behind the streams | dnf

twenty six | kiss

GEORGE

I wake up with my face buried in his chest. 

His arm rests on my waist. 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

My heart soars and plummets. 

Last night. 

I slip out of the bed with a burst of agility but land awkwardly on the floor. The quiet thump makes me wince. 

With wide eyes I stare at him. He's still asleep despite the disturbance, and his arm rests limply where I used to be. My hand flies to my mouth and holds. I used to be there. 

What. 

What was he doing. What was he doing. 

Last night. I push myself off the floor but my hand stays glued to my face. 

Last night. There's not even the slightest hint of torpor as the memories begin flooding in. 

The door opens and closes with a mockingly gentle click.

Last night. Oh god.

I stare at the closed bedroom, hand still resting on the ice cold doorknob.  

Get away, get away, get away. I whisk around and practically slip down the stairs. My feet land on the downstairs floor silently. Without missing a beat, I curve swiftly into the kitchen. 

I stop, eyes darting around frantically. My hands twitch and fumble, itching to do something, anything.

The bag of coffee mixes he got me on Christmas watch me idly from the countertop.

My jaw clenches. I reach towards it with a barely stifled curse.

I manage to open the bag without tearing the beautiful material. Several packs spill out onto the counter, and I pick up the first one I see.

Clumsily I shuffle the mixes into an organized formation before tying them back into the soft gray bag. I slide it back onto the edge of the counter and make my way over to the coffee machine on the opposite end of the kitchen.

It brews frustratingly quietly in comparison to my rushed fervor. I stare helplessly before stumbling backwards and collapsing in one of the countertop seats, listening to the quiet rumble.

Both of my elbows press against the marble surface. I ball up my fists and jam them on my temples as the thoughts finally catch up to me.

I blink numbly as I follow the black and white texture with my eyes.

Last night.

My breath hitches as a million different feelings clamber over each other, trying to get my attention.

What do I even feel? Embarrassed? Overwhelmed? My heart is absolutely going. I jam my eyes into my palms and the blackness spins.

Why.

Why does he say those things? Why was he... doing that? 

Painful warmth rises to my cheeks.

Why is he just so-

He talked about me to her. He talked. To her. About... me. And the things he said. Why. Does he say those things.

My face burns against my frozen fingers, against the morning chill.

He's very open, I know, but this...