Finding Melody

37: Meant For Each Other

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I kissed him last night. I with no argument against this remember saying "I want you" last night. I might as well have just told him I loved him, and I wanted to get married and I wish we could stay here for the rest of our lives. I was pathetic. I felt like a giddy ten-year old who had just received their first kiss and was now checking if my breath smelt okay, if he still liked me.

But he was still here, and I wasn't ten, I wasn't some naive girl. I was sixteen, coming close to seventeen.

My head was buried in his chest, half of my clothes had been tousled off, I had slept in my bra and underwear and yet nothing from last night had changed. Dallas stayed appropriately on his side, and I frowned at this hidden line between us. I didn't want him to be appropriate, I wanted far more than that. I wanted his lips on mine, his body pressed against mine, his hands roughly laced against my skin. I wanted him badly.

I bit my lip in exile, in exile of him walking up and regretting, regretting everything. I wanted him, more than he knew, I don't even remember the first time I didn't want him around me, he was intoxicating and overwhelmingly the realest person I knew.

His tossed hair moved slightly and my hand flew to it, his eyes opened, in all their entirety they were beautiful. His lips parted, ready to speak, as I opened mine too, mocking his lips, wanting to close the space between us, between our lips.

"Good morning", he said, laughing slightly as he stretched his arm from around me. He looked at me with this new glare, like I had been so honest with him that he was absorbing it all. That it was almost frustrating to him, that I had become so surreal overnight.

His arm rested under his head, flexing and he didn't even know it, he hadn't done it on purpose. His eyes searched my face, wanting to know the answer. An answer to last night, an answer if it just was urges and alcohol pushed me over the edge or whether it was my feelings.

He knew me now, far more than anyone else. He was aware of the fact that I choked on just anything I said, anything I brought attention to. He could sense the fact that I was weak, I knew it too. But he didn't care, he didn't care about my weakness.

"You know last night- you wouldn't stop kissing me", he egged on, getting up off the bed and walking over to my side. I watched his arms come to my life as they moved beside him, until I saw where he was headed. Straight towards me. His hand stopped over my body as he leaned above me, his eyes searching mine hopping back and forth to either eye.

"Then who stopped me?" I asked, meeting his stare and raising myself closer to him, his breath lingered against my chest. I met his glare, his fingers riding against my chin. My fear of losing him, of being rejected, my fear of never being able to tell him who I was and just how afraid I was. They were all gone, vanished from my tongue as liquid courage was poured into me last night. My tongue was now filled with dirty obscenities.

"I did". His voice was closer to mine, it was as if I inhaled his words. He was so sure, in his eyes, this is what we were, this is what we wanted. I parted my lips, feeling his breath against mine.

"Why?" I asked, my mouth closer to his, my lips were aching to be on his, to feel his lips, in this time of need, to feel what I had been neglecting myself from ever since I had met the dashing Dallas Grant, the hidden writer of the night.

"I don't kiss drunk girls", he joked out, his lips barely an inch from mine, his breath as heavy as a drop of water, and his eyes glaring at me like I had hung his moon, and I was the star of the show.

"How about sober ones?" I asked him, and just like that I had been taken, my heart, my soul, I would give myself to the devil for him. I think I was in love, I just didn't know it.