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I had always felt a different kind of force with Vernon.
Even if I stood a few feet away from him, it felt like a unique energy was pulling me towards him, like our essences had been bound unlike no two souls in the universe had. It was our own, unusual gravity, but I wasn't the one exuding it. Every time we touched, every moment my eyes could seek him out, I felt it. I felt him pull me in.
I felt it then.
The three long years I had spent away from him had diluted the feeling--it wasn't that I didn't feel his pull anymore, but it had a lot of competition. I had ignored it, fought it even, and the sudden realization of what his mere presence could do to me left me reeling.
For a few seconds, I didn't move.
The possibility that Vernon was there, that he was real, instead of just a figment of my imagination, was both comforting and frightening.
Then a car horn honked, and I was yanked back to reality. Hesitating, I almost stepped back, but pain stabbed through my ankle before I could move it fully, and I stumbled.
Vernon's brows drew together in concern, and he extended his hand towards me, gesturing for me to grab on to it. This time, I didn't second-guess myself—I knew I didn't have the time for that. Instead, I reached towards him, quietly hoping that his hand wouldn't fade away when I touched it.
It didn't.
Choose me.
As soon as my skin came in contact with his, time ran faster. It was like putting on prescription glasses: everything became clearer and defined, my senses becoming focused—as if this was the one thing that had been missing from the circuit.
I gasped from the fire of the touch and the pain in my ankle, as he pulled me into the already-moving car and slammed the door shut behind me.
He stepped on the gas before I could strap myself in, and was thrown against the back of the shotgun seat as a result. My heartbeat was still sprinting at a crazy rate, fueled by being so close to him, a drug that had been missing from my life for the past three years.
Three years since you ran from him.
My eyes found Vernon before I found the thought, but it was forgotten as soon as I saw him. His eyes were trained on the road before him, focused and unfocused at the same time, like he could sense I was staring at him. I couldn't help it. I knew I had missed him, despite all he had done, all the blood he had on his hands because of me. My mind was a desert, and he was an oasis of safety.
I couldn't breathe.
"I..." I started, then stopped, tongue darting out to wet my chapped lips. All it took was a single look to forget the sting of the cut on my cheek, the fear and desperation that had gripped me so strongly not even minutes ago. I wanted to touch him, to feel every inch of him, to cut him open to make sure he bled, to let myself believe that he was there, that he was real. "Vernon."
