Chapter 23
The second our lips touch, everything ceases to exist.
There is only his hands, his body, his lips. How the smell of him seems to utterly overwhelm my senses. Musk and spice with a warm woodiness that sends my head into a fuzzy haze; all I can think is that I must have lost consciousness after all and fallen headfirst into a dream, a myth, a vision.
His lips graze over mine before quickly turning firmer, the softness of his lips contrasting magnificently against the hot pressure of his kiss and rough stubble that brushes against me.
Something in the pit of my stomach sets alight, the intensity of it almost unbearable.
I greedily thrust my hands into his hair to grab fistfuls of it, immediately noting with irritation that it’s feathery-soft.
His hands and mouth scream with expertise, his hands skimming up my shoulders toward my jaw, and I find myself biting down on a moan.
He wastes no time reaching a hand behind the nape of my neck and gently brushing his thumb against my jaw, tipping my head back to gain better access to my mouth as his tongue sweeps lightly across my bottom lip.
The back of my head rests against the wall as I surrender to him with a throaty moan and his tongue meets mine.
His hand clenches harder in the back of my hair in response and his other arm pulls me to him tightly, desperately.
It doesn’t feel like enough. My mind is dark with desire, all reason escaping me.
The heat building in my core cries out for more of him. More heat, more pressure. More Elliot.
My hands move of their own accord, drifting down down his chest hungrily. Frantically trying to drink him in. The feel of him under my fingertips proves too much to bear as I curl his shirt in my fist and pull him even closer.
His strong body presses mine more firmly against the wall, a gasp escaping me as the sensation of him pushes against exactly where I want it.
His hands travel down over my hips, tormenting the pulsing ache between my legs. I whimper and let his lips travel down to the base of my jaw, my breaths beginning to come out ragged and heavy.
A harsh clicking sound reverberates in my ears and the sensation of Elliot’s lips vanishes from my skin, his head whipping towards the sound.
A group of men stand behind him in the open doorway of the telephone box with their eyes wide; the one holding the door immediately raises a hand apologetically.
‘Oh, shit – sorry, mate!’ he says with a laugh, before letting the door close.
The sounds of swirling bass and heavy, breathy vocals from the surrounding music fill the empty space between us once again.
What was that?
What on earth was that??
My attention slowly drifts from the door back to Elliot, and it’s clear that the spell between us has been broken.
He’s fiercely avoiding eye contact with me, staring at the glass beside us with heavy breaths and a dark stare.
I can’t stop myself from looking at his lips in disbelief with my eyes hazy and limbs heavy.
He exhales harshly and his eyes snap back to mine with a new kind of intensity.
‘I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have done that,’ he says hurriedly, his head shaking with regret.
Something feels like it’s been torn at my core, scattering white-hot shreds of hurt that plummet to my stomach. I blink at him, wondering if at any moment now, my eyes will start to burn with tears of embarrassment, but it takes me a second to realise that I’m not sad. I’m angry.
Frosty humiliation spreads like a wildfire inside me: scalding, insistent and all too familiar. I wish the floor of the telephone box would open and swallow me whole. I shouldn’t be so surprised. But for some reason, I didn’t think he would express his regret so quickly.
I push past him to get out, almost tripping over my own feet in my desperate attempt to get away from him; my heart thundering with embarrassment and shame.
In this moment, I hate him. I hate his smile and his endless patience and his eyelashes and the way his blue eyes glow when the sun hits them.
I curse his easy laugh and how his voice turns lighter when he teases me and the fact that he grabbed Teddy’s drumstick.
I hate it so much that I almost feel my vision distort with rage.
I press my fringe down to try to cover as much of my face as possible as I feel his hand graze my arm.
‘Wait, Nora, wait–’
I snatch my arm away and make for the exit, detesting everything about this tent. The dark lighting and heavy thud of the music around us feels too cloudy and intoxicating. I need air. Now.
‘Nora, they just saw you. They might follow us–’
‘Let them,’ I snap, glancing back at him with a snarl.
Finally reaching the entrance, I whip the red curtain back with fury and step out into the cool air. The distant noise of the crowds around the Jungle stages settles around me as I march away from Neptune’s Lounge with conviction.
For a second, I don’t know where the drumstick is and I don’t even care, I just need to get away. But the realisation that the drumstick is still sitting in my bag hits me, and I realise with horror that he’s not going to walk away anytime soon.
For the first time, I consider handing it over in exchange for solitude. Familiar and predictable solitude.
The sound of his footsteps approach me from behind and I feel him cautiously brush my arm again.
‘Nora, slow down. You okay?’ He has the gall to sound genuinely confused.
‘Fine,’ I reply dully as I keep the same pace.
I’m heading towards the least populated corner of the Jungle, which from here looks like a small sitting area next to a mini caravan that looks like it’s been converted into a bar.
My legs just move without any need for instruction, potentially from the heated charge still pulsing through them from my ebbing embarrassment.
I cross my arms to protect them from the biting breeze.
Elliot steps forward to match my pace.
‘Do you – don’t you think we should talk about what just happened?’
