It's Not Just Me
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If I didn't know any better, I'd swear my throat just sealed up. Like someone dumped a tube of super-glue down it. Owen turns away, his attention seeming wholly focused on a single brick on the fireplace. Anywhere, but on me.
Can I actually crawl under this blanket and hide there? For the rest of my life, maybe? Owen hates me. Tears sting my eyes. No. No more crying. I'm not a wimp. I won't be a wimp in front of him anymore.
Sighing, I stand and move to the door. "I'm sorry. About your parents. They shouldn't have wasted their efforts on me. Maybe I should just go?"
"My parents didn't consider their efforts a waste."
I stop in my tracks, then turn back to face him. He's closer than I realized. "Yeah, but you sure do." Again, the words are out of my mouth and down the road before I can stop them.
"Maybe I did, once? But now." He steps even closer, reaching up like he's going to touch my cheek. My stomach drops. He let his hand fall instead. "That was before I met you. Before you told me you wanted to help Balen, to save his people."
I bite down on my bottom lip.
"Jem. Don't you know? I kissed you because..." He seems closer. Did he move again? "I kissed you because I wanted to. Because you're different from every other girl I've met."
"I am?" Oh.
"Yeah. You're different. A good different." Our toes touch. He's so close his scent burns my nostrils, stinging them like the bitter cold air of winter.
Owen moves in before I can think to stop him. And then he kisses me.
At first, the touch of his lips against mine is feather-light, sending a shockwave of chills crashing through me. He whispers kisses over my face. His lips leave a trail of fire in their wake that sends my body thrumming.
Somehow I'm drawn to him, as though there's an invisible rope binding us together, reeling us toward one another. He runs his tongue along my lips, coaxing them open. It's gentle, it's innocent. And then it isn't. There's a beat of time before I open my mouth against his, inviting him in.
"Jemma." Owen whispers my name with reverence.
Soon we're meeting in a clash of teeth and tongues and heat. I run my hands through his short-cropped hair. It's corn-silk between my fingers. His arms slip around me, pulling me roughly against him. My ankle twists. I gasp.
Owen breaks our kiss. "You all right?" he asks, a little breathless. “I’m sorry. You’re hurt. You should sit.”
"I’m fine." I lean toward him again, bumping noses with him as I initiate another kiss.
He lifts me up against him, more careful this time. His mouth seeks out mine and I meet it. Owen grips my side. I can't imagine going back to where I was, to how it was before Owen touched his toes to mine and told me he wanted to kiss me.
And then somewhere, in the back of my mind, I hear a scream. It curdles like milk, spilling into my consciousness and tearing through my soul. Something inside of me snaps, like a branch being broken in two.