I usually try not to post twice a day (okay, well I can’t really say this is a rule, because today is my one week anniversary of starting my blog and that isn’t long enough to have a ‘rule’), but I am very excited about this event. I’m here to talk about your favorite thing (well, mine, least): KISSING!
Tomorrow is Official Kissing Day Blogfest! It is being hosted by Sherrinda at A Writer Wannabe and I’ve decided to participate! Tell all of your friends about this wonderful, wonderful day! 🙂
This scene is from the story that, at this moment, I’ve been working on for three years. The main character is Celeste, a girl who’s first love broke her heart and then moved away. Then she meets Aiden and realizes what love actually is.
I was giddy when I wrote this. The background is that Aiden was about to ask her a question, but he never got the chance because her grandfather had a heart attack.
I stared at him and tilted my head a little bit. He was looking at his hands and I looked at my own, where his little sister’s ring rested on my pointer finger, the jewel sparkling in the light. I pressed my leg against his and I didn’t care if he knew. “What were you going to ask me, that night?”
He shrugged. “It’s not important. It doesn’t matter.”
He licked his lips and then glanced at me, quickly, before dropping my gaze. He was nervous again.
“If you tell me, I’ll forgive you,” I said, trying to smile. Suddenly, I didn’t care if he knew how I felt. I didn’t care if he rejected me. There were so much bigger hurts to dwell upon than that of being rejected, than that of a broken heart. Compared to what had happened before, I didn’t think I’d be crushed. I could feel the want for him in every bone of my body, in every pulse of my heart. Maybe he should know. Maybe it was rude of me to hold my feelings back. It didn’t matter, though. I knew what he’d wanted to ask me before he said it.
He returned my smile. “I don’t-“
“You started to say, ‘Do you see-‘ and then you stopped. What was the rest of that sentence?”
He wiggled around in his seat, away from me. “Celeste, it isn’t important, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, OK?”
“Tell me,” I demanded. “Aiden, what were you going to ask me?”
I caught his eyes and they were evasive, but I could tell I’d broken him, because he licked his lips again and turned away, looking at the lines in his hands. He had such calloused hands, maps drawn in his life line and heart line. When he’d held my hand at the funeral, when he’d held me close in the darkness of my grandparent’s house, I’d felt their roughness against me like a life raft. It didn’t matter that they weren’t soft; they were perfect.
He swallowed. “I was going to say, ‘Do you see me the way I see you?’”
I didn’t let myself feel anything in that moment except the words leaving my lips. “And what way is that?”
And then, like a switch had been turned on, his eyes lit up. The nervousness wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t palpable anymore. “This way,” he said, grinning, and leaned forward, catching my lips against his.
I thought I might explode from sheer shock. It was a short kiss because I didn’t respond and when he pulled away, he wasn’t smiling anymore but staring at me intensely, as though he was trying to gauge my reaction. I pressed my fingers against my bottom lip and then I swallowed the shock down, trying to keep myself from doing anything rash, but the words slipped from my mouth anyway. “Do that again.”