Page 24 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
The effect is immediate. He looks as if he might explode, barely holding himself together. His breath trembles as he buries his face in my hair, inhaling so deeply it sends the skin along my neck alight. I squeeze my thighs together, praying he doesn’t notice.
His touch is maddening.
This reaction is not normal. Maybe we both need medical attention after all.
And yet, when I look closer into it, I can’t escape the truth staring back at me.
My body recognises him, even when my mind doesn’t.
I don’t know how long we remain like that, caught in some strange trance, before he finally draws another long breath and steps back, shaking himself.
When he opens his eyes, a thousand things pass over them. I take in a small breath myself, the same storm answers in me. I see his hatred, yes, but more than that I see his pain.
“Who hurt you?” I find myself asking.
“You did.”
And with those two words—words that make me feel things I would rather not, he turns and walks away.
I stand there, watching his back for the second time today.
Once more, since I woke up covered in blood with no recollection of the last few years, I’m confronted with how little I understand of my life.
And I’m more certain than ever that I do not recognise the person I’ve become.
Chapter 8
Arlo
I walk away from her, the last person I ought to care about, yet the thoughts will not leave me.
I slowly come to the realisation that Ophelia might truly not recognise me. She could be a brilliant liar.
No, I am not blind anymore. Iknowshe is a brilliant liar. But even she could not fake it this badly.
And if she doesn’t remember me, then why?
What happened to her? What happens to a person to forget someone?
Did she forget only me, or did she lose entire pieces of her life?
What is it, amnesia, some other affliction, something worse?
I grind my teeth and tell myself, again, that I do not care. I try to mean it. But it’s uglier than that. Because despite myself, I bloody do care.
I clench my fists, set my jaw, and keep fucking moving.
I lost my cool with her again.
It started at assembly, then I followed her to the infirmary, kissed her, cornered her, breathed the same air. I’d allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of her, and that was unacceptable.
When I enrolled at this wretched institution, I set rules for myself, commandments to keep me in line.
Rules were to be kept. Yet they began to splinter almost immediately.
Rule one: Do not look at her. Do not approach.
That one died the moment I saw her face.
