AN: This is my first story, any feedback is greatly appreciated. Vote if you like it! :)
WARNING: This story is GirlxGirl.
Edit: This is not just a GirlxGirl story, there are other characters, other relationships. If you have an open mind, read on. :)
"I'm not going to fight you."
The first time I realized I loved her was in the 6th grade. She wasn't just the new girl anymore. We were acquaintances, lab partners. Friends. Walking to her house from school one evening, I still remember the scared yet determined expression that came over her features. They--the mean girls, were there, circling her doorstep like hawks with talons extended.
She stood there--I stood there, as they soared in like bees, stinging and turning her pale cheeks to strawberries. I braced myself, gulping in air as if I'd forgotten how to breathe, nails digging into fleshy palms. I was going to jump in at any second, but I was paralyzed by Medusa like gazes. I should have moved, done something--anything!
She was crying, with bloody lips and swollen eyes. I was crying too, though clearly in no physical pain. Someone was screaming in my ear, and after a moment I realized it was my own horse voice begging them to stop. But, my please fell on deaf ears.
"Get up you weird bitch! Hit me!"
"No--!" Her hands and dark hair shielded her face from my view, but I didn't need to see her to know she was hurting. They were hurting her, and it hurt me just to watch. Once everything had died down, girls growing bored with their bullying of someone who clearly wasn't going to fight back, the muscles in my legs began functioning again. I leaned by her side, so closely protective I could practically feel her bruises throbbing underneath my shaky hands.
Little good my small act of chivalry did her, but she smiled.--And I wanted to yell at her, really yell at her. As if we were adults and not children--like she'd done something stupid. The kind of yelling that leads to arguments, and heated apologetic kisses.
I didn't, yell at her that is. Instead, I asked her why she didn't stand up for herself. She stood, licking blood from her lips like sugar and smirking as if she had a secret. "I'm a lover, not a fighter." She touched my cheek soothingly like it was I who needed comforting.
"What if your lover were in danger, would you fight then?" I asked quizzically and she shrugged.--The way she didn't give a damn about anything absolutely thrilled me. It was only the tear streaks gathered at her chin that gave her away. I didn't say a word.
I found myself leaning toward her again as if I were a mere asteroid stuck in her gravitational pull. I kissed her, closemouthed and quick--like it never happened. As if my dry, infirior lips never met hers and my pulse didn't begin to beat six times faster than it should.
Another smile came over her swelling, disfigured features as I took a hurried step back. She stopped me with a warm hand on my shoulder. I licked my lips nervously.
"What does my blood taste like?" She asked, her ocean blue gaze more piercing with injured eyes. I did my best to not stare at her directly. So, I looked to her dimples, her strong jaw line, the veins in her neck and traveling a roadmap to finally rest at her left clavicle. The very one peeking out from her disheveled shirt as if from hiding. I couldn't meet her eyes.
After all, how could I possibly tell her, 'Your pain tastes like heaven?'
Her name was Crystal, and this is the story of me--The Coward.