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I liked it better when all I had to do was feel.
But that brief time was over, and now I had to think too. Even still, I surrendered to his kiss, taking something I always wanted, understanding I probably wouldn’t get it again.
He hummed deep in his throat, the sound vibrating between us as his tongue explored me intimately. I opened wider, overwhelmed by desire but wanting more, wanting everything he would give.
He didn’t pull away at once, instead gradually gentling the kiss until our mouths separated but still so close we shared air as his forehead rested against mine and his palm possessively claimed my lower back.
“Did that feel like a lie?” His voice seemed foreign to my thundering ears as he reached up to brush the hair from my cheek. His fingertips dragged lightly over the shell of my ear, and tingles raced across my scalp.
That kiss was so good it almost convinced my head what my heart wanted so badly to believe.
Almost.
But as powerful as that kiss was, it could not erase four years of hurt and memories. It could not make me forget.
Dear future self, you can forgive him, but you should never forget.
I pushed him back, and he went, wariness glowing in his two-toned eyes.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the crumpled journal entry. “This is the catalyst that brought back my memory,” I told him, holding up the wrinkled mass of paper.
He glanced at it. “What is it?”
“Yesterday, I found my journal. I was going to read it while doing laundry.”
My thoughts tried to stray to what prevented me from reading it, but I pushed them away. Wasn’t what I was dealing with enough right now?
I had ninety-nine problems, and they could all just get in line.
“This entry was from four years ago.”
His attention slid to the paper once more. “From high school?”
“Mm,” I confirmed. “I read it, and it brought everything rushing back.”
“Let me see.” He took it, the page so rumpled he laid it on the table to smooth it out against the hard surface. When it was as unwrinkled as he could get it, he lifted it and started to read.
Dread sat in my stomach like a rock as I watched his eyes move over every word. Watched him read what I considered a defining moment in my life. His eyes flicked up, staring at me over the top of the sheet.
“Jess…” His voice cracked.
“Keep reading,” I told him.
His gaze shifted back, his jaw growing harder with every sentence he read. When he finished, the paper crinkled again as he pulled it down, holding it beside his thigh. His eyes were pained, as was his voice. “You heard them that night?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I heard them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“Why didn’t you tell them they were wrong?” I countered.
He let loose a pained sound. “Is this why you stopped coming to the house as much?”
“I wasn’t welcome there.”
His nostrils flared, angry denial written all over his features. “Yes, you were! You’re welcome anywhere I am!”
“You didn’t tell them they were wrong.” I didn’t say it as a question this time, just a statement of fact.
