The Opposition

Chapter 17: Sadie

 I barely get out of bed this morning. Felix, Carter, and I decided to catch a late show and I'm really regretting the decision now. After discovering that we had the theatre all to ourselves, Felix began running around, weaving through seats and toppling over a large number of them. Somehow, he convinced Carter to play a game of tag, which resulted in him falling face first in a pile of popcorn while Carter rammed his hip into an armrest. When it was concluded that no one was severely injured, I joined the game and got a little bit too competitive. Being "It," I ended up tagging Carter so hard that he crashed into the movie screen and Felix spent the duration of the movie huddled under a row of plush red seats, deciding to hide from me rather than run.

Carter woke up early to shower and brush his teeth before me, and now he stands in the middle of the hotel room wearing only a towel set way too low on his hips. My eyes drift up to look at the black gems on his ears. I didn't know that I have a thing for earrings, but goddamn they are so fucking hot. Or maybe that's just Carter. I scold myself for the thought.

"You're staring," Carter says, a small smile dancing on his full lips.

I roll off from my place on top of the covers and stride toward him. "I am not."

He eyes me, "It looked like you were."

"Things aren't always as they appear," I tell him, keeping some level of distance between the two of us.

"Is that so?"

I swallow, "Yes."

He looks thoughtful for a second, as if he's about to say something, but then he shakes his head ever so slightly. "Fine. Either way, I don't think friends stare."

I laugh, "We're certainly not friends."

"Then what are we?"

He looks down at me. I search for some sort of witty retort. But it doesn't come. Instead I freeze as he locks his gaze with mine. He steps forward, the towel still hanging around his waist, and droplets of water falling from his toned arms. His chest is flush against mine and I pray he can't feel the sweat accumulating on my skin, sticking my thin cotton t-shirt flush against my skin. He lifts his head, pushing mine back against a wall. I didn't even notice I was walking backwards. His lips almost brush against mine, a whisper, but every nerve in my body heightens on alert.

"I asked," he says. "What are we?" He's so close, one small tilt of my head and our lips will touch. My throat bobs and I anticipate a snide remark about my visible swallow. It doesn't come.

"Not friends," I respond. It doesn't sound convincing or witty. It's a cover up; a thinly veiled sheet that I bury myself under, afraid of ever peering through the thin fabric. He's too close. His eyes stay trained on mine.

"I don't think you understand," he says, speaking so close to my lips. "What are we?" He repeats the question for a third time.

We. I rack my brain for all the things I want to say. What am I feeling? Why don't I know what I'm feeling? There's sharp pain in my chest that goes deeper and deeper, plummeting to and rolling in my stomach. It would be so easy to get rid of it; to pull the rope and have him come to me. But I know better. The rope would snap, and I'd be left with nothing on the other end.

So, I do what I'm best at. I bury my feelings–whatever they might be–and whisper, "Not this," as my hands find his chest and push him away.

We're staring at each other and all I want to do is look away, but I can't. His breathing is heavy, his eyes darkened and hazy. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. Somehow it feels like we've crossed a boundary that I didn't even know existed. Was he teasing me with all that friend stuff? Was I making it out to be more than it actually was? Yet, I can't stop thinking about his lips so close to mine, his breath fanning my face with every word he spoke. Most of all, I can't stop thinking about the fact that I was so close to bridging the gap. I was so willing to press my lips against his and taste his minty toothpaste and thread my fingers through his messy, slightly wet, hair. What has come over me? I don't know. But I felt my control slipping, and the smallest part of me almost let it go. Was almost okay with letting it go. But that was a moment of weakness; my head is clear now, and it won't happen again.