We Were Giants

Chapter 12

For half a second, my internal monologue stops. My eyes are open and his are closed. I feel myself grow rigid, and then relax, then grow rigid again. His eyes are closed, and his body is shaking and the hands he places on my shoulders are tight and nervous.

I finally get my wits and pull back. Isaiah loses his balance. At some point during the kiss, he'd raise one leg, poised perfectly on the other. He quickly repositions himself and looks at me with big, apologetic eyes.

"What..." I try to ask, but I can't make sense of words. "Isaiah, what was that?"

Isaiah kissed me? What the hell? Isaiah kissed me?

"I'm sorry," he looks broken and I want to pick up the pieces. But I don't want to get too close for fear he'll throw himself on me again.

"It's just," he stops to consider what he wants to say. "You looked so happy. And you're so damned cute when you're happy. You were smiling all goofy and your eyes were sparkling. And it's so hard not to stare when your eyes are sparkling."

I don't know what to say. I don't want to say anything. I want to tell him to leave me alone, but I don't want to hurt his feelings.

"You just," he shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Do you hate me?"

I don't know what I feel, but I don't think I hate him.

"I need some time to process all this," I say to him as much as to myself. I don't know what I want. I don't know what I need. But I know that I cannot sleep in a sleeping bag on his floor tonight. Or ever again.

He nods and opens his door and I brush past him. I make my way upstairs to my designated bedroom and shut the door behind me before he has the chance to speak to me.

While I brush my teeth, the memory of Isaiah's lips on mine keeps resurfacing, no matter how far back I try to push it. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to remember. I just need time to process.

Isaiah's lips pressed against mine.

Not for the first time I wonder if I was any good. This was my first kiss and I don't even know if it was good.

And it was with Isaiah.

When I leave the guest bathroom, I half expect Isaiah to be in my bedroom waiting to talk. But he's not. And I want to know what he's thinking.

I grab my phone and text Kayla. I need to talk to somebody.

Hey...

I text her.

I need to talk.

But she doesn't respond. I don't know what I was expecting. Kayla never answers when I need her.

Never mind.

I drop my phone on top of the dresser beside the bed and curl up, still clothed, and try to convince myself to sleep.

But I can't. My mind is filled with gunshots and kisses. With chains rattling and laughter. The good and the bad, sharing the same spaces in my brain, where they've always lived. I heave heavily and roll around in the bed several times. I can't get comfortable.

I know Isaiah is across the hall and I want to talk to him. But I haven't forgiven him yet for kissing me. I haven't forgiven myself for kissing back. Or maybe for not kissing back. Did I kiss him back?

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep. After a week of staying up all night and falling asleep in class, you'd think this would be no trouble for me. But it's futile.

I pick my phone back up and stare at it.

As if on cue, it vibrates in my hand.

Are you awake?