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“We’re so bad,” I try to say jokingly, but it comes out in a whisper.
“Yeah, we are.” His voice is gravelly. His eyes won’t leave mine, making me wonder what he’s looking for.
My familiar, insecure thoughts creep in. I should be doing anything other than wondering what’s going through his head. I don’t even want to talk about it. I want to pretend this didn’t just happen.
I clear my throat. “Do you need anything to drink? Or a snack? I’ve got lots of stuff.”
I’m still on the floor, still breathing heavily.
I still can’t decipher the look on his face, but I’m too tired to try. I don’t even trust myself to stand, unsure of how capable my legs currently are.
“Water sounds great, but I’m sure I can get it.” He jumps to his feet, and extends a hand out to me. My legs do what they're supposed to, but my lungs don’t, because he ends up pulling me too close to his face again.
When he's the one to step back, I can’t help the sinking feeling of disappointment in my gut. I’ve been trying so hard not to think of us as more than friends, but now? Now I’m completely screwed, because there is no chance I’ll ever get this off my mind. There’s no chance I’m not going to want to do that again.
Kissing has never felt like that in my entire life.
“There’s filtered water in the fridge. Unless you’re a weirdo that likes sink water, in which case I think you can find it on your own.” The words fly out nervously, an attempt to avoid an awkward silence.
“Why would that make me a weirdo?”
“It tastes like pool water.”
“I think it tastes like drinking water.”
“You've obviously never done a side by side taste test.”
I sound so drunk right now.
“And I’m not going to, I'll just take your word for it.”
I look away when I notice his sight drop lower again.
Nope, nope, nope.
It’s time for bed.
I head for my hall closet, containing all the extra pillows and blankets a person could need. When they’re dumped on the couch and Miles appears next to me, glass of water in hand, I quickly put space between us.
“Good night, Miles.”
“Good night, A.”
His tone tells me there are words in his head that he doesn’t voice.
I rush to my room before he can change his mind, and lock the door behind me. Not out of mistrust for him, but myself. It’s the equivalent of putting up a big sign. Something to make me stop and think.
Caution: hazardous material.
Going out there again tonight would be extremely hazardous. I’m not even going to attempt a bedtime routine, not with the way my hands are still shaking. I’m somehow wide awake and dead tired all at once. Skin care can wait for a better time.
A glance at my bed tells me that the two things I need to survive tonight are thankfully trapped in this room with me. Asleepy Elaine, and my good, old laptop. I do what I do best when my emotions are high, I put them into my writing.
I walk out into my living room the next morning after a quick shower and some concealer, to find it empty. It’s a bit of a relief, but I can’t deny a bigger part of me wanted to see him. I want to know how his curly hair sticks up in the mornings, having missed the chance the last time we woke up in the same place.
I can’t help but feel like his absence means he wanted to avoid me, too.
I think about sending him a text, but I wouldn’t know what to say. There isn’t a single thought in my racing mind that’s casual enough to put into words. I check my phone to see that it’s already ten, which makes my shoulders relax slightly. I’m content for now with the fact that most people start their days before this time. After all, I was up until three, writing some scenes I feel very happy with.
