Without Merit(45)

I could pretend I have to vomit. I’ll run to the bathroom and lock myself in. But he would follow me. And knowing Sagan, he’d wait outside the bathroom until I was finished.

Sagan flips on the TV and the light is even brighter than the refrigerator was. I curl into myself even more. I can feel my palms begin to sweat from the nerves. And then as if sitting next to him isn’t bad enough, he goes and touches me. He lifts his hand to the side of my head and tucks my hair behind my ear like I don’t actually need oxygen to survive.

“You okay?”

I nod with my swallow. My mouth is too dry to speak.

“Honor.” He wants me to face him. Good God, he wants me to look him in the eye. As Honor. Not as me. Just tell him, already. I face him, prepared to explain the last five minutes, but the look on his face prevents me from speaking. He’s looking at me like he looks at Honor. Or . . . he’s looking at Honor like he looks at Honor. But I’m not Honor. I’m me, and now those eyes are staring at me like I mean the world to him.

“Are you still mad?”

I shake my head. “No.” It’s the truth. I’m not mad at him, but I have no idea if Honor is.

He nods, squeezing my hand. “You know how I feel about everything. But I don’t want to tell you what to do.”

Honor is terrible. She’s a terrible human, doing this. Lying to him. Cheating on him. I want to tell him so bad, but knowing he’s lying to his friend kind of justifies what Honor is doing in a way. And for some reason my loyalty is with her. I think. I don’t know, I’m so confused.

I close my eyes because I’m beginning to not be able to function. He’s so close and it makes me wonder if he would taste like mint ice cream again. I’d give anything to taste that again.

She wouldn’t know.

She’s not even here.

If it happened, it would be her fault. Not mine. This entire situation is all her fault. She’s off kissing some other guy right now. Maybe this is her karma.

I do what I do best. I react without thinking.

I lean forward and press my lips to his. His hands meet my shoulders. I pull away long enough for him to say her name. “Honor.”

I hate it.

I don’t want him to say her name again. I just want him to kiss me.

I slide my leg over his lap until I’m straddling him. I keep my eyes closed as I slip my hands up his neck. I don’t want him to notice I’m not wearing contacts. Honor wears them all the time and I never wear them.

I can feel his fingers digging into my waist and I wait for him to kiss me like he did the first time he kissed me, but he’s hesitant.

I’m too impatient. I press my mouth to his again, but I’m met with resistance. It’s nothing like our first kiss. His lips are hard and firm and closed. His hands leave my waist and slide up my arms until they’re wrapped around my wrists. He pulls my hands off him.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I open my eyes. His are full of confusion. I pull back just enough to give us both space to think, but it’s not enough. His thumb slides across the Band-Aid on the underside of my wrist. His eyes fall to the Band-Aid. The one he gave me. The one I used to cover up the scratch on my wrist with last night. My wrist. Not Honor’s.

I suck in a quick rush of air when I see realization swallow up the confusion on his face. He looks at the bandage on my wrist and then back at my face. “Merit?”

I don’t move. I don’t even make excuses. Here I am, dressed like Honor, straddling him. I don’t even know how to come back from this. I’ve never prayed for a stroke before, but I’m praying with everything I have that God will strike me down dead right here and now.

I keep my eyes glued to his, waiting for him to push me off him in disgust. But he just keeps staring at me, his eyes fixed on mine. He finally lets go of my wrists, but instead of grabbing my shoulders to scoot me off of him, he grabs my face.

And then he kisses me. Devours me.

Me.

Not Honor.

I close my eyes and completely melt into him. I melt into his chest, his arms, his mouth. When his tongue finds mine I all but give up on trying to reciprocate. My mind isn’t connecting with my limbs. It’s like they’re being controlled by some other force. My hands slide through his hair and his hands move to my waist, and then to my lower back. And it’s nothing like the first time we kissed.

It’s better.

It’s real.

It’s me.

Not Honor.

His mouth is like a cacophony of flavors right now, each fighting to overpower the other. Everything delicious, all at once. Sugar and sweet against salty and savory.

Is this the answer to my prayer? That Honor would treat him so terribly; he’d have no choice but to want to be with me?

I push the thought of her out of my head at the same moment Sagan pushes me back against the couch. He doesn’t take his mouth off mine as he climbs on top of me, both of us equally as desperate to take in as much of each other as we can.

It feels so surreal, I want to smile, but it’s all so serious, I want to cry. My emotions are everywhere. Just like his hands. Sliding down my thigh, roaming around my leg, grasping the back of my knee and pulling my leg up and around him. The position he just put us in makes us both gasp for air. He breaks the kiss, but moves his mouth to my neck. “Merit,” he says between kisses.