taste | e.d

ten

For the past three days, sleep has been impossible for me. I try leaving the light on, or cocooning myself in my blanket to keep warm, but my brain doesn't want to shut off.

Ethan and I haven't spoken to each other in almost week now, and I don't think either of us plans on making a move soon. But I have eight days left here, and after I leave I'm not sure if I'll still have contact with him, for security purposes and whatnot.

We have seen each other, in the mornings for breakfast, and sometimes in the afternoon when I go out to grab something to eat from the fridge while he's sitting on the couch in the living room, watching TV. We don't acknowledge each other, we just pretend the other is nonexistent, as if nothing ever happened between us.

We both know it wasn't nothing.

My heartbeat starts accelerating at the thought of that day. Images of it flash in my mind, and I quickly dash to the switch to turn off the light emanating from the remarkable chandelier, hoping to catch some sleep before I let my mind wander too far. My eyelids draw to a shut and I finally feel myself escaping.

I'm not sure how long I'm asleep before I suddenly I hear a loud crash outside.

I flinch awake and nearly fall off my bed.

"Ahhh," Ethan groans loudly from outside.

I pad my way out to the hall, where Ethan lies on the ground, his arm under his head like a pillow.

"Ethan?" I say. He doesn't respond, so I repeat myself, then wait a few more seconds before touching his arm. He lets out a small noise, signaling that he's still conscious. "You have to get up from the floor," I say.

"It's comfy down here," he says. His voice is slurred, and that's when I smell the alcohol on him. He's drunk.

I laugh uneasily and shake my head. "We need to get you into bed," I say.

"No, I'm not tired," he protests. "I'm wide awake, sweetheart." He turns over to lie on his back and looks at me, his face upside down from my point of view. "Who are you? You're cute." It's mostly dark in the hall, therefore my face isn't too visible.

"Come on, get up. I can't lift you myself," I say, putting my hands on his shoulders.

"No, no," he says quietly. "I want to wait a little longer."

"Why?" I ask.

"I want to wait for Kendall," he says. He grins lopsidedly. "You look like her."

"Ethan, let's go," I say. I stand back on my feet.

"Do you ever want to hold someone but you're scared that if you hold on too tight you'll squeeze the life out of them?" Ethan says thoughtfully. I freeze in my tracks. I don't answer his question. Instead, I just keep listening. "I want to hold her but she's going to end up so broken that bits of her are going to slip through my fingers.

"Every time I touch her, I stop breathing. She does that to me. She takes all my oxygen and I'm not sure what she does with it. Every time we kiss, I feel something. In here." He taps his chest, right above his heart. "I've kissed a lot of other girls, you know." He chuckles softly. "None were ever like her. Not just because she's a virgin. But because she's herself. She always walks out of her room with that one T-shirt and her hair either down or tied up. I don't know if she knows how beautiful she is, but if she doesn't, please find her and tell her. Tell her she's beautiful until you lose your voice–"

"Ethan, I–" I interject, but he keeps speaking.

"Because I can't do it. I've told her but I don't think she believes me. Maybe she thinks I'm a liar. A murderer. A psychopath. That's what everyone thinks. That's what Shannon thought. Her best friend. They were in their apartment for too long and I know she was telling her about me. She clearly didn't know who I was when she saw me and didn't even react when I told her my name that first day. But she looked angry when she got into my car. She didn't say a word to me.