To The Moon and Back

𝟐𝟏 | 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛

Shyly, she rolls her eyes. "No way." she moves away from me, appearing nervous as she walks into the open kitchen and grabs a water bottle out of the fridge before chugging the entire thing down. She offers me one but I shake my head. "It's lemon water." she tries to convince me, but I still say no.

As she leans against the counter and opens her second bottle—drinking this one much slower than the first—I purposefully walk over to her, placing my hands on her waist. Her eyes narrow as she places the bottle down on the granite.

I notice two orange containers behind her with the name Margaret Kingsley imprinted on them, next to the fruit bowl which holds overly ripe bananas and one lemon, along with several cheap-brand non-prescribed medications from the pharmacy. Something inside me has me moving even closer as I press my cold lips against her equally cold skin and she gasps. I move my left hand to the back of her head and tug it to the side, giving me more access to her. She moans, so quietly, I almost miss it.

I continue to leave soft kisses down the entire side of her neck from her ear down to her collarbone as I reach behind her and take one of the containers. I almost turn stiff when the pills rattle in the bottle but as they do, I bite down on her flesh and she doesn't seem to hear a single thing as he moans drown out any other possible sound as I slide the container into my pocket.

I hear footsteps upstairs. Heavy ones and suddenly my little kisses aren't enough to keep her still anymore as her eyes widen.

"I can't believe you're actually leaving." she says in a whisper, sounding breathless. I cock an eyebrow. Why is that a surprise? As though she can hear my silent questions, she answers, "I just didn't think you cared to leave at the time I actually asked. So, you're leaving?"

I watch her awkwardly. I'm not one to physically sleep with people—and what happened before, that was more a nap, anyway, those don't count—she wants me to stay, I'm not stupid. . .but I think I want to leave.

"I'll listen." she says lowly and I furrow my eyebrows. She will listen to what? "I'll listen. Tell me what's wrong." Her voice is stern and equally sincere. 

I shake my head. "Just not feeling too good, it's nothing."

She opens her mouth to say something then closes them. The footsteps don't sound so distant anymore, and she seems extremely on edge, but quickly she gets out what she needs to. "Once you said that you don't like speaking because no one cares what you have to say," she looks up at me and those dark eyes in contrast to her bare face is quite possibly the most pretty thing I have ever seen. "I care. And I feel like a bloody softy saying that, but I do. I'll listen, Atlas." 

She puts emphasis on the last three words that I uttered a mere few hours ago. She may care but I can feel the heaviness closing over and I feel myself backing away, both mentally and physically, and even though she's telling me I can talk to her, I don't have it within me to actually speak. I simply nod before nodding toward the door and she exhales like she wasn't hoping for that answer.

My eyelids feel like they weigh a ton and I suddenly feel like I owe her something. I can't offer her my words or any affection. My eyes drift down to her phone in her hand and I take it from her hand, unlocking it with the code I saw her use last night. I see the note I typed last night and then I add my number below it, rather than adding it to her contacts, so she doesn't feel obligated to use it.

I pass it back to her before she follows me to the door, which I'm sure isn't how it usually goes—not for her, but certainly for me. Before I leave, I think she expects me to say something but I don't. I walk out and I don't stop nor do I look back. I don't say goodbye.