Page 72 of Miss Understood

He grips me tighter and his hands holding my body might as well plant me at his feet.

Because all I feel is him.

All I see is him.

All I want is him.

Jesse’s pace quickens like his body reads what mine craves. We’re consuming the fragments of the people we were with each thrust and tossing them away.

Take my heart and shred it until there is nothing left.

We fall over the edge together, and our bodies ride out the fractures of the climax. We’re exhaling and inhaling ourselves back together, and pieces of me peel apart in the process. Words stick on the edges of my heart, but my head holds them in.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

26

Jesse

Luceflicksonthecoffeepot as I open the fridge and pull out the eggs.

I step to the side so she can grab the creamer, then I head to the cabinet for the oatmeal.

She reaches down and hands me a pan while I slide two bowls her direction.

I crack the eggs into the pan.

One.

Two.

She pours water and a drizzle of honey onto the oats.

Adds two spoonfuls of sugar and a dash of cream to her coffee.

Hands me mine black.

I’m not sure when we fell into some of these patterns, but it feels like we’ve always done them. Moving around each other in the morning, getting ready. Her skin still carries a flush from last night, and mine feels the sting of the scratches she left on my back.

It isn’t the oatmeal and eggs that warm me. It’s those hazel eyes flicking up, a smile tugging on the corner of her lips while she scrolls through her phone. A quiet that doesn’t feel uncomfortable or forced. It’s just us.

But that’s how you know, right?

I’ve heard the story enough times from clients.

We were in love. It was supposed to be forever.

After all, the weather’s always perfect until right before the seasons change.

“You keep looking at my hair,” she says. She tries to tuck her flyaways into her messy bun, but they stick right back out again.

“I like it like that.”

“A mess?”

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