The Lie(46)

“Do you want the usual?” I ask her.

She grins at me. “Of course.”

I get us a large bucket of popcorn and a box of Maltesers and hand them to Natasha, who ceremoniously opens the candy and dumps them into the popcorn.

I shake my head, letting out a little laugh. It looks like the least appetizing thing, but I know from experience it tastes rather addicting.

“You love it,” she teases me.

“I do,” I admit. “Doesn’t really help my progress at the gym though.”

“Oh? Since when have you become Professor Vain?”

“Since I discovered how awesome I look.”

She rolls her eyes, but the way she draws her lip in between her teeth makes me think she’d like to see the evidence firsthand.

With that optimism, we head into the packed theatre. We manage to find a pair of seats together, on the aisle, and within moments the commercials and trailers start playing. There’s something so comforting to me about the cinema; it’s a place where I can truly relax and unwind. Maybe it’s the darkness or the smell of the popcorn and spilled soda, or the feel of the crowd around you, but as long as I can turn off the overanalyzing part of my brain, I’m swept away for two hours, entirely incognito.

But tonight, now, with her beside me, I can’t relax at all. I can’t turn off my brain. I don’t even know what is going on with the movie. The actors on screen are moving their lips, spouting some carefully crafted dialogue, but I don’t hear them.

I am completely, singularly, transfixed by her. Natasha. Sitting beside me in the darkness, our shoulders brushing against each other, the planes of her beautiful face lit up in swaths of silver. It’s like the most mesmerizing light show, changing with the shots in the film. I can’t look away, and I don’t want to.

She’s as enthralled with the film as I am with her, laughing at the dialogue, cringing at the violence, and I feel my heart swell inside me like a red balloon, pressing against my ribcage. It was fate that put her in my path, a chance to get something right that wasn’t right in the first place.

But why do I have such a foreboding sense of doom, buzzing like flies at the back of my head?

Because you don’t deserve to feel this way, I tell myself. Not after everything you’ve done.

I swallow the shame, refusing to feel it. Just once, just once, I want to be unshackled from my mistakes.

I want to be free.

I need to be brave.

Natasha turns her head to look at me, one half of her face highlighted by the screen.

“You’re not watching the movie,” she whispers.

I lean into her neck, my lips just below her ear. “I’d rather be watching you.”

I don’t pull away at first, keeping my mouth there, her skin so close, taking in her sweet smell. Thoughts run through my head, heavy and weighted, thoughts I don’t dare disclose.

I want to kiss you.

Lick you.

Taste you.

Fuck you.

It’s a side of me that’s dirty and secretive but completely real.

As if she can hear my thoughts, she stiffens.

I lean back to look at her, feeling my brows pull together. “Was that inappropriate?”

She nods, facing the screen. “Yes.”

I stare at her for a few moments. She’s not being facetious. She means it.

That balloon in my chest is slowly deflating. The funny thing is, I didn’t think twice about it, which only cements how natural it feels to be around her. But she obviously doesn’t feel the same way.

I sit beside her for another minute, stiff and awkward in the dark, the embarrassment creeping over me until I abruptly get out of my seat and stride up the aisle and into the cinema lobby. It’s quiet out here, both screens occupied, and I head to the washroom to compose myself.

I splash a bit of cold water on my face then shake it off, staring up at myself in the mirror. We’ve both changed, and as much as it feels like we’re back in time, back to the same people that we were, we’ve both been through so much that it’s just not possible.

We can’t go back to what was.

But we can go forward.

After I compose myself, I head back out into the lobby.

Natasha is standing there grasping the bag of popcorn for dear life and peering at me with so much worry that it’s f*cking adorable.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“So am I,” I tell her, walking right up to her until I’m so close, she has to take a step backward. “I’m sorry for being inappropriate, and I’m sorry for this.”

I quickly lean down and kiss her. Her soft cry of surprise is muffled by my lips pressed flush against hers for a long, hot minute. Then my mouth opens and my tongue slides across hers.

The bucket of popcorn drops beside us.

My lungs evaporate in a kind of heady infatuation.

I grab her now, my hand at the back of her head, at the small of her back, pulling her to me, wanting to get deeper, hotter, as flames lick along my skin and my desire is more painful than ever.

It doesn’t matter that I’m in a cinema lobby, in public.

We could be on Mars, for all I care; she’s all the oxygen I need.

She’s feeling it too. I know she is from the way her mouth moves with hunger, the tiny, breathless sounds she’s making, the way her body feels underneath me, wild and tense and ready to explode.