pink in the night ✓

07 | limit

April 23 2012

We didn't really talk to Tanner much after that incident.

Jane said he did apologize to her over text, and that she accepted it. It wasn't like I was purposefully avoiding him or anything. He heard what had happened and decided that maybe a break in our friendship was needed, so while he kept to himself, I stayed with her most of the time. As friends, of course. Best friends.

There are still little white blotches that resembled birthmarks permanently ingrained on her arms from the bleaching that appeared when she rolled up her floofy sleeves, but other than that, she was fine. Luckily, the bleach wasn't really concentrated, so while it was toxic, it wasn't lethal or anything.

"Do you think this will cover up the marking?" she asked me, laying down a tube of concealer onto the marble kitchen counter, which had flurries of flour caking the surface. The collison made a soft clacking noise that echoed off the high ceilings, bounced off the whiskey cabinets, and swirled around a crystal chandelier.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, uncapping the make up, "probably. You don't really need to think about this right now, though. It'll get all over the dough."

"You're right," she agreed, running her hands under a stream of water streaming down from the sink's steel faucet. After lathering in lavender soap, she wiped her hands with a jewel toned rag. "I'll just try it out later."

Rolling pin in one hand and a large metal bowl in the other, she carefully laid down the materials in between us, scattering little glass bowls between the mess to separate the ingredients.

"The recipe calls for 3 cups of flour," I informed her, tracing the letters on the page with my finger. The two of us were currently in her kitchen, attempting to make a batch of dumplings.

"Got it," she muttered, dumping the required ingredient into the mixing bowl. Together, both of us continued to assemble the dough. Towards the end, we stopped measuring things precisely and started eyeballing all the amounts. I slowly poured the water in as she kneaded the dough with her hands, the chalky powder exploding everywhere in the process.

"You hungry?" she asked me, wiping her hands on her plaid apron. Spurts of white dusted off against the red.

"A little," I admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"There's leftover congee in the pot," she offered, pointing to the stove behind her.

Nodding, I ladled several spoonfuls into a bowl. Smoke rises from the porridge, warming my face..

Stirring a spoon through the lumps of rice, and I'm immediately brought back to elementary school when my mom would make this for me everyday after school.

"It's good," I told her after swallowing my first bite, "thank you."

Instead of muttering a quiet your welcome in response like I thought she was gonna do, she frowned. "You're wearing it."

"Wearing what?" I repeated, momentarily halting my chewing, confused.

"The hair scarf," she finally replied, reaching toward me to touch the silk material.

For a second our gaze connected, and I knew right then and there that I was fucked.

The butterflies were back, this time the swarm had multiplied, filling my stomach until it felt like I was about to burst. The fluttering nipped at my insides--hollowing me out. So agonizing that it pushed me off of the highest cliff of my sanity, free falling into the deepest pits of her heart, my bone crushing as I landed. It didn't matter how hard I tried to claw my way out, because she was swallowing me whole like quicksand.

I was in too deep that, in her, I saw an alternate version of myself, reflecting off of the mirror of her soul. One that saw through all my vulnerabilities, yet lacked all my flaws. Perfect.

I loved the way a singular curl graced her forehead in a comma shape, framing two thickly-lashed eyes. I loved the way her skin glowed a honey shade, and all the complexities that came with being born that color. I loved the way she tilted her head slightly when she was anxiously about to attempt something new. Most importantly, I felt an undeniable connection that I wholeheartedly have never felt with anyone else. I was drawn to her because she understood me like no one else had.

I loved her so much it physically hurt me.

I didn't tell her that, though. Instead, I freaked out at my revelation, masking my panic with a sudden cough that knocked all the wind out my lungs.

When my coughing fit died down, I exhaled sharply. "Ugh, yeah. I started taking your advice more, I guess."

"I'm glad," she replied, rolling a ball of dough and flattening it onto her palm.

"Jeez this stuff sure is messy," I mused, standing up to put the bowl in the sink.

"Tell me about it," she mumbled, using the back of her hand to wipe her face. Only, it left behind a trail of flour on her cheekbone.

"You got a mark right here," I told her, gesturing to the spot on my own face that corresponds to the place the flour was on her own.

Pouting, she reached to pat off the flour. Only she completely misses the mark.

"Lower," I told her.

Again, she tried to swipe off the powder, but to no avail. "Did I get it?"

"No," I sighed. "Here let me get it."

Leaning closer, I blotted out the streak by swiping my thumb right under her eye. We were so close in that moment, I could see a small mole directly below your eyebrow.

"Charm?" she called, confused when I didn't pull back.

I swallowed hard, contemplating my next action. If her frown was any indication, she didn't feel the same way. I didn't know that for sure, though. And if I never did anything, I'd spend the rest of my life not knowing. Maybe this was a leap of faith that was much needed.

Mustering up the courage, I captured her lips with my own. Initially, she just stood there, immobilized from astonishment, I presume. Just as I was about to pull back and apologize, she melted into me, kissing me back gently. Her cherry chapstick smudged onto the corner of my mouth.

Abruptly, she pulled away, stumbling backward. "Charm I can't."

I furrowed my brows, mortified. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

"It's not you," she explained, averting eye contact, "I still really love Tanner. Like a lot. I need time."

"Oh," I said, rubbing the nape of my neck, "oh."

I didn't say anything as we continued to pinch the corners of the dough over the stuffing.