We were sixteen. You hadn't played your violin for more than a year and I found myself aching for it, for the sound of your music and the stories you would tell me afterwards.
When I got home, you were already sitting on the couch, head resting on its back, eyes closed. I reached out to play with the curls of your blond hair. If I leaned down to breathe it in I knew it would smell like the shampoo we had been sharing.
I kissed you at your temple and you opened your eyes.
“Hi,” you murmured softly.
“Hi.”
You hummed. “You have that look on your face.”
“What look?"
"Like you're sad because I'm playing with the other kids, leaving you alone.”
I laughed. I laughed and laughed even though there was a pang in my chest. I kissed you on your eyelids. Your forehead. Your nose bridge. Your lips. Then my tongue was in your mouth and yours in mine. There were hands on my neck and my shoulders and hands under your shirt.
Later, when we lay breathless on the floor of the living room, you pulled me into your arms. Your hand circled my bare back like you were trying to soothe me. You said, “I will always put you first.”
My mouth was dry but I chuckled. “Are you sure?”
Your kiss on my hair was firm, leaving no space for argument. “I promise.”
And I believed you like I always did, even a year later, right before you left me behind.
YOU ARE READING
Wearing My Smile | ✔
Teen Fiction"I wondered if you'd ever thought that the name your parents had given you felt like sharp knife twisting through your heart in its prayer. I'd never asked you that before, now I'd never get to." Having been together since forever, Roo struggles in...
