Kisses From Death | Book 1

T W E N T Y - T H R E E

T W E N T Y - T H R E E
Kiss Me Not

THE LAST TIME in which I had felt butterflies in my stomach was when Lucius asked me out back when we were in our junior year. It was a romantic little scene, where he had rose petals strewn across the floor and a guitar in his hands as he serenaded me in front of the entire student body. Before that, Lucius and I had been friends for about a year, acquaintances for many more others, but that day was the first time in which I had gone out on a date with him.

I didn't know how he could pull it off at that time. It wasn't just a normal date to the movies like any other teenage couple. Instead, Lucius had rented out a small speedboat to go round the creek surrounding our little town. We watched the sunset on that boat, along with a nice picnic basket that held our dinner and a little bit of sparkling delicious champagne.

Even till this day where our lives were no longer intertwined, I could still remember the scene so perfectly that it seemed like yesterday. The sun was a large bright orange yolk set upon the waves of the water, setting just slightly when Lucius had popped open the bottle, gently pouring the bubbly liquid into the champagne flutes before handing me one. When we clinked our glasses together, he had smiled so very charmingly, sipping on the drink.

"To us," he had said, and I could remember the younger version of me just gazing lovingly into his eyes. The words he had said back then had blessed me with many nights of insane joy. We were a few years strong, our relationship seemingly unbreakable before he hightailed and ran away. It was only now when I looked back had I realized that his cheer of victory was more of him toasting to himself rather than us. From the beginning, Lucius only cared for himself, putting his own safety and interests first. I was never close.

Thinking back, I couldn't help but feel bitter that Lucius decided all was better when he held Porsha in his arms instead of me. Fine by me. I don't need someone that doesn't need me. The only person I will ever need is myself. And yet, that didn't stop me from crying my heart out for a night, risking puffy eyes and runny noses. I did not cry anymore after that. That was only because a few days later, the party followed and here we are.

I had never expected myself to be so affected by Cassiel. We had met for barely a day, and even though he claimed to have known me for longer than I have known him, it still did not justify this attraction. You see, I don't believe in love at first sight, perhaps not since the very beginning of my life unless we're talking about a new outfit in the mall. "Love at first sight" is a fairy tale woven by lovesick romantics, spreading it to others that shared the same way of thinking. Other than a good pair of lacquered heels, or perhaps even a nice large pepperoni pizza, there was no such thing as love at first sight.

What I have with Cassiel is definitely not love. I don't even know the boy enough to declare it as something such as love. But this is definitely some sort of attraction, and mutual or not, I do not know.

As we made our way down the corridors once more, we were met with silence. There was the occasional crunching sound of when Bella bit into the apple, or Lucius snacking on small chocolate biscuits, but other than that, we walked in complete silence, not a single word spoken. Through this little return journey, I had already long devoured five green apples in an attempt to satisfy my hunger. It might have curbed it, but the heavens know that this would never be enough for me.

Cassiel walked right behind my steps, his presence ever constant as we curved another corner. From our minimal distance, I could smell a faint scent of cologne from him. A sort of perfect blend of the fragrances of peppermint, chrysanthemum, and aftershave. For a man, he smelt of flowers very strongly, but that wasn't necessarily bad. In fact, it coordinated perfectly with his personality. Someone so playful and bright, and yet mysterious. He was a concoction of variating differences.