Because You're Different ✔

57. Worthy

June

No.

That was the only word echoing through my mind in that moment, and I didn't even know if it was the Spanish or the English no, just like I wasn't even really sure why I'd been thinking it. Supposed it was an answer to a question.

I wasn't in a state to suppose any more than that.

Because I was warm with wine.

Because he was right there, crouching in front of me.

Because my lips were on his.

For once, it was the only part of my body I was aware of, the rest weirdly absent, like I'd temporarily disabled everything but my mouth. He was totally still, paralyzed even, undergoing my attack motionlessly, as if he was a cardboard cutout, and I was a kid thinking this was a good way to practice my skills.

After a few moments, my senses started to return, one by one, making me aware of the penetrating scent of the red wine overflowing the floor, combined with the orange-tinted sweetness of my birthday cake, of the hard surface of the chair underneath me, of the cool air against my bare legs, and most of all, of him and the creamy taste of whipped cream. What was happening? How long had we been like this, he and I merged, no longer separated by oceans or by air?

Was he going to push me away?

I braced myself, waiting for the shove, for the end of this strange and oddly satisfying situation.

But no.

There was no shove. Instead, there was a response, and what had been an impulsive act of bravery or foolishness, turned into a kiss, or what I assumed to be a kiss. A little too rough, a little too haphazard — still, it stopped everything around me, the sound of the fridge humming delicately, the pool of wine expanding its territory, the very existence of time.

I was kissing Nathan.

It seemed like he had the same realization. The next moment, he was gone, leaving me with the ghost of his touch still on my sensitive lips. Afraid to open my eyes, I stayed like that for a while, trying to savor the memory of what had just taken place. Something in my stomach prevented me from doing that, something panicking, first faintly — until I did look down, and I caught the sight of him.

He had fallen backward, his elbows the only thing keeping him from being spread out on the kitchen floor, and he was staring up at me, petrified — if it wasn't for his chest rapidly rising up and down, he could've been a statue. The sight of him was fantasy material, dark blue jeans, T-shirt ridden up, blond hair messy as a consequence of the dancing we'd done earlier.

It was real, though.

Very real.

I kissed him.

Oh god. I'd ruined everything.

All the trust we'd build up in the past two and a half years, all of the trust we'd steadily reconstructed today... All vanished. Irreparable and spoiled, like the wine I'd spilled several minutes ago.

No, had been the word.

No, I wasn't going to let him get away again without at least trying once.

It should've been no, I would never embarrass myself like that and endanger our friendship for something that is only destined to fail.

I clutched the edge of my seat, with both hands, so tightly that it hurt. How I hadn't averted my gaze yet was a mystery, since everything in me was screaming to apologize or run away — do anything to salvage the situation. It seemed like I was stuck to the ocean blue, though, determined to take the color in in case it was the last time I'd ever see it. I couldn't move, only concentrate on the nausea surging through me.