Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Eleven

I opened the door. The sky is a softer blue now but it's still dark.

A familiar car parked in front of the building reflects the street light. Seeing it made my heart thrum harder. I get a hazy view of Harry inside: hands tight on the steering wheel, eyes looking straight ahead. It seems he was in deep contemplation.

I walk closer, trying to keep the tapping sound of my shoes low. The nearer I was becoming, the stronger the rhythm grows in my chest. I grip on the polaroid with the Gone With The Wind quote. It was the reason for my adrenaline and the energy that brought me to walk back out here.

My eyes remain transfixed on the man in the car, waiting for him to realize my gaze.

And then he does.

Almost as soon as he caught my glance, he steps out of the car.

For what feels like the second time, we were again face to face. We remained silent. Both too shy to ever say something. I was afraid to make the move. The wrong move, to be specific. One that kills all the momentum that has brought us together in this spot, decelerating the tingle coursing through our veins.

It's always the moment before something happens, when the short distance feels thick because everything is up and out in the air. I can see the heaving of his chest being one step away from him. Then from his chest I land my eyes back to his face, catching him bite the inside of his lip.

"What are you doing back out here?" Harry spoke, breaking through the heavy ambience.

"What are you still doing out here?" I said, cracking an unstopped smile.

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, "Just thinking."

I nodded. His eyes land on the photograph in my hand and I feel myself shift nervously in the most understated way I can.

"I uh, I," I stuttered, feeling coy. "I'm looking for someone who knows how to kiss. I mean, uh, well, it's the advice I got here."

I hold out the polaroid.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he breathed. I carefully tuck the photo to my large back pocket, thank God for big back pockets in high waist pants.

He takes one stride and suddenly I can feel his breathe again, this time brushing my nose. We were back in a dangerous proximity. Right now, however, I no longer feel any fear. The danger even exciting me. The risk-taking spirit is finally there and I plan to give it what it wants and needs.

"I was thinking a while ago that I might know how," he whispered, the weight of the night obvious in his gravelly voice. His hands cup my face, I relax in their heat. He plants a kiss on my forehead, tracing down to the bridge of my nose.

He pauses just above my lips. The warmth of his breath is rousing. My chest felt full of tension, of thrill, of flurry-looking for a place to spill. And when he finally places his lips on mine, I let them flow. It felt like we were both waves, surging withheld emotions as we crashed upon each other.

My hands find their way to the back of his neck, fingers sinking into his hair as I hear a light groan unto my mouth. My toes intuitively curled as the sensation of his soft graze cascade through every part of my body.

We pause for a second, gasping for air. My eyes fluttered open, finding that his was already affixed on mine. I notice his irises turned darker, more intense, even more magnetic and hypnotic that I willingly bring my lips back to his again.

I couldn't make sense of the many things I am feeling at the same time except that they are all driven with passion. Maybe with a little of hunger as well.