Her

Part 17

 The end of yet another grueling, exhausting day of ignoring her was drawing to a close as the clock continued to tick mercilessly. It had been harder today than it had been yesterday, just as yesterday had been harder than the day before. It made me sick to my stomach, making her believe that I didn't deeply care for and constantly think about her. It also sickened me to know that she'd never love me now, that I'd pushed her away, that I was the one who had done it, the one responsible for the demise of any feelings and future together that we could have ever had even the shadow of a possibility of sharing. It was made all the more unbearable because all I had to blame for this was myself. I disgusted myself, this feeling of self-loathing, as awful as it was, could never me as much suffering as I deserved. Every motion was agony. And I deserved every moment of it.

I painstakingly gathered up each of my pens and dropped them into my book bag, along with my notebooks, the off-white pages filled with letters, words, lines, of her. She was everywhere, in me and out of me, manifested in everything I touched or saw or heard or tasted. Wherever I went, there she was, because she was a part of me, and always would be. I followed the hoard of ever-oblivious students to the door, the mob narrowing and becoming denser as they struggled to all cram through the small door. I waited nearly listlessly, waiting to escape, waiting for the release I knew wouldn't truly come. I heard her voice, calling out clearly and purely. I head her say my name, I heard her ask for me to hang back. Something about one of my essays? I paused, about the pass through the doorway, and after a moment of hesitation, I allowed the impatient boy behind me to go ahead of me as I backtracked. I turned around, my eyes still averted from hers, and slowly walked back across the classroom to stand several feet from her desk. We both waited for the last of the students to file out before moving. I hardly breathed.

I closed my eyes, not because I trusted her not to hurt me but because I quite simply could not take it anymore, none of it. Not the pretenses, not the lies, not the risks, not the careful facade we both put up. I stood with my eyes shut, the world dark, silent and empty to me. I was alone in a dark, silent room, nothing holding me on to the earth except the wooden floor and my light, worn shoes. Hanging on by not even a thread, about to slip... and just as I began to fall irrevocably, she caught me. Her warm, slender arms slid around my tiny waist, slipping over the smooth black fabric of my light sweater, which clung to my slight frame. She was facing me, her front pressed so close to mine that we were inhaling each other, breathing each other in, our warmth shared, our breath shared. I remained motionless, and though my eyes stayed shut, I was no longer alone and the world was no longer dark. In fact, light blossomed along the edge of my vision, blooming within me, as she deliberately pressed her perfectly soft lips against mine. She kept herself pressed against me for several moments before beginning to pull away. I stopped her, I would not let her walk away again, would not let her slip from my outstretched fingers. I lifted my hands from my sides as I came to life, and held her in my arms as she held me in hers. I opened my eyes at last to peer into the swimming depths of her green eyes, just before I returned my lips to hers. Belonged. This is where we belonged. It was right for the first time.