Playing with Forever

Chapter 32: Sketches

I was supposed to be reading our AP English assignment at Sam's house a few days later, but Sam was sketching as we sat facing each other. He was bent over the sketchbook, drawing intently, and I took the opportunity to just stare at his beautiful face. I gazed at his cheekbones and the small bump in his nose, his chocolate lashes surrounding the round, brown eyes that I loved so much.

His dark hair kept falling into his eyes, and when he brushed it back, he smeared graphite dust on his forehead. He kept shooting glances at me, but he wasn't meeting my eyes, just taking in the little characteristics of my face. He absentmindedly gnawed at his lip.

"What are you drawing?" I asked, suspicious.

Smiling broadly, he straightened up and carefully tore the sketch from his notebook.

"Here," he said, looking satisfied.

I took the paper and examined his sketch. Sam had drawn me. Or at least, the girl in the sketch resembled me, but it was not the me I saw in the mirror every day. Her eyes were bright, her mouth set in a gentle smile, looking radiant.

"Is this how you see me?" I asked, looking up at him in surprise. Expression soft, he nodded. "You make me look beautiful." I could see his love for me shining from the picture.

"You are beautiful," he insisted.

A shy, satisfied smile crossed my mouth. "Thank you, Sam. I think you're pretty, too."

Sam laughed, and pulled my hand to his mouth. Smiling broadly, he kissed my knuckles. "That is the nicest thing you have ever said to me."

"I mean it."

Looking introspective, he asked, "Have you always been attracted to me?"

I smiled despite the blush flushing my cheeks. "Always. I used to get butterflies when I saw you in class, before we even spoke."

"Used to?"

"Well," I said, feeling vulnerable but happy at the same time, "it's just a given that I still do."

He turned my hand over and traced patterns on my palm. "I feel them for you, too. I've thought you were beautiful since the first time I saw you. It used to kill me that I could not get to know you."

"Why couldn't you?" I asked, surprised.

"I did not want to hurt you."

"What's changed?"

His eyes softened as they met mine, and I melted at the emotion swimming in them. "I fell in love with you."

The words sank deep into me, alighting my insides with brightness and warmth. "I love you too," I whispered.

After a moment, Sam leaned towards me slowly. Watching me closely for reaction, and finding no panic in my response, he reached out and laid his hand on my cheek. He went slow, giving me plenty of time to object or pull away, but I did neither. I was swimming in anxiety, but it was anxious anticipation, not a trauma response. I wanted him as his eyes drifted to my lips, and I licked them reflexively. I wasn't exactly sure how to initiate the kiss, to speed Sam towards me. The only kisses I'd ever had were the ones I'd shared with Sam, and though I'd initiated our first one, it had been easier. I hadn't known it would trigger me.

Now, there was a chance I'd be overwhelmed with my trauma again, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to kiss Sam. I waited in anticipation, and Sam finally put his mouth on mine.

It was the first time we had kissed since the day I had freaked out two weeks prior. His mouth was gentle on mine, tenderly caressing my lips with his, and I was suffused in joy. I felt loved, I felt precious, I felt warmth and excitement flooding through my body. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair as he continued to give me small, butterfly kisses.

He was the one to break away and I took everything I had in me not to melt right into him. Sam ran his fingers through my hair, staring at me with awe.

"Can I keep the sketch?" I whispered. I wanted it, wanted to put it in my room where I could look at it and remind myself of this moment, this kiss, over and over again.

"I'll have to do another one for me to keep, then," Sam said.

I put my hands over my warm cheeks. "No more! This is embarrassing."

"I'll only make you more beautiful if I have to do it from memory," he warned.

I sighed. "Fine," I relented, and tried to give him a sarcastic face, but I couldn't fight the smile that tried to break free. "Draw this, then."

He laughed, wrapping his hand around mine. "Gladly. I want to draw you from all angles, with all your expressions. I want to capture you on a hundred pages, so when you are not here beside me, I can remind myself that you are real."

I sighed happily at his words. "Fine," I teased. "But I get to draw you first. That's my final offer."

He smirked but handed over the sketchbook. "Do your worst."