Love Bites [on hold]

☆|fourteen

She wasn't sure what had happened during the night, but when she woke up, it was morning, and the lights were back on. She let out a breath of relief.

But then she realised she was in the living room, crawled into a fetal position on the couch, and a firm set of hands snaked around her waist, holding her closely. She didn't need to turn around to know who those hands belonged to.

The breath caught in her lungs and she stiffened, not because she was cuddled right next to Charles Fields, the man whom she had been in love with but who also hated her guts, but because his hand hung low over her stomach, barely brushing her, down there.

Carefully, she glanced back to see him deep asleep, his head rested against the arm of the sofa as he took in slow, even breaths. The compromising position of his hand was long forgotten when she realised how close they were. She only had to inch up a few centimetres before their lips would be touching. His were soft and small. His upper lip was much thinner than his lower one, but all she could think about was how they would feel against hers.

Then his eyes shot open and he sat up, accidentally closing the distance between them. And then she froze, and he froze, and his hand shot up, unwillingly grazing the opening of her vagina.

Fuck, was all she could think of, only mere seconds later. Nothing in the world could be more awkward than that.

Her thoughts went back to that day out in her parents' back garden, when she asked him to kiss her. Then, she thought no kiss could be more awkward than that. She should have known better.

Of the several scenarios she had envisioned of her first kiss with Charles, there had been air ballons and French lampposts and stranded canoes. But an unintentional kiss on the couch in his apartment with her on top of him wasn't included in the portfolio, escpecially that her face was stained with tears and possibly snot; her hair was tangled and hung awkwardly around her face, and she smelt like fish crap in her sweaty tanktop after her fit of crying last night.

She pulled back and scrambled off the couch, quickly getting up to her feet. She stormed to her room and slammed the door shut behind her.

She could almost see the jumbled beats of her heart through her clothes. Her mind was too preoccupied with the fact that he accidentally kissed her that she forgot to notice that he was holding her.

They were on the couch at an early morning after the lights had went out. She couldn't recall what had happened later last night, so she couldn't comprehend how they had ended up in that position, with her on top of him and his arms encircling her, almost as if he were cuddling her.

She was frowing when he trail of thought was cut short. She was beyond confused by now. Why would he hold her that way? Wasn't he supposed to hate her? Why did he act like he cared?

She jumped when an insistent knock sounded on her door. She took a careful step back and spun around.

"Natalie," Charles's voice called from the other side. It wasn't the demanding, dominant tone she was used to hear from him these days. It was a calm one, and it reminded her of their tutorials several years ago.

She didn't reply. He tried to open the door but she had locked it when she came in, so he failed.

"Natalie, please open the door," He called out again.

"No!" She yelled. "I'm alright. You don't need to check on me."

There was silence after that, but she didn't hear a shuffle and the shadow by the doorstep was still there, so she knew he hadn't left yet.

When he spoke next, his voice was a mixture of agitation and a gentle caress, a very rare combination, especially for someone like him. "Why didn't you tell me that grandpa is dead?"