I take a panicked glance at his eager expression and am struck with a horrible, inexplicable pain. I wish it didn’t sting so badly. I tear my eyes away again and set my sight firmly on the caravan.
‘Honestly? Let’s not. We should be thinking about the next clue; we lost enough time in there.’ I’m determined to keep my voice plain and unwavering.
I have absolutely no interest in discussing the fact that he wishes our brief, earth-shattering kiss hadn’t happened.
My mind races through potential reasons why he kissed me in the first place; maybe it was alcohol, he got caught in the moment, he wanted to forget his ex, he had experienced a brief moment of insanity.
I don’t care. I never want to hear about it.
I wish that it could be wiped from both of our memories, scratched away and neatly replaced with anything else.
‘Nora listen, I’m sorry–’
I flinch and try to not let the hurt show on my face before finally gathering the courage to face him.
‘It was nothing.’ I try to sound relaxed, but my voice still sounds hard and odd in my ears. ‘It’s fine. So, let’s just let it go and never talk about it again, okay?’
He pauses, looking searchingly around my face, which I keep carefully blank.
‘That was nothing?’ he asks, his eyes turning darker.
My mouth still feels inflamed and red-hot from the kiss. I have to stop my eyes from drifting back down to his lips, heavy with the knowledge that they had just been kissing me senseless only minutes ago.
I cross my arms tighter to my body and shrug, forcing an easy air into my voice. ‘Listen, it’s fine. You apologised, apology accepted. No need to talk about it.’
He’s quiet for a moment, watching me with wary eyes. ‘Okay.’
I can only stare at him in response, desperately stifling the burning pain above my eyes, willing the tears that are threatening to not spill over.
Sure, maybe I am a little sad after all.
He shrugs helplessly. ‘Maybe we should just get going,’ he says gruffly. ‘Think about the next clue, like you said.’
I nod. He must be feeling as embarrassed as I am, albeit for probably different reasons.
‘Right,’ I mumble, turning on my heel.
As we walk together in silence, my dimming humiliation starts to make way for the inevitable: disappointment. I had started to feel close to Elliot, like he was someone I could comfortably open up to. Someone I could call a friend by the end of the weekend.
Now I’m not so sure. He was unreadable and guarded from the second we met, but this makes me realise I truly have no idea what he’s thinking. I recall the image of the immediate regret in his dark eyes and the ground almost feels unsteady beneath me.
We say nothing as we take a pause so I can put my jacket back on. He plunges his hands in his pockets, his face devoid of emotion. The idea of the rest of our time together feeling this awkward and forced when things had been so easy mere hours ago makes my cheeks flush with shame all over again.
We approach the sitting area to find that all of the benches are taken. I press my lips together, suddenly wishing that the festival’s electricity supply might miraculously run out at this very moment so I could run away from him into the darkness.
A nearby act must have just finished as swarms of people make their way through the entrance of the Jungle, ready for the next phase of their Saturday night. They flood the area, an endless outpouring. I resist the urge to groan.
Just as I’m working out a strategy, a man walking next to us suddenly makes harsh contact with my shoulder, almost knocking me backwards and causing my bones to violently jolt in shock.
Elliot quickly steadies me with a hand at my back, twisting to shout, ‘Watch it!’ at the man in a deep, furious tone that I wouldn’t have imagined coming from him.
A sweeping heat and bolt of adrenaline pulses through me momentarily.
In the corner of my eye, Elliot waits patiently to look me over as I take a shaky breath in.
I force my eyes closed for a brief moment and decide to take the opportunity to use a specific technique while both of my hands are free.
I tap the inside of my right wrist seven times before switching hands and tapping my left wrist seven times.
I would include tapping my forehead and my chest in the rotation before going back to my right wrist, but ponder if that might make Elliot think I’m trying to send some form of silent, coded message.
I beg my body to get a grip and continue to tap my wrists in my predictable pattern as subtly as I can.
Fortunately, it doesn’t seem like Elliot is in a rush to get anywhere. He silently slips his phone out of his pocket and starts typing a message.
I wonder if he’s telling Josh and Owen about his blunder and subsequent regret when I feel a buzz in my pocket and realise that he must have texted the group with an update. I don’t think either of us are expecting a response from them for a while.
My thudding heart starts to slow.
‘When the crowds die down, maybe we should head to The Lakes or something. Just somewhere quiet where we can get our heads down and think,’ he suggests.
‘Okay.’ I nod, avoiding his eyes.
‘I doubt the others will join us. Probably having too much fun.’
‘Yeah.’ My voice sounds tired and flat. ‘Shall we go? It looks quieter now.’
He agrees, and we head toward the exit together.
‘We could go to The Lakes hillside? It’s not too far from here and it might be nice to get some space,’ he offers.
‘Sounds good.’
The evening breeze feels cool on my skin, but I can still feel the adrenaline in my chest stirring patiently.
Always waiting for an opportunity to strike.
I try to let Elliot’s presence and the empty path ahead of us reassure me, but can’t erase the feeling of it perching within me – constantly on the lookout for a reason to leap.