Page 41 of Midnight Between Us
She kisses the spot gently, then murmurs something against my skin.
“I know this part of you by heart.”
“My heart knows everything about you,” I wished I had whispered, because it felt true.It was true.
Somehow, I’m aware that there were many things I wanted to tell her but just kept them inside because it felt safe.Saying things, confessing ...that wasn’t allowed.Not between us, at least not on my part.
But back then she didn’t care about what I didn’t say.She just grinned as if it were natural to say something and then move on.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she said that night, glancing toward the road.“It’s too late.If my grandparents find out?—”
“They won’t,” I cut in, rolling toward her, catching her fingers and bringing her hand to my chest.“Midnight belongs to us, Sims.I can’t not be with you right now.It’d wreck me.”
She sighed into my collarbone, her laugh softening into something gentler.Something like yes.And for that hour—the one we always stole—it was just us.
Her.Me.
What we didn’t say.
What we meant anyway.
It’s always been her.Even when I convinced myself I didn’t get to want her.
Even when I left her.
Even when I rejected her ...
I belonged to her.Maybe I always did.
That part hits now—full force.
I walked away.
I don’t remember how.Or why.
But I know I did.
Back in the ambulance, my body jolts.It’s small, but it pulls me out of the memory.
Simone glances up.
Her eyes widen just a little—like maybe she felt it too.But she doesn’t say anything.She simply smooths the tape down and shifts her focus back to the monitor.
Still pretending I’m just another patient—someone else who didn’t share ...how much did we share?
The silence returns, and with it, her scent drifts across the space between us.Faint.Clean.A hint of something citrus—grapefruit or bergamot.It’s not perfume.It’s shampoo.And it’s the same scent from another life.
I close my eyes, and I’m back in a church.
She’s in my shirt.Knees pulled up to her chest.Her hair still damp from the river.That same scent wraps around her like a question I never answered.We aren’t talking.Just existing.But her head rests on my shoulder, and I remember thinking—this is what it feels like to belong somewhere.
Which is probably why I ruined it.
Not because I didn’t care—maybe because I did too fucking much.I can feel it like a bruise in my chest.
“Vitals are holding,” she murmurs to no one in particular.
Her voice slices through the memory, but it doesn’t sever it.If anything, it roots deeper—my hand clenches, weak but deliberate.My jaw locks.
