AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I share the class with Ash, my heart fluttering at the thought of seeing him. Although the guys are in most of my classes, they've been leaving as soon as it's over, not walking with me like they used to.
Their silence, their icing me out, hurts; but I'm not sure I can blame them. I ran away when they opened up to me, when they showed me their darkness. I judged and rejected them when they needed me most, so it's no wonder they've turned away from me.
I have some serious apologising to do,I think as I open the door, taking my headphones out, and my eyes meet steel grey ones making me pause in the doorway. They are as hard as the metal they share the colour with, and just as cold.
Walking in, I let the door swing shut behind me, not taking my eyes away from his. My chest is rising and falling with my heavy breaths as I take my seat next to Ash, my hands slightly clammy.
I don't register anything around me, it's all noise that's unimportant as we continue to stare into each other's eyes. I can see pain in the depths of his, a sharp ache that cuts me to the quick, knowing that I am responsible for some, if not most of it. I hope he can see the regret in mine, the sorrow and heartache that fills me until I'm overflowing with it.
“Asher and Lilly, please read Act One, Scene Five for us.” I hear Mrs Jones say, breaking into our bubble.
I grab my copy of the play we're currently studying from my bag,Romeo and Juliet, and turn to the right page.
Ash begins reciting in his deep, beautiful voice, and it sends shivers up my spine, my breath leaving my lungs in a gasp.
“‘If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’”
And as he reads, he reaches across and grabs my hand, bringing it to his lips, placing the barest of kisses upon my knuckles and causing a riot of butterflies to take flight inside me. He looks up at me whilst he does it, a look so intense in his eyes, my heart stops, and I have to clear my throat before I can start my lines.
“‘Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.’”
I lick my dry lips as I look back up to see his gaze locked on mine, my hand still in his warm one. He looks down then reads the next part.
“‘Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?’”
He looks to me again, his eyes unreadable, yet there's a fire there too. I’m just not sure if it's meant to hurt or heal me.
My heart is pounding, my breath short as I read my next lines.
“‘Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.’”
“‘O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.’”
A darkness enters his gaze then, and I'm hit again with the hurt that I've caused him.
“‘Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake,’”
I read, barely above a whisper, looking back up at him as he starts to lean in, still clutching my hand in his tight grip.
“Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged,”
he whispers back as his lips close on mine, and he kisses me.
