We walk into the house with the food, upstairs the guys are gaming, Zach pulls me to the couch, I sit beside him, leaning against him. Every emotion I feel is swelling, I really do love him. I know it. So to all those people who think that you have to be over 20 to understand love are completely wrong, we make up the definition of love. I know I love him, tomorrow I’ll love him, I know that 2 years from now, I won’t ever forget him. Love shouldn’t be a word you say easily. You should be completely sure of yourself before you ever say the words out loud. You should be sure that if the possibility of ending the relationship, you’d still love them, you’d forgive them for their mistakes, you’d cherish their flaws, you’d remember them, you’d hold their memory higher than the rest. That’s how I see love, all consuming. Not fleeting of brief.
Zach’s fingers run through my hair, I sigh. Completely content. I’m willing to risk everything for this. I know I am. If we break up, I promise myself I will try to make friendship work. I don’t want to lose him…
Jeremy looks up from my sigh, glaring at Zach. Yeah, I wasn’t willing to make a try with him. I ran. I hear a throatily growl from Zach, they have never gotten along. I put my hand on his chest, making the horrid noise stop. I close my eyes again, I don’t really give a damn. I never really had a relationship before… I always run the other direction, I couldn’t make the commitment, I couldn’t trust.
So why do I trust so fiercely in this boy comforting me? Why can he make me feel so strongly? He gives me hope… No one has ever before made me feel like I could try, I could, I could, I could. My mother always puts me down. Thinking of my mother makes my throat close. If I brought Zach to my house, what would my mother do? How can I trust he won’t be scared away. Because you love him. Something inside me says, I know it’s true. He knows about my mother, he knows about me. How I tried to kill myself, more than once, and recently. He knows that’s the key. We’ve talked and talked and talked for almost six months now. I know him, and he knows me. He knows about therapy once, like how I know he’s gone to counseling. He knows I used to starve myself. I know about his Dad, kind of… his step-dad, mother, and sister.
I look up at him, his eyes so blue, millions of little lines making up the pattern in his iris, lines like static. The deep blue surrounding the havoc like walls. His eyebrows, so perfectly arched. His nose. His cheekbones. His jaw. I feel my pulse quickening, all consuming. I’d try my hardest for him till the time I die. I promise.
I reach my hand out to touch his neck, my freezing fingertips against his boiling skin. "He was made of fire but he didn't even know, until he met the girl he loved and she was made of snow." My mind whispers. He closes his eyes, trusting in me not to hurt him. Oh how he shouldn’t, but it makes my heart swell even more. I trace the tense line of muscles in his neck, all the way down to the hollow of his throat, to his collar bone. I move to replace my hand with my lips, leaving the lightest of kisses. His arms wrap more securely around me.
Before I know it it’s after midnight. Everyone’s talking, and clearly having a good time.
He tells me he has to leave, and that really puts a dampen on my mood, I actually tell him not to.
Oh my God, am I saying this? I just told him to stay the night, What the...
He actually says: "don’t tempt me.” His voice drops so low it sends delicious shivers up my spine. Oh my God, how does he do this to me?
I plead more, as I reach out and hug him. “Stay.” I say. His arms are wrapped around my waist, giving me goose bumps. But too soon, he lets me go to put on his coat.
He looks into my eyes. “Be safe…” His hand caresses my cheek and I lean into it, feeling his warmth, His thumb tracing my cheekbone. He turns and walks away, I stand there leaning my face on the door frame. Watching him walk away, turning every once and a while to look back at me. I close the door shut, sliding down against the wood frame.
What am I going to do about him?
YOU ARE READING
Together, by Cassandra Brubaker.
Non-FictionI wasn't always this way. That's a lie, but isn't that how you start talking with a psychologist? When I was 10 years old, everything changed. My mother became a terrifying figure, My step father tormented me. When I was 14, I tried to kill myself...
