And she twists up time like she twists up my head. The second lasts forever. We don’t need to breathe, we don’t need anything but each other. Oblivious to the rest of the world, set in stone, carved into eternity. And I can feel, through the blurry confusion of my thoughts, this moment burning into my mind. So that I won’t ever, ever forget it. And then she’s moving closer, her body too close to my own. Her teeth on my lips, her hands holding my wrists. Gently, her fingertips resting against my pulse. She’s breathing a little too fast. I know her ribs must burn with pain.
And she’s curled so close to me on top of the sheets, her tiny body in my arms. A tangled knot of limbs. I watch her ribs rise and fall, the muscles in her chest writhing under her bruised flesh. I think I can feel her heart beating.
And then she pulls away. Dropping my wrists. Her eyes flickering open. But she looks away from me, out of the steamed-up window, hazy with the golden blur of the city lights.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her. She rubs her eyes. And shakes her head a fraction. My hands skate back over her ribs, and I touch her pale neck with my fingertips. I can feel the muscles wriggle uncomfortably under my fingers as I touch her, but I don’t move. I don’t think I even breathe.
“If you were going to die tonight, what would you do?” Her lips fly over the words. Her accent contorting them. Her breath lacing them with the hot fire of cigarette smoke. Her eyes are fixed on some unseen point out of the window, but I know that she’s a million miles away. And I hate it. I wonder if she’s thinking about him. Maybe she’s here, in my bedroom, and she’s thinking about him.I don’t even feel angry. Or sick. Or sad. I think I’m just numb, but I can’t feel enough to tell for sure. I can’t feel a damn thing. I want to hold the back of her neck under my fingernails and let my lips caress hers again. But I’m not going to. I have to hear what she has to say, even if I don’t want to hear it.
“You think about dying too much” I breathe.
“I-I...You didn’t answer my question.” Her voice is quick, light. As though it really doesn’t matter.
“I don’t know.” I murmur.
“I think you do. I want to know.” She doesn’t miss a beat. She doesn’t even look at me. The words fall off her tongue and swell, filling the room. Making my ears hurt.
“I’d be here, with you” I say it quietly, hoping she won’t even hear me. I bite my lips as she lets her eyes fly over my face, a tiny frown forming between her eyebrows.
“Really?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“Me? I’d...I’d...” she touches her tongue to her lips, shaking her head. A single dark curl falls over her eyes. I wonder if her lips still tingle like mine do.
“Come with me babe-”
She stands up, wincing as shots of pain run through her body. Across her battered ribs.
“What are we doing-” I can hear the confusion in my own voice, but she holds a finger over her lips. And almost smiles as she reaches out a hand towards me. She pulls on her leather jacket, the thick fabric soft, warm. I scramble under my bed, pulling on a huge hoodie, ruffled curls tumbling over my shoulders.
“I want to show you something-” I can hear something in her voice, but I’m not sure what it is. So I stand, clasping onto her hand. Wrapping my fingers tightly around her own. “Come on-” she breathes, pulling me from the room. The darkness of the corridor, the heat of her body so close to mine. I imagine for one wild moment that she might kiss me again. And then she does. My spine digging into the plaster wall, tiny bruises blossoming on my skin. But nothing like Cheryl has, slicing across her back. Her kisses making me feel brand new, squeaky clean. Cheryl would call it sparkly. I would call it on fire. Our hands still clasped together, our bodies barely even touching. The thick space between us screaming.
