THE BLIND GLASS RAGE

32 (final)

a/n: this story really made me okay with writing sex. and im thankful for that. also, this is the last chapter, and then just an epilogue and i wanna cry.

***

"Do you feel free?"

It was such a stupid thing for me to even think about uttering, a dumb, nearly pointless question to whisper to Josh in the back of his van ugly, with too much warmth seeping through to us while my words made it their job to saturate the air. The two of us were almost frozen in our places, the blood in our full veins no longer rushing rivers, the love in our eyes no longer a quiet, gentle force. But something you felt stronger than anything, heard louder than all the rest. My sure hands stayed pressed to his strong shoulders, with his electric fingertips making easy hostages of my hips. A brutal, welcomed shudder always snapped down the length of my feeble spine at the feeling of initial contact with him, seeing as it always felt as if he had lives wires for veins. I allowed his electricity and power to hum through me the way it was always meant to. It was something warm and strong, and felt just like him. God, I was so in love.

"Uhm," Josh started to answer slowly, biting deeply at his bottom lip (which was beginning to swell with the pressure of mine pressed to them), and giving that foggy look a chance to roll through to his eyes. He was the same way whenever he had wine, except, this time, he found more comfort in me, than a bottle much too expensive. He didn't need it anymore. "Y-you know, I think I do." He said it like he didn't have to think about it ever again. And I listened to the heart in my chest burst at his tone, felt it drip down my skin like paint. I could hardly function in a place like this. Where Josh was mine and I was allowed to feel and think and be.

When I brought his mouth back to mine, all desperate and heavy, I let him breathe me in while we kissed, his hand slipped down below my waist, while mine knotted themselves in the gentle curls of his hair. The same curls he'd had when we were young together, the both of us oblivious and waiting to be startled, knowing something was bound to fall, eventually. You couldn't go forever without having something bad happen to you. But it's not even a matter of avoiding the bad. It's a matter of working to get over it.

"I feel free," I muttered into his collarbone, fingers gripping tight onto the fabric of his shirt. I held in in my grasp as if he was going to leave me there if I let it go. Stars danced in my eyes. "I'm free, and I love you."

It didn't take long before the two of us were slipping down denim, and yanking off shirts, shedding layers as if they were layers of us, and not just clothing. We were bare and pressed together, lined up and becoming one person, as opposed to too many. We didn't know who we were, and we definitely didn't know who we were supposed to be. But, there, sitting in the back of his van, clothes off and hearts beating in rushed, sloppy sync, I remembered everything about the two of us.

Growing up together in Columbus, chests filled with hope and minds stuffed with innocence. And I remembered getting my college acceptance letter, and him waiting outside for me, with his smile that was just as big as mine, though his will always be more beautiful, and felt his arms around me the way they always were. But, it was such a different thing back then. Or, so I thought.

I washed every article of clothing that I had, that reminded me of anything about him. A part of me figured I would just fucking forget it. Forget the feeling of his hands on me, his taste in my mouth, the fact that cheating on someone with feelings is much worse than cheating on someone with sex, and I was simultaneously doing both. Him and I were. And I thought I could wash it all out. How I felt, how he felt, Joe, Noah, everything that stood between him and I doing anything but growing up.

Everyone is always in the process of becoming someone else. You can't rinse that away.

"Fuck, I love you," he spoke down to me, finishing with a brittle gasp while he moved his hips against mine. My surprise at his language was nearly overshadowed by the feeling tearing through me, as if he stuck his hands on my chest and took it upon himself to rip a gaping hole right in the center of it. We were naked, and I felt every inch of his body on mine, and it was nearly one in the afternoon, but we were pulled over on the side of the road, pretending as if time didn't exist with the two of us, our minds clouded and hearts breaking.