The Book of Hannah

Prologue

i've known hannah for a long, long time now.
we met in freshman year of high school through a mutual friend, thus beginning our official friendship, second semester.
hannah is a pretty, brown-skinned girl, with loosely-curly long hair and attention demanding light, almond-shaped eyes, with pouty lips similar to that of a fish. i've told her countless times though, how cute her lips are, the passing years. her response is almost always, "i know, i like them too."
hannah never got nearly as much attention as she was due in high school, and often just too much on the street. she carries her body, with its petite stature and curves bordering total hourglass, sizable booty likeness, in a most confident way; shoulders back, hips switching subtly, grabbing you by the neck.
to top it all off, she's the near perfect blend of shy and sexual, silly and shady, emotionally expressive and reserved.
we got into the same college, share the same dorm room, like something out of a YA romance.
i've had all opportunity to snatch hannah up, and a head start with our intimacy. but as i describe hannah in all her ideals, why haven't i taken her? i've never wanted to. her and i, hannah and hoseok, bound together by platonic love, existing side by side, is all and more than enough for me. kissing her on the cheek in greeting more of an endearment, than a bragging right.
there lies a bathroom between our separate rooms, doors on either side purposed for our dual access. i've seen her naked enough to remember and vice versa; neither of us react except for a few scattered giggles when brought about, too far in to care.
i've known hannah and her sex life in its sparseness for a long, long time. she's always been open about it. i've been equally as curious.
hannah, though a self-proclaimed "attention whore", fuels from her inner romanticist more than her underfed succubus, ignoring cat-calls on the street and flirting in the workplace. she's had her share of heartbreaks and toxicity. i've rubbed her trembling, sobbing back most nights.
she doesn't often drink in fear of taking after her alcoholic grandmother yet still loves the feeling of tipsiness, she thinks of people closest in proximity to soothe her to sleep, and her hands are always cold.
we know each other.
or, if anything, i know her.
even so, shortly after moving into our dorm, something's off; it's not bad, but it's exceedingly unusual.

i saw hannah one evening, walked into her room intending to ask a favor, and saw her sitting on her bed. but it was hannah stripped of her varnish.

she was on her mattress, bedding bunched at the corner, with her knees open under her, shaky arms propping her up; strands of hair hovered in front of her face, reddened from exertion, eyes half lidded, mouth agape releasing shallow breaths, while the rest was thrown over her back; her shorts were at one ankle beside her, and her button down was falling off her shoulders.

i know my face was contorted some way in reaction to this yet hannah wearily eyed me and stated:

"red hair looks so good on you. i wonder how my fingers would look in it."

taken aback, shocked, mortified as i was, brush off her unnerving remark and escape as i wanted to, i wandered over, her looking like a bitch in heat, and before i could list through my virtues, i had climbed on top of her and began sucking face with her feverishly, and she threw her thighs around my waist and yes, laced her fingers through my hair, and she'd arched her back so our stomachs were aligned—

...and she whispered to me in such a fashion that implied only i was capable,

"make me numb."

abruptly, without warning, this was the hannah i co-existed with, checked in on nightly and lay with. a hannah that was alien to me, and couldn't explain it.
a hannah that would often remind me i was the best and only brand of gasoline to her new flame.
and i'm a sound, consistently full container of gasoline, in the hands of a now-unpredictable woman with a poorly controlled fire.
in spite of my purpose, i'm also keeping it stable.

i've known hannah for a long time, now—

—i'm not so sure.

and there's the prologue. get ready for a spicy something i'm mostly making up as i go 🤕😂
-Arie