Setting Me On Fire

20

Resisting

The next morning, my body was still buzzing from last night. But I was lost for words, just like last night after Alexander told me loved me. Without another word, we went to sleep, and I couldn't help but feel bad.

So now, as we sat in the kitchen after everyone went out to do their usual weekend ritual, we were engulfed in silence. I was prowling my mind for what to say, how to start a conversation.

I risked a glance at Alexander, who, of course, already had his eyes on me. I lower my eyes.

I put a piece of pancake in my mouth, it didn't have enough whipped cream. I look at him, and we reach for the whipped cream at the same time, my hand brushes his. A shiver goes through me.

He picks it up and hands it to me, I take it and offer him a small smile. I apply whipped cream to my pancake and hand it to him. As he takes it, his hands brush mine, and another jolt of chills moves through me.

He picks up his mug and blows on his coffee, as he takes a sip his eyes land on mine over the rim of his mug.

I look down and place another piece of pancake in my mouth. The only sound was the clinking of our spoons on our plates, and the tap of his mug whenever he places it on the island countertop.

I cataloged last night as a weird, awkward occurrence that won't be easy to deal with in the morning.

He clears his throat, and I lock eyes with him. "Hi."

A small smile makes its way onto my face. As I blow a lock of hair from my face, he crosses his arms on the table, leaning in. He stares into my eyes as I sip from my coffee.

"Hey."

He smiles and tilts his head as I set my cup down. "There's nothing you want to say about my confession last night?"

I shake my head. "Tell me you don't feel the same way, let me have it." I couldn't tell him that, and he knew it.

I looked down, moving around the pancake bits on my plate. I sigh and hop off the barstool. I don't spare him a glance as I make my way to the stairs. Suddenly he grabs my hand and pulls my lips to his. He wraps his arms around my back and pulls me closer, I get dizzy and hold on to him to stop myself from falling.

I pull away and push him away from me. "I can't." I shake my head and continue to make my way to the stairs.

"Why not?" He says as he follows me up the steps. I shake my head, and he follows me down the hall and into my room. I sit on my daybed and glance out the window trying to ignore the buzzing on my skin from the kiss.

"You didn't feel anything back there?"

I look at him, and our eyes lock. He's sitting on the corner of my bed staring at me. He looked tired, but even that looks good on him. And he smirks at me now because he knows it.

"I hate you," I say and look away. He stands up and sits in front of me. "I mean, I don't hate you, I just..."

He lifts an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "You hate how I make you feel."

How did he always seem to know how I felt? He read me so perfectly, it scared me. That was part of the reason I couldn't give myself to him. He was too aware of who I was.

I gulp, and look at the view of New York. "You love me."

I look at him, as I speak I try to keep my voice nonchalant. "No, I don't."

He leans in, a smirk still plastered on his face. "You could say that all you want, love," he says. My face burns up. "It's written on your face."

"Just friends," I say as I look back out the window. "Just that, nothing more."