The Wicked End
The Wicked End
I glance over at the clock for what seems to be the 12th time in ten minutes. 3:07am, it reads. Sighing, I heave my heavy form off the bed and walk over to my wardrobe in the corner of my bedroom. Swinging the doors open, I pull the heavy suitcase down from the top drawer and just manage to catch it as it threatens to fall to the floor with a thud. Arms straining, I carry the suitcase silently across the landing, down the stairs, through the kitchen to the back door. As I attempt to unlock the door, I drop the metal key which clanks against the kitchen floor, causing me to curse and brace myself, listening for any noises which alert me of someone's awareness of my plan. After hearing no noise, I pick the key up and attempt, yet again, to unlock the door, succeeding this time and pushing it open, hissing as the cold night air hits my body. I drag my suitcase out into the back garden, closing the door with a tiny "click" behind me, and tiptoe across the garden to the wall, turning my head every few steps up towards the window on the top floor of the house, watching out for the curtains swishing; a light flicking on; anything that will tell me whether anyone is awake or not. I turn my head back to the front and gasp in shock as I end up almost faceplanting the wall. Chuckling at my stupidity, I haul my suitcase up and over the wall, scrabbling up after it, landing on the floor on the other side heavily, causing a throbbing sensation to go through my feet. I walk forward, crossing the few metres between the wall and the car park at the back of my house. Reaching the spot my car is at, I turn around and face my house, for the last time in... hell, I don't know. I don't know how long it will be until I will be back. I'm leaving this town. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I don't intend on coming back for a long time.
I unlock my car, dump my suitcase in the back and get into the driver's seat, sighing as I turn on the engine and back out of the car park, rolling down the window to feel the cool air whip my hair in every direction. I try to listen to music, slotting in a mixtape CD of my favourite bands, but after half of one song, I decide it seems too loud, too unnatural while I speed down the deserted motorway.
After an hour of relentless driving, I feel my eyes getting heavy, and stop at the nearest 24-hour coffee shop.
"Hello, welcome to Costa!" Says a peppy looking young girl working there. "How can I help you today?"
"Coffee. Black." I snap. "Please." I say, trying to sound slightly more polite. She sighs a little and maneuvers around the small area she has in which to make my coffee. She hands it to me and I shuffle over to the back, most hidden corner, and sip delicately at the coffee that rests in my hands.
"Sorry to bother you," the girl announces, walking over to my table, "but you seem so sad. What brings a man like you to this place alone at 4am?"
"I-" I start, not quite knowing what to say. "I was driving. I got tired. I wanted coffee. I came here."
"But surely you can't be that sad about coffee?" She enquires, staring at me, flicking her blonde hair and blinking her big blue eyes.
"No, I just have some shit on my mind."
"Well," she says, clearing her throat, "I hope things work out for you soon..."
"So do I." I say, standing and nodding at her to announce my departure, pulling out my wallet and handing her a note. "Thank you for the coffee."
And with that, I am back on the road. The road to nowhere.
--
It's now 7:30am and I have arrived in Las Vegas. I don't know how I ended up here but I did, so here I will stay, at least for a little while. I sit in my car, and hear the buzz of my phone. Digging it out of my pocket, I read the text that I have just received.
"From: Zack.
To: Brian.
Brian, we need to talk... As soon as possible. Can we talk? It's fucking important, call me please, or just come round, or something..."
Cursing, I chuck my phone to the dashboard of my car and sit back in the seat. And that's when the phone calls start coming...
"BRIAN! Where the fuck are you, boy?!" My mum yells to my voicemail machine, "I woke up and you were gone, you were here last night. You better not have done a runner on me! I've phoned Zack and he says you're not at his house. This isn't fucking funny, Brian, get home or phone me as soon as possible, you idiotic child."
Sighing, I press the "delete" button on the screen, and click on my inbox as I see another text flying in.
"From: Zack.
To: Brian.
Brian, what the fuck? Where are you, man? It's not like you to not be in bed sleeping at 7:30! I hate to be clingy and weird and say that I'm worried, but I'm a little worried... Please call me when you get this..."
