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Chapter 16
Aforehead kiss lasts approximately three to four seconds. And on Wednesday, Ali had woken at three-fifty in the morning and spent over an hour thinking about it.
She thought about how Cornell was over a foot taller than her, and in the entirety of their relationship, he had never once done it. He would bend, lift her, somehow maneuver his tall frame. There might have been a kiss to her hair maybe when she was sleeping, a lone one on her cheek, but even then, his mouth always found hers. In pitch black or lost at sea, that was one thing Ali was always confident about—their physical pull.
And yesterday, Cornell pressing his lips to her head felt almost as degrading as it did out of place. Like I’m a child. Like I’m going to break, Ali thought as she sipped her coffee in bed beside Cornell as he slept. I need you to hold me, to touch me. She remembered the hurt that hit her when having to beg Cornell to squeeze her tighter, how she realized he didn’t know not just how much she craved his touch but how desperate she was for it to be normal between them.
So when she went to take a shower last night, Ali locked the door and let out a few tears as the water ran that she couldn’t bear letting Cornell see or hear. She was shaken that the status quo was completely off-kilter. Because there was nothing normal about Cornell touching her with hesitancy instead of need, with confusion instead of certainty, and with fear instead of love.
Ali glanced at Cornell, sleeping on his side, facing away from her. Placing her mug on the end table, she slid down the pillows and inched closer to him until her nose pressed against the smooth skin of his strong back. She breathed him in deeply, the familiarity of his warm, clean scent a huge sense of grounding in weeks of uncertainty.
So imagine what a kiss would do, Ali thought as she nuzzled closer, wrapping an arm around his middle.
Squeezing her eyes tight, Ali hated that she begged, even in thought. Please hold me. Please let me know we’re okay.
But when Cornell’s alarm went off and he stirred before silencing it, Ali felt him pause and hold his breath.
Please, just turn around and look at me. Tell me we’re alright.
But all Cornell did was carefully slide Ali’s hand off, getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door. When Ali heard the shower turn on, she wanted to scream over the ball that had lodged itself deep within her throat. Hit with pangs of frustration and sadness, a few silent tears escaped, more pieces of Ali forever lost as they melted into the pillow case.
When the shower turned off, Ali wiped her face against the pillow and lay still. Cornell puttered about their room, trying to quietly get dressed. He whispered something to Mowgli Ali couldn’t quite hear. When Cornell walked back around her side of the bed, he paused, and Ali could hear him turn the mug of coffee on the nightstand.
“You awake?” The bed shifted as Cornell sat, and Ali tried hard to stay still when a warm hand rested on her shoulder. “Babe?” He sighed and leaned over, pressing his lips to her temple before standing and walking out of their darkened bedroom.
Ali’s eyes flew open, and she climbed out of bed, heading into the kitchen.
“House rules.”
“Holy shit!” Cornell startled, shaking his hand that he spilled coffee on. “I thought you were asleep.”
Ali took the mug and wiped Cornell’s hand with a paper towel. She not so carefully lifted herself onto the counter, grinding her teeth to hide the twinge of pain that struck her side. “House rules,” she repeated, her eyes holding his easier and stronger from the higher level.
“What?”
“Kiss goodbye.”
Cornell tilted his head and smirked. “See? You were sleeping. I did kiss you.”
“Not like you should’ve,” Ali retorted, shocked by how sharp her voice sounded even though she spoke softly. “That’s not how we kiss. And for the record, I hate forehead kisses.”
Cornell’s parted mouth closed and twisted into a small frown. “Ali—”
“I didn’t know how much I hated them until yesterday. With you.” She sighed, her eyes drifting to his hands hanging idly by his sides—empty, when they should have been filled with her. “I don’t want to have to ask. I don’t want you to have to ask,” she whispered softly and finally lifted her eyes back to his—pools of limitless chocolate brown. “That’s not who we are, Cornell.”
His eyes looked down, lips pursing tensely. “Ali, you just—”
“I’m okay. But I’ll be better if you kissed me like we kiss and not because you’re afraid of me.”
“You think I’m afraid of you? I’m afraid for you, Ali.”
She watched how his mouth closed so quickly after the words left his mouth as if he hadn’t meant to say them out loud.
With no hesitancy, she reached out, tugging him by his shirt. “I’ll prove it. Kiss me.”
Kiss me like you want to. Kiss me like the only thing that matters is you and me here in this kitchen right now. Because if this moment doesn’t matter, then that means you think everything that’s happened is more important. And it’s not. It’s not important at all.
Ali watched Cornell swallow heavily, his full, mauve lips parting. She took a sharp breath as he leaned forward and cupped her cheek, his thumb dusting over her bottom lip. The heat from his other hand gripping the counter beside her bare leg made Ali want to melt. It was the only way to describe it—she wanted to bend and shape and mold herself into Cornell, his safety, his warmth, his touch.
