like real people do | c.g [#wattys2019]

K I S S

I'M NOT SURE HOW LONG HE KISSES ME FOR. Then again, am I ever? This is probably the billionth time I've kissed him and not much has changed. He was more hesitant at first, we both were. Fourteen and inexperienced and scared, I remember his fingers always bent around the belt loops of my jeans because he was too shy to slide them into my back pockets. There was a reluctance to each kiss we shared at that prison, especially at night.

Those are some of my fondest memories of us, though- the brief periods of time when things weren't awful. The days without chaos and death, no grief or anger and no restlessness when my head hit the pillow. Just the feeling of his heart beating under my hand and his nose bumping into mine as we whispered about something stupid that happened during the day. I kissed him softly and repeatedly, trying to avoid awkward teeth clanking due to smiles that were way too wide. I'd be able to almost feel the way he blushed and I loved it.

By the time we got to Alexandria, we were already hugely familiar with this side of our relationship. He held me more confidently, unafraid to pull me toward him at any time. Tara used to joke that we could cuddle on any surface and it was- and maybe still is- true. His bed or mine, a couch, the gazebo that I still miss, even in the woods. There was a permanent spot that I claimed as my own on his lap, the crevice of his neck a perpetual pillow. It was rare for us not to be touching in even the most minuscule of ways- his hand enveloping mine, my legs draped over his thighs, his touch light on my waist or my frame leaning against his side as we stood.

We've always been attached at the hip but I think this touch-starvation came from both how long it took us to get together and how much we cherished the time we did get to spend as a couple.

We're even worse now. We had days and weeks and months then. Even through bloodshed and loss and outrage we had each other. Sometimes it was enough, sometimes it wasn't, but I knew I'd retain a semblance of sanity as long as I had him to come home to.

Now, I don't. Now, we have fleeting hours, days if we're lucky. Day after day of waking up alone and going to sleep without anyone to hold and it hurts so bad. We're trying, he's trying. To stay with me and for us to have a life together again but certain people don't want to allow that. I taught myself not to be bitter at Rick, Carl's already resentful enough for the both of us.

I hate it, being the driving force of their slow but steady estrangement. I never wanted this, I'm sure Rick didn't either. But he knows his son, he knows how stubborn Carl is- he even takes after his dad. So he knows that forcing his hand isn't the right way to proceed, and yet he does it.

He does it to keep Carl safe. No parent would allow his fourteen-year-old son to move to a community two hours away for a girl that he'd been dating for less than six months. He knew we loved each other even then, or at least I hope he did, but he thought we'd fizzle out. He didn't want Carl to be unsafe and alone in another place for something that could end too quickly. I understand that. I respected it even if it stung.