Three months after the death of her childhood friend and first love, Lea Martinez moves to New York to live with her older brother.
Desperate to escape the trauma of 'that night' and fight her lingering insomnia, she drowns herself in the impending...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
KISSING REYNA IS LIKE KISSING PAIN. The taste of desperation to omit her agony is engraved in her cherry lips. I can almost feel her unshed tears on my cheeks with every caress of our lips.
The longing that resides in her bones as she runs her fingers along my jawline and extends them to tangle in my hair; there's something almost lethal about it. She clings to me as if I am the only pure oxygen left for her to breathe. Perhaps I am. When she doesn't have me, she has nothing.
Reyna dreads our separation and starves for my existence every waking moment that I'm not around. If I could give her all of me, I would.
"Don't go," she murmurs. Her forehead rests against mine while the pads of her fingers trace my jawline.
"You know I have to..."
"Can't your mom just get another job?"
"Reyna..." The warning in my voice is lost in the patter of rain around us. The awning overhead is the only thing keeping us from being drenched, but her raven locks still begin to curl around her ears from the moisture clinging to the air.
"I know..." A sigh floats from her lips and she leans back enough to try and win me over with droopy eyes and pouted lips. "I just wish things were different."
We've already had this conversation a million times, and still, the implication for me to quit my job falls from her begging tongue. She knows there's no way my mom could pick up any more shifts at the hospital. We're barely keeping the roof above our heads as it is. Until my parent's divorce is finalized, I'll be picking up all of the extra shifts at the shop to cover the lack of Dad's finances.
Ceasing her argument, Reyna's mouth searches mine in a kiss that's long and agonizing. I take her affection and pray for her to survive these next nine hours unscathed.
"I love you." Her words brush against my skin with a fragility that could shatter from the touch of a feather.
"I love you too." I find the strength to cup the sides of her chilled cheeks and lift her honey gaze to meet mine. "I'll be back soon. Don't worry."
"Okay," comes her whispered shapes of despair.
I plant my lips against her forehead one last time. Every fiber in my bones and every magnitude of gravity is not enough to pull me away from her or her from me. Still, by some ungodly strength, we separate. Lifetimes pass as I retreat and leave her standing in the rain. Sorrow shapes the delicate curves of her face and carves cruelty into my heart.
I won't be long.
Then, I leave her.
The Java House is a beehive upon entering; such are Sunday afternoons on this entire strip. The elderly attempt to escape the rampant paths of my schoolmates as they take over for the day. Laptops and tablets hang loosely under their arms as their mouths shift rapidly like the wings of a hummingbird, spreading gossip, disdain over the first day of school and the events of their waning summer.
