Page 103 of Summertime Friends

“Don’t say that. Don’t do this.”

I cover the distance between us in three strides. Dropping to the floor in front of her. My knees hit the wood floor with a thud, and brush hers. Too close, but too far away at the same time. I feel the rough texture of the original floors through the material of my pants. I know her bare knees will be scraped and red from them after this. I want to touch her. I want to reach out, but I don’t right away. I want to pull her into me and never let her go, not let her do what I can see is coming.

How did it get to this? How did we end up on different emotional continents?

I thought we were on the same one. I thought we were finally moving in a direction together.

When she stood there on Sunday, what did I miss?

Emerson isn’t speaking.

“Talk to me, States.” I’m looking at the top of her head. Her brown hair is wild, falling to the sides of her face, shielding the remaining part of her face that her hands aren’t covering from me“

“I—I found myself in you—but then I lost myself all over again,” she stumbles over her words between tears. “Your love, I don’t deserve—it—or you. I’m broken. I’m damaged. And I was wrong. This—” She leans back, her glossy eyes are like glass looking at me. Almost through me—“has to end.” She gasps, elongating the word. “I can’t do it anymore, not because we aren’t right for each other, but it’s messing me up. You deserve someone better than me and whatever I could ever give you.“

“Of course, it’s fucking you up!”

“See, you agree?”

“No. I’m not even close to agreeing with you. You’re running from this—us, because, for the first time in your life, someone loves you unconditionally. You are enough for me, Emerson. My love for you is untamable. It’s wild, demanding, compassionate, andyours. It’s the type of love you’ve always deserved.”

Her eyes soften, brightening momentarily like a shock of love electrocuting her. It doesn’t last. It quickly fades back to the broken, tear glaze she’s been wearing.

“Bu—”

“There are no buts. You are the only person I know who has relentlessly pursued being loved despite saying they don’t believe in it. It’s your marathon, and this is the finish line. We are at the finish line. Why are you slowing down? Why are you turning around and running back in the other direction?”

“I’m messing it all up,” she repeats over and over. Emerson drops her head so that she isn’t looking at me anymore.

I reach out, taking her chin in my hand. Her skin is ice-cold, our fire burning out within her.

“It’s a mess that can be cleaned up,” I assure her.

“I don’t know how.” Her lips wobble.

“You do, Emerson. Deep down, you do. And when you don’t, which some days you won’t and neither will I, we’ll get through it together. We’ll figure it out together.Together.” I emphasize the word, letting it come out of my mouth as a sucker punch.

I raise her chin, bringing her head in line with mine. Our eyes are holding close enough that I can see how green her’s have become because of the tears. Their dark green is now a bright Peridot green. It compliments her brown hair and sun-kissed skin. Even with the hurt and agony behind them, they’re beautiful. She’s beautiful. She’s the most beautiful person, inside and out, that I’ll ever have the joy of loving. And if this is it—this is the last time I’ll get to look at her—stop. You can’t think like this. This isn’t it. You can’t let it be it.

“We can’t. Not right now, at least,” Emerson says. She bites down on her bottom lip, releasing it to speak. “I hope you can forgive me.” We’re frozen in this position, face to face. Her chin is in my hands. Neither of us move because we both know what comes next, that when we move it’s over. She wants us to be over.

I lean forward and brush my lips against hers. Pulling away to look at her, then pressing my lips against hers again—a goodbye or a Hail Mary, I don’t know.

Emerson reciprocates the kiss back.

My other hand moves to the back of her head, my fingers tangled in her hair possessively. It’s not that I own her, but she owns me. All of me—my thoughts, heart, body, and mind.

Our kisses are intentional, savoring each other’s touch and taste. Memorizing and committing it to memory—at least I am because there isn’t anyone else who’ll kiss me as she does. No one else whose bottom lip will pull in between mine like hers does. No one else that’ll release a sweet, high-pitched moan when I bite down. No one else that mine are fitted to.

Not breaking the kiss because I don’t want to allow her the chance to bolt, I guide her backward to the floor. My body is ontop of her, throwing all of my love around us like a force field so that it’s all she can see, touch, and feel right now.

“What are you doing?” Emerson asks me.

“Loving you,” I reply.

She fuses her mouth to mine in an intense kiss. I break the connection of our lips, working mine to her chin and along her jaw. Then to her neck, right below her ear. I nip the skin there before placing a full kiss right over the spot. Kissing across her neck to the other ear, I do the same.

“Is that okay?” I ask through my lips on her skin.

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