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12/19/16
MY HAND LINGERS on the doorknob to the library, to my safe space. My haven in this life that's a complete mess, but somehow I'm beginning to make my way through it.
As soon as the door pushes open my eyes lock on him. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, as my heart begins to pound within the confines of my chest. It's been a week since we were in here together. A week since his lips touched mine and we both felt the power that sizzled between us at a simple touch. At what we could become.
Seven days, and yet it's felt like a year has passed since then. My body mourns the loss of a touch I know I won't ever have again.
"Hi," I breathe out first. Clayton's hazel eyes pull over my old T-shirt and cloth shorts that do little to cover my legs. His face shows no emotion, but his eyes quickly reveal everything that's inside him. Everything he secretly wants as his gaze burns a trail up my body.
"Hey," he responds easily as if my presence doesn't fill the room with a palpable tension that makes it harder to breathe.
I roam the outskirts of the room letting my eyes focus on the mass of books that line the walls. My eyes flit over to Clayton for a few seconds, my gaze always lingering on the way he holds the book. The way it's so random, so awkward looking to most, but to me only reminds me of my father. Tears want to gather in my eyes but with a small sniffle I push them away.
My gaze then falls to his book. "Hmm...." The sound trails from my pursed lips before I can stop myself.
Clayton's head lifts and tilts in questioning. "What?" he asks simply.
"Nothing," I state quickly. "I just didn't think you'd read that book," I tell him truthfully.
"What's wrong with this book?" he questions lifting it up slightly as if he doesn't understand where I'm coming from.
I shake my head. "Nothing," I state once again feeling my face flush, as I know I'm coming off awkward with a touch of rude with my abrupt tone. "It's a great book," I say before refocusing my eyes on the wall of books.
"You've read it?" he asks, his words pulling me back to him. Always pulling me back, so much so it feels as if Clayton really is the sun that I'm meant to orbit.
I turn my head over my shoulder. "I love books with sad endings," I disclose. "Or more open endings," I clarify.
He breaks his warm eyes away from mine to let them skim the pages in front of him. "Do you think you don't deserve a happy ending?" Clayton's words come out quiet as they still me. His tone almost hard, as his question catches me off guard.
"It's not about what I deserve," I tell him. "It's about being realistic, and a lot of people don't get their happy ending in this life," I say as I grab a random Margaret Atwood book off of the shelf.
