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“I don’t know.” She mumbles this into my chest, dipping her head, hiding her eyes. “I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. You’ll laugh.” A pause. “Your outburst yesterday, I felt... like it was a sign that you were not okay. That I had to find you, check on you.”
That wasn’t what I’d been asking. I was only wondering why she should care, why worry. I’m not worth the trouble, but now I’m at a fucking loss for words. Wait a minute... let me get this straight:
I didn’t scare her off with my nasty words. I worried her. Like... like she thought it wasn’t normal, wasn’t like me to be such a fucking asshole.
My breath catches again, and fuck, this time drawing air is impossible. What is this girl doing to me? Apart from saving me from painful death, that is. And why can’t I breathe?
“You’re okay,” she whispers and rubs circles on my chest. “You’re okay now.”
I’m not okay. I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s sweet and it’s bitter and it’s so fucking painful it’s like growing a new limb.
Or growing a heart, I think randomly.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Never do that to me again,” she says, still in that broken little whisper. “Do you hear? No more stunts like this one.”
She keeps talking, filling the silence, because I sure as hell can’t speak right now. Then her words register and I frown, not sure what she means. I’m sure I was pretty inoffensive while falling off the roof and hanging from... was that a drainpipe?
I shudder.
“You said...” Her next breath sounds like a sob. “You said to let you go. Why were you on the edge of the roof in the first place? It’s dangerous. Why...?” Another sob-like sound. “Why would you do that?”
I unwrap my arm from around her to touch and pet her curls. “Sorry,” I manage.
“Were you going to jump?”
“No, I...”
I don’t know.
I’ve been so out of sorts since yesterday, and everything that led to my fall is kinda fuzzy. I remember the dark seeping into my mind, though. The feeling that there was no light at the end of the road. Not for the likes of me.
I don’t say any of it, but she’s looking up at me, and she seems to read it all, easily. When did she learn to do that?
“If you ever feel that way,” she says, her voice shaky, “talk to me. Call me. I’ll give you my phone number.”
“See, my devious plan to get your number worked,” I croak.
She laughs softly, then scowls and punches me lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t joke about it.”
Fair enough.
We’re still kneeling in the dirt, still breathing hard, holding on to each other, the fucking moon hanging over us like a face, watchful.
“Guess we’re quits now,” I mutter. “I save you, you save me—”
“Ross, shut up.”
And she kisses me.
It’s like an out of body experience. I’m not here, my body a mere outline, a shape in the dark. All I can do is feel. I’m fucking lost in that kiss. I lose track of time, of the hard ground biting into my knees, of the world. Her lips are soft like fresh petals, her taste sweet but also salty as if she’s tasted tears.
It’s delicious. Gut-wrenchingly good. Agonizingly fucking perfect.
Suddenly I’m back in my body, really back, feeling the pull of the earth, feeling the curves of the girl pressed against my side. The ice in my veins starts to melt in degrees, some warmth seeping back into my chest, easing the vise wrapped around my ribs.
The kiss goes on and on, and it’s as if she’s breathing for me, breathing fucking life into me, heating me up from the inside with every movement of her lips, every little sound she makes.
