Matches: Why We Burned Out

seven // mini heart attacks

seven // mini heart attacks (edited!)

The following Saturday, I found myself going to Romeo's house. The last time I went didn't end well, but I was willing to paint a prettier picture this time. When he opened the door, he raised his eyebrows in shock before I let him kiss me. He said his parents were at work (actually at work, this time). "As per usual," he added as a side note.

He decided to take me up to his bedroom, which was completely white. He told me he recently painted his walls white so it was like a blank canvas, and that he was going to paint beautiful artwork all around it. And even before I arrived he said he'd been painting in his little studio.

According to him, his parents hadn't even seen the storage room that he'd transformed into an art studio because they worked so hard. He unlocked the door with a silver key and opened it for me, allowing me to enter the room first. My eyes examined the room that was full of works in progress. All the colours and the paints and the canvases were all so satisfying to me.

The paintings were primarily of angels, which reminded me of the angel wings tattooed on Romeo's wrist. On an easel in the corner of the room is an unfinished angel painting. I gasped and stumbled backwards a little bit, but was met with Romeo's arms holding me up.

"Is that supposed to be me?" I asked him, staring at and admiring how lucid it looked. Romeo only chuckled faintly, his fingers brushing up and down my arms. I love it. Without saying anything else, I encased him into a hug and breathed in his calming scent.

We eventually went back to his bedroom and cuddled on his large bed while watching Disney films like The Little Mermaid and Cinderella.

During Aladdin, I took his wrist in my hands and delicately traced around his tattoo with my fingertip. "Is there a story behind this?" I asked curiously, but Romeo remained silent for too long. Perhaps the story was something too painful or private for me to understand. "Don't worry about it."

"No, I'll tell you," he replied as he took a deep breath. "Last year, I had a heart attack." He inspected my expression before continuing. He wanted to make sure I was listening. And I was. "I legally died for about six minutes. When she was still alive, Nonna used to tell me that when people died, they'd become angels. So, I got this tattoo to, I don't know, remind me of the battle I had with death, and if I can make it through that, then I can do anything."

I still didn't utter a word. I didn't know what to say or how to say it.

"But even after that my life was still tough, especially at home. I've never told anyone, but I dreamed of having another heart attack to take me out of my misery. I didn't want to be alive anymore. Since I met you, I've started getting heart attacks again. I get a heart attack every time you look at me or touch me or kiss me. And it's better than anything I ever dreamed of."

Peering up into Romeo's confusing eyes, I sent him a reassuring smile. We both knew that I didn't need to say anything for him to know how I felt. I was beyond happy that he was still alive, and even more so that he actually wanted to be.

He took my small hand in his, bringing it to his soft lips and kissing it tenderly. Then, as he sent me a smouldering glare, he planted kisses all the way from my wrist to my shoulder, then along my collarbones. I tilted my head back in pleasure, enjoying the feeling of his lips on my body. His gentleness was maintained as he kissed my neck and my cheeks began to burn. He nibbled and bit on the area of my neck that he found was the most sensitive.

I mumbled his name softly before biting my lip to stop myself from doing it again. Once he was finished, he left one more sweet kiss on my neck and another on my chin. I was almost sure he'd left a mark, so I went to the mirror in the corner of his room to check.

I gasped. "My dad can't know I have a hickey!"

Romeo stood behind me and wrapped his strong arms around my waist. "I prefer to call them love bites," he replied as he rested his chin on my shoulder. There was a smile on my face as I watched our reflection, and was rewarded with another kiss on my cheek from the insightful boy.

Eventually, we sat back down on his bed in silence. Well, that was until I became curious again.

"How many girls have you done this with?" I asked, looking at him. He seemed so experienced that he must've developed it somewhere.

However, he frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" Why did he sound annoyed? His thick eyebrows lowered and his body was tense.

"I just thought..."

"You thought what? That I'm some sort of fuckboy?" By now, he was standing up. Perhaps it was the way I asked the question that got him all hot and bothered. It wasn't supposed to be like that.

"I never said that," I argued, trying my hardest to remain calm. It was unbelievable how quickly the mood just switched. One minute we were kissing and the next we were arguing. With a sigh, I stood opposite him and gazed into his eyes. "I was curious about why you're so good at what you're doing with us."

I placed my hands on his arms and held him. He hung his head. "Right."

"Yeah."

"Sorry," he said, his cheeks reddening slightly in embarrassment. "You're the first person I've done this with." He lowered his head so the tip of his nose brushed mine. His voice was quiet and gentle as he said, "I can't imagine doing this with someone else."