Bliss

twelve

You know how Stella Got Her Groove Back?

The movie, with Angela Basset?

Well, this is how Lizzie got her itch back. And not in the teasing, elusive way I hate. But in a real way.

It's here, baby. Sparking at my fingertips, coursing through my veins, beating in my heart. Cliché, maybe, but very, very true.

I wake up to it. To a tingling, fizzing sensation that bubbles up and spews forth like pink sparkly vomit. It surges through my body, leaving me a restless, jittering mess.

I want nothing more than to rush to the beach with a sketchbook and HB pencil. No shoes, no bikini, nothing. Just me and a few blank pages. It's not like I need anything anyway. Not if I'll be doing the one thing I've been dying to. But the sensible part of me jumps in, leaping forth like a nervous frog, and forces me to the bathroom.

I bump into Essie on my way. She's wearing one of Henry's old t-shirts and a sheepish grin. "I didn't realise you were staying the night," I laugh, hoping to take the edge off.

"Neither did I." She shuffles from foot to foot. "But Henry said your parents had an early start." Her voice trails off, her eyes firmly on the hardwood flooring.

"It's alright," I say. "I doubt my parents would care anyway. Henry's not a baby. He's allowed to have girls over."

"You sure? I don't want to cause any problems."

"Of course, and even if it was a problem, I'd never snake. Henry used to catch my boyfriend sneaking out all the time."

"You're boyfriend?" Her eyebrows shoot into her hairline.

"Sorry," I laugh, "I mean my ex."

"Was it recent?"

"A few weeks ago."

"So you're still in the mourning phase?"

"Pretty much."

"It gets easier," she says, nodding. "Not right away, but then one day you wonder why you were even with them in the first place."

"Who broke your heart?" I ask, laughing awkwardly.

"No one. But Elle recently broke up with her boyfriend. They were together for three years, even survived the first year of uni, but long-distance isn't really workable, at least not for Elle."

"Oh." I should say poor Elle or something to that effect. Then again, if her glare is anything to go by, I doubt she'd appreciate my pity, sincere or otherwise.

"She's fine now," Essie says. "Scars heal, you know."

"Yeah, fingers crossed."

"Anyway, I should really be going. Henry promised pancakes."

"Seriously?" He must really like her. I mean, he doesn't cook for just anyone. Hell, he doesn't cook full stop. "Could you make sure he saves me a few?" I ask.

"Will do." She scuttles past, practically running towards the kitchen, and leaves me to slip into the bathroom.

It's like a sauna in here. I reach out for the mirror and wipe away the thick condensation until I see my distorted reflection. Staring through the steam, my fingers drift to my mouth, tracing a path around my lips. The moment I see it, my fingers pressed against my cupids bow, I jump back.

He almost kissed me.

An actual kiss—okay, almost kiss.

It's the closest we've been in a lifetime.