Page 35 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

I kissed him, slow and deliberate.

“Don’t break my heart,” I pleaded under my breath.

“I’d rather die,” he said like a vow made without understanding its weight.

I should’ve asked what that meant. But I didn’t. I just pulled him closer and kissed him more, because in that moment, I thought he was already mine.

Then another memory surfaced.

It was only the few days into whatever Victor and I were becoming.

My hands were on his face.

“That’s it,” I whispered softly.

His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and deliberate as he tried to steady his heartbeat.

“Again.”

Victor inhaled deeply.

Held it.

Then exhaled.

Around us, the mall continued as if nothing had happened.

People walked past. Stores played their music. Voices still drifted in and out of the crowd.

A few moments earlier, a couple had erupted into a screaming match. Not an argument, but a fight.

I remembered how Victor had frozen.

The way his shoulders locked.

The way the color drained from his face.

The way his eyes suddenly looked distant, like he wasn’t standing beside me anymore.

Like the shouting had pulled him somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere older.

Somewhere painful.

Then Victor finally opened his eyes.

“Are you alright now?” I asked gently.

A small smile appeared on his face as the color slowly returned.

“There you are,” I said, brushing my thumbs softly against his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t apologize.”

Victor shook his head. “I hate it when people yell.”