Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
(show him how you feel)
* * *
A few hours had passed since the kiss—it was now verging on four o'clock—and I still couldn't work up the courage to go back and face James.
What had transpired earlier tonight was something big, the kind of thing that we couldn't just sweep under the rug and ignore, erasing its existence from our minds. That was what scared me: when I went back, we'd have to talk about it, address the giant elephant in the room, no matter how much I wanted to overlook it.
That alone sounded terrifying, but it was only made worse by the fact that my thoughts on the situation were a jumbled mess, a tangled web of feelings that would be nearly impossible to sort through. Besides, it wasn't like there were any words to articulate how exactly I felt about all this.
Or maybe there were, and I just hadn't discovered them yet. Either way, if I were to face James right then, I wouldn't have anything to say. That's what kept me from going back and getting the sleep I desperately needed.
It was funny, actually. The whole point of our night out had been to make me forget and we'd succeeded, just not in the way I imagined. Thoughts of my dad had been pushed to the very back of my mind, but at what cost? Now, I had to deal with the fact that my best friend—the guy I'd grown up with—was in love with me.
How was I supposed to handle a confession like that? It was so random too, which was why it had shaken me to my core. Never in a million years would I have thought James would be in love with me, and yet here we were.
However, there was still a sliver of doubt in my mind. Did he really love me? The confession had followed along on the heels of a devastating break-up; emotions were running high, and who's to say that what he felt for me then was love? He could have just been thankful that I was there for him and mistaken the surge of gratitude for love. That was a possibility.
Except I'd mentioned that, and he told me he'd loved me for a while. That he just never knew how to put into words what he felt for me. That was a situation I could relate to, given my struggle to describe exactly how I felt about the confession, the kiss—
God, that kiss.
It seemed as if wherever my thoughts went, they always returned back to that kiss. That moment was seared into my memory, and I knew I'd always remember it. I'd remember the way my body immediately tensed up at the contact, the way his lips moved over mine while I did absolutely nothing, unable to comprehend what was happening.
With the way I'd reacted, you'd have thought it was my first kiss. All the signs were there: the confusion, the nerves, the 'oh my god, what do I do' feeling.
