Page 114 of Satan's Spawn
And something else entirely in my heart.
There’s no denying I’m drawn to his darkness, like a bee is to nectar. But Crayton’s nectar is anything but sweet.
It’s lethal.
The road to my undoing.
I feel it even more as we spin around each other, our limbs swaying softly to keep us from the outside world.
Something changes in this moment, a softness to Crayton’s features as he reaches out for my hair, twirling it in his fingers. I watch him, not realizing how close I’m drifting to his body until our chests are brushing.
He doesn’t protest, not even when I lift my hand up to caress his face. He watches too, as I run my thumb across his cheek, surprised by how soft his skin is.
Crayton allows me to keep exploring him, his eyes closing for the briefest of seconds before they’re open again, glancing down at my lips.
We’re still spinning, still touching, still so close the texture of his black jeans rub against my bare legs.
I can’t remove my eyes from his, and he can’t seem to look away either. I don’t know how long we’ve been under the water but I know it must be at least a minute because I’m starting to feel the effects of not breathing.
Or maybe it’s the way Crayton’s looking at me.
Like he’s been needing this break from the war between us just as much as I have.
Both my hands rest on his cheeks, and there’s something about the relief etching across his face that entices me to do the unthinkable.
I bring my lips closer, and closer until our noses touch and Crayton’s arm is secured around the small of my back.
Then, I stop.
I watch.
I wait to see if he’ll give in to this temptation.
Silently beg him to not take this moment away from me because I think it’s the most beautiful one I’ve had since my father died.
The two of us, caught up in a dance so haunting it forms tiny prickles on my skin.
The song of the ocean appears distant but I can hear it.
I’m no longer in a pool.
I’m home.
And I think it was this cruel boy who brought me there.
We stay this way, not breathing air but taking in each other, both reluctant to take what’s happening between us further for so many different reasons. Crayton draws closer, ignoring all of them, and ghosts his lips over mine painfully slow.
His eyes are open, barely blinking, and I couldn’t move a muscle if I tried.
I’m grateful because, right now, I want to taste his lips more than I want to taste air in my lungs.
I need to know who Crayton is behind all the cruelty and hatred for women.
Hatred for me.
The pain I know he masks with all of it.
I don’t get the chance to, though, because at breakneck speed after closing my eyes, the mood shifts, and instead of going the full one-hundred, Crayton is pushing me away and swimming to the surface, leaving me embarrassed and full of shame once again.
