Life, Interrupted

My eyes opened. The first thing I saw was a pair of hazel eyes. I sighed slightly, exhausted all of a sudden, even though I’d apparently just woken up or something. The eyes were so pretty, so clear and deep, the irises made of little shards of color, some a bright green, others a deep, warm brown. They were surrounded by pale, clear skin, which covered beautifully sharp cheekbones. My eyes traced the sharp angles of the jaw, then last, the full, lush lips. Thin locks of stark, black hair partially obscured the face, like splatters of paint across an unwitting canvas.

“How did you know my name?” The lips moved, as a voice with a surprisingly light, fragile timbre questioned me.

“Huh?” was my ingenious response. I must have looked seriously confused, because after a few seconds of me giving him the what-the-fuck look and him giving me the that’s-what-I’m-asking-you look, he just shook his mop of black hair and let it go.

“So, um, what the fuck. . .” I trailed off, prompting him to explain what the hell I was doing in, well, his apartment, it looked like.

His eyes darted back up to mine; “You wake up in some random dude’s apartment after almost getting. . .” he trailed off for a second, biting his lip, but continued on before his pause became too noticeable. “Yeah, and you’re just all, “oh yeah, what the fuck?’ That’s seems just a little too accepting.”

“I could start screaming and have a panic attack, if you’d prefer,” I offered.

He snorted; “Um, yeah, no thanks. I definitely prefer bizarre nonchalontness to freaked out panic attacks any day,” he said, grimacing as he spoke.

“So. . . Hi. Um. . . What’s your name. . ?” he trailed off awkwardly.

I was so busy staring at his fucking beautiful face that I almost forgot he was talking to me. Whoops.

“Uh, Roxanne. Or Roxy. Or whatever. You know.” Wow, I didn’t sound nervous or desperate at all. Fail. “You?”

“I’m Gerard. But my brother and our friends call me Gee,” he said a little too quickly. He gave a (really adorable) nervous smile, somehow looking up at me through his black fringe despite the fact that he was leaning over me.

Oh wait, yeah, he was, um, leaning over me. . . That’s a little distracting. . .

“Hi, Gerard,” I muttered, all the while staring into his eyes; God, he probably thought I was some freak or something.

Or maybe not; he was, after all, staring back at me, and smiling, too. Neither of us had moved.

Without my permission, the corners of my lips turned upwards, but for the first time since I learned about my disease, I didn’t mind.

I noticed Gerard’s hands; one was on the back of the couch, supporting his weight so he didn’t crush me, and the other was resting on the edge of the sofa cushion near my head. His fingers were long and spindly, and beautifully pale.

Their delicacy mesmerized me as he reached up to stroke my left cheek gently; his cool touch was feather-light and sent delicious shivers down my spine. As he ran his fingers over my jaw line, his eyebrows moved together slightly, as though something he’d seen in me had saddened him.

I was about to ask him what it was when he leaned towards me and I felt smooth, cool lips touch my cheekbone.

I inhaled sharply, and Gerard froze. Don’t get me wrong, it sure didn’t feel bad; in fact, his touch felt good. Really good. Goddamn fucking good. So good that my hand raised of its own accord to caress his face.

Just the tips of my fingers grazed over his temple, my fingers weaving into his soft, black hair slightly before coming back up to his cheek.

I couldn’t see his eyes, but I heard and felt his breathing quicken ever so slightly, and I thought, Fuck it. I’m motherfucking dying; if I don’t deserve to live a little before finishing the process, then I don’t know who does.

I moved the hand that was resting on Gerard’s cheek down along his jaw to his hair, running my fingers through it and angling my face under his so that our lips could meet.

I gasped again. His lips moved against mine, opening slightly. His warm breath was a flawless contrast to his cool lips. His hand moved on my face towards the back of my neck, long fingers gently cradling the slender column of my throat.

I instinctively opened my mouth slightly when I felt his hot, moist tongue slide lightly across my lower lip.

As my lips parted, his other hand came up to curve around my cheek, and the muscle tentatively mingled with my own. It explored the cavern of my mouth eagerly.

I shocked even myself when a moan of longing escaped from my lips.

His wonderful taste was that of cigarettes, combined with something all his own, something just purely Gerard.

I wound my fingers into his long hair, and pulled him closer to me.

Gerard’s POV

God. My tongue traced her now pink lips, and I was pleased when she parted them for me.

I slipped my tongue inside her mouth. God, she tasted good. Like cigarettes, and. . . life. She tasted like being alive.

I felt her chest vibrate slightly as she let out a moan. This, I am slightly embarrassed to say, was a turn-on for me.

Small, nimble fingers were woven into my hair as she pulled me closer to her.

After that, I couldn’t help myself. Without my permission, my hand began stroking her cheek again, but this time it travelled down the length of her pale, white throat, down her shoulder blade, ever so lightly tracing the curve of her breasts.

“Roxy. . .” I breathed, now almost panting.

“Gee. . .”

The sound of my name on her breath was enough. I opened my eyes, needing to see her face.

Roxanne’s eyes were open too, staring back at me, brimming over with lust. And maybe, just maybe, something more.

It was then that I remembered what it felt like to be alive.