hopeless | jean kirstein

29 | an untimely confession

Nine hundred and twenty-two, nine hundred and twenty-three, nine hundred and twenty-four...

Jean blinked at his ceiling as he recited the numbers in his head, waiting for the drowsiness of the night to kick in. He'd been at this for a while now and was about to reach a thousand, yet he was still awake, stiff in his bed, eyes wide open as he hopelessly tried to lull himself to sleep. It didn't work, obviously, seeing as he was conscious enough to be counting to a thousand without skipping any numbers.

Nine hundred and forty-six, nine hundred and forty-seven...

Nights like these were the ones he hated the most. At least in sleep he was accompanied by dreams, or blood-curdling nightmares, whichever of them his mind decided was more entertaining. At least when he eventually woke up in the morning, all would be forgotten and tucked back into a tiny corner of his brain.

But when he was left with his thoughts, it was all the more bothersome. When one was not able to sleep, the brain tended to remind them of particularly mortifying moments, or an enigma of thoughts that plagued them until sleep was just not possible at all.

Nine hundred and eighty-nine, nine hundred and ninety.

Tonight, his brain chose to torture him with thoughts of her.

Ah yes, his dear best friend, Taryn. His beloved friend that just kissed the living daylights out of him earlier. Completely sober. Just out of her own free will. She kissed him.

One thousand.

Jean suddenly felt that the room was a bit too hot for his liking.

He shifted uncomfortably in his spot and got rid of the stupid blanket covering his face. She kissed him. He kissed her back, sure, but he wouldn't have done it if she hadn't initiated it.

His mind wandered back to their previous kiss in Mitras, but he'd already accepted that incident as a lapse of judgement. A mistake, if you will. A heat-of-the-moment type of thing that shouldn't have happened again.

Oh well, but it did. And whereas before it was his fault, now it was hers. It wasn't the heat of the moment either, since there was absolutely no moment. He had just been tending to her wounds, that's all.

Which boils everything down to two possibilities. She liked him, or she was toying with him. In his case, he really hoped it was the former.

Judging by her reaction, it was clear. After he reciprocated, she stepped away in shock as if finally coming to her senses, then scurried away from him like a mouse almost caught in a trap. He didn't even get the chance to tell her how he felt.

But what did he feel, really?

Well, he felt safe with her. He felt happy seeing her smile. He longed to spend time with her, whether he was teasing her or just being in her presence.

He realized he really just...admired her whole being. Everything about Taryn was pleasing to him. Her slight sarcasm, her kindness. Her obnoxious kettle laugh and her little eye-smile. Her sense of fashion involving mismatched socks and fancy hats that covered half of her face. Her obsession with dresses and the tiny trinkets that she'd always lose not even a day later.

The way she was also very brave and ready to do anything for her loved ones. How patient she was with his outbursts and how she always tried to understand him. She'd always been on his side and he felt awful for only appreciating it now.

The sound of Connie snoring loudly broke him out of his internal monologue. He turned to look at the boy, narrowing his eyes at the sight of drool falling from his mouth to his shirt. He sighed, feeling his eyelids droop at last.