49: Touch
When I woke up, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I felt the touch of Luke's hand, cold against my face. I felt his leather jacket and grabbed onto it. It was dark in the room, the sun had gone down, and I was relying more on touch to figure out where I was. We were still on the floor. I could feel the wood under my legs and side. And I could feel the rough texture of Luke's skinny jeans on my cheek as I grabbed at his jacket.
YOU ARE READING
Stockholm Syndrome
General FictionI didn't want to. I wouldn't. I won't. But suddenly I was doing it. I didn't even register my feet hitting the fourteen steps it took to get up the stairs. My brain ignored the ninth step and how creaky and loud it was. And then I was there. Finding...
