Page 63 of Bleeding Hearts

Only inches apart, it would be so easy for me to press my lips against hers, to ruin any speck of friendship that still stands between us. It would be easy for her to do the same, and as she breaks our eye contact, her gaze falling to my lips, I think she’s going to do it.

But I can’t let her, not like this.

I pull back, clearing my throat and breaking the moment. I look back up to see her eyes glassy and filled with hurt. Filled with disappointment. My chest aches at being the one to cause it.

“Dem—” I try to explain, regret seeping into my bones with every second that passes.

“I should start heading to that other lecture,” she cuts me off, standing abruptly off the bed.

“Wait, Demi. Can we just talk for a second?” I plead, but she doesn’t answer. She just walks over to the dresser, grabbing her bag and phone before turning back to me with a sad smile.

“It’s okay, Ash. I really have to go.” She looks down at her phone to check the time again. “I’ll text you later when I’m done.” She turns, walking out the door before giving me a chance to respond.

I sit there, one part frozen to the bed and the other part rationalizing if I should run after her or not. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen the way that it did.

I wanted to kiss her; I want to kiss her. I want more with her. But I had just told her my whole life sob story. I just dropped the cancer bomb on her. That can cause anyone to have an emotional reaction.

I want to know that when I kiss her it’s not because she’s feeling sorry for me. It's because thoughts of me are consuming her the way thoughts of her are constantly consuming me. I want to know that being with me is the only thing on her mind. The only thing that matters.

Time passes as I sit in silence, stewing on what just almost happened. The more I think, the more I realize what an idiot I am. Maybe thinking any other person was making a move out of pity or sympathy would make sense, but this is Demi.

The woman who has always looked at me as if I’m a better person than I am. The woman who has always stood by me even when I’m being an idiot. The woman who would stand by me through the toughest storm.

Demi isn’t any other person, and she never does anything for any reason other than because it’s what she wants. And in this case, what or who she wanted was me.

And I fucked it all up. Now I just need to figure out how to fix it. To show her that I do want her, that I want everything with her. That me pulling away earlier had everything to do with my own fears and nothing to do with her. To convince her to give me a shot even though God knows I don’t deserve it.

I stand from the bed, walking over to the dresser where she left the schedule of classes, looking to see when I think she’ll be done from what she mentioned. I see the lecture she mentioned earlier that she’d be in now and two class options.

I figure she’ll choose one, which means I have approximately three hours to figure my shit out.

Three hours until I say screw it, and finally admit how I really feel. Until I show Demi she was never really my friend at all, but so much more.

Until, hopefully, I make her mine.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

Demi

I tried to kiss him. And he pulled away. The moment plays on replay throughout my head as I sit through the lecture. I try to force myself to pay attention.

I should be paying attention, learning is the entire reason I’m here, but all I can think about is the apology in his voice when he said my name after pulling away.

I’ve been rejected before. The first time I was six years old, a daddy’s girl desperate for her father's love, only to be rejected over and over again.

Instead, his love was replaced with harsh words and angry fists. Then my mother, who, instead of loving and protecting me, her daughter, chose him every single time.

Then it was my ex-boyfriend, one of the few people I could semi-rely on at that point, who chose good sex over me.

My point is rejection is a common theme in my life. I should be used to it. Yet, nothing prepared me for the hurt I would feel being rejected by him.

The worst part is I don’t even know why.

He can lie to me and himself all he wants, but I know he feels more for me. I can see it in the way he looks at me. It mirrors the way that I think I’ve always looked at him.

I sit through the rest of the lecture, jotting down half-assed notes as my brain scrambles to put the pieces together. He opened up to me, something I know he hasn’t done with anyone else.

He has feelings for me even if he hasn’t admitted it. I know he’s attracted to me based on the way he stared at me in my towel yesterday alone. So, what the hell is his problem?

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