Prehalia's Demons(Completed) I #Wattys2019

26 I KISS BUT DON'T TELL

I can sense a presence in my room but I keep quiet and pretend to be asleep. Hearing as someone approaches me and feeling as they stare right at me, I try my best not to have my lids flutter but the panic gets the best of me and soon enough a track of something liquidy travels down my nose and straight into my mouth. The metallic taste is frightening and it makes me feel nauseous. Blood.

I should've stayed away from those pills.

My hands sweat around my phone and a chill goes down my spine.

I wait for the person to make a move but they just stand there and all I can do is prepare for the worst. After all I'm in the devil's den and I expect anything but a warm welcome.

Even in this scary situation, I can't help but imagine Leonardo wearing one of those silly party hats and popping confetti vigorously under a sign that says Welcome in colorful letters.

Why is my brain doing this? It would be pretty pathetic for me to die here and my last thought to be something this ridiculous.

All of my imaginary fun ceases when the figure moves again and in mere seconds I feel three things:

One: Someone leans in closer to my face.

Two: That same someone grabs my face in their hot hands.

Three: Leonardo Sanchez is kissing me.

There's no way I'm wrong. The way he smells and the warmth of his fingers when he touches my sweaty face are enough of an indicator for me to know that it's him.

But why? Why is he kissing me now?

When my sleepy brain finally registers what is going on, it instantly goes into panic mode. My eyes fly open only to meet Leo's black lashes and that stray strand of his hair that's currently poking my eye and making it hard for me to see anything at all.

When we're both out of breath, he moves away and wipes his face. He has blood all over his upper lips and he licks it off. I almost puke.

We both don't say anything, but we're completely aware of each other's presence and the situation we're in.

I feel quite conflicted. My brain is screaming in pure terror but my heart beats fast in my chest, not scared but excited. What horrifies me more is that I want him to kiss me again.

I guess my stare is hungry enough because he drops on his knees next to the bed and grabs my entire face in his hands again, soon kissing me.

This one is not like the previous. It's not gentle and careful, it's angry and it's needy. It's also a little crazy, just like the two of us. I put my hand onto his with the intention of breaking us apart, but I realize that I'm actually cooperating in the kiss.

What the heck am I doing?

I grab his tie and press his body next to mine, as close as I can. He throws the jacket of his suit somewhere on the floor and then presses his feverishly hot hands back onto my cheeks. I don't really care that I'm sweaty anymore, my brain's demands to push him away are muffled by this single desire to have him in my hands. Everything but him isn't important in this moment.

Leonardo Sanchez. The only boy I've ever truly loved.

While I'm lost in my thoughts, things are slowly progressing and Leo is already on top of me, one leg between mine and his chest firmly placed over mine, pinning me in my place.

How we don't suffocate, I do not know. I only know that I want more.

Leo breaks the kiss when I start to unbutton his shirt. He stares at me, half straddling me, half supporting himself on his arm, and suddenly, he seems so innocent. He looks his age. His pupils are dilated but the only drug he's high on is me. Even though he looks polished and sharp in the white dress shirt and a nearly undone bowtie, I can see him as what he was.

I can see the boy I fell in love with.

For the first time in forever, those grey eyes don't look like cold stones, they look warm and welcoming, and carefree. And I think that maybe, just maybe, they are always this way when he doesn't have to pretend to be the vicious man he is.

With each button I undo, there's a memory that springs into my mind.

That one time he spilled lemonade on his band tee and almost cried.

That one time he tapped me on the shoulder only to give me a surprise kiss on the cheek.

That one time he told me about the crush he had on a girl in his previous school that rejected him three times and me thinking how much she has missed on.

But then, I also remember that time when he threatened me that he'll take everything away from me.

That time when he paid a man to almost run me over when I was crossing the street.

That time when he got me alone during recess, dragged me to the back of the school, pinned me against the wall and tried to strangle me while smiling wickedly.

I realize that the times he did me bad surpass greatly the ones when he did me good and I push him off me, with half of his shirt undone.

He sighs when he sees my horrified look at the realization of what I just did and backs off, stepping on the ground. While I still stare into nothingness somewhere in front of me, he calmly buttons up his shirt, reties his bowtie and picks up his jacket, dusting it off with his hand.

And then he crosses his arms and waits for me to say something. It's too dark to see him exactly, especially when the soft moonlight comes from behind him and he looks just like a silhouette but I'm aware that he's watching my every move.

For once, I don't know what to do or what to say so I simply pull the blanket over my head and pretend that everything is alright like a young kid would. My breathing gets faster with every second and there's a limited access to oxygen with my head under there, but I don't dare to show myself. That's how ashamed I feel.

I expect to hear Leonardo laugh at me for acting like a confused child, but I'm surprised when instead he softly opens the door and closes it behind him, as if nothing ever happened and we didn't just have the biggest make out session in the span of us knowing each other.

When he's gone, I finally let myself breathe again as I spring up from under the thick blanket.

My eyes are huge with confusion and fear and I have no idea which feeling dominates.

I probably look like a hot mess, especially with the blood that is proper smeared all over my face at this point.

I know I shouldn't, but with shaking hands and wobbly feet, I make my way to the backpack that's sitting neatly next to the bed and I search strenuously for what I know will make me feel better.

I finally hear the familiar sound of pills hitting into each other in their small white container.

I sip a good portion and stare at those tiny guys that used to be my best friends before.

Something inside of me screams to just flush the entire thing in the toilet, but another part of me, the girl that lost eight of her lives by overdosing on those friends moans desperately for a moment of happiness.

With a sloppy smile and unfocused vision, I put the pills inside my mouth and chew on them.

They taste sour and wrong, but at this moment I feel right.