I can imagine myself curled up, drawn up close to him under warm bed sheets. He would lie straight, trying to avoid contact with me, staring at the ceiling with eyes like twin skies at night, sparkling in the dim light, but I would still be able to feel the heat radiating off him, and hear his breath as it tickles the scruffy tips of my raven hair that stick up.
Slowly, we would move closer, and he would turn, so that he faces me, as I would face him.
I would say that I was content with that- lying there, face to face, but not touching, falling asleep together in peace, serenity, silence; but God knows, Oh, he knows as well as I do, that I want more than that.
I want his lean, pale arms around me, pulling me closer, until his shoulder is my pillow, and I'm pressed up against his chest, so tight that we're almost one entity, floating in a field of dreams in a world all our own as we sleep: a world with no worries about someone stealing him away again; a world where all the problems from the past just dissipate into the ether, never to bother either of us again. The sky would always be a cool, comforting, pastel blue. The grass beneath us would be a calm emerald. What a warm world... Together...
I want goodnight kisses on my cheeks, good morning kisses planted on my forehead to wake me up softly in the morning, and, if nothing else, one farewell kiss resting gently upon my lips.
Why?
Just for this one night, out of all the rest, why can't he be mine?
I know why.
Because that girl has him, now.
He might not want her, or he might, but doesn't want me. He turns his back on me, shouts at me, gets angry at me, and calls me names.
He doesn't want me because I'm so cruel to him. I would need more than 2 hands to count up all the times I have played pranks on him, or made him angry on purpose, just to hear his voice, or have made him do something he doesn't want to do.
No... He doesn't want me...
I admire him from the other side of the room in his smart suit, looking handsome in a way I've never seen before.
Like a man.
I've seen the childish side of him so much, and the grumpy teen side, while everyone else only gets the adult, the one he puts on like a mask, or a full-body suit, to hide what he's really like- his façade.
No one understands the real him like I do, because no one else has really seen it.
I do... I have...
She doesn't deserve him, I think, bitterly.
Why can't he just be mine tonight, before I leave?
My feet have begun to move without my permission, my arms outstretching, and my finger's pinch at his jacket as I reach him.
He looks round at me, scowling as he notices me. I look down, almost shamefully.
When I start talking, I feel quieter than I've ever been before - a disused, quiet voice, drowned out by bellowing, booming music.
“I need to talk to you,” I say, voice hoarse from the lump in my throat. I swallow it, ivy eyes glancing to his date for no more than a second, before returning my gaze to him, “In private.”
He sighs irritably and starts to turn away from me.
“It’s important.” I say, determined enough to make him reconsider, until he follows me out of the marquee, not saying a word to his girlfriend.
We stop round the back of the marquee, next to a patch of dense forest, where nobody can see us.
I open my mouth to speak, but I start to fumble over words, rubbing my arms, partly because of the cold, but mostly through nerves.
