Page 68 of Touch Me

She’s brushing it off. Pretending like it doesn’t bother her. But if I learned anything in college, it’s that drunk people tell sober truths.

So do I take this opportunity, this out she’s giving me? She understands why I don’t want to try again. I can bow out gracefully—as gracefully as being a complete freak of nature can be. We never have to have this conversation again. I’ll continue to be a loner, and she’ll continue to be...what? A friend?

Or I can sit down next to her, take off these fucking oven mitts, and grab her hand. I toss the mitts on the coffee table and grab the bags of ice. Her eyes follow my every move. Dragging the coffee table closer, I raise her foot and place her heel on the table. My hand tenses, but the action is smooth and my reaction unnoticeable.

“You flinched,” she whispers.

Fuck.

“I didn’t flinch.” My hand flexes at the mention of the word.

“You did. It was small, almost imperceptible, but I saw it.”

I place the bag of ice on her ankle and sit back.

“Thank you,” she says, and I cross my arms over my chest and lean back, blowing out a sigh. “Thank you for trying,” she whispers again.

“Cassie. It’s not that I don’t want to.”

“I know. It’s fine, really.”

I uncross my arms and put my hand open-faced on the couch next to her. She pulls her leg off the coffee table and turns on the couch to face me.

Her eyes widen in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Put your hand on top of mine.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No way.”

“Cass, do it, please. I can’t, but you can.” I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, mentally steeling my nerves to be dormant for justone fucking minute.“Go ahead.” I look over and watch her bite her lip in hesitation. “I’ll pull away when I have to.”

Almost in slow motion, her arm extends, and her hand lands on top of mine. My body tenses, but I wrap my fingers around hers. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe as the vibrations start in my hand and travel up my arm. My brain turns to mush in my head. My legs tremble and bounce.

Her hand tightens around mine. “Look at me.” I roll my head toward her and slowly open my eyes. “It’s just you and me.” Her eyes bounce around my face. “Tell me what to do?”

“Distract me.”

“How?”

My hand slicks with sweat. “Talk to me.” All the hairs on my neck stand up.

“Umm, okay. What do you want for dinner? I can probably hobble around and make something. Or we can order in. I know it’s Monday but—”

“Cassie, it’s not working.”

The involuntary movements racket up my body. My feet twitch and my shoulders bunch up. Blood rushes past my ears and my chest pounds like a war drum.

“Do you want me to move?”

“No.”

Her eyes search my face for an answer, and with her bottom lip trembling, the concern is clearly written on hers.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

“Pain. Make it hurt or something.”

“Make it hurt?” She rears her head back. “Are you crazy?”

---