Maybe Someday (Maybe, #1)(44)

Jealousy.

Never in all my life and in all my years of living in a world of silence have I wanted to hear something as much as I want to hear her sing right now. I want to hear her so bad it physically hurts. The walls of my chest feel as if they’re closing in on my heart, and I don’t even realize that my hand has moved to her chest until she turns to me, startled. I shake my head, not wanting her to stop. She nods slightly, but the beat of her heart against my hand is increasing by the second. I can feel the vibration of her voice against my palm, but the material between my hand and her skin hinders my ability to feel her the way I want to. I move my hand upward, until it’s at the base of her throat, and then I slide it up even farther, until my fingers and palm are flush against her neck. I scoot closer to her so that my chest is pressed against her side, because the overwhelming need to hear her has completely taken over, and I don’t allow myself to think about where the invisible lines are drawn.

The vibration of her voice stops, and I feel her swallow as she looks up at me with the exact emotions that inspired most of the lines in this song.

Say it’s wrong, but baby, it feels right.

There’s no other way to describe how I feel. I know that the way I think about her and feel about her is wrong, but I struggle so much with how right it feels when I’m with her.

She’s no longer singing. My hand is still wrapped around her throat, and her face is tilted toward mine. I slide my hand a little higher until it’s grazing her jaw. I run my finger around the cord to the earbuds and pull them away from her. I return my fingers to her jaw, slowly slipping my hand behind her neck. My palm conforms so perfectly to the back of her head it’s as if my hands were made to hold her like this. I gently pull her toward me, and she turns her body slightly toward mine. Our chests meet, and it creates a force so powerful that every other part of me is demanding to be pressed against every other part of her.

She reaches her hands up to my neck and lightly places her palms against my skin, then slowly eases her fingers up and into my hair. Having her so close feels as though we’ve created our own personal space, and nothing from outside our world can make its way in, and nothing from inside our world can make its way out.

Her breaths fall in waves against my lips, and although I can’t hear them, I imagine they sound like how a heartbeat feels. I let my forehead fall against hers, and I feel a rumble from deep within my chest rise up my throat. The sound I feel pass my lips causes her mouth to open in a gasp, and the way her lips are slightly parted causes my mouth to immediately connect with hers in search of the relief I desperately need.

Relief is exactly what I find the second our lips meet. It’s as if every pent-up, denied feeling I’ve held toward her is suddenly uncaged, and I’m able to breathe for the first time since I met her.

Her fingers continue to sift through my hair, and my grip tightens against the back of her head, pulling her closer. She allows my tongue to slip inside and find hers. She’s warm and soft, and the vibrations from her moans begin to leave her mouth and flow straight into mine.

My lips softly close over hers, and then I part them, and we do it all over again, but with less hesitation and more desperation. Her hands are now running down my back, and my hand is slipping to her waist, and my tongue is exploring the incredible way hers dances against mine to a song only our mouths can hear. The desperation and speed at which we’re escalating this kiss make it apparent that we’re both attempting to get as much out of each other as we can before the moment ends.

Because we both know it has to end.

I grip her waist tightly as my heart begins to tear in two, half of it remaining where it’s always been, with Maggie, and the other half being pulled to the girl beneath me.

Nothing in my life has ever felt so good yet hurt so achingly bad.

I tear my mouth away from hers, and we both gasp for breath as the desperate grip she has on me keeps me locked against her. I refuse to allow our mouths to reconnect as I struggle to figure out which half of my heart I want to save.

I press my forehead to hers and keep my eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling in rapid succession. She doesn’t attempt to kiss me again, but I can feel her chest as her movements change from begging for breath to fighting back tears. I pull back and open my eyes, looking down on her.

Her eyes are shut tightly, but the tears are beginning to fall. She turns her face and covers her mouth with her hand as she tries to roll onto her side, away from me. I lift up onto my hands and look down at what I’ve done to her.

I’ve done the one thing I promised her I would never do.

I just made her a Tori.

I wince and drop my forehead to the side of her head and press my lips against her ear. I find her hand and reach for the pen beside us on the nightstand. I turn her hand over and press the tip of the pen to her palm.

I’m so sorry.

I kiss her palm, then crawl off the bed and back away. She opens her eyes long enough to look at her hand. She makes a tight fist and pulls her hand to her chest, then begins to sob into her pillow. I take my guitar, my phone, and my shame . . . and I leave her completely alone.





12.


Sydney


I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to go to class. I definitely don’t want to go job hunting again. I don’t want to do anything but keep this pillow pulled over my eyes, because it’s creating a nice barrier between myself and every mirror in this apartment.