All This Time

16 ⦿ in which we kiss (again)

December 23, 2010 11:00 a.m.

If I thought our first kiss had sparks, this one is a flame. His kiss consumes me, his mouth searing a fiery path of fire down my entire body. I can feel his smile against mine as our tongues battle for dominance.

He gives, he takes. And me, I am greedy for more. My hands tangle in his hair, insistently pulling him down further so I can relax my tip-toes. My chest is tight and I need to breathe, but in my own kiss-universe, my brain rationalizes that I can just steal his breath.

His hands settle on my hips, pulling me closer. With a jerky skid against the snow, my boots comply. My legs are between his, our torsos touching, my chest skimming against the front of his jacket.

He isn't totally clean-shaven; his chin and jawline feel a little scratchy against my skin, but it doesn't deter me. Only when my lungs are raw and screaming in agony do I pull away, gasping.

He looks as dumbfounded as I feel, his chest rising and falling rapidly like he too is trying to catch his breath. "You have a boyfriend."

Is he trying to remind himself or me?

"We broke up."

"When?" He gapes, his cheeks pink and his lips swollen and red.

Did I do that? A blush creeps up my cheeks. It's freezing out here and we're both pinking from the cold, so hopefully I can pass off my embarrassment as a side effect of the weather.

I realize I haven't answered him yet when he repeats himself, this time louder. A few people walking around us give him a strange look and hurry their children away, casting a suspicious glance over their shoulder.

"Before." I chance a glance at him from under my lowered eyelashes.

It feels like that one word explains everything. Before the Netherlands. Before Wolfram. Before our kiss.

My skin feels prickly and my legs are still tingling - all in good ways. "Wolfram..." I start to say. "This doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to."

I want it to mean something to him, too, but I know the score. He's an adult in a way that I won't be until I graduate, get my own place, and get Charlotte's Web off the ground. Somewhere deep inside me is my twelve-year-old self, screaming, "I kissed him! That boy is mine now!" My fifteen-year-old self is simultaneously cooing about how pretty our babies would be and aren't young parents the cutest? My eighteen-year-old self wants to cling on to him and talk for hours about what does this mean, where are we going, do you like me?

I squash all those voices. Wolfram is used to more sophisticated girls. Girls who disrobe and saunter around his bedroom naked. Girls whose bikini wax probably cost more than my entire outfit. I have to give him the option to bow out, to keep it casual. That would be the adult thing to do, right?

His eyes crinkle at me in concern, but he doesn't say a word. I wonder if he's doing a cost-benefit analysis in his head, trying to figure out if I'm worth keeping around. Even if I come out on top, I don't want to be the result of his overthinking it. I want him to emphatically like me as much as I like him.

"Let's walk around a bit, okay?" I force a smile to my face. "We're in the Fairytale Forest and I haven't even seen a single fairytale yet." My muscles rebel, stiff from the cold. "We don't have to talk or...or make plans. Or whatever."

At his nod, we start off, not speaking. There is a careful one-foot distance between us. It wasn't me who put it there, but neither of us makes a move to get closer.

With the exhilaration of our kiss dimming, I'm more resolved than ever to make sure the magic of the day doesn't wane, too. We're in Efteling, a fairytale amusement park. Supposedly better than Disney, though unfortunately much, much colder.