Page 63 of Things I Wish I Said
Turning to the double sink, I risk a glance at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, I have a tiny smudge of makeup below my eye, and my wig is slightly disheveled, but all in all, I’m not the train wreck I was expecting, and for that, I’m grateful.
I find my way past the partition and sink down onto the closed toilet. Lifting my legs, I press my head against my knees, noting the ache in my muscles, as I replay what happened outside.
One minute we were dancing and the next his hands were all over me, and I’d be lying if I said his touch didn’t ignite something inside me I didn’t even know existed.
Maybe it was the alcohol working its way through my system, the music, or my mood, but I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to look at me like I was the only girl in the room.
And for a moment he did.
And then he kissed me.
It happened so fast and was so brief, a part of me thinks I imagined it.
I bite my lip, reliving the moment in my head in slow technicolor.
I could feel how much he wanted me against the small of my back, and for the first time in a long time, I felt powerful, in control. Like maybe I wasn’t damaged or undesirable just because I was sick.
I knew what I was doing when I spun around, moving slowly against him, my chest pressed to his.
I wanted to taunt him. Wanted to tease. Because there was something heady about having him want me when he could have any girl on the dance floor.
I remember the way his breath, warm and sweet, fanned over my face, my neck. The way his cologne, tinged with sweat, surrounded me, muddling my thoughts until there were none left.
God, I wanted him to kiss me more than I wanted to breathe, more than I wanted remission. And then he brushed his lips against mine, and it was as though I’d finally won something. After months of nothing but loss, I felt victorious.
Though it wasn’t my first kiss, the press of his lips was a shock to the system.
Powerful. Unyielding. Dangerous.
But it was over as soon as it started, and I can’t even be mad or feel stupid, because he was right to stop it.
I have no business kissing him, not when my future is so uncertain. Not when I have no idea if I’ll be around this time next year or if I’ll still be sick, still battling.
Falling for me is a gamble, a bad bet. Not that I think he’d be foolish enough to do so. It’s me I’m worried about, because even if I’m just another girl to him, an obligation to fulfill, I know how easy it would be for me to allow myself to feel something I shouldn’t for him.
If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Grayson De Leon is simply another thing to be taken from me when my world goes topsy-turvy again.
It’s no surprise he bolted from the dance floor like his feet were on fire.
I probably owe him an apology—if I can find him.
The sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by voices, startles me from my thoughts, and I curse. I must have forgotten to lock it.
I’m about to stand and make my presence known when I recognize the sound of crying and pause.
“I’m such an idiot.”
“You are not,” another voice answers.
I bite my lip, debating whether I should say something or wait.
“I fell for him so hard,” the first girl cries. “And we both know Grayson doesn’t date.”
My blood turns cold, rushing from my head at once.
“Oh, honey. You took your shot. It’s not your fault he’s a player and can’t see how completely amazing you are.”
“That’s the worst part,” the mystery girl says. “He warned me he’s not into relationships. He flat-out told me, but I’m the idiot who keeps trying. I came here tonight because I thought I might have a chance.”
