I stare into Michael's pale eyes, vaguely wondering if I am hallucinating this whole thing. He leans his head forward and connects our lips again, his hands gently holding my face. His tongue is gentle against mine this time, there is no force, no rush. But the fire still burns, the passion is still evident.
What are we doing?
"Michael," I whisper as I pull away, shaking my head a little.
"Don't," he whispers, holding fast to me. "Please don't, Kate." His voice is trembling and there is fear in his eyes, fear that I will leave. Because I do have to leave, and we both know it.
"It's late, Michael," I whisper, my face still close to his.
"Stay," he whispers, his grip tightening on my waist.
"I can't," I say. All too quickly, Michael releases me and turns away.
"I'm sorry," he says. The tone he uses is too loud, too casual, too... conversational. "I didn't mean to do that, I shouldn't have done that. Forget about it, Katherine." He is back to his normal, boisterous self, no trace of the pleading man from only moments ago.
"Michael, I-"
"You probably have some studying to do or some shit," he waves his hand. "Just go, Kate." His back is facing me, forcing nonchalance as if I didn't just see the emotion in his eyes.
I feel the need to say something more, but nothing comes to mind. Leaving seems like the best option, but I don't want to leave. The thought of being so close to him but so desperately far is already driving me mad. "Maybe I should-" I begin.
"Can you get out?" Michael asks, turning to face me. It is not rude, he does not give me attitude. He genuinely wants me to leave. My eyes search his face, for what I am not sure. But I find nothing as I turn to go, his- I mean, my- key still clutched in my hand.
Back in my own apartment, I start the shower, desperately needing some warmth. I peel the wet clothes from my body and step into the scalding water, jumping back at the way the heat burns my freezing skin. Warmth is a good thing, but adding warmth to something that is already freezing can only cause pain. It is the same way with people.
I find myself sitting on the cold floor of the shower, letting the water cascade down my back. It is a thoughtless kind of reverie, but my mind keeps dredging up memories of the past hour. I push my wet hair out of my face and shiver at the memory of Michael's lips on mine, the way his hands gripped my waist with so much force, yet still somehow managing to be gentle.
I run my fingers over my lips, wondering if I could still possibly be the same person I was a few days ago. It is a scary thought that someone can come into your life so quickly and turn your world upside down. Less than a week ago I had never even known that Michael Clifford existed, but today he is in nearly every thought I have.
He drives me crazy, he pisses me off, but he makes me feel alive.
Michael Clifford is dangerous, only not in the way he wants people to think. He wants to frighten people away with his harsh appearance, make them think that he is someone they wouldn't want to mess with. He is not dangerous in that way. What makes Michael dangerous to me is the depth in his eyes, the way he puts up his guard just fast enough so that I can't get over it. The steady push and pull between us draws me in, making me long for things that I've never known. That's what's dangerous. The unknown.
I sigh, shutting off the water. It doesn't help that since Michael washed my towels the other day, his scent swirls through the air around me as I wrap myself in one. It is some sort of light citrus with something else sweet, honey maybe. It is intoxicating, making my body long to be close to his again.
