Mess To Be Made

18

Allie.

It's a miracle I truly didn't vomit right there. Nausea was the only feeling I seemed to understand at that moment. And now his voice...I felt trapped in a box I could barely fit into, even with my legs pulled tightly against me.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't even look at him.

I heard the crunch of grass as he walked toward me.

"No," I finally got out, my voice so hoarse I winced. "Please."

The movement stopped.

"Please leave." I swallowed, quickly wiping my tears, internally cursing when more easily took their place. You can't see me like this.

I heard the grass crunch again and shook my head, but the tears were falling uncontrollably, so I laid my cheek on my knees and turned my face the other way so he couldn't see me.

I heard the bench creak and felt the weight of the wood shift as he sat beside me, but he made no further moves. Said no words. I was crying again. Weeping as silently as I could manage. He just sat there.

I hated it. I hated anyoneseeing me like this. But Tyler seeing it—that embarrassment was inexplicable.

After I felt like I had some semblance of control over my tears, I groaned into my knees and lifted my head. I didn't look at him but straightened my spine. With a bitter, but sore voice, I said, "Please leave. I'm serious, Tyler."

"I heard you the first time."

"You shouldn't be here," my voice came out as a whimper, and the weak sound made rage begin to boil in me. "You shouldn't see this."

It almost sounded like he laughed in the back of his throat. "Shouldn't see what? You being a human? Having feelings?"

My heart physically ached at his words, but the anger that had overcome me was now a fire. I finally had the courage to turn my head and look at him.

The rage in me extinguished just at the sight of him. His hair was slightly damp as sweat bordered his hairline. His cheeks and forehead were flushed with a pink tint. His t-shirt had a few creases of sweat. His joggers hugged his legs. It was clear he had been running.

I wanted to run too.

We stared at each other for a moment. I couldn't look away, because the look in his hazel eyes were unlike anything I'd seen from him before. They were dark, but not annoyed. They looked incredibly pained. Worse than when I asked him if he'd been in love before. Worse than when I admitted I had been hurt.

I saw his hand twitch a few times before he slowly brought it up to my face. His thumb softly ran across one of my cheekbones, wiping away a few tears that had clotted there. He repeated it on the other side.

Just as he was removing his hand, my body defied me, and I reached up and grabbed it. My mind was screaming at me to let go, but I couldn't. I just held his hand in mine tightly before pulling it into my chest, where I kept it hostage.

His hand was warm, despite how cold it was outside, and I felt my eyes flutter shut as his warmth seeped through the fabric of my tank top, reigniting my frigid, aching lungs.

He didn't move or make a sound for a while as I held him there, eyes closed. Finally, he asked in a soft voice, "Do you have a jacket?"

I slowly opened my eyes to see him staring with a furrowed brow at one of my arms. Confused, I looked down. Seeing as I was only in a tank top, there were prominent goosebumps on my exposed arms.

"You're cold."

I hadn't even noticed. How was I supposed to feel cold when my whole body felt numb anyway.