Chapter 9 #3
“You’re going to get it now,” he says, and then he reaches for me, grabbing my legs as I kick away from him, laughing. My head’s spinning like I’m on a freaking never-ending upside-down rollercoaster.
“Blue,” I shout again.
He’s tickling my sides now. I push my elbows down to protect my armpits, and then I decide to grab his hands. I force him on his back, straddling him. I push his hands on either side of his head.
“Stop it,” I breathe, looking down at him with a smile.
He smiles up at me, lifting his face. “Or what?”
I’m sitting on his stomach, feeling his fast breath underneath me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Blue Golding this playful. Never in a million years would I ever think he’d act like this. If he wants to play, I can play.
I lean down, “Or I’m going to put you on a time-out like they do in your games.”
He tries to lift his hands, so I use all my strength to keep them down. He stops fighting me, so I fall forward near his face. His eyes just stare into mine.
I swallow. “Is that what you want?”
His head falls on the pillow. And then he smirks. “No.”
“Then say sorry,” I demand.
He looks down at my lips. His smile grows really big. “Your mustache makes it really hard to take you seriously.”
I freeze, realizing how close our faces are. I remember the stupid mustache on my face, so I release his hands and try to rub it off. And then I try to swing my leg to get off him. His hands immediately stop me by grabbing my thighs.
My breath catches as I look down at him. He sits up a little, so naturally I scoot back a little until I fall in his lap. His face is near mine when he whispers, “I’m sorry.”
I look at his face, feeling his breath on mine. “For what?” I ask, forgetting how I even landed in his lap.
He says, staring deep into my eyes, “For more than the tickling.”
Whatever was in my chest a moment drops into the center of my body.
“Why?” I ask. “Why do something and then be sorry for it?”
His eyes stay on mine. His head shakes once. “I don’t know, but I know I owe you an apology.”
“You do?”
He nods, reaching for my face. He doesn’t touch me, and I can’t fucking stand it, so I physically grab his hand and place it on my cheek. I close my eyes in his large palm, feeling his rough calluses against my skin. I lean into him, and then I open my eyes again.
He’s watching me. He murmurs, “I almost called, texted, almost reached out to you over the past two years.”
His hand settles against my face at his own will now, cupping my cheek.
“Almost,” I swallow, tasting the word. “Almost?”
The word feels like a stab to my heart.
Almost isn’t enough.
My pulse starts racing out of control. My mind’s racing with a thousand almost scenarios. I think that’s the perfect word for us. We were almost something. Never quite something, never quite nothing, and that alone is what haunts me the most.
“Almost,” he whispers, keeping his warm hand against me.
His fingers snake to the back of my neck, and I lean into him even more.
When he leans in, I think he might be kissing me, but instead, he pulls me into a hug.
My chin hooks behind his shoulder, and his arms wrap around me and pull me closer to him until there’s no air between us.
At first, my hands are on his ribs, and then I accept the hug and put my arms around him.
He’ll always be my favorite almost.
We stay like this for longer than I’d like to admit.
I completely dissolve in his arms. We’re just two lost souls who found each other again, and I don’t ever –– and I mean ever –– want to let him go.
Eventually, I slide my hand up to his head of hair.
I run my fingers through the length. His hair isn’t long, but it’s not short.
I always liked how he kept it cut at the perfect length.
With my other hand, I start lightly massaging his back.
He sighs into my hair and then swings my back onto the bed. I keep my legs wrapped around him. His chin is still on my shoulder, but his face is shoved into the pillow underneath my head. I keep playing with his hair and running my fingernails on his spine.
We don’t say anything for a very long time.
His chest is against mine, and it feels like our heartbeats are one now.
I forgot what it was like to have him this close, and everything in my body is firing with signals.
My gut is telling me that he’s always been the one, but my mind’s screaming at me to let him go –– he’s drunk, and he doesn’t mean this.
I know I should run, but I can’t move. I want to stay.
The internal war between heart and mind isn’t one I have the energy for right now.
I’ve learned to love him just as he is, even the days he runs away from me.
Because this –– this proves to me that it’ll always be me.
His large body on mine feels heavier and heavier with each passing moment. But it’s weird how comfortable this is, like he’s a weighted blanket. Without realizing it, I close my eyes and slowly drift off to sleep.