Chapter 13
And it’s nothing like kissing a boy. Her breath is hot and tastes sweet, mixed with a splash of icy alcohol. I can still taste the salty tears drying on her flawlessly soft lips. Tears she wept for him. For a second I can’t move. I’m stunned. And so scared. And then her lips move slowly, her tongue almost touches my bottom lip. And I get braver.
I begin to kiss her.
My eyes are closed.
But I know hers are wide open. I can feel her gaze on my skin. Her teeth on my lips. Mind-blowingly gentle, making goose-bumps cover my body.
My hands hover on either side of her face, my fingertips almost scraping along her cheekbones. I wish that she’d close her eyes. And I wish I was brave enough to touch her skin, just like I wish I was brave enough to kiss her properly, kiss her like I love her.
But now she’s tearing her lips away from mine. My eyes are flickering open. Focusing on her perfect eyes that are quickly filling with tears once again. Tears mixed with something like fear, horribly dilating her pupils. So big I’m scared she’s tripping. So big I’m scared she doesn’t recognise me anymore.
“I’m sorry-” she whispers. She’s apologising and I can still taste her lips. I can still feel her breath. Her body is so close I can feel her heartbeat. Racing, forcing her blood through her body.
“Cheryl?” I breathe in reply. I watch as she touches her tongue to her lips, as though she’s savouring the taste of my kisses. She swallows, her eyes blurred, unreadable. Her oily pupils bleed into her chocolate irises. I wish I was brave enough to kiss her again. But I know I’m not. “Cheryl?” I repeat her name. I try not to let my breath catch at the back of my throat. And when she closes her eyes it’s as though all the lights in the world have suddenly been blotted out. Through the darkness, I can see a final tear leaking from the corners of each of her eyes.
“M’asleep” she murmurs. Her accent is slurred. Is it the alcohol or the sleep blurring her brain? I can feel her breathing. I can feel her heart beating. Even when she’s slipping away into sleep, she’s so alive.
“What?” I breathe, frowning. I wish she’d open her eyes, I wish she’d look at me. I don’t want her to sleep. I wonder if she hates me. I wonder if I’ve done something wrong.
“M’going to sleep” she murmurs once again. Under the covers, she runs the very tips of her fingers along my arms, up to my shoulders. I shiver, and she lays the palms of her hands on my skin. Her hands are so cold.
I wait until I’m sure she’s asleep. I wait until her breathing is deep. I brush a single strand of her glossy dark hair away from her face, laying it across the white pillow instead, so her hair frames her face like the midnight black halo of a fallen, falling, angel.
A car pulls into the garages far below us, its headlights cutting though the night and slipping through the grimy window, covering her skin in pale light. Her skin looks grey and her lips look scarily pale, a huge contrast to her clouds of dark hair. Carefully, I touch my fingers to my lips, kissing them gently, and then brush them against the impossibly white skin of her neck, and I find a pulse. Her heartbeat breaking against my skin.
My head feels heavy. I close my eyes, and for a brief moment I still see her sleeping face as clear as though it’s been burned into my eyelids. And with that image, I slim seamlessly into sleep.
***
My bed is cold. Too cold. Even before I open my eyes I can feel my breath smoking from my lips, almost condensing in the freezing air. And the second I blink my eyes open, I know she’s gone. I can no longer feel her skin that felt like crushed velvet and smelt of cigarette smoke mixed with cold tears. Her feet aren’t tangled in my own, her limbs aren’t stretched across my skin and her hair isn’t tickling my face. I blink. No doubt about it, she’s gone. My bedroom is deserted. The grey early morning sunlight that creeps through my window fills the space on the sheets beside me with glaring light, jarring through my head. I roll over, clutching the sheets to my body as I look desperately around the room, hoping for a note, a message, anything. Nothing. For a second I wonder if she ever was here, if the last few hours had been a wildly vivid dream. Nothing is out of place. She came and went like waves on a beach, leaving no trace. I blink around my room again. The vest I leant her, carefully folded at the foot of my bed. The door slightly ajar, light from the hallway creeping in. The imprint of her head still on the pillows. And the sheets still smell of her smoky skin. Driftwood. The waves, the tides, the seasons even, they can all come and go, but they always leave driftwood. Tiny little imprints. I breathe, and I get out of bed, listening carefully.
