I freeze.

Is she going to - no, of course not. I'm being silly! Lash isn't interested in me that way!

See? She's looking away.



"I think it's starting to let up."

It didn't mean anything right? She was just fixing my hair. It doesn't mean anything!

I have to stop! I have to stop feeling like this! I have to stop lighting on fire whenever our fingers touch, or I look over and our eyes brush against each other, or - I'd agreed - I'd decided - that I was ok with how things were, that I'd rather just be her friend than try to…

And then, standing there, feeling my cheek burn where her hand had touched me, I realize, that no, I'm not ok with this. I am not OK at all. And I decide -

I decide that I'm done. I'm just done.



"Fuck it," I whisper.

"Huh?"

"Lash? I need to, um, I need to tell you something." She can hear something in my voice. She stops looking at the rain.

"What is it?" She looks at me, "Are you ok?"

I can't keep on going like this. I've had these words on my tongue for over a year. I've choked them down, I've drowned them, I've tried to spit them out, but they're still there.



If I cannot say them here, I will never say them, and they will turn to ash in my mouth.

I let them out, they stumble over each other, eager and awkward and terrifying.

"I want to kiss you. I really want to kiss you. Right now!"

My face burns, I'm blushing again, "If that's alright with you."



And she stares at me, just stares and says nothing, and my heart crawls up my throat and starts to choke me.

Notes