Kissing is now one of my new favourite things to do.
We don't do it all the time. That would just be weird. I mean, come on. Who would want to spend all of their time kissing someone? You'd just get bored, surely.
But we do it a fair bit. At least a couple times a week. And it's always either in the middle of the night, or when the other two have gone out. And it's always in Mark's room. The guaranteed solitude we get in there is our safety bubble.
I've gotten quite accustomed to that little room now. I do try not to look at it too much though. Apart from being distracted the majority of the time, I find it quite sad to see such an empty room. I don't really understand why it is the way it is. And I don't have the nerve to man up and ask him.
Ha. Man up. Who would have thought I would ever say that?
Regardless. Today is a rarity. I'm sat in Mark's room with him, watching a film. A film of my choice, seeing as it's a Wednesday. And Wednesdays are my day of films. Wednesdays and Saturdays. His are Mondays and Thursdays.
“Mark?”
“Hmm?”
“Why don't we do that?”
By that, I mean the activities going on in front of me in the film. And by that, I mean the arms around each other, nose rubbing, tickle fights. My particular favourite is seeing a girl curled up on the man's chest. It makes me feel a little tingly inside...
We've done that before. After that nightmare, when I fell asleep on his chest. I was lay just like she is now. Mark didn't move me in the morning. And I've learnt that if he doesn't like something, he isn't afraid to show it. So it can't have been that bad. Surely that means that it's something that's acceptable to do.
Right?
I am suddenly aware that he hasn't answered me. I glance over at him, tearing my eyes away from the butterfly-inducing scene. He's laid out on his bed, playing with his phone. Probably that stupid Temple Run game that he's been addicted to recently. I just don't understand that appeal of it. I'm much more of an Angry Birds kind of girl. You can blame Glen for that one...
But I'm not going to lie. I'm a bit annoyed. He asked me to watch a film with him, and so here I am, watching the film. And he's just laid on his back, screen of his phone inches from his face, ignoring every second of my film. Prick.
I smack his chest, resulting in a low grumble. He squints at me over his phone, irritation ripe on his face.
“What?” he snaps.
“Why don't we do that?” I repeat, pointing at the screen. He looks over, watching the little people in the black box get all close and personal. His nose wrinkles and he's back at his phone.
“We just don't,” he remarks simply.
“Why not?”
“Just because.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It's just stupid. I've gone twenty nine years without doing something like that. People don't need to do it. So why bother?”
“That's still not answering my question. Why aren't you answering me?”
“I don't want to, that's why.”
“Don't want to what?”
“I don't want to do those things. The whole idea makes me uncomfortable. And we aren't like that. We don't need to do those things. We're fine the way we are. So just drop it, okay?”
