"Pretty girls like you get lost in these woods all the time, Alexa."
On the night of Sebastián's annual Beginning of Summer Bash, amiable and adventurous Melody Tryniski went missing. What might have appeared as a juvenile escapade - a casual incide...
Christopher Shaw's house October 27, 2018 7:00 p.m.
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"YOU DESERVE TO KNOW the truth."
Christopher caresses the side of my face, the tips of his cold fingers travelling from my temple to my cheek, down to the softness of my jaw, the curve of my neck, and finally ending on a collarbone that's barely perceptible. Despite the shocking cold of his tender flesh, his touch leaves a trail of warmness that prickles my skin with tiny goosebumps. A fiery sensation grows in my stomach, spreading through my body and igniting my heart --- the furious beating of my heart.
He gives life to that part of me that's dead. The part that left with my mother and the one that died with Melody.
My breath gets stuck in my throat the more he explores my skin with his fingers. Finally, finally, after years of crushing on him and fantasizing about us and falling a little more in love, he touches me with heaven on his fingertips. I guess I've felt this before, but it wasn't right. The timing wasn't right, and its aftereffects were disastrous. But now, now, he's touching me with more than just heaven. This feels like paradise, absolute bliss.
Is this what all the girls feel or is it reserved just for me?
Am I finally enough? More than enough?
What does this mean for us? Us, after bringing justice to Melody?
"Well, don't you wanna know the truth?" he whispers, drawing imaginary circles across my chest with his forefinger.
The truth, right. I need to focus.
I find his eyes in the darkness, blue and curious, hungry for my reply. His back is to the window, the moonlight that streams in from it creating a halo around his blonde head. It shines golden against a silver spark, his eyes blue and vibrant against all the light that stands out from the darkness that envelopes his room.
The house is silent. Too silent, but I guess his bed is comfortable. His mom won't be back for a while, with the whole diner business and all, so this is the perfect time to talk about something so private. This moment is private, intimate even. We're both lying on our sides in his bed, but our bodies are facing each other. So close, and yet, so far. The outcome of this conversation will determine the amount of space that's going to be left between us. Either we close what little there is of space right now or we part ways.
I'm hoping for the former.
I don't shy away from his blue stare, not this time. I'm ready to listen.
"You said it had something to do with your father," I whisper, placing my hand on his chest to feel the slow beating of his heart.
He flinches, the mention of his father like a punch to the stomach. "Sadly."
