Page 25 of Back to Me

It’s as if the more time passes, the shorter our fuses become. Our anger suddenly ignites from a small spark to a raging fire. There’s no in-between, there’s no slow growth. It’s there one minute, then it’s gone.

I sit down on the barstool and watch her, wondering when she’ll finally break down and talk to me. But as the seconds pass, she doesn’t. While I was waiting for her to change, I had turned down the music playing through my small speaker. But as soon as the next song begins to play, I reach over and return the volume to what it was when she had come home from work.

My Spotify playlist is still going as June, After Dark by Elliot Root fills the open space between us. Standing up, I cross the room. I can tell she notices when I’m close because her shoulders pause and her hands stop, holding the charcoal and a small knife mid-air. I don’t hesitate to place my body against hers. I throw all self-doubt and uncertainty about her out the window, deciding to take this risk and feel what it would be like if I finally did act on my feelings. I only want her to be happy, and it only pains me more to be the reason she’s not. Fighting the urge to press my body any further into hers, careful not to push this too far, I breathe in a rush of air, the smell of her lemon-scented shampoo filling my senses.

Every nerve in me stands on edge as I hold in my breath and reach out, ghosting my fingertips along the back of her bare arm. Goosebumps form along the surface of her skin at my touch, and her breaths slow. My hand stops just past her elbow. Lightly gripping her arm, I urge her to turn around. The charcoal and knife drop onto the table with a dull thud before she finally faces me. Her eyes are spread wide, her lips are pressed into a flat line. Grabbing her hand, I walk backward, dragging her with me to the middle of the floor. The mid-day sunlight beams through the glass windows and the hardwood floor is warm against my feet.

Her eyes widen even more when I pull her toward me, allowing the music to fill the space between us. Her lips part slightly, permitting just a small rush of air to pass through them. Hesitating for only a fraction of a second, the warm skin of her arm drapes across my back, allowing her stomach to be flush with mine. The heavy beat coming from the speaker reverberates through the floor—the only thing keeping me grounded to where I am at this moment. I’ve never felt Sara this way, and when I place my hand against the small of her back, pulling her body flush with mine, I wonder why I’ve never done it before.

Keeping my hand pressed against her back, I lift her other hand and hold it out with mine. The corner of her mouth curls into a smirk when she realizes what I’m doing. At first, I slowly sway us back and forth, dancing along to the beat. As the song continues, I pick up the pace and begin twirling her around the open loft space. Standing up on the balls of her feet, she keeps her pace with mine, and I listen to the subtle sound of them as they pad across the floor.

I release my hand from her back and grab her hip, pushing her away from me and lifting our still joined hands above us. Hesitating, she twirls herself beneath our arms. When she’s back facing me, her lips suddenly spread out into a grin, and I nearly explode with the way her eyes shine against the bright golden sun pouring through our floor to ceiling windows.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she presses her hand against her cheek and giggles. Returning my hand to her back, I continue to make a path across the floor, covering every inch of the room possible. When the song ends, I keep her close, maintaining the small pressure of my hand against her back. We’re standing together, my hand still wrapped around hers and her body still pressed against mine. As the next song begins, we don’t move, but her smile has faded, and her eyes stay fixated on my bare chest. Her breaths are quick, and I’m hoping I was somehow able to fix what I said earlier.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Placing her hand flat across my chest, she looks up, and her eyes search my face. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispers back.

Her eyes dart from my eyes to my mouth, then back to my eyes. Then I feel it. Every part of me is telling me to lean forward just a fraction of an inch and press my lips to hers, finally kiss her and drink her in. All of those same parts are telling me she wants it too. She’s radiating with desire, and for the first time in the six years I’ve known Sara, I can finally see her.

But the feeling doesn’t last long when she backs away, leaving me empty and hollow. Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep sigh before she points to the supply table. She clears her throat.

“We should get started.”

My throat seizes, and the burning sensation returns, disabling my ability to speak.

Even when she returns to her charcoal sharpening, everything begins to make sense. Despite her sudden departure from my arms, I’ve finally been able to see the secret we’ve both been keeping from each other—the feelings we’ve skillfully learned to turn our backs on.

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