Never Been Kissed

Ch.36 ↬ M

Heartbreak was etched so painfully distinctly over his features.

His heart wasn't the only one that shattered that night. Mine did too. I still remembered the way I gripped his wrists in the vain hope that somehow I could transfer my pain to him, though that was unfair of me to believe so firmly in that impossible concept. I never knew who kissed me until Josh confided in me.

Until that day, I thought I would never find out who kissed me in that dark room.

And when Josh divulged it was him, it truly did feel like my heart shattered all over again.

I think I'd rather have never found out.

Because now I've kept it from him for weeks. Was that something he could easily forgive?

After that kiss, for the second time in such a short period, I felt like I had been violated. By Josh's story I knew it was an accident that we kissed, but it didn't stop the paralysation that rocketed through my body. My body was being used in a way that still tortures me to this day. That kiss was the straw that broke the camel's back, and it had been so much easier to block out that memory than the one that featured my algebra homework and the thumping and my mom's name being hollered, simply because I didn't have a name or face to match the lips.

Now I did.

And I have done for weeks.

Josh Kelly.

Why was fate so cruel? Why had fate been ordained like this to torture us? We'd lapsed into temporary bliss after an easy friendship, and now it would all go to shit. Because life was harsh and cruel and bitter and unrelenting and heart-breaking and saddening.

But most of all, life was just an unimaginably long road with cars pelting straight at you, ready to hit you and knock you on your fucking ass. To test how tenacious you are. To see what else it needs to shoot at you before you truly break. To find your breaking point.

For the longest time we simply gazed at one another. Josh's eyes raked over my hair to my face—every single damn feature so vulnerable to his scrutiny and undesirable but reasonable ire—down to the heels I was donning. They weren't the same heels I wore that night. I chucked them out the moment I got home five years ago, sobs wracking my body and my heart painfully clenching in my chest and my legs threatened to buckle as loose gravel pierced my bare feet.

Maybe Josh didn't see the heels that night. Maybe he truly believed I was some tall raven-haired girl he'd never seen before with legs that went on for days.

Josh didn't even notice me as Madeline Taylor in high school. But I wasn't angry about that. That's not the point of this entire situation.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked, each word punctuated distinctly and toned with a hard edge. His voice was thick as though it truly pained him to utter the words. His face was contorted angrily.

I hated myself. I hated everything about myself. Why didn't I tell him sooner? Any pain hurtling my way was licensed. I deserved it all.

I gulped, my throat suddenly constricted. "You know what it is," I said, unable to speak the words and settling for an indirect response.

What I should have said: I'm the girl you kissed five years ago at a party.

I remembered that party now. I've remembered it since he first confessed it to me. My gaze scoured the entire fucking lounge in the hopes to find someone gawking at me, but clearly I missed a certain pair of eyes. I missed the most important eyes I could find: Josh's. He was gawping so blatantly at me and I didn't notice. And because I was so utterly clueless as to who kissed me, I fled that lounge. I fled that house.