Twenty-Six

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"How did you get this way?" And it was Foster. His lips looked as if they had been dipped in a rose. And the walls whispered about him.

I pointed to a scar, above his left eyebrow, "How did you get this?" I repeated. And he nodded his head in understanding. Nobody wanted to tell. 

"I," and then there was a spirit of admittance that washed over the whole room, he took my hand and moved my fingers softly over it. The scar felt so deep, tied to so many emotions. My hand would have gone limp touching his skin like this if he wasn't holding it, "I'm sorry, Darls."

"It's okay." He had apologized on behalf of the entire world.

"I mean," he licks his petal mouth, "I'm sorry for kissing you."

"Oh," and the world got destroyed just then. 

His eyes follow a tight rope, "Lilian is my girlfriend and she's a good person, Darla, she knows about me like no one else."

He let go of my hand and it fell lifelessly onto the bed. I missed touching him so much already.

"I understand, Foster," I pretend to be a peach, "it's okay." 

"You look beautiful, " he said, brushing hair from my face, "But I won't kiss you again. Ever. I promise."

"I won't kiss you." He didn't stop repeating that until he was out of the room. And I felt my eyes well up with tears. 




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