--
Two weeks later, and I'm still in Vegas. I'm doing pretty well here. I had loads of money anyway. I was always a spoilt rich kid, always having so much money I'd end up buying Zack stuff every weekend anyway. Zack. That name brings tears to my eyes. Tears that threaten to fall as I walk from my job to my apartment. Why did I leave him? I'm still ignoring his calls, even though they are few and far between now. When everyone back home realised I was gone, they all bombarded me, so much so that I turned my phone off for three days, and when I turned it back on, there were countless text messages and missed calls, off Jimmy, Johnny, Matt, my mother, some other people I knew and most importantly, Zack. His voicemails sound desperate, his last one, two days ago, something along the lines of, "I miss you, Brian. I need you here, please come back. I don't know where you are, or why you left, but all I know is that I need you. I really, really need to hear your voice, man. We don't know what's happened to you, no one has seen you for two weeks and months before that you were acting like a zombie. Please come back to me, I'm so empty without my fucking best friend here. Please. I miss you." His voice cracks cracks on the last sentence and the line goes dead. I close the door of my apartment and lean against it, the tears falling freely now. What I wouldn't give to be able to phone him, to hear his voice, to let him know that I'm okay. But I can't do that. It would fill him with false hope. I left California for his sake, and I can't make him happy to crush him again, I really can't. I can't phone him.
Yes I can.
Fingers shaking, I dial the one number I know off the top of my head, heart pounding as I hear the dial tone.
"Hello?" A teary voice answers. Oh fuck, he's been crying again.
"Z-Zack?" I stammer, voice quavering.
"Um... Brian?" He murmers, as if he dares not believe it.
"You betcha." I grin, breath catching in my throat. I hear more tears and more sobs escape from his throat.
"You prick. You fucking asshole." He yells down the phone. "How could you do this to me?! Why are you phoning? Where are you?!" I'd expected that reaction. Mixed up. Angry, sad, confused, scared. He'd have no time to feel happy that I've called him.
"I'm sorry..." I mutter. "Look, Zack, you can't tell ANYONE I've phoned you, all right?!"
"But why? Where are you?"
"I'm somewhere. I'm okay. That's all you need to know."
"Are you coming back?" He asks, voice filling with hope, only for me to break it.
"No." I say almost silently, heart cracking as I hear fresh sobs, feeling my own cheeks soaking even more.
"But I need you, Brian. I'm so lonely here without you. Nothing's the same."
"I can't come home, Zack."
"For the love of God, please!" He begs.
"I can't."
"But I love you."
"I love you, too. And that's why I'm staying here." And with that, I hang up and give in to the wobbly sensation my knees are creating. Sinking to the floor, I cradle my phone to my chest as if it's my own portable version of Zack. Why did I phone him? Now he's going to feel even worse. He could have moved on, forgotten I'd ever existed, if I'd only had some self-control. I fall unconscious at some point, mouthing Zack's name over and over again, wishing he was here with me right now. He'd know what to do. He always knows what to do...
--
One year eight months later, I'm driving down an empty road. It's 11pm, and I'm not quite sure why I'm driving this late. Zack hasn't phoned in about a month, and I miss his voicemails, however much they make me cry. He hasn't texted me in ages, either. No one has. They've all finally forgotten me.
I could settle down for good, here in Vegas, but something doesn't feel right. I'm not comfortable here. My "friends" feel more like decorations, like I've just placed them in my living room with bottles of beer to liven the place up. My "job" feels like something I do to take my mind off Zack, even though half of the time the radio that sits on the bar next to me plays Paradise City which always reminds me of him and makes me rush to the bathroom to wipe my eyes and gather my thoughts. My "hobbies" are just something to take up the empty spaces in between working and sleeping. They are just there to stop me from phoning Zack again, and pouring my heart out to him, telling him how much I miss him and how much I need him, like he needed me all those months back.
Everyone from Huntington Beach has probably forgotten me. Jimmy and Johnny have probably stayed together all this time. Matt and Val got married just before I left. I wonder how they're doing. My mother probably met some new guy and moved in with him, they probably have another child on the way. They'll all have forgotten me and replaced me. But I never forgot them, not for one second. Nothing felt right. I found friends here in Vegas, yes. Simon and Lisa are nice, but they don't, not for one second, replace the guys I knew back in Cali. My job doesn't feel the same, it feels like I'm working in a bar for the hell of it, not like when I worked in the bar in California, when I couldn't work one shift without Matt storming in and demanding that I give him a discount, then complaining that "I didn't pour his beer right." He almost got me sacked a fair few times, but I much preferred it to the bar I have just quit from. Waking up without a "good morning" text from Zack feels strange. We crashed at each others' so much, all the time, and waking up with him on my mind, knowing that I am probably not on his mind, really upsets me. I wonder if he's found my replacement. It's selfish that I hope he hasn't, but I want him all to myself. If I go back and he's sitting there with some other guy who tells shitty jokes like I used to, I don't know, it will fucking crush me. In a way, though, I hope he's found another friend, at least. I don't want him suffering forever because of one dickish move I made.
