Onyx_and_Elm

I’d love to be gone. I’d give anything to be gone. Let me be gone.

The slant of his handwriting is the sort you see from psychopaths. Ink is splotched everywhere. It’s almost as messy as his life, and it’s riddled with things she’d never have known from looking at him.

She hasn’t slept.

How could she? With both the past and the future colliding inside her head? Thinking about the touches he’s already given and the hate he’s going to give when he finds out?

It’s the first time she acknowledges that she doesn’t want him to hate her.

It’s also the first time she acknowledges that kissing him was…different.

He’s tall — taller than most of the boys she knows, and even though she’s always told herself that height should have nothing to do with it, there’s something about sinking into the inky darkness of his shadow. His hands are long…delicate. Aristocratic in every sense. There would’ve been no way for her to know in the past how smooth the pads of his fingers are, but after feeling them trace her naked hipbones after slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans, she knows. Oh, she knows.