I longed not for goodbye, not for silence, but for tomorrow—to hope again, to believe in a new dawn.

“Yeah,” I finally breathed, my voice so quiet but so full of new beginnings. “I’d like that.”

17

BOWLING ALLEY FIRE

Present day - October 17th - Town of PineRidge - Population 5025 - 18 yr old

As we drew closer to my house, an overwhelming wave of dread seeped back into my core, gnawing at my soul. That sickening, crawling sensation under my skin, relentless and suffocating, clawed its way up my spine. My hands wavered as I double-checked the locks, my eyes lingering fearfully on shadowed windows, as if expecting something sinister to materialize. I fought to convince myself it was just paranoia, that I was overreacting, that I was simply being dramatic. But when the porch light finally came into view, my stomach clenched painfully, a twisting knot of dread threatening to undo me.

Asking her to stay was my desperate attempt to cling to some semblance of safety amid this nightmare. A way to armor myself against the terrifying thought of more intrusions, more invasions into my world. Yet, somehow, Charlie’s presence made everything feel different. With her, I wanted to be close, like there was an unspoken promise that nothing bad could ever happen with her by my side.

God, I sounded like some awkward teenage girl with a crush—so vulnerable, so open.

Was it just a crush? I shook my head—no, that wasn’t it. Charlie was simply easy to be around. She was safe. She was comforting. That’s all this was—a fragile hope that I could find solace in her company amidst the chaos.

We moved toward the door, my hands fumbling with the keys, and slipped inside. Charlie followed quietly behind, her presence a small, fragile comfort.

“If you’re hungry, I think there’s still some leftover pizza. Feel free to help yourself to anything else, too. I’m going to take a quick shower—be right back,” I called over my shoulder, voice laced with exhaustion and unspoken fears.

I slipped into the bathroom, flicking on the shower water, but beneath the surface, a flicker of doubt seeped into my mind. Why did I ask her to stay?

As I peeled off my clothes, my eyes caught the bruise darkening around my ankle. Suddenly, I understood—my desire for her to remain was born from a need to protect myself, to feel less alone.

Having someone else there would somehow ease the ache in my chest, quiet the storm inside.

The shower was quick, just enough time to wash away the shadows of the night—the party’s noise, the alcohol’s scent, everything that clung to me. I stepped out, shutting off the water, and wrapped a towel tightly around my heated body.

The hallway was enveloped in darkness when I emerged, and for a heartbeat, I feared she had disappeared. But then I turned the corner and saw her—lost in a simple moment, eating pie with a fork straight from the dish.

“This is actually one of the best pies I’ve had in a long time,” Charlie murmured softly, a smear of whipped cream lingering on her lips.

“Yeah, PineRidge is full of incredible cooks,” I smiled softly, a surge of pride and memory swelling in my chest. “Mom was one of the best there ever was.” The words slipped out effortlessly, as if Mom’s spirit was right beside me, guiding my voice despite her being gone for years. My heart ached with longing, but also with gratitude—her memory still so vivid, so alive.

Charlie looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with warmth, and she smiled. It was like the sun bursting through storm clouds, fierce and beautiful and full of hope. I straightened myself, feeling somehow lighter, somehow more connected because of her presence.