The last voicemail I got that really worried me was off Jimmy. Normally, he's quite laid back about this sort of thing, he isn't too good with emotion, but this one drips with sadness. I can tell when I listen to it that he phoned me in a five minute break he stole from somewhere, and I can hear voices in the back, asking, "what's up with Jimmy?"
"Brian." He starts, voice nasal and heavy. "I miss you. We miss you. But I think Zack misses you the most. What have you done to that kid? You've fucked him up, you've fucked us all up, and if one day, you ever return, I will take great pleasure in whooping your ass for that, Gates." He laughs softly through sniffles. "But seriously man. We miss you, please come back. It's been a year and a half. Isn't that long enough already? What more do you want? We tried looking for you. We phoned all of your relatives in the states, but none of them have seen you. What the fuck is going on? Everything's so different with you gone, but at the same time, everything is exactly the same. Nothing's changed. We're still the little kids we were, but at the same time, we've matured a bit, knowing we've lost you... Speaking of... Well..." His voice breaks a little here, and he catches his breath before carrying on. "I know I really should think positively. I shouldn't think like this, at all, but... some days, I wonder if... you've... left us. Like, LEFT us, left us. As in... d-died. I think we all wonder that sometimes, but we're all too scared to voice it. Please Brian, please please PLEASE, come back." I hear someone shouting his name from the background and he gasps, sobbing still. "I have to go. You get your ass right back to California right now you prick. I miss you, man. We all do. Love you." And there is a click, and his voice is gone. This voicemail has haunted me every day since I got it, two months ago. They think I'm dead?
Oh Brian. What have you done? You fucking idiot.
Sighing, I pull up to the clearing in front of the woods in Huntington Beach, California, and hop out of my car, setting off on the short walk to ‘our’ spot. I’m back. And it’s never felt so good. I settle myself down on the wall and pick up my phone, punching in the numbers, keeping my number withheld.
“Hello?” A sleepy voice answers. “It’s 3am, why are you calling me at this time?”
“Hello, Zack.” I answer, deepening my voice slightly.
“Who is this?”
“It doesn’t matter. I need a favor of you.”
“Um…”
“You remember Brian Haner Jr, right?”
He sniffs at that, and takes a deep breath before carrying on. “Yes. I remember Brian. How could I forget?”
“Well, you remember you had a ‘spot’ with him in the woods all those years back?”
“Yes. That spot. Our spot.” He sighs and sniffles.
“I need you to go there. Right now.”
“Okay… I’m leaving now.” He says, breathing out sharply as he, presumably, shuffles himself off his bed, or couch, or wherever he is.
I wait for twenty minutes, and eventually I hear the crumpling of leaves under his feet as he walks towards where I am waiting, hidden in the shadows.
“H-hello?” He asked, addressing the corner of the wall I am in.
“Hello.” I say, stepping out into the light that immerses down from the moonlight through the gap in the trees. His face lights up incredibly and recognition covers his face.
“Brian?” He says, almost silently.
“The very same.” I mutter, the same sass and arrogance I’d always had.
“But… you left?”
“I came back for you.” I say, wanting so badly to reach towards him, to close the distance between us and feel his soft, pouty lips on mine. But I know I can’t. I don’t know whether he wants it. I know it would kill me. I have to resist this temptation.
“You’re back?” He asks.
“It appears so.”
There is a moment of silence as his mind processes what to do, before he almost runs towards me and envelopes me in a tight embrace.
“Oh my God Brian, it’s really you, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you, you’re back, you’re here and you’re not there wherever you were and you’re here!” He giggles, releasing me, but keeping a hold of my hands in his own. Then, his face changes and his fist comes up, connecting with my face. I stand there and take it, knowing that I deserve it.
“How the fuck could you do that to me?!” He yells, face contorting with anger. I want nothing more than to pull him back into the hug we had a minute ago, to calm him down and soothe him.
“I-“ What do I say? ‘I’m sorry for leaving, sorry for being a prick, sorry for upsetting you, but I had to get away’? No. “I don’t know…” I mumble eventually, looking down at my shoes and digging my toes into the dirt.
