the moral of the story

chapter twenty-two: three white dudes

this is so pathetic. i mean, seriously? who kisses someone and the first thing they think is wow, i've completely forgotten what it's like to kiss a boy! well, apparently i do. that's pathetic!

but i can't help it. i mean, the last time i kissed someone was over a year and a half ago, which is like a million years when you're a teenager. i mean, i've always found the idea of kissing someone to be pretty disgusting. i mean, seriously, you have no idea where those lips have been! have some dignity! and in the time since my lips have brushed another pair, i thought that i had come to this realization again. the mindset of kissing is gross, so i won't do it anymore.

yikes, was i wrong.

i mean the sensation of kissing oliver is almost indescribable. the chills that trickle down my spine and the butterflies that flail around my stomach rambunctiously. his hand cupping my cheek that has never made me feel safer or more delicate. how his breath smells like the perfect combination of mint gum and the chocolate bar i know he had for breakfast because he always tells me that he can't be bothered to eat in the morning. or even the simplicity of his lips that aren't even simple at all, tasting of lemon and making me realize how much i adore them.

i quickly realize that this is absolutely nothing like kissing james. because with james, his kisses always seemed rushed and almost nonchalant. like he enjoyed it, but it was closer to a chore than something to get pleasure from. he'd sometimes peck my lips and it would destroy me for the rest of the day because he didn't give his all.

but oliver is different. so different. he holds my face like dropping his hand would result into breaking it into a million little pieces. and the way he smiles into the kiss makes me realize that he might actually like kissing me. that smile alone makes me feel more appreciated and adored than i think i've ever felt from james.

this kiss is much longer than it should be, really. i mean, a second of two for a first kiss between two people, sure. but thirty-seven seconds? jeez, florence, have some self-respect, will you? god. i should just pull away right now. really, i should. i will. i am. god, i don't want to. so i don't.

well, not until a bang forces the two of us apart.

oh my god, what am i doing?

my senses suddenly coming back to me, i practically leap away from oliver like he has the black death or something. i don't even look at him as i shakily stand up, suddenly very embarrassed that i let him run his hands all over me like that. i keep my head down as i make my way over to where the sound came from. roman's room.

i knock on the door as loudly as i can. no answer. so i kick the door, which is a pretty stupid decisions, given my converse have been with me through my many phases; dan & phil in sixth grade, 5 seconds of summer in seventh, stranger things in eighth, musicals in ninth, and the action of isolating myself from society in tenth and eleventh. needless to say, my converse are very old, and offer little protection.

"ow, shit!" i groan, pulling my foot away from the door and up to my hands.

i close my eyes and huff and puff. i just need to walk it off. yeah, that always fixes a stubbed toe.

"you okay, florence?" oliver surprises me by placing a hand on my back, to which i literally jump five feet away from.

"y-yeah." i mutter, glancing in practically every direction but his. "i'm fine."

diana saves me from the awkwardness of this post-kiss relationship i now have with oliver by swinging open the door. in her hand is a blow dryer, which i can only assume if for roman. her hair is now free of the wig, but still pulled up out of her face into a high pony tail, making her seem taller than she already is. her shirt is wet and i infer it's from washing roman's blonde hair.