think pink.

27: stupid liar

Back under his spell, I fell last night.

My eyes shot open this morning and I and quite the mad dash to the bathroom to collect the swirling in my stomach that encased my fuzzy mind.

My skin itched when I thought about him touching me, but once I finally fell asleep after staring holes into the black darkness above me, all bets seemed to be off. My magnet-like drift to him jolted me from sleep several times, like an old-fashioned hand-buzzer, electric shock from a knitted sweater, or a damn car crash. I'd push myself across the mattress to a cold spot I had apparently abandoned in my slumber and shiver back to sleep.

Staring into the familiar bathroom mirror, I knew I should just leave. Leave him alone and try to fix things at Rydell but I had come to the conclusion that fixing things may not be an option.

I am such a stupid liar. A bad on, at that.

If it weren't for him, I would have told them on my own time. Surely?

A moment later, while I was still pulling apart my face with my fingertips and questioning my honesty, Leo himself thuds on the door. A casual thud I had heard many times before that meant I'm coming in. It was a timid tapping of his nails in the hollow door that made a quick, melodic pattern. One, two, three four and then once more; one, two, three, four.

I shook my head at myself for knowledge precisely every small gesture of Mister Badass himself.

I leaned closer to the sink to make clearance for the door. His hip pushed past my backside with his not-so-graceful stagger into the tiled washroom.

Now what?

The night's mopey, space cadet gaze seemed to have faded or was maybe just coated with the sly, cocky glimmer he would wear. He looked stoic, he had suddenly become reacquainted with his daily dose of acting cool.

"Kat, sit down."

He cocked his head to the right toward the bathtub.

I sat on the ledge of of tinted tub.

He hunched down, squatting in front of my face, reaching his hands towards mine.

Make a move, I told myself.

He watched closely as I place my hands under my thighs, hiding them from his sight and his reach. He lets out a long sigh and runs his hands heavily over his hair, pressing the stray pieces back and down away from his face, a habit of frustration.