A Fine Line

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Somehow we’d broken away from one another in the heavy silence, and stood motionless together. His breathing was shallow, the little rushes of air fanning against my forehead and permeating a soft cinnamon scent against my face. I knew that scent all too well – it was the exact spiciness I’d identified moments before his lips had pressed against mine the night prior. It was that sweetness that I’d tasted as his mouth moved insistently against mine, as his long fingers grasped at my arms desperately and tangled into my hair that he’d ridiculed on more than one occasion. I could smell him, too, with his chest so close in vicinity to my nose as I kept my eyes locked on the soft material of his tee. That pleasant musk I’d come to recognize, laced with the subtleness of stale cigarette smoke.

He was the first to move, and his chest was no longer in few as he quietly slipped out of my vision, his light footsteps echoing against the walls and his breathing becoming distant. I stood there still, my eyes focused on anything – everything but him. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even fathom what the hell was happening between the two of us , and the unrelenting fear I felt was undeniable.

The sound of his mattress creaking met my ears after a long moment, and I heard him call out to me from the other side of the room.

“Come here.”

I looked up tentatively, slowly letting my eyes travel from the soft carpeting beneath my feet and up to the heavy oak frame of his massive bed. He was lying there, spread out in a eerily casual manner, his legs sprawled before him and crossed loosely at the ankle and his back supported slightly by an array of pillows behind him. He stared at him expectantly before raising one arm only slightly, patting the emptiness beside him with his palm. I swallowed hard, looking at the unoccupied position at the side of him, and the reality that he was inviting me – me – into his bed was almost too much to handle and flooded through me rapidly.

Regardless of my mind screaming at me don’t don’t don’t , my feet had other plans and slowly began to make timid steps towards the bed, bringing me closer to him. I didn’t obey him, though, and instead opted to slowly and stiffly sit at the edge of the bed, on the other side. Away from him.

I heard him sigh from behind me as my fingers fumbled together awkwardly in my lap. “Anna.”

I swallowed thickly, staring down at my hands, unable to think or move or breathe or do anything but wait. When I heard another heavy exhale of breath escape him, this time one of frustration, I turned my head only slightly, never making direct contact with his eyes.

“What?” I replied quietly over my shoulder.

A long silence.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Come lie down with me,” he finally replied in a low, almost inaudible murmur.

My lower lip caught between my teeth and I chewed it lightly, nervously. I sighed very quietly under my breath and then shook my head, turning away from him again completely. I was unable to comprehend what was happening. Come to his bed, lay on his bed – with him. With Tom.

The world was coming to an end.

“I’m okay,” I said softly. But I wasn’t – no, no, I was nowhere near being okay and I was certain that I’d just slip to the ground in an ungraceful thud from sudden cardiac arrest. Despite my panic and my uneasiness and my overwhelming confusion, I nodded to myself. “I’m – I’m okay.”

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