Highest ranking
#1 in utopia
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"It's about how your hips move," the hand that sits on my waist finds my hip, his fingertips trailing lightly along the fabric of my skirt. "When you arch your spine," he continues on, letting that same hand migrate...
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You know by now I love setting the scene. Just play when the steam starts.
———
Another forty-eight hours fly by and not one of them is my mind freed from the clutches of Kian.
I think now, its fair to say that what I am feeling is something completely influential, enough to possess my mind night and day, fill my stomach so much that I cannot digest meals, blur my thoughts so that I'm completely absent in discussion. I want to see him, more so now than ever, because I would like to think I am owed an explanation.
I know why he left. There was no alternative. Loitering would have been dangerous, toying precariously with the threat of being caught. For that, he owes me nothing. For the moments before, however. Those minutes we were in the bathroom, where time seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Where his hand, one I expected to be rough and calloused so gently lifted my chin and tugged on my lips. Where his eyes darkened and did not seem to split their focus from my mouth. Where I was simply jelly in the palm of his hand, heated to the point I melted, suffocating to the point I felt as though he was my air.
'I feel completely innocent things too.'
Those few words have sat at the forefront of my mind since he departed. What I feel I cannot put into words - I hadn't even really known what I meant! - but to know he feels the same, I'm ever more curious. Perhaps he can help me clarify this strange vice that grips my heart whenever he is near. Maybe he has a reason behind the odd flutter that comes about my abdomen. He might know why I can never seem to do anything but smile in his presence.
More than anything, I hope that he tell me why, for a moment, I thought he might've kissed me had our interruption not come.
He doesn't show this night either, so as the following draws close, I decide that I have no alternative. I must go to him. So, when I know those in the Manor have resided to their bed, I gather myself, dressing in dark attire, letting my hair curtain my face, and I fill a beige messenger bag with the books he lent me. An excuse for my impromptu visit, I decide.
This time, it is much easier to evade those few that still busy about the Manor, like the straggling butlers and the security. For I know where I am heading, and I make no unnecessary turns, barreling straight for the fence I will climb over.
It is not the same tree, but one that serves it purposes, perhaps even better than the last. It's a struggle to climb – far more with the added weight of these books on my side – but I make it nonetheless. For a split second, I deliberate throwing the bag over before me, but the idea passes as quickly as it comes. I'd feel horrendously guilty if any ounce of damage were to come to these books that Kian is so fond of. Even with the crude nature of the text that hides between their page.
