Pencils & Polaroids

53: edge of the cliff

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you mad at me again?" He breaks the three-minute-long silence we shared with a question that makes me wonder if his brain cells got fried in the fire and died. 

I continue being unamused and unresponsive. He exhales a breath while moving a little closer to me on the wooden bench. His scent takes over the icy Californian weather. The flames feel hotter, and the air feels chiller, but his scent dominates it all. 

"Is it because of that prank? I know I crossed a line there, but you were cute." My brows furrow at his words. "Sadie recorded it until you splashed cold coffee all over the secret camera." 

Oh, they're dead. They're all so dead. 

Oh, I'm going to get him for this. But now, silence is my best weapon. 

"You know, you've got to meet me halfway here, I'm still a little sore." 

I feel his eyes on me. If I try harder, I can even make out his expressions from my side glance. I'm still stolid when he lets out another caving sigh before he shifts closer to me. He sighs a curse probably because all the movement is making him ache.  

"Okay, this is me going the extra limb, literally," he takes another shaking breath and comes closer to me. I love that he's so close to me. "Fuck it, I'll come to you myself." He breathes before filling up the distance between us. My eyes sting but I don't look away from the fire. "Are you in pain?" 

Yes. No. I don't know what this is. 

I, unthinkingly, turn to him with a raised hand that slaps him across his cheek. In my head at least, it was supposed to be gentle. But it comes off as an act of aggression that makes him almost fall off the bench. 

He isn't shocked, he's just holding his reddened cheek with his eyes narrowed into slits as he looks at me. Slowly kneading his cheek, his green eyes turn to me with a hundred question marks scattered inside them. 

"Bro, I'm already sore, and fuck--that was hard." His eyes keep closing for prolonged seconds. "If I remember correctly, this is the second time you've slapped me today. Same cheek. The least you could've done is chosen the other side--"

With one hand grabbing the collars of his shirt and the other clutching the back of his neck, I pull him to me at the same time I reach for his lips and kiss him. His eyes don't open at all. His whole body turns into stone when I brush my lips against his. He's probably still digesting the fact that I'm kissing him, for the first time ever. 

I run my fingers through his hair and he relaxes. I let go of his shirt and round my arms around his neck, trying my best to kiss him without causing him any more pain. Because his body still remains a rock and I'm starting to feel like I'm Medusa, I begin to pull away. 

I've only begun pulling my hands back, his head suddenly starts to shake. "No, no--come back here, I need more." 

His hands instantly awaken and pull me closer. His fingers get lost in my golden waves. I reunite our lips and this time, it isn't just me doing all the work. He meets me halfway and we kiss. Soft, gentle, but everything about it seems passionate. Our kiss is a cry, an angry roar, a smile, and a relief all at once. It's a mixture of everything I'm feeling but I'm so bad at putting it into words, this is the best way to show him. 

A tear slides down my eyes and the second he senses it, our kiss stops. Following that one tear comes another, and then the dam is burst open. I try not to make a noise but when I sob, he pulls away. 

I try to hide my tear-soaked face by looking away but he cups my face inside both his hands and holds it right in front of his eyes. The best I do is close my eyes and hang my head down. He raises my face after which I feel the pads of his thumb gently wipe the tears on my cheeks.