𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧, young royals

6: Kissing Bedsheets

6: Kissing Bedsheets

My thoughts terrified me senseless.

They were persistent and eager tugs in the back of my head.  I wanted to strap them down, to strangle them with my bare hands, if only I could touch them.

Simon was truly turning me inside out.  And I tried to not think about him, I really did, but he surged from every pool of thoughts in all corners of my brain.  I saw him in my sleep, sometimes, too.  He had me by the jawbone and by the ribs; he dug into me and seeped in through my jugulars.  In these dreams, I wanted nothing but to taste his salt again, chew into him like an apple, kiss him down to the marrow. I woke up drenched in sweat, my fingertips kneading still in a fleeting dream, but it was only mattress and bedsheets.

I wanted to hate him again, if I ever really did.  I needed to extract his presence from my mind, pluck him out like weed out a garden, but it was hard when I had to pass him in the hallways or catch a whiff of his forested cologne in crowded rooms every damn day.

Today was parent lunch, at least.

I would get to go home for the week-end after, rest and clear my head for a few days.  Pour myself the blackest, most bitter coffee and maybe dunk my head in a bucket.

I didn't want to think about him anymore, to keep wondering why he'd kissed me then and, most of all, why I'd kissed him back.  Surely, it had only been a foolish impulse in the spur of the moment, yes?  I couldn't possibly be into guys, least of all him.   It was just a kiss, an insignificant, reckless, anger-sparked kiss.

But I had wanted it.

Why?  Was it just for the thrill of doing something I knew I shouldn't have been doing?  To step out of line again, to provoke, something to entertain my brain?

"Wille, are you even listening?"

I jolted out of my day-dreaming, and my eyes shot up; Felice stared back at me expectantly.

"What?" I blurted.

"I just asked you a question," she stated, eyebrows raised.

I cleared my throat.  "Sorry.  I'm just, uh... thinking about tonight."

She smiled, nodding.  "Oh, right.  Are your parents coming?"

"No."  I folded my arms, leaning back in my chair.  "They have, um, business.  Or whatever."

Felice frowned.  "Oh.  I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Suddenly, a stack of books came crashing down on our table, and someone hurriedly pulled a chair next to me.  Simon flumped down on his seat and quickly ran his fingertips in his hair, fixing-up some straying culrs.

"Sorry," he stammered, fumbling through his things nervously, "bus was late again."

"I don't understand a thing about this wolf story," mumbled Henry, sinking into his seat with his open pamphlet in his hands.  "Anyone willing to go grab coffees?"

"I'll go," responded Simon and I simultaneously, rising from our chairs in sync.  We exchanged a startled glance, falling silent and blinking at each other.

How awkward.

I cleared my throat and quickly said, "Uh, you grab them, I'll pay."

Simon nodded, eyes darting down to the floor, and off we were.

We walked to the cafeteria in complete silence, ordered four black coffees, then went back to entirely ignoring each other while waiting for our order.

Simon's hands were tucked in the pocket of his jeans, and he stared blankly into space, and I stood there and waited for the cashier to hand me back my change.