The First Man
-- EXCERPT: He turns towards me, and I immediately regret getting so close to him, in the darkness, the roads around us almost deserted. No one can see us. I regret even coming here tonight, having watched him for three hours with my stomach in flames. I can’t believe I thought I could do this. I can’t believe I told him that we couldn’t do this. Not that it’s easy every day, seeing him in a crowd, always surrounded by friends, or with his family. Paddling around in a kayak, or playing a gig, talking, laughing. Pretending. He moves quickly, grabbing my face between his hands and bringing it closer to his, until our foreheads are touching. I can’t feel anything, can’t think, can’t speak; his hands are touching me, holding me against him. His large, warm hands are against my skin. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed them until I felt their heat again. I didn’t think that wanting them on me, all over me, would be so painful. And then, Andy kisses me, stripping me of my anger and making me forget why it was even there in the first place. I grab hold of his wrists as he pushes against my mouth, breathing into me, reminding me of the reason I could never want anyone else. Andy’s kisses aren’t easy to handle: they’re strong and powerful, fuelled by impatience and uncontrollable desire. Andy’s kisses are laced with bitterness and silence. They taste of lost nights and bad timing. Andy’s kisses taste of lies, of shortness of breath. They taste of mistakes and decisions we never made. Andy’s kisses are pain and regret; they’re anxiety and frustration; they’re darkness and desperation. I hate Andy’s kisses. I hate them so much that I can’t help but love them.
GIVEAWAY! Comments are closed.
|
Archives
January 2025
Categories
All
|