Ink Stains

Chapter 6

Without realizing it, I had lifted my hand up. It just hung around in mid air, having no purpose. I think I was ready to slap him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I brought my hand up to my face, resisting the urge to smack him.

“I’m such an idiot,” Asher groaned, shaking his head. “Why did I do that?”

“Like I said before, because you’re a socially inept idiot who can have all of the brains in the world but not figure out the right time to take a girl out on a date or when it’s appropriate to finally kiss her,” I explained. Before I could beat him over the head with his natural stupidity, I suddenly felt tingles on my lips. Being kissed was something completely different from what I imagined. No slimy tongue was slipped down my throat and I didn’t come down with herpes (at least immediately). It was intimate and expressive in the simplest way. I never believed that spontaneous gesture such as that could change my outlook on a person. Sure, Asher could still be the jerk who almost always believed that he was the most intelligent person in a room, but he was also the boy with so many emotions he didn’t know what to do with himself. “But you’ve definitely proven me wrong.”

“You mean the bet on Tuesday?” he remembered. “How have proved you wrong? I’ve been nothing but a detrimental force upon your life. You said I was a jerk, and I still am. I don’t even have the decency to help others just to help. The things I’ve done to you are unforgiveable.”

If this could’ve gotten any cheesier, I would have reached forward and entwine my fingers between his. Maybe if I were more sentimental, I would’ve kissed him back. The intoxication of one kiss mustn’t be followed by another.

Perhaps I should’ve assured him that he wasn’t as much of a mindless jerk as he could be. Unfortunately, that would have been a lie.

“Let’s just get going with the filming,” I brushed off the whole kissing matter and buried my nose our work. I guess I’ve always been notorious for running away from my problems with fictional means.

Ben and Janet stood before us, their mouths still hanging up with utter confusion. They didn’t move; it was as if their feet were glued to the ground.

Asher followed my lead, distracting himself the way he always had. “Guys?” he asked. His voice was much stronger, more confident than it was previously. “Do you guys want to start filming now?”

“Oh…okay,” Ben blinked, finally coming back to reality.

Janet bit her lip as if she was preventing herself from saying something that so desperately needed to be said. She simply nodded.

As the two went to put on costumes for the project, Asher turned to me. His eyes couldn’t seem to meet mine. “I’ve never apologized for that night,” he acknowledged while tracing his fingers along the wall. “Or for that kiss. I guess I’m sorry for doing that to you.”

“Do you regret either of them?”

He lifted a hand to his lips, reliving that brief second. With a meek smile, he told me, “I don’t regret that kiss,” Asher admitted. “I regret the reason for the night, but I wish we could relive that night so I could make it so much better.”

Our connection as friends was something I’ve never experienced before during that night. My best friends wouldn’t have been able to put up with me for that long, or anybody for that matter. If it was actually a date (and not Asher’s crude definition of a date), then the butterflies in my stomach would multiply rapidly. My cheeks would probably become scarred with a permanent pink racing across my pale flesh. The genuine happiness I had experienced then was something I could have only imagined in my stories. Honestly, I knew I wouldn’t mind repeat of the swing-dancing, hearty laughter, and elated feeling.