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25: Confessions For Pudgy

25: Confessions For Pudgy

My thoughts were plagued.

It was the only conclusion I could come to. There was a fog over my brain as I packed, trying to remember if I needed a swimsuit only to realize it was December and I would likely die of hypothermia if I tried to swim.

I nearly packed a pair of shorts only to remember that I would likely contract a cold if I attempted to wander in Michigan in shorts in December.

I almost forgot to pack some bras. No explanation needed as to what would happen if I forgot those.

The day after that kiss was the day I was packing and nearly packing for a summer trip to Florida rather than a trip to a place with a temperature that would likely be below ten degrees Fahrenheit.

I put my rain boots in, though I knew they would do little to keep me warm. Rain boots were never enough in Michigan at this time of year. Luckily, all the socks I also packed would easily make up for it. Of all the clothes I owned that were ratty and lacking, I had enough socks to last myself a lifetime.

I didn't have to share within a family, so none were lost.

As I thought about this depressing fact, I counted about twenty two pairs of socks, twelve of which were fuzzy. My brain whirred back to thoughts of that kiss, not having numbers and socks to occupy it's thoughts.

It was so mind blowing.

I would need a pullover. Emmett had given me two, and I had the Harvard one of my dad's.

His hands on my waist, sending tingles throughout me, numbing my brain past logical thinking and pushing my hands into his hair.

I'd packed a scarf, the black one and the pair of gloves he'd given me, along with the toboggan. I grabbed my straightener and curler and shoved it into my bag, moving furiously fast as I willed my mind to wander someplace other than the feeling of Emmett's body heat.

When he was really close, and I could feel his warmth, I would get these shivers down my spine. So ironic, but it was too accurate. His heat was different, not the kind of heat those butt warmers gave me. He had a comforting feeling, like everything was perfect. Like I had absolutely no reason to push him away and say goodnight as I had done the night before.

Maybe I didn't, and I was just creating reasons—excuses—for not letting him too close.

Funny how I said that and yet, the night before, he was as physically close as he could possibly get. Mentally, we were even closer. Yet my brain was still creating the illusion of safety, pushing me to think that I wasn't endangering the life of the person I cared for most.

And that thought created a sense of guilt more intense than I'd felt in a long while.

I finished with that suitcase and slammed it shut, zipped it up, and tossed it next to the duffle bag with a little huffing. I wasn't going to distance myself from Emmett.

It was a choice I'd made a long time ago, but I hadn't realized it was made until then. It would hurt both of us if I pushed him away, so I'd really pulled him into a hole that would force pain to be felt. One way or another, one or both of us would get hurt.

And I was going to do my hardest to make sure it wasn't him. What hit him would be the debris, the shrapnel from the explosion Walsh would cause someday soon. Maybe I would die, maybe I'd keep running.

I knew Emmett wouldn't let me run unless he came with me, or if he found a way to ensure that I was always safe and had a way to stay that way. Not only would I be gone and the cause of an explosion the size of the bomb dropped at Hiroshima, I would be blocked in by walls built by Emmett to keep me safe.