It Comes in Waves

Thirty Five

As soon as questions are answered, more take their places. Questions about my family's death and Louis' life.

Questions like: Am I allowed to kiss Louis whenever I feel like it now? Are we something, even though technically we can never officially be anything? How will this change our friendship? And is he really certain that he cares as much as he says he does?

My mind is tripping over these questions as I snap a barrette into my hair. Mags cut my hair for me, so it isn't quite as long as a girl's anymore. The barrette makes me feel pretty. I want Louis to think I'm pretty. I love him.

All I know is that it would be best if I am not allowed to kiss him whenever I feel like it, because I always feel like it. Kissing him was very different than I had always imagined in the way that instead of satisfying the urge that's been pestering me for a long time, it opened up a floodgate of emotions and now I feel I could kiss him a million times and it wouldn't be enough.

My fingers keep rising to touch my lips almost in disbelief, and I don't understand what I keep checking for. Perhaps a sign that I really did just kiss him, or the words he said to me tattooed where I can never lose them.

Perhaps I'm looking to see if something about me has changed, because I feel different now. His confession left me warm and I still feel that way and things aren't as heavy currently.

My mind is still a loop but when it starts curving around familiar, painful paths, my fingers are at my lips again, and then I'm smiling.

I meet Louis in the kitchen when I'm dressed. He's gazing out the window when I enter, his posture relaxed and a smile on his face. I feel like jumping up and down in something akin to giddiness when I see him.

He turns around we stare at each other for a minute, and I'm smiling sheepishly and he almost looks shy and there are millions of insects trapped inside of my stomach, beating their wings frantically against my skin to get me to let them out.

I think he has just as many questions as I do, and we're both watching the other to see if we can deduce enough answers to know what to do next.

Almost as if there's a magnet inside of me drawing me towards him, I'm walking down the now-familiar path to him. When I stop in front of him, I hold my hand out.

His smile is soft as he slides his hand down into mine and grips it tightly.

"Dinner time?" I ask, because maybe it's okay to have questions.

He tugs on my hand and pulls me in, hugging me tightly.

"Dinner time." He affirms, his voice muffled against my hair. And then I feel like I'm drowning, because everything he does makes my heart swell until it's just too much.

I clutch him back tightly as if I can stamp out the feelings of attachment taking over me from the inside, but it only makes it worse because the tighter I hold him the more I am sure that I can never hold him as close as I want to.

"I have an idea," Louis mumbles. He's not making a move to let go and I'm not either.

"A good one, I hope?" I ask.

I'm in a familiar position, with his neck at eye level, trying desperately not to kiss it. I still don't know if that's something I'm allowed to do, and my first instinct is still to repress the urge.

He pulls back a little, grinning down at me.

"Let's see how long it takes old Cupid two houses down to figure out anything is different," snickers.

Laughter boils up and spills from my lips and I'm giggling along with him.

Oh, Mags. She's been trying for this since the day I met him. I would feel bad for teasing her, but I have a feeling it won't take her long to catch on to anything.