Intertwined

Kinley

Kinley

I'm contemplating the concept of "forever," while my mouth is meshed against Damien Gregor's, and if that doesn't prove my lack of focus, I don't know what does.

I mean, is anything ever, forever? Because no one can ever experience forever, so how do I know "forever" exists? I won't be alive forever, and neither will Damien, and neither will my best friend Summer, or my brother Jude, or my English teacher, who put this thought in my head.

Mrs. Carlisle, the Honors' English teacher, had asked us to choose something we believed in, mine being "forever," and write a two page response opposing it. So I had spent half the song sitting there wondering how I was supposed to oppose "forever," before she called me up to her desk to ask what was wrong.

When I told her my problem, she proceeded to give me examples on why someone wouldn't believe in forever.

Which is how I ended up here.

I don't know why this was even an assignment, but here we are, fifty minutes after the end of English. I'm standing here still scrutinizing it, while Damien's tongue is roaming my mouth.

I'm actually quite annoyed that I'll never be able to experience this so called "forever," that I was so sure I believed in about two hours ago. It's true, the first eighteen years of my life gave me no reason to wish to live for forever, but I'd at least like the option.

This was about where I was in my thought process, when Damien pulled away for breath.

"Wow," he breathed, the scent of his spearmint gum prominent. I wish I could give an intelligent reason for why I was playing tonsil-hockey with an eleventh-grader, but truthfully, I had none. Well, besides the fact that I simply enjoyed kissing species of the male gender. It was a nice way to pass time, and think about whatever was swimming in my mind.

I know how bad that sounds, trust me, I do. But I also knew that I wasn't going to stop making out with people just because it made other people think they had the right to call me a slut. As long as I could pretend the names didn't bother me, I could continue making out with whomever I pleased.

"Yeah," I nodded, "Wow." Even though it wasn't very wow. It was alright, I assumed, but I had been quite busy reflecting on my English assignment, as opposed to focusing on Damien's kissing skills.

"So, I was wondering if you wanted to go to a mov--," I had cut him off before he could finish the invitation, with a press of my index finger to his swollen lips.

"Hey Damien," I said, my voice oozing fake confidence that I'd learned to use perfectly with the flick of the tongue. "This was great, truly, but I've got to run." I let myself press a quick peck to his lips, and gave him a quick wave, trying hard to ignore the questioning look painting over his features.

Damien was a very handsome junior, I'll admit that. He was popular too, and if I was on the market, I'd probably consider dating him, even though he's a year behind me. But I was in no mood to be in a relationship, and I'm sure Damien knew that much before he decided to make out with me for the beginning ten minutes of our lunch.

I was well known, and people knew I didn't date. Including Damien, and every other boy who thought I would end up with them.

I made my way to the lunch room, the three inch heels adorning my feet clicking with each step. I understood that I didn't have to dress up for school, but I lived tight knit to the motto, "to be your best, you must look your best." So if I had to suffer through the occasional blister and waking up a few hours earlier, then so be it.

"How was Damien," my best friend since childhood, Summer Jorgensen, winked at me as soon as I approached the table. I rolled my eyes at her childish attempt at teasing me. I knew she was waiting for my tell-tale blush that I used to show 24/7 until seventh grade. That was around the time when I grew my faux back-bone, that everyone thought was real, and learned to control the blood rushing that occurred in my cheeks. It was easy not to blush when you learned to not feel embarrassed at every little thing.