“How long are you back for?” He asks, calming down and grabbing my hands again.
“As long as you want me for.”
“I want you forever…”
“Then forever I will stay.”
And with that, he tilts his face up towards mine, and connects our lips with a happy sigh, allowing me the momentary taste of his peppermint breath. It’s exactly as I imagined, soft and gentle, but still giving me a swarm of butterflies around my abdomen, and my head spins, leaving me craving more.
“Never leave me again?” He asks, looking up at me through his eyelashes, his emerald green eyes connecting with my own brown ones.
“Never.” I say, frowning as if to emphasise it.
And he’s connected our lips again, pulling me close by looping his arms around my waist.
This is the moment I’ve lived for my whole life.
It’s perfect.
I unlock my car, dump my suitcase in the back and get into the driver's seat, sighing as I turn on the engine and back out of the car park, rolling down the window to feel the cool air whip my hair in every direction. I try to listen to music, slotting in a mixtape CD of my favourite bands, but after half of one song, I decide it seems too loud, too unnatural while I speed down the deserted motorway.
After an hour of relentless driving, I feel my eyes getting heavy, and stop at the nearest 24-hour coffee shop.
"Hello, welcome to Costa!" Says a peppy looking young girl working there. "How can I help you today?"
"Coffee. Black." I snap. "Please." I say, trying to sound slightly more polite. She sighs a little and maneuvers around the small area she has in which to make my coffee. She hands it to me and I shuffle over to the back, most hidden corner, and sip delicately at the coffee that rests in my hands.
"Sorry to bother you," the girl announces, walking over to my table, "but you seem so sad. What brings a man like you to this place alone at 4am?"
"I-" I start, not quite knowing what to say. "I was driving. I got tired. I wanted coffee. I came here."
"But surely you can't be that sad about coffee?" She enquires, staring at me, flicking her blonde hair and blinking her big blue eyes.
"No, I just have some shit on my mind."
"Well," she says, clearing her throat, "I hope things work out for you soon..."
"So do I." I say, standing and nodding at her to announce my departure, pulling out my wallet and handing her a note. "Thank you for the coffee."
And with that, I am back on the road. The road to nowhere.
--
It's now 7:30am and I have arrived in Las Vegas. I don't know how I ended up here but I did, so here I will stay, at least for a little while. I sit in my car, and hear the buzz of my phone. Digging it out of my pocket, I read the text that I have just received.
"From: Zack.
To: Brian.
Brian, we need to talk... As soon as possible. Can we talk? It's fucking important, call me please, or just come round, or something..."
Cursing, I chuck my phone to the dashboard of my car and sit back in the seat. And that's when the phone calls start coming...
"BRIAN! Where the fuck are you, boy?!" My mum yells to my voicemail machine, "I woke up and you were gone, you were here last night. You better not have done a runner on me! I've phoned Zack and he says you're not at his house. This isn't fucking funny, Brian, get home or phone me as soon as possible, you idiotic child."
Sighing, I press the "delete" button on the screen, and click on my inbox as I see another text flying in.
"From: Zack.
To: Brian.
Brian, what the fuck? Where are you, man? It's not like you to not be in bed sleeping at 7:30! I hate to be clingy and weird and say that I'm worried, but I'm a little worried... Please call me when you get this..."
--
Two weeks later, and I'm still in Vegas. I'm doing pretty well here. I had loads of money anyway. I was always a spoilt rich kid, always having so much money I'd end up buying Zack stuff every weekend anyway. Zack. That name brings tears to my eyes. Tears that threaten to fall as I walk from my job to my apartment. Why did I leave him? I'm still ignoring his calls, even though they are few and far between now. When everyone back home realised I was gone, they all bombarded me, so much so that I turned my phone off for three days, and when I turned it back on, there were countless text messages and missed calls, off Jimmy, Johnny, Matt, my mother, some other people I knew and most importantly, Zack. His voicemails sound desperate, his last one, two days ago, something along the lines of, "I miss you, Brian. I need you here, please come back. I don't know where you are, or why you left, but all I know is that I need you. I really, really need to hear your voice, man. We don't know what's happened to you, no one has seen you for two weeks and months before that you were acting like a zombie. Please come back to me, I'm so empty without my fucking best friend here. Please. I miss you." His voice cracks cracks on the last sentence and the line goes dead. I close the door of my apartment and lean against it, the tears falling freely now. What I wouldn't give to be able to phone him, to hear his voice, to let him know that I'm okay. But I can't do that. It would fill him with false hope. I left California for his sake, and I can't make him happy to crush him again, I really can't. I can't phone him.
Yes I can.
Fingers shaking, I dial the one number I know off the top of my head, heart pounding as I hear the dial tone.
"Hello?" A teary voice answers. Oh fuck, he's been crying again.
"Z-Zack?" I stammer, voice quavering.
"Um... Brian?" He murmers, as if he dares not believe it.
"You betcha." I grin, breath catching in my throat. I hear more tears and more sobs escape from his throat.
"You prick. You fucking asshole." He yells down the phone. "How could you do this to me?! Why are you phoning? Where are you?!" I'd expected that reaction. Mixed up. Angry, sad, confused, scared. He'd have no time to feel happy that I've called him.
"I'm sorry..." I mutter. "Look, Zack, you can't tell ANYONE I've phoned you, all right?!"
"But why? Where are you?"
"I'm somewhere. I'm okay. That's all you need to know."
"Are you coming back?" He asks, voice filling with hope, only for me to break it.
"No." I say almost silently, heart cracking as I hear fresh sobs, feeling my own cheeks soaking even more.
"But I need you, Brian. I'm so lonely here without you. Nothing's the same."
"I can't come home, Zack."
"For the love of God, please!" He begs.
"I can't."
"But I love you."
"I love you, too. And that's why I'm staying here." And with that, I hang up and give in to the wobbly sensation my knees are creating. Sinking to the floor, I cradle my phone to my chest as if it's my own portable version of Zack. Why did I phone him? Now he's going to feel even worse. He could have moved on, forgotten I'd ever existed, if I'd only had some self-control. I fall unconscious at some point, mouthing Zack's name over and over again, wishing he was here with me right now. He'd know what to do. He always knows what to do...
--
One year eight months later, I'm driving down an empty road. It's 11pm, and I'm not quite sure why I'm driving this late. Zack hasn't phoned in about a month, and I miss his voicemails, however much they make me cry. He hasn't texted me in ages, either. No one has. They've all finally forgotten me.
I could settle down for good, here in Vegas, but something doesn't feel right. I'm not comfortable here. My "friends" feel more like decorations, like I've just placed them in my living room with bottles of beer to liven the place up. My "job" feels like something I do to take my mind off Zack, even though half of the time the radio that sits on the bar next to me plays Paradise City which always reminds me of him and makes me rush to the bathroom to wipe my eyes and gather my thoughts. My "hobbies" are just something to take up the empty spaces in between working and sleeping. They are just there to stop me from phoning Zack again, and pouring my heart out to him, telling him how much I miss him and how much I need him, like he needed me all those months back.
Everyone from Huntington Beach has probably forgotten me. Jimmy and Johnny have probably stayed together all this time. Matt and Val got married just before I left. I wonder how they're doing. My mother probably met some new guy and moved in with him, they probably have another child on the way. They'll all have forgotten me and replaced me. But I never forgot them, not for one second. Nothing felt right. I found friends here in Vegas, yes. Simon and Lisa are nice, but they don't, not for one second, replace the guys I knew back in Cali. My job doesn't feel the same, it feels like I'm working in a bar for the hell of it, not like when I worked in the bar in California, when I couldn't work one shift without Matt storming in and demanding that I give him a discount, then complaining that "I didn't pour his beer right." He almost got me sacked a fair few times, but I much preferred it to the bar I have just quit from. Waking up without a "good morning" text from Zack feels strange. We crashed at each others' so much, all the time, and waking up with him on my mind, knowing that I am probably not on his mind, really upsets me. I wonder if he's found my replacement. It's selfish that I hope he hasn't, but I want him all to myself. If I go back and he's sitting there with some other guy who tells shitty jokes like I used to, I don't know, it will fucking crush me. In a way, though, I hope he's found another friend, at least. I don't want him suffering forever because of one dickish move I made.
The last voicemail I got that really worried me was off Jimmy. Normally, he's quite laid back about this sort of thing, he isn't too good with emotion, but this one drips with sadness. I can tell when I listen to it that he phoned me in a five minute break he stole from somewhere, and I can hear voices in the back, asking, "what's up with Jimmy?"
"Brian." He starts, voice nasal and heavy. "I miss you. We miss you. But I think Zack misses you the most. What have you done to that kid? You've fucked him up, you've fucked us all up, and if one day, you ever return, I will take great pleasure in whooping your ass for that, Gates." He laughs softly through sniffles. "But seriously man. We miss you, please come back. It's been a year and a half. Isn't that long enough already? What more do you want? We tried looking for you. We phoned all of your relatives in the states, but none of them have seen you. What the fuck is going on? Everything's so different with you gone, but at the same time, everything is exactly the same. Nothing's changed. We're still the little kids we were, but at the same time, we've matured a bit, knowing we've lost you... Speaking of... Well..." His voice breaks a little here, and he catches his breath before carrying on. "I know I really should think positively. I shouldn't think like this, at all, but... some days, I wonder if... you've... left us. Like, LEFT us, left us. As in... d-died. I think we all wonder that sometimes, but we're all too scared to voice it. Please Brian, please please PLEASE, come back." I hear someone shouting his name from the background and he gasps, sobbing still. "I have to go. You get your ass right back to California right now you prick. I miss you, man. We all do. Love you." And there is a click, and his voice is gone. This voicemail has haunted me every day since I got it, two months ago. They think I'm dead?
Oh Brian. What have you done? You fucking idiot.
Sighing, I pull up to the clearing in front of the woods in Huntington Beach, California, and hop out of my car, setting off on the short walk to ‘our’ spot. I’m back. And it’s never felt so good. I settle myself down on the wall and pick up my phone, punching in the numbers, keeping my number withheld.
“Hello?” A sleepy voice answers. “It’s 3am, why are you calling me at this time?”
“Hello, Zack.” I answer, deepening my voice slightly.
“Who is this?”
“It doesn’t matter. I need a favor of you.”
“Um…”
“You remember Brian Haner Jr, right?”
He sniffs at that, and takes a deep breath before carrying on. “Yes. I remember Brian. How could I forget?”
“Well, you remember you had a ‘spot’ with him in the woods all those years back?”
“Yes. That spot. Our spot.” He sighs and sniffles.
“I need you to go there. Right now.”
“Okay… I’m leaving now.” He says, breathing out sharply as he, presumably, shuffles himself off his bed, or couch, or wherever he is.
I wait for twenty minutes, and eventually I hear the crumpling of leaves under his feet as he walks towards where I am waiting, hidden in the shadows.
“H-hello?” He asked, addressing the corner of the wall I am in.
“Hello.” I say, stepping out into the light that immerses down from the moonlight through the gap in the trees. His face lights up incredibly and recognition covers his face.
“Brian?” He says, almost silently.
“The very same.” I mutter, the same sass and arrogance I’d always had.
“But… you left?”
“I came back for you.” I say, wanting so badly to reach towards him, to close the distance between us and feel his soft, pouty lips on mine. But I know I can’t. I don’t know whether he wants it. I know it would kill me. I have to resist this temptation.
“You’re back?” He asks.
“It appears so.”
There is a moment of silence as his mind processes what to do, before he almost runs towards me and envelopes me in a tight embrace.
“Oh my God Brian, it’s really you, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you, you’re back, you’re here and you’re not there wherever you were and you’re here!” He giggles, releasing me, but keeping a hold of my hands in his own. Then, his face changes and his fist comes up, connecting with my face. I stand there and take it, knowing that I deserve it.
“How the fuck could you do that to me?!” He yells, face contorting with anger. I want nothing more than to pull him back into the hug we had a minute ago, to calm him down and soothe him.
“I-“ What do I say? ‘I’m sorry for leaving, sorry for being a prick, sorry for upsetting you, but I had to get away’? No. “I don’t know…” I mumble eventually, looking down at my shoes and digging my toes into the dirt.
“How long are you back for?” He asks, calming down and grabbing my hands again.
“As long as you want me for.”
“I want you forever…”
“Then forever I will stay.”
And with that, he tilts his face up towards mine, and connects our lips with a happy sigh, allowing me the momentary taste of his peppermint breath. It’s exactly as I imagined, soft and gentle, but still giving me a swarm of butterflies around my abdomen, and my head spins, leaving me craving more.
“Never leave me again?” He asks, looking up at me through his eyelashes, his emerald green eyes connecting with my own brown ones.
“Never.” I say, frowning as if to emphasise it.
And he’s connected our lips again, pulling me close by looping his arms around my waist.
This is the moment I’ve lived for my whole life.
It’s